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Prowl was overheating. He could feel his processor turning to mush. Each touch of his Prime’s servos felt like molten lava against his valve lips. Pure pressure forced them apart with each slick slide but never giving him the relief he wanted inside. A foreign presence brushed against his mind, whispering praises as he was held immobile and forced to take every touch his leader gave him. He felt boxed in, a wall of metal behind him forcing him to stay still and take the pleasure given. The wall of white and red in front gazed down, optics roving as he assessed every movement, cataloging every reaction but didn’t touch yet, just invaded his processor forcing Prowl still in another form of pleasure.
Ratchet gazed down at the pretty Praxian wings bobbing with each slide of Optimus’s digits playing against Prowl’s valve lips. He was plugged into the little tactician and could feel every sensor singing in delight at each motion. It took great focus for him to redirect the med link away from the tactile pleasure into the standard diagnostic tests instead.
Despite everything that had happened, Prowl was still quite adept at evading his assigned med bay appointments and it took the combined effort of the whole Cybertronian governing council to get their sweet sub to his doctors visits. From Ratchet’s understanding today’s adventure had involved many distractions from the twins, a full shoulder carry from Megatron, some suggestive mind manipulation from Soundwave, a lot of paperwork and petting by Starscream, and some weird spec ops vent crawling by Jazz to coordinate the whole thing. Ratchet was very much happy he got to stay in his med bay and reap the rewards of their hard work.
He wasn’t really all that upset about Prowl’s aversion to the med bay. The poor mech had every reason to not want to be in one. From what memories they’d recovered and the little he would talk about in therapy sessions it was clear that Prowl had been held against his will, his frame and processor taken from him in a med bay similar to those they’d had in war time. Ratchet and Starscream had therefore spared no expense in making sure that the Primal Palace med bay that Prowl was seen in resembled very little of a med bay at all. Instead of regular foldable berths, the secluded and lockable council med bay was more akin to one large nest of soft pillows. Maybe not as decadent as the one that Prowl slept in every night with Optimus and Megatron or whoever he felt safe with that night, but still filled with the best Ratchet could find that Starscream wouldn’t steal for himself and his trine’s own nest. All the medical appliances were sleek and top of the line, most covered in soft wrappings or other protective covers that made them unrecognizable. Every aspect of the med bay was meant to be soft and help encourage Prowl to relax despite his anxiety. Ratchet made sure his pretty Praxian knew the only thing he would experience while here was pleasure.
To do so he often invited mechs in to help soften Prowl out. Which led to now, with Optimus slowly working the ex-enforcer up. Clearly, he was looking to overload the smaller frame at least once before they moved on to the fun part. Poor Soundwave had been called away on some task with Megatron, and as this checkup was for his frame and not his processor, he’d had to leave their sub in the hands of others. Ratchet was sure he would come looking for the memory files later. In the meantime, Ratchet finished his scans of the outside of Prowl’s frame, cataloging rest cycles and minor wear and tear damage. Then he unplugged himself briefly to retrieve his and Optimus’ favorite part of Prowl’s decacycle checkup. He took one last appreciative look at the fluttering door wings before plugging back in. Locating the part of his processor that controlled Prowl’s every pleasure he quickly disabled the script that allowed Prowl to clench his valve calipers. The reaction was immediate, it was like every strut in Prowl’s frame followed the involuntary relaxation. He slumped back into the strong arms behind him and gazed up at Ratchet with pure trust as there was nothing else he could do, completely captive to his medic and Prime.
Ratchet slid the thin plug in.
It was thin, the width maybe the size of Prowl’s smallest digit. But it was long, reaching up up up, just enough to rest at the seal of his gestation forge. Prowl moaned as he felt it press up against the small ring. His valve lips felt puffy as they were held open by the tubing attached to it. His audials registered the soft chuckle that came from behind and his optics saw the small smile on his medic’s face but it all felt far away, like his processor was detached and all he could feel was the faint pleasure of his frame being filled.
Ratchet held up a small round ball and vaguely Prowl knew it was attached to the tubing going into him. Ratchet's servo squeezed, one, two, three. Prowl moaned again, louder as he felt the plug in him expanding, widening and filling up his relaxed valve. Ratchet kept going. Each squeeze was met with a stroke on his node from the frame behind him. It kept going and going, both mechs working in tandem to wring out overload after overload from him. No reprieve as he laid there trembling, no control over his frame except to experience the pleasure they were giving him.
The world faded around him, the wash of Ratchet reading off numbers and Prime whispering praises. It all narrowed down to the pressure against his walls, his gestation forge being pressed up, his expanded abdomen, armor bulging to accommodate the extended form. Everything felt too much as his node was stroked, pleasure washed over him once more and he was lost in the tidal wave.
He awoke later not knowing how much time had passed. His HUD was as empty as his processor. He felt two warm frames curled up around him, his valve was stretched, but not as much as before. The new plug was big but not uncomfortable, a nice filling presence that kept him drowsy and pleased. The warm ache grounded him in the soft med bay and Prowl knew he was safe and protected.