[G1] With Benefits - Part Six
a/n: More pronz. Definitely not work-safe. Self-betaed. Enjoy! :)
Title: With Benefits
Universe: G1
Description: Optimus is about to have a very good day; he just doesn't know it yet. Inspired by this kinkmeme prompt.
Part Six: Against the Wall
Characters: OptimusxSideswipexTrailbreakerxHound
Enticements: Sticky, pnp, public sex
Optimus takes Inferno's suggestion to spark. He will enjoy this unexpected day off to its fullest, even if his entire command staff has conspired against him to ensure he will take it.
He stops by the washracks - surprisingly empty given the time of day - and gives himself a quick wipedown. He is not at all surprised by the message that soon hits his inbox, another gift from Mirage, and simply shunts the new video to a folder he's created specifically for them. Once clean, it's off to find something else to fill the time.
He heads for the training room, frame still humming from the force of his overload. There is no better way to burn off the extra energy and Ironhide had told him last week that he is getting sloppy. Some mindless target practice will do him some good.
At least, that is his intention.
When the door slides open, however, the lingering refrains of a spiraling cry tease at his audials. Someone is enjoying himself and as Optimus steps inside, he gets his answer as to whom, his recently sated interface systems surging to life at the sight.
Sideswipe is currently pinned between Trailbreaker and Hound, the former braced against the wall with Sideswipe's weight leaned against him. Trailbreaker has his hands hooked under Sideswipe's knees, holding him up and open for Hound, who seems to be enjoying the offer.
Though of them all, Sideswipe looks the most satisfied, his field reaching out and humming with pleasure.
Hedonists. His Autobots are nothing but a collection of hedonists, and Optimus must be the worst of them all. Because despite his multiple overloads today, the sight of Sideswipe panting between the two of them, hands clutching Trailbreaker's arms, makes his spike pressurize behind his panel.
Especially when Hound draws back, his spike slipping from Sideswipe's valve and revealing the lubricant-soaked entrance. Transfluid and lubricant both drip to the floor. If Optimus didn't know any better, he'd say they planned this.
Hound and Trailbreaker share a kiss over Sideswipe, the frontliner squirming between them, muttering something about being ignored. Soft laughter punctuates his complaint, Hound ending the kiss to press a quick one to the corner of Sideswipe's mouth.
Only then does Optimus think that maybe he should turn around and leave. Of course, that's also when Trailbreaker notices him, his visor brightening in pleased surprise.
“Prime,” he greets, causing his partners to look in Optimus' direction. “Good afternoon. We were just taking a break.”
“From target practice,” Sideswipe adds, but he can't keep a straight face and breaks into a grin, looking not at all embarrassed to be caught in a compromising situation.
Then again, this is Sideswipe so of course he wouldn't be.
Hound, at least, looks contrite. “Sorry, sir. If you want to practice, we can leave.”
“Or better yet, you can join in,” Sideswipe says, wriggling a little in Trailbreaker's arms. He's got one hand latched on Hound's shoulder, as though trying to keep the scout from leaving.
Optimus waffles between amusement and lust. Technically, they aren't breaking any rules and Optimus is hardly displeased with them. Hound looks a touch embarrassed, but Sideswipe is unapologetic and Trailbreaker's fans chose that moment to cycle into a higher speed.
“There's no need for you to leave,” Optimus says, forcing his pedes into motion, trying to ignore the heat pulsing through his systems though his optics are locked on the dripping valve shamelessly bared to him. “I am the one intruding.”
“We're the ones in public,” says Trailbreaker, his fingers visibly tightening in their grip on Sideswipe's knees, though whether that's from rising lust or fatigue, Optimus can't guess.
“Or we could not discuss this and go back to what we were enjoying,” Sideswipe says with another squirm, followed by a pleading look Optimus' direction. “And you could join us and everyone will be happy.”
Optimus can't help himself; he chuckles. “Is that what you want, Sideswipe?”
“Yes!”
“Wouldn't bother me,” adds Trailbreaker, his vocals taking on an aroused husk.
Hound steps to the side, extending the invitation. “Sharing is the Autobot way,” he says, and clearly, Sideswipe's mischief has been rubbing off on him.
“Don't make me beg,” Sideswipe says.
“Or do,” Trailbreaker says with a grin. “He's good at it.”
“No one's better at it than Jazz,” Sideswipe retorts with a roll of his optics that he then directs at Optimus. “That being said, boss, please?”
