[G1] Apple a Day 16 - All the Right Reasons
a/n: Update! Short and sweet and NSFW. Enjoy!
Title: All the Right Reasons
Universe: Apple a Day, G1
Characters: ProwlxWheeljack
Rating: M
Warnings: plug 'n play and tactile smut
Description: Wheeljack asks a question and Prowl has all the right answers.
“Why did you say yes?”
Prowl stirs from a dozing state, resurfacing to the soft question accompanied by an even softer pulse of blue. “Hmm?”
Wheeljack strokes a hand down the plane of one door wing and fiddles with the outer handle. “When I came to you in your office that night. What made you say yes?”
He onlines his optics and looks down at his lover. There's nothing in Wheeljack's field to indicate distress, merely curiosity. “You mean, other than the fact that I wished to?”
Happiness bleeds into Wheeljack's field and it tingles in a nice rhythm against Prowl's own. “Yeah. Because it's not like you were harboring a secret crush on me or anything.”
“True,” Prowl admits and is doubly relieved when Wheeljack doesn't immediately take this as an insult or a disappointment. “But only because I never allowed myself to consider anyone. However, when you asked, I found myself interested.”
“And now?”
“I am even more so.”
“Why?”
Prowl tilts his helm, reading something in the base of Wheeljack's field that he can't quite name. “You are surprised I would desire you?”
Wheeljack shrugs. “I'm no Sideswipe or Sunstreaker.” He pauses and his optics brighten with humor. “Or Jazz for that matter.”
“It is not about looks. Well, not only.” It is Prowl's turn to offer a smile, as sincere a reassurance as any words can be. “I find your frame appealing, but it is your mind that truly fascinates. I work in straight lines and hard facts. You seem to reach into an ether I can never hope to fathom.”
Wheeljack's indicators glow a rosy hue at him, an approximation of a blush that he'd picked up from the humans social algorithms. “You mean that my head is in the clouds more often than not.”
“I did not say it was a bad thing. You have dreams where I find it difficult to see beyond realities.”
“So I'm logically the illogical one for you?”
Prowl chuckles and presses a kiss to Wheeljack's chestplate. It is a brush of his lips over a lingering scrape in the paint. “If you must define it so. Why the sudden curiosity?”
Wheeljack rolls his shoulders. His tires scrape the berth. “I'm a scientist. It's what I do. Theorize, hypothesize, test. And the results are improbable. Seventy-five percent success? It boggles the processor!”
Prowl cycles his optics and it takes him a moment to connect the threads of Wheeljack's thought patterns. “It is a lucky outcome. Except, perhaps, for Skyfire.”
“Tell me about it. You wouldn't happen to know...?”
“I do not. You would be better asking Jazz or someone fully tapped into the gossiping network.” Prowl pauses and tilts his helm. “Or even Red Alert.”
Wheeljack snickers. “Red Alert sees all. Even things he shouldn't.”
“Indeed.”
Prowl settles as Wheeljack's soft stroking continues, a motion meant to be soothing, but stirs other desires now that Prowl is no longer attempting to initiate recharge. He hums, pushing one panel further into Wheeljack's hand.
“Oh, dear,” the engineer says with a sly tone. “I seem to have started something I'm gonna have to finish.”
“Unless you prefer to be branded a tease.”
Wheeljack chuckles. “We can't have that.”
His other hand comes into play, mapping the planes of Prowl's panels with expert precision. Pleasure suffuses his frame as his spark spinns at a gradually faster rate. A slow and steady overload sounds rather appealing right now, though he'll take whatever comes.
Simply being in Wheeljack's presence, he's learned, fills him with happiness. They have more in common than anyone could have expected and Prowl is ever grateful that Wheeljack had taken that first step. Otherwise he might have never seen the engineer for the mech he is.
One hand finds a hinge and Prowl all but purrs, arching against Wheeljack beneath him. They are of a size, though Prowl carries the greater mass, and he enjoys that similarity between them.
Prowl tilts his panels so that Wheeljack can reach them better and draws up his knees so that he straddles Wheeljack's hips. His own hands brace against Wheeljack's ventral plating and his thumbs sweep the curved glass of his windshield, teasing the narrow gap where it rests against his plating.
Wheeljack shivers, his armor loosening to both grant Prowl access and ease the pressure of building heat. “And what are ya lookin' for tonight, Prowl? Fast and hard or slow and steady?”
His fingers continue stroking the smooth glass though he shifts his weight and leans forward to allow his glossa to trace the stark lines of red and green. “One and then perhaps the other.”
