Archive of Our Own

It took three days to decide on the movie. An entire day to whittle down the snack list from “I dunno, just get whatever” to something that actually made sense. Two incredibly frustrating hours getting everyone to the store, picking out what they wanted, paying for it while the mech at the counter quivered in fear, and getting back home without breaking anything. Twenty minutes arranging everyone on the couch so as to avoid kibble poking anyone in unfortunate places.

And about five minutes for the entire thing to devolve from cuddling-by-necessity, to heavy petting, to Prowl splayed across Long Haul with Hook’s glossa in his valve.

Prowl panted and squirmed, not sure -- in the haze of arousal coming from both within and without, -- if he was trying to get closer to that glossa or further away. A low rumble echoed in his audial as his movement brought him in closer contact with Bonecrusher, kneeling next to his helm, leaking spike gripped in one massive servo.

“If Hook hadn’t moved so quick I’d be givin’ you some of this. You’d like that, huh,” the Constructicon leaned down to growl, and Prowl’s processor bloomed with images of the huge mech between his thighs, cord pumping in and out. Bonecrusher grinned and dragged a thumb across Prowl’s lower lip. “There’s always later though.”

Later…. It was almost too much to think about, caught up as he was in the now. Nevertheless, Prowl’s spike jumped at the thought and calipers cycled down, drawing a moan from Hook.

Roving servos traced a line from doorwing to spike, and Scavenger’s face swam into view. The shy, unspoken question of permission floated across the gestalt bond, and a small nod from Prowl was all it took before Scavenger’s mouth closed hot and wet over the tip of the smaller mech’s cord.

{{-you taste so good-}}

Mixmaster’s servos replaced Scavenger’s on his doorwings, digits moving in teasing patterns that crackled charge across Prowl’s frame. Down the dorsal joint they went, massaging at each seam, then up and across the span of the door itself, ending in a light scrape along the edge.

“A-aah --” Prowl bit his lip to stifle himself and Long Haul’s engine revved beneath him, sending vibrations through his frame down into the spike stuffed in Scavenger’s mouth and the valve trembling around Hook’s glossa.

Slick heat wrapped around his cord as Scavenger, optics offlined in bliss, took Prowl to the hilt and back again, intake working as he swallowed prefluid. The tip of Hook’s glossa brushed Prowl’s ceiling node and he jerked in Long Haul’s grip, hooking a leg around the back of the medic’s helm and drawing him closer to grind down on his mouth.

{{You like that?}}

{{He loves it.}}

{{-we love you-}}

{{-adore you-}}

{{-you’re perfect-}}

{{-we’ll give you anything you want-}}

{{-everything-}}

{{-whatever you want-}}

{{-tell us what you want-}}

{{-what do you want?-}}

{{-more-}}

He’d never say it out loud. But in the closeness of the gestalt bond, where they were six-as-one, they were his gestalt, and he was their leader, their boss, their head.

And they raced to obey.

Bonecrusher’s engine roared as he shoved Hook away and mounted Prowl, his thick spike plunging past swollen petals to slam home as Prowl arched beneath him, servos coming up to claw at his shoulders in ecstasy.

{{-share-}}

Prowl could have almost laughed at the petulance in Mixmaster’s gestalt-voice if it wasn’t for the servos suddenly clutching his chest grill as the Constructicon straddled his waist and sank down until the tip of Prowl’s spike brushed the petals of Mixmaster’s valve. He groaned at the feeling of his cord slowly pushing past lubricant-slicked mesh until the larger mech was impaled, helm thrown back, riding him.

{{See? Whatever you want.}}

Rough servos gripped Prowl’s hips, adjusting his angle, and he froze, calipers clenching down hard as a second spike nudged at his entrance.

“C’mon, Prowl,” Long Haul whispered from underneath him. {{You can take it.}}

{{-can’t-}} A whine edged up from his throat as the mech’s cord persisted, slipping in slightly as Bonecrusher drew out.

{{You can do it. You can do anything. You’re Prowl.}}

Bonecrusher pushed Prowl’s legs further apart, and he gasped as both spikes started to push in. He wanted it. They were too big but he wanted it, but it would be too much, it would hurt --

{{-it’s okay-}}

Reassurance flooded the gestalt bond.

{{-let us make you feel good-}}

Scavenger leaned down, concern and delight showing in equal parts on his face.

{{-it’ll be so good, I promise-}}

{{-it’s all for you-}}

Prowl moaned as Scavenger kissed him, mouth still tangy with the taste of his own spike. The Constructicon’s glossa flicked out against his lips, and Prowl reached a servo behind his helm, pulling him closer, crying out against his mouth as Bonecrusher and Long Haul finally reached their rhythm. He was so full now, stuffed to the brim with two Constructicons inside him and all five of them surrounding him in the gestalt bond, every circuit of their being tuned to the same goal.

{{Hey.}}

A touch at Prowl’s dataport drew his attention, and he looked down to see Hook, cable in servo.

{{-yes-}}

The sound of his cover whisking aside was drowned out by the clang of metal and the roar of cooling fans, but the click of it connecting echoed loud inside his own head. Pleasure raced across the link, bombarding him from within while the other four assailed him from without.

The first to break was Long Haul, his servos tightening on Prowl’s hips as transfluid jetted from his spike, flooding Prowl’s valve.

“Mmh!” Prowl’s legs shook in Bonecrusher’s grip as Long Haul made a few shallow thrusts before pulling out, and Bonecrusher was right there, spike pushing in before any transfluid could spill out.

{{-full-}}

“Mmm.” Scavenger nuzzled Prowl’s helm, his approval humming in the bond. “You’re perfect.”

{{-perfect-}}

{{-so perfect-}}

A pulse of sheer arousal shot across his link with Hook, and Prowl’s valve calipers cycled hard around Bonecrusher’s spike, pushing him into over the edge. Growling, the Constructicon continued to pound into Prowl’s valve, through his own overload, as his transfluid mixed with Long Haul’s.

And finally, finally, finally, Prowl howled in release as his valve clenched down on Bonecrusher while transfluid shot from his spike in thick ropes inside Mixmaster. Panting, Mixmaster gingerly slumped down on top of Prowl, valve still twitching around the smaller mech’s depressurizing spike.

Gently, Scavenger stroked Prowl’s faceplates and leaned down to lap up Mixmaster’s transfluid dotting Prowl’s chest. Lifting an arm from where it had fallen to rest on Long Haul, Prowl reached around to rub Scavenger’s back.

The sound of cooling fans slowly wound down to a gentle hum as the Constructicons shifted until they were all nestled comfortably around Prowl.

{{-perfect-}}

And in the background, the hushed tones of the movie continued to play.