Well, when he puts it that way...
Frame moving on auto-pilot, Optimus approaches the threesome, fitting himself between Sideswipe's legs, keeping to himself the thrill he feels overshadowing the smaller mech. Then again, most of the Autobots are smaller than him.
“What would you like?” Optimus asks as Sideswipe's legs clamp around his hips, canting his pelvic toward Optimus' panel in unvoiced desire. He can feel the heat radiating off the frontliner, or maybe that's Trailbreaker, who's venting so much heat that charge is starting to erupt from beneath his plating.
“Anything,” Sideswipe pants, rocking his hips against Optimus', leaving a smear of lubricant across his panel.
Optimus' spike pops free, sliding against Sideswipe's armor, a streak of transfluid in its wake. He would be embarrassed if it weren't for the lust brightening Sideswipe's optics and the way Trailbreaker leans harder against Sideswipe's back, his mouth seeking out the sensor suites on the frontliner's helm.
“I think you answered your own question,” Hound says, palming his own panel and making no secret of the fact he is watching.
“I think he did, too,” Sideswipe moans, body arching in two directions, his helm toward Trailbreaker and his hips toward Optimus. “Please.”
Trailbreaker, his hands now on Sideswipe's aft, pushes the frontliner up toward Optimus. “If you don't, I will,” he challenges.
Optimus can hardly deny either of his Autobots. He leans in, grabs Sideswipe's mouth for a scorching kiss that mixes their glossa, before lining himself up at Sideswipe's valve. He pushes into the soaked channel, groaning as Sideswipe's valve flexes and clamps rhythmically around him. His spike pulses, charge already crackling within Sideswipe's valve and teasing him.
Trailbreaker's hand works between their bodies, rubbing his palm over Sideswipe's panel until his spike springs free and then wrapping his hand around it. Sideswipe shivers, his valve contracting around Optimus' spike, intensifying the sensation.
And then hands land on Optimus' back, fingers dipping into the seams in his plating and toying with the thick cables beneath. He doesn't have to look to know it's Hound, not when the scout ex-vents air in heated bursts against his back. His spike, repressurized and leaking transfluid, pokes at Optimus' legs, sliding along his thighs.
There's something erotic about the slick push of Hound's spike that makes Optimus' engine rev. The vibrations travel through him, transferring to his partner, and Sideswipe groans into the kiss, breaking free with a gasp and throwing his helm back against Trailbreaker's chestplate.
Optimus slides one hand around Sideswipe's right thigh for leverage and wraps the other around Sideswipe's spike, joining Trailbreaker's. Sideswipe arches between them, his high-performance engine audibly rumbling. And Hound reaches an arm around Optimus, all that he can manage, to tease fingers in the slats of his grill.
Well, Optimus thinks as the sound of metal scraping against metal and multiple moans filled the training room, this is one way to disperse the extra energy. And probably gain more in the process.
Hound's fingers drag back around Optimus' side, tapping his right thoracic port. “Mind if I...?”
Optimus' answer is to pop the panel open, unsurprised to find static already crackling outward. It's embarrassing how quickly he's cycling up to overload, but Sideswipe's valve is a deliciously slick slide and Trailbreaker's field hums with arousal and Hound's talented fingers keep painting paths of arousal over Optimus' frame. Optimus doesn't know if it's because he's usually not so inclined to interface or because today has been full of it, but to say he's not enjoying it would be a lie.
Hound's cable clicks home and Optimus moans as the scout's arousal burns across the link, flooding Optimus' systems. His hips snap forward, burying deeper into Sideswipe whose hands clutch onto his shoulders, fingers scrabbling for a grip.
Trailbreaker surges forward, squishing Sideswipe between them, and Optimus meets Trailbreaker halfway, their lips crashing in a heated kiss. Sideswipe squeaks between them, but doesn't protest, his valve squeezing down hard on Optimus, more lubricant gushing free, coating Optimus' pelvis and Sideswipe's own thighs.
“Primus,” Hound breathes, arms wrapped around Optimus from behind, his helm pressed to Optimus' backstrut. He's shaking, frame pressing against Optimus, need crackling along their length.
Optimus can only agree with Hound, moaning into Trailbreaker's mouth as Sideswipe writhes between them. His spike plunges into Sideswipe's valve, his fingers working in tandem with Trailbreaker's, until Sideswipe shouts, spike erupting in spurts of transfluid. His valve clamps down on Optimus' spike, milking it for all it's worth.
