I've been wanting to do this for a while...
So... I'm off and kid-free tomorrow...
I don't think I have much planned in the afternoon. My muses are lazing about, though they can get moving with motivation. So.... motivation?
Request a character/pairing and a prompt and I will drabble for you...
Requests are open until later tonight, either when I decide I have enough, or before I go to bed. I ( Read more... )
I don't think I have much planned in the afternoon. My muses are lazing about, though they can get moving with motivation. So.... motivation?
Request a character/pairing and a prompt and I will drabble for you...
Requests are open until later tonight, either when I decide I have enough, or before I go to bed. I ( Read more... )
Prowl knew that Sideswipe would be the first to admit that he was not the most graceful mech. The red twin could move, but only when it came to fighting. He couldn't turn a step on the dance floor, and he lumbered rather than walked. So, Prowl didn't take immediate note of the warrior's awkward stance, or the way he swung his arms away from his chest.
Then he caught the distinct aroma of new paint, and he turned to look around the room, trying to find the source for that sharp, sweet scent.
That was when he took note of Sideswipe's posture, and the odd gleam of his paint. Rather than reflect the light like normal, it seemed to absorb the light rather than truly reflect it as it should.
Prowl's focus centered on that red chest plate, and he'd took the first few steps over to the table where Sideswipe stood talking to his seated friends. But Prowl didn't even have a chance to touch the mech before the black head whipped about and the blue optics blinked inquisitively at Prowl.
“My office,” Prowl snapped with all the authority he could muster over the cranking of his engine. He turned on his heel and strode out of the rec room, failing to even pick up the cube he'd come for in the first place.
He would get it later, he wasn't that depleted, only trying to top off. He had something more important to attend to first.
Sideswipe had a fresh coat of paint.
Prowl loved the feel of wet paint under his fingers, and the something about the smell and the way it broke down in his chemical receptors drove him absolutely crazy.
Sideswipe strode into the office, although, strode may not be the right word for it. He couldn't exactly stride with his arms held out like that, and his knees bent, leaving him swaggering like some character from those 'spaghetti westerns' Ratchet liked so much.
The warrior had a look of resignation about him, even in the energy signature that pulsed against Prowl's sensors. He circumvented the desk to stand directely in front of the officer.
Prowl allowed a triumphant smile on his face. He kept it small, though, determined not to gloat over his victory.
Sideswipe waited (im)patiently, and when Prowl still hadn't moved after two breem, Sideswipe's patience came to an end. “Fraggit Prowl, get it over with so I can go get it fixed. I'm supposed to be presentable. And Ratchet's going to need an extra cycle to yell at me because you mussed my paint.”
Prowl tilted his head, and lifted his brow ridge. “Well, if you insist.” He stood and closed the distance between them.
Sideswipe vented a sigh, and pressed his lips together, his mouth pressed together into an expression of intense long-suffering and he tilted his head to the side. Waiting, once more.
Prowl's hands hovered just that torturous half a micron away from the other mech's chest. His doorwings adjusted for his balance as he leaned forward and rubbed his mouth against Sideswipe's cheekseam.
The warrior glanced down, and his bored face softened into the barest hint of a smile.
Prowl lifted his doorwings, acknowledging that smile. He brushed his fingers over Sideswipe's chest, fascinated with the design left behind in the paint. He traced idle circles and lazy squares over the red chest plate. Geometric shapes of complex, mathematical beauty. He lay his hand on the white paint of Sideswipe's torso and carefully removed it, leaving a perfect handprint.
This time the smile came unbidden, and Prowl revved his engine, optic’s bright.
By the time Sideswipe walked out of Prowl’s office, his once fresh coat of paint had been ruined with white hand prints on his red chest, and red smears along his white thighs. Prowl’s normally pristine white hands had been coated in a thick layer of red, that disturbed any who saw him on his way to the washrack.
And for all of Sideswipe’s whining about having to go back to Ratchet and Grapple, no one could miss the smell of ozone around him, or the spring in his step. No more than they could they miss the pair of perfect white hand prints on his aft.
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