Wheeljack's indicators pulse a soft rose. “That could take all night.”
“And yet you will hear no complaint from me.” Provided his frame does not protest. Sometimes Prowl begins with the intention of many things, but exhaustion wins out.
The brightness of Wheeljack's optics suggest a grin would have been hiding behind his mask, were it not permanently affixed. “Wasn't either. Just giving fair warning.”
One of his hands slips lower and the Prowl hears the tiniest of transformation clicks before slim manipulators slip between the narrow crevices of his armor plating and tease the sensory nodes beneath. Prowl shivers. The lazy heat builds to a slow crescendo. His cooling fans click on with a quiet purr that rumbles his frame and Wheeljack's by proxy.
“I appreciate your consideration.” Prowl's mouth wanders further up. He discovers the sensitive column of Wheeljack's intake as his lover tips back his helm.
Wheeljack intakes sharply, the low moan vibrating against Prowl's lips. “And I appreciate your attention to detail.”
Prowl hums low in his chassis and sets his hands free, mapping out every line of paint on Wheeljack's frame that is within reach. His fingers draw arcs of charge that snap against his own plating and sets his system aflame. Wheeljack's manipulators are also wreaking havoc on his sensory net, firing off burst after burst of pleasure directly into his systems.
Prowl shudders from helm to pede, his sensory panels flicking in tight circles. He ex-vents hot air bursts against Wheeljack's intake, denta nibbling on the sensitive metal.
Wheeljack moans and rolls beneath him. Their plating slides together in a stirring rub of metal on metal. “Plug into me,” he gasps out, as desperate a plea as Prowl has ever heard him give. It is accompanied by the loud snap of a panel popping mere inches from Prowl's hand. Wheeljack's ports spit eager charge into the air.
Prowl absolutely does not fumble for his cables, drawing them out with jerky movements that betray his eagerness. Every time, he thinks with an internal shiver. Every time is better than the one before and he nudges his jack against Wheeljacks' port, bracing himself for the onslaught of pleasure.
He is not disappointed.
Prowl's cable clicks home and their connection snaps into place with an almost painful need. He moans and buries his face in Wheeljack's throat. He presses himself down harder on Wheeljack as the pleasure ping-pongs between them.
Wheeljack's arms wrap around him, an almost crushing embrace. His engine is revving, vibrating Prowl and the entire berth, and Prowl's engine cycles up to answer it.
Wheeljack moans his designation, drawing out the final glyph in a rolling purr that makes Prowl's spark throb with want. He's close, can feel the overload hovering on the horizon, and Prowl gathers up every ounce of charge and throws it across the connection. If he's going down, Wheeljack is coming with him.
He picks up a startled sound from his partner and then Wheeljack squeezes tight, helm thrown back as he shouts in overload. Heat pulses between them to the steady beat of pleasure and the backlash throws Prowl over the edge.
His vision goes white, his audials hear nothing but the roar of fans, and overload rips through him with all the force of an energon prod to the sensor nexus. Prowl ex-vents in a burst and goes limp atop Wheeljack, enjoying the lingering bursts of pleasure that pepper his lines.
Very nice.
Beneath him, Wheeljack stirs and loosens his embrace. He does not, however, disconnect them, and the light exchange of satisfaction between them is very welcome.
“Mmm.” Wheeljack presses a palm to Prowl's back, just below the joint of his sensory panels. “Now that's what I call appreciation.”
Prowl chuckles. “Indeed. One might even say it is a good reason to indulge in some recharge.”
“Oh? Was I keeping you from your beauty sleep?”
“You are incorrigible.” Prowl tilts his helm, looking into the optics of his unapologetic partner.
“You gonna punishment me for it?” Wheeljack's tone is positively wicked, despite the echoes of overload still simmering through their lines.
“Insatiable, too.”
“I didn't know that was a crime.”
“It is not.” Prowl lays his helm on Wheeljack's chestplate once more, audials tuning in to the familiar and rhythmic beat of Wheeljack's spark. “But if you do not allow me to recharge now, I will be most unpleasant for the course of my shift.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Wheeljack's field, however, registers nothing but fond amusement. “Should we disconnect?”
Prowl tests the light stream of data and finds it quite comfortable. “If it causes you discomfort, yes. If it does not, then leave it be.”
Wheeljack's purr of approval hits all the right notes. “It's good for now.”
Yes, Prowl thinks, already drowsily sliding toward recharge. It is very good.