Optimus moans, fingers gripping Sideswipe's thigh to the tune of dented metal. He breaks away from the kiss with Trailbreaker to pant against the side of Sideswipe's helm, overload making him shake from helm to pede, flooding his link with Hound.
He hears the scout all but whimper behind him, arms tightening as he splatters over Optimus' thighs, adding to the mess.
Four heated, sated frames collapse forward, cooling fans desperately sucking in air. Hound drapes himself across Optimus' back, the vibrations of his frame almost ticklish against Optimus' plating.
“Primus,” Optimus murmurs, sloppily seeking out Sideswipe's mouth.
“Totally agree,” Sideswipe pants and nips at his lips before his glossa sweeps inside.
“We could always go again,” Hound says, his hands sliding down, coyly tracing where Sideswipe and Optimus are still joined.
“Or we could finish round one,” Trailbreaker suggests, and the heat blasting off his frame is testament to the fact he hasn't overloaded.
“I like the way he thinks,” Sideswipe says, pressing one last kiss to Optimus' mouth.
Optimus can't agree more, and after a moment of untangling limbs and cables, he and Sideswipe and Hound descend on Trailbreaker en masse. Hound claims his best friend's mouth, Sideswipe drops to his knees and swallows Trailbreaker to the hilt, and Optimus buries his hands in the tactician's substructure, mouth attacking Trailbreaker's shield generator.
It doesn't take long before Trailbreaker overloads with a roar, his field pulsing with bliss. He sags against the wall, cooling fans whirring to the same tune as everyone else's.
Sideswipe pulls back, smacking his lips and offering a cheeky grin. “I think that means round two is finished.” His fingers tease a seductive path down Trailbreaker's thigh. “Plenty of time for round three, yes?”
Optimus groans, though he's careful to keep his tone as playful as he meant it. “I am an old mech, Sideswipe. I haven't the energy.”
Hound snickers. “You don't give yourself enough credit, sir. After all, I don't know any one mech who can keep up with Sideswipe.”
“I'm trying to decide if I should be offended,” retorts the frontliner with a pout that is more seductive than disappointed.
“It depends on your point of view,” says Trailbreaker, dropping a hand down to Sideswipe's helm and caressing his sensor nubs. “For instance, I'm very appreciative of your talents.”
Sideswipe grins.
Optimus' comm chirps.
He politely excuses himself from the tangle of arms and legs as Sideswipe starts eying Hound all over again and discreetly snaps his panel closed. As he answers the call, Optimus looks down at himself, wondering if there's a single cloth in the world that can handle the mess on his thighs.
Another trip to the washracks perhaps? He's going to rust at this rate.
“Prime here,” Optimus says, checking the identifier and finding that it is the medbay. “Is something wrong, Ratchet?”
“Sorry, sir,” says Hoist's distinctive accent, “but Ratchet's on leave today.”
Is the entire senior command staff on leave today? First, Jazz and then Prowl and now Ratchet? Next thing Prime knows he won't be able to find Ironhide either.
“I see,” Optimus replies. “Well. My question stands. Is something wrong?”
Amusement enters Hoist's tone. “No. Though I was curious as to why you were late for your maintenance check.”
Confused, Optimus accesses his internal schedule. “I don't have a--” Optimus cycles his optics in surprise because, yes, there it is. He has a maintenance check scheduled for fifteen minutes ago.
He did not remember scheduling it, nor Ratchet badgering him into scheduling it, nor it being on his schedule this morning. Primus. He's going to have Hoist take a look at his memory core. Perhaps there is a glitch.
“My apologies, Hoist. I must have forgotten to set an appointment reminder. I will be there in five minutes.” He pauses, remembering the mess streaking his abdomen and thighs. “Actually, ten minutes would be better.”
“All right. See you then.”
Optimus ends the call and turns to give Trailbreaker, Sideswipe, and Hound his apologies, but they seem to have moved on without him.
“I see I won't be missed,” he comments dryly, and though part of him wants to dive back into that kinky threesome, he has an appointment to keep.
To the medbay it is.
****
a/n: Three more parts and an epilogue to come! :) I do hope you are still enjoying this fic, as cracky and occasionally OOC as it may be.
I am working on those Palooza prompts. I've written two and a half and I'll be posting those in a couple days along with writing more. I hope.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/246639.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: With Benefits
Universe: G1
Description: Optimus is about to have a very good day; he just doesn't know it yet. Inspired by this kinkmeme prompt.
Part Six: Against the Wall
Characters: OptimusxSideswipexTrailbreakerxHound
Enticements: Sticky, pnp, public sex
Optimus takes Inferno's suggestion to spark. He will enjoy this unexpected day off to its fullest, even if his entire command staff has conspired against him to ensure he will take it.
He stops by the washracks - surprisingly empty given the time of day - and gives himself a quick wipedown. He is not at all surprised by the message that soon hits his inbox, another gift from Mirage, and simply shunts the new video to a folder he's created specifically for them. Once clean, it's off to find something else to fill the time.
He heads for the training room, frame still humming from the force of his overload. There is no better way to burn off the extra energy and Ironhide had told him last week that he is getting sloppy. Some mindless target practice will do him some good.
At least, that is his intention.
When the door slides open, however, the lingering refrains of a spiraling cry tease at his audials. Someone is enjoying himself and as Optimus steps inside, he gets his answer as to whom, his recently sated interface systems surging to life at the sight.
Sideswipe is currently pinned between Trailbreaker and Hound, the former braced against the wall with Sideswipe's weight leaned against him. Trailbreaker has his hands hooked under Sideswipe's knees, holding him up and open for Hound, who seems to be enjoying the offer.
Though of them all, Sideswipe looks the most satisfied, his field reaching out and humming with pleasure.
Hedonists. His Autobots are nothing but a collection of hedonists, and Optimus must be the worst of them all. Because despite his multiple overloads today, the sight of Sideswipe panting between the two of them, hands clutching Trailbreaker's arms, makes his spike pressurize behind his panel.
Especially when Hound draws back, his spike slipping from Sideswipe's valve and revealing the lubricant-soaked entrance. Transfluid and lubricant both drip to the floor. If Optimus didn't know any better, he'd say they planned this.
Hound and Trailbreaker share a kiss over Sideswipe, the frontliner squirming between them, muttering something about being ignored. Soft laughter punctuates his complaint, Hound ending the kiss to press a quick one to the corner of Sideswipe's mouth.
Only then does Optimus think that maybe he should turn around and leave. Of course, that's also when Trailbreaker notices him, his visor brightening in pleased surprise.
“Prime,” he greets, causing his partners to look in Optimus' direction. “Good afternoon. We were just taking a break.”
“From target practice,” Sideswipe adds, but he can't keep a straight face and breaks into a grin, looking not at all embarrassed to be caught in a compromising situation.
Then again, this is Sideswipe so of course he wouldn't be.
Hound, at least, looks contrite. “Sorry, sir. If you want to practice, we can leave.”
“Or better yet, you can join in,” Sideswipe says, wriggling a little in Trailbreaker's arms. He's got one hand latched on Hound's shoulder, as though trying to keep the scout from leaving.
Optimus waffles between amusement and lust. Technically, they aren't breaking any rules and Optimus is hardly displeased with them. Hound looks a touch embarrassed, but Sideswipe is unapologetic and Trailbreaker's fans chose that moment to cycle into a higher speed.
“There's no need for you to leave,” Optimus says, forcing his pedes into motion, trying to ignore the heat pulsing through his systems though his optics are locked on the dripping valve shamelessly bared to him. “I am the one intruding.”
“We're the ones in public,” says Trailbreaker, his fingers visibly tightening in their grip on Sideswipe's knees, though whether that's from rising lust or fatigue, Optimus can't guess.
“Or we could not discuss this and go back to what we were enjoying,” Sideswipe says with another squirm, followed by a pleading look Optimus' direction. “And you could join us and everyone will be happy.”
Optimus can't help himself; he chuckles. “Is that what you want, Sideswipe?”
“Yes!”
“Wouldn't bother me,” adds Trailbreaker, his vocals taking on an aroused husk.
Hound steps to the side, extending the invitation. “Sharing is the Autobot way,” he says, and clearly, Sideswipe's mischief has been rubbing off on him.
“Don't make me beg,” Sideswipe says.
“Or do,” Trailbreaker says with a grin. “He's good at it.”
“No one's better at it than Jazz,” Sideswipe retorts with a roll of his optics that he then directs at Optimus. “That being said, boss, please?”