****
a/n: More updates to come, I promise. And a return to the RatchetxTwins interaction we all want.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/285337.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: All the Right Reasons
Universe: Apple a Day, G1
Characters: ProwlxWheeljack
Rating: M
Warnings: plug 'n play and tactile smut
Description: Wheeljack asks a question and Prowl has all the right answers.
“Why did you say yes?”
Prowl stirs from a dozing state, resurfacing to the soft question accompanied by an even softer pulse of blue. “Hmm?”
Wheeljack strokes a hand down the plane of one door wing and fiddles with the outer handle. “When I came to you in your office that night. What made you say yes?”
He onlines his optics and looks down at his lover. There's nothing in Wheeljack's field to indicate distress, merely curiosity. “You mean, other than the fact that I wished to?”
Happiness bleeds into Wheeljack's field and it tingles in a nice rhythm against Prowl's own. “Yeah. Because it's not like you were harboring a secret crush on me or anything.”
“True,” Prowl admits and is doubly relieved when Wheeljack doesn't immediately take this as an insult or a disappointment. “But only because I never allowed myself to consider anyone. However, when you asked, I found myself interested.”
“And now?”
“I am even more so.”
“Why?”
Prowl tilts his helm, reading something in the base of Wheeljack's field that he can't quite name. “You are surprised I would desire you?”
Wheeljack shrugs. “I'm no Sideswipe or Sunstreaker.” He pauses and his optics brighten with humor. “Or Jazz for that matter.”
“It is not about looks. Well, not only.” It is Prowl's turn to offer a smile, as sincere a reassurance as any words can be. “I find your frame appealing, but it is your mind that truly fascinates. I work in straight lines and hard facts. You seem to reach into an ether I can never hope to fathom.”
Wheeljack's indicators glow a rosy hue at him, an approximation of a blush that he'd picked up from the humans social algorithms. “You mean that my head is in the clouds more often than not.”
“I did not say it was a bad thing. You have dreams where I find it difficult to see beyond realities.”
“So I'm logically the illogical one for you?”
Prowl chuckles and presses a kiss to Wheeljack's chestplate. It is a brush of his lips over a lingering scrape in the paint. “If you must define it so. Why the sudden curiosity?”
Wheeljack rolls his shoulders. His tires scrape the berth. “I'm a scientist. It's what I do. Theorize, hypothesize, test. And the results are improbable. Seventy-five percent success? It boggles the processor!”
Prowl cycles his optics and it takes him a moment to connect the threads of Wheeljack's thought patterns. “It is a lucky outcome. Except, perhaps, for Skyfire.”
“Tell me about it. You wouldn't happen to know...?”
“I do not. You would be better asking Jazz or someone fully tapped into the gossiping network.” Prowl pauses and tilts his helm. “Or even Red Alert.”
Wheeljack snickers. “Red Alert sees all. Even things he shouldn't.”
“Indeed.”
Prowl settles as Wheeljack's soft stroking continues, a motion meant to be soothing, but stirs other desires now that Prowl is no longer attempting to initiate recharge. He hums, pushing one panel further into Wheeljack's hand.
“Oh, dear,” the engineer says with a sly tone. “I seem to have started something I'm gonna have to finish.”
“Unless you prefer to be branded a tease.”
Wheeljack chuckles. “We can't have that.”
His other hand comes into play, mapping the planes of Prowl's panels with expert precision. Pleasure suffuses his frame as his spark spinns at a gradually faster rate. A slow and steady overload sounds rather appealing right now, though he'll take whatever comes.
Simply being in Wheeljack's presence, he's learned, fills him with happiness. They have more in common than anyone could have expected and Prowl is ever grateful that Wheeljack had taken that first step. Otherwise he might have never seen the engineer for the mech he is.
One hand finds a hinge and Prowl all but purrs, arching against Wheeljack beneath him. They are of a size, though Prowl carries the greater mass, and he enjoys that similarity between them.
Prowl tilts his panels so that Wheeljack can reach them better and draws up his knees so that he straddles Wheeljack's hips. His own hands brace against Wheeljack's ventral plating and his thumbs sweep the curved glass of his windshield, teasing the narrow gap where it rests against his plating.
Wheeljack shivers, his armor loosening to both grant Prowl access and ease the pressure of building heat. “And what are ya lookin' for tonight, Prowl? Fast and hard or slow and steady?”
His fingers continue stroking the smooth glass though he shifts his weight and leans forward to allow his glossa to trace the stark lines of red and green. “One and then perhaps the other.”