Well, when he puts it that way...
Frame moving on auto-pilot, Optimus approaches the threesome, fitting himself between Sideswipe's legs, keeping to himself the thrill he feels overshadowing the smaller mech. Then again, most of the Autobots are smaller than him.
“What would you like?” Optimus asks as Sideswipe's legs clamp around his hips, canting his pelvic toward Optimus' panel in unvoiced desire. He can feel the heat radiating off the frontliner, or maybe that's Trailbreaker, who's venting so much heat that charge is starting to erupt from beneath his plating.
“Anything,” Sideswipe pants, rocking his hips against Optimus', leaving a smear of lubricant across his panel.
Optimus' spike pops free, sliding against Sideswipe's armor, a streak of transfluid in its wake. He would be embarrassed if it weren't for the lust brightening Sideswipe's optics and the way Trailbreaker leans harder against Sideswipe's back, his mouth seeking out the sensor suites on the frontliner's helm.
“I think you answered your own question,” Hound says, palming his own panel and making no secret of the fact he is watching.
“I think he did, too,” Sideswipe moans, body arching in two directions, his helm toward Trailbreaker and his hips toward Optimus. “Please.”
Trailbreaker, his hands now on Sideswipe's aft, pushes the frontliner up toward Optimus. “If you don't, I will,” he challenges.
Optimus can hardly deny either of his Autobots. He leans in, grabs Sideswipe's mouth for a scorching kiss that mixes their glossa, before lining himself up at Sideswipe's valve. He pushes into the soaked channel, groaning as Sideswipe's valve flexes and clamps rhythmically around him. His spike pulses, charge already crackling within Sideswipe's valve and teasing him.
Trailbreaker's hand works between their bodies, rubbing his palm over Sideswipe's panel until his spike springs free and then wrapping his hand around it. Sideswipe shivers, his valve contracting around Optimus' spike, intensifying the sensation.
And then hands land on Optimus' back, fingers dipping into the seams in his plating and toying with the thick cables beneath. He doesn't have to look to know it's Hound, not when the scout ex-vents air in heated bursts against his back. His spike, repressurized and leaking transfluid, pokes at Optimus' legs, sliding along his thighs.
There's something erotic about the slick push of Hound's spike that makes Optimus' engine rev. The vibrations travel through him, transferring to his partner, and Sideswipe groans into the kiss, breaking free with a gasp and throwing his helm back against Trailbreaker's chestplate.
Optimus slides one hand around Sideswipe's right thigh for leverage and wraps the other around Sideswipe's spike, joining Trailbreaker's. Sideswipe arches between them, his high-performance engine audibly rumbling. And Hound reaches an arm around Optimus, all that he can manage, to tease fingers in the slats of his grill.
Well, Optimus thinks as the sound of metal scraping against metal and multiple moans filled the training room, this is one way to disperse the extra energy. And probably gain more in the process.
Hound's fingers drag back around Optimus' side, tapping his right thoracic port. “Mind if I...?”
Optimus' answer is to pop the panel open, unsurprised to find static already crackling outward. It's embarrassing how quickly he's cycling up to overload, but Sideswipe's valve is a deliciously slick slide and Trailbreaker's field hums with arousal and Hound's talented fingers keep painting paths of arousal over Optimus' frame. Optimus doesn't know if it's because he's usually not so inclined to interface or because today has been full of it, but to say he's not enjoying it would be a lie.
Hound's cable clicks home and Optimus moans as the scout's arousal burns across the link, flooding Optimus' systems. His hips snap forward, burying deeper into Sideswipe whose hands clutch onto his shoulders, fingers scrabbling for a grip.
Trailbreaker surges forward, squishing Sideswipe between them, and Optimus meets Trailbreaker halfway, their lips crashing in a heated kiss. Sideswipe squeaks between them, but doesn't protest, his valve squeezing down hard on Optimus, more lubricant gushing free, coating Optimus' pelvis and Sideswipe's own thighs.
“Primus,” Hound breathes, arms wrapped around Optimus from behind, his helm pressed to Optimus' backstrut. He's shaking, frame pressing against Optimus, need crackling along their length.
Optimus can only agree with Hound, moaning into Trailbreaker's mouth as Sideswipe writhes between them. His spike plunges into Sideswipe's valve, his fingers working in tandem with Trailbreaker's, until Sideswipe shouts, spike erupting in spurts of transfluid. His valve clamps down on Optimus' spike, milking it for all it's worth.
Optimus moans, fingers gripping Sideswipe's thigh to the tune of dented metal. He breaks away from the kiss with Trailbreaker to pant against the side of Sideswipe's helm, overload making him shake from helm to pede, flooding his link with Hound.
He hears the scout all but whimper behind him, arms tightening as he splatters over Optimus' thighs, adding to the mess.
Four heated, sated frames collapse forward, cooling fans desperately sucking in air. Hound drapes himself across Optimus' back, the vibrations of his frame almost ticklish against Optimus' plating.
“Primus,” Optimus murmurs, sloppily seeking out Sideswipe's mouth.
“Totally agree,” Sideswipe pants and nips at his lips before his glossa sweeps inside.
“We could always go again,” Hound says, his hands sliding down, coyly tracing where Sideswipe and Optimus are still joined.
“Or we could finish round one,” Trailbreaker suggests, and the heat blasting off his frame is testament to the fact he hasn't overloaded.
“I like the way he thinks,” Sideswipe says, pressing one last kiss to Optimus' mouth.
Optimus can't agree more, and after a moment of untangling limbs and cables, he and Sideswipe and Hound descend on Trailbreaker en masse. Hound claims his best friend's mouth, Sideswipe drops to his knees and swallows Trailbreaker to the hilt, and Optimus buries his hands in the tactician's substructure, mouth attacking Trailbreaker's shield generator.
It doesn't take long before Trailbreaker overloads with a roar, his field pulsing with bliss. He sags against the wall, cooling fans whirring to the same tune as everyone else's.
Sideswipe pulls back, smacking his lips and offering a cheeky grin. “I think that means round two is finished.” His fingers tease a seductive path down Trailbreaker's thigh. “Plenty of time for round three, yes?”
Optimus groans, though he's careful to keep his tone as playful as he meant it. “I am an old mech, Sideswipe. I haven't the energy.”
Hound snickers. “You don't give yourself enough credit, sir. After all, I don't know any one mech who can keep up with Sideswipe.”
“I'm trying to decide if I should be offended,” retorts the frontliner with a pout that is more seductive than disappointed.
“It depends on your point of view,” says Trailbreaker, dropping a hand down to Sideswipe's helm and caressing his sensor nubs. “For instance, I'm very appreciative of your talents.”
Sideswipe grins.
Optimus' comm chirps.
He politely excuses himself from the tangle of arms and legs as Sideswipe starts eying Hound all over again and discreetly snaps his panel closed. As he answers the call, Optimus looks down at himself, wondering if there's a single cloth in the world that can handle the mess on his thighs.
Another trip to the washracks perhaps? He's going to rust at this rate.
“Prime here,” Optimus says, checking the identifier and finding that it is the medbay. “Is something wrong, Ratchet?”
“Sorry, sir,” says Hoist's distinctive accent, “but Ratchet's on leave today.”
Is the entire senior command staff on leave today? First, Jazz and then Prowl and now Ratchet? Next thing Prime knows he won't be able to find Ironhide either.
“I see,” Optimus replies. “Well. My question stands. Is something wrong?”
Amusement enters Hoist's tone. “No. Though I was curious as to why you were late for your maintenance check.”
Confused, Optimus accesses his internal schedule. “I don't have a--” Optimus cycles his optics in surprise because, yes, there it is. He has a maintenance check scheduled for fifteen minutes ago.
He did not remember scheduling it, nor Ratchet badgering him into scheduling it, nor it being on his schedule this morning. Primus. He's going to have Hoist take a look at his memory core. Perhaps there is a glitch.
“My apologies, Hoist. I must have forgotten to set an appointment reminder. I will be there in five minutes.” He pauses, remembering the mess streaking his abdomen and thighs. “Actually, ten minutes would be better.”
“All right. See you then.”
Optimus ends the call and turns to give Trailbreaker, Sideswipe, and Hound his apologies, but they seem to have moved on without him.
“I see I won't be missed,” he comments dryly, and though part of him wants to dive back into that kinky threesome, he has an appointment to keep.
To the medbay it is.
****
a/n: Three more parts and an epilogue to come! :) I do hope you are still enjoying this fic, as cracky and occasionally OOC as it may be.
I am working on those Palooza prompts. I've written two and a half and I'll be posting those in a couple days along with writing more. I hope.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/246639.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.