Wheeljack's indicators pulse a soft rose. “That could take all night.”
“And yet you will hear no complaint from me.” Provided his frame does not protest. Sometimes Prowl begins with the intention of many things, but exhaustion wins out.
The brightness of Wheeljack's optics suggest a grin would have been hiding behind his mask, were it not permanently affixed. “Wasn't either. Just giving fair warning.”
One of his hands slips lower and the Prowl hears the tiniest of transformation clicks before slim manipulators slip between the narrow crevices of his armor plating and tease the sensory nodes beneath. Prowl shivers. The lazy heat builds to a slow crescendo. His cooling fans click on with a quiet purr that rumbles his frame and Wheeljack's by proxy.
“I appreciate your consideration.” Prowl's mouth wanders further up. He discovers the sensitive column of Wheeljack's intake as his lover tips back his helm.
Wheeljack intakes sharply, the low moan vibrating against Prowl's lips. “And I appreciate your attention to detail.”
Prowl hums low in his chassis and sets his hands free, mapping out every line of paint on Wheeljack's frame that is within reach. His fingers draw arcs of charge that snap against his own plating and sets his system aflame. Wheeljack's manipulators are also wreaking havoc on his sensory net, firing off burst after burst of pleasure directly into his systems.
Prowl shudders from helm to pede, his sensory panels flicking in tight circles. He ex-vents hot air bursts against Wheeljack's intake, denta nibbling on the sensitive metal.
Wheeljack moans and rolls beneath him. Their plating slides together in a stirring rub of metal on metal. “Plug into me,” he gasps out, as desperate a plea as Prowl has ever heard him give. It is accompanied by the loud snap of a panel popping mere inches from Prowl's hand. Wheeljack's ports spit eager charge into the air.
Prowl absolutely does not fumble for his cables, drawing them out with jerky movements that betray his eagerness. Every time, he thinks with an internal shiver. Every time is better than the one before and he nudges his jack against Wheeljacks' port, bracing himself for the onslaught of pleasure.
He is not disappointed.
Prowl's cable clicks home and their connection snaps into place with an almost painful need. He moans and buries his face in Wheeljack's throat. He presses himself down harder on Wheeljack as the pleasure ping-pongs between them.
Wheeljack's arms wrap around him, an almost crushing embrace. His engine is revving, vibrating Prowl and the entire berth, and Prowl's engine cycles up to answer it.
Wheeljack moans his designation, drawing out the final glyph in a rolling purr that makes Prowl's spark throb with want. He's close, can feel the overload hovering on the horizon, and Prowl gathers up every ounce of charge and throws it across the connection. If he's going down, Wheeljack is coming with him.
He picks up a startled sound from his partner and then Wheeljack squeezes tight, helm thrown back as he shouts in overload. Heat pulses between them to the steady beat of pleasure and the backlash throws Prowl over the edge.
His vision goes white, his audials hear nothing but the roar of fans, and overload rips through him with all the force of an energon prod to the sensor nexus. Prowl ex-vents in a burst and goes limp atop Wheeljack, enjoying the lingering bursts of pleasure that pepper his lines.
Very nice.
Beneath him, Wheeljack stirs and loosens his embrace. He does not, however, disconnect them, and the light exchange of satisfaction between them is very welcome.
“Mmm.” Wheeljack presses a palm to Prowl's back, just below the joint of his sensory panels. “Now that's what I call appreciation.”
Prowl chuckles. “Indeed. One might even say it is a good reason to indulge in some recharge.”
“Oh? Was I keeping you from your beauty sleep?”
“You are incorrigible.” Prowl tilts his helm, looking into the optics of his unapologetic partner.
“You gonna punishment me for it?” Wheeljack's tone is positively wicked, despite the echoes of overload still simmering through their lines.
“Insatiable, too.”
“I didn't know that was a crime.”
“It is not.” Prowl lays his helm on Wheeljack's chestplate once more, audials tuning in to the familiar and rhythmic beat of Wheeljack's spark. “But if you do not allow me to recharge now, I will be most unpleasant for the course of my shift.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Wheeljack's field, however, registers nothing but fond amusement. “Should we disconnect?”
Prowl tests the light stream of data and finds it quite comfortable. “If it causes you discomfort, yes. If it does not, then leave it be.”
Wheeljack's purr of approval hits all the right notes. “It's good for now.”
Yes, Prowl thinks, already drowsily sliding toward recharge. It is very good.
****
a/n: More updates to come, I promise. And a return to the RatchetxTwins interaction we all want.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/285337.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.