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He was doomed. Yes… very doomed. Prowl had been captured by the Decepticons. This near impossible occurrence should have signaled the end of the world via enraged bondmate, a.k.a. Jazz, but his beloved had been put out of commission early in the battle by Motormaster. What was worse was that Prowl had not even been out on the field! He had been overseeing the skirmish in the Comms Tower, giving relevant tactical advice as the ever-changing data spilled out on the screens overhead. Then, everything went black.
When Prowl woke he was in the Decepticon brig.
His first instinct had been to protect his unemerged sparkling, its development had progressed to the point of showing as a small, adorable bump just under his grill. This bump had received much attention in the previous decacycles, as every Autobot seemed enamored with touching the soft reminder of the hope they all fought for, the future. Now however, his badge of creatorhood was nothing but a neon sign to tell the ‘Cons where to threaten to extract the most compliance from the stoic, impossible to crack, tactician.
It therefore came as a near crash-inducing shock when Soundwave declared him off limits for torture of any kind, and Megatron actually supported him. It was less of a surprise when the Seekers volunteered to guard him, they were well known for protective coding over sparklings and carriers.
After some thought though, it occurred to Prowl exactly why Megatron was so eager to keep his creation safe. The Autobots would pay dearly, very dearly, for his safe return under normal circumstances, but throw the guaranteed safety of the sparkling into the mix… the Autobots would give in to any request for that.
Now, just because his survival and his child’s safety were assured did not mean that he would be left unmolested. All Cybertronians were aware of the energy requirements of a carrier and the Decepticons were most willing to take advantage of that. The Seekers oversaw every encounter to ensure there was no damage during the ‘interfacial stimulation’ sessions, but the sexual violation was never forbidden. There were many ‘Cons who bore grudges against the ‘Bot SIC and they all made sure to get in some time to express their displeasure. Fortunately, physical interfacing for Cybertronians bore none of the psychological attachments that it did for humans, otherwise the Praxian would have been an emotional mess. Instead, it was perceived as the equivalent of someone invading one’s personal space for a little too long, and Prowl’s coding actually took it a step further by interpreting it as willing energy donors for the hungry sparklet.
Prowl’s logic center presented him with the irony of the Decepticons intending to ‘rape’ him, but instead serving as convenient energy sources to strengthen his creation. He chuckled, but not out loud. Not when Motormaster, the very dipstick who had so badly injured his sparkmate, was eagerly providing a transfusion. The mech had been grunting and groaning for some time now, liberally interspersed with comments on Jazz’s lack of prowess and the semi’s own superiority. Puh-lease, Prowl was not impressed, his first awkward attempts at intimacy with his beloved had been more stimulating. Although the current lack of sensation, pleasant or otherwise, could probably be attributed to the siphoning effect of his valve’s current configuration. When the mech overloaded, not ten kliks after starting, Prowl was not even remotely charged. The large semi left sated, but left behind a displeased Praxian. You did not leave a carrier hanging, even if one’s interfacing prowess could be compared to that of a rock, no, you indulged the sparked mech until his coding said you had satisfied him.
_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_
Three gestalts, six trines of Seekers, eleven grounders, and one Shockwave later, the Decepticons finally figured out that Prowl was not getting a charge.
Then it became a game.
The Seeker guards set up a betting table with Swindle presiding and a refreshments booth for the exhausted mecha to refuel at. The ‘Cons took turns signing up for time slots with the Praxian, then waiting for the bets to be gathered before going in with many declarations of how they would be the one to make the fool Tactician overload.
_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_
As time passed, none of the purpled-marked mecha seemed to notice that their energy levels were flagging despite how much energon they were consuming.
The mechs who passed out from the extreme energy drain were laughed at as ‘inferior’ and the fun went on.
_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_
Eventually the officers were dragged into the games, the soldiers citing the superiority of their superiors as being the touch needed to send the stubborn Praxian over the edge. And no, none of them noticed the horrible redundancy of their own statements as they were so depleted that most of their speech was reflecting this pattern.
_-*-_..._-*-_..._-*-_
“Prahm! We got ah incomin’ call from tha Decepticons!” came Ironhide’s voice over the intercom.
Optimus and Jazz had been pacing in his office waiting for Megatron to call with his demands for the return of their SIC and his precious package. The usual time frame for a negotiation opener was about twelve joors… it had been one orn, fifteen joors, and fifty-seven kliks. Needless to say, the two officers had been imagining a multitude of horrible tortures that could have been enacted in this time and were very close to calling for an all out assault to retrieve their missing mech.
Ironhide’s announcement was therefore, extremely welcome, if not relieving, and the two worried mechs hightailed it to the Comm Center as fast as their pedes could take them. They skidded in and composed themselves, then motioned to the red weapons expert to open the line.
It was not the personage they were expecting.
A supremely displeased, irate Praxian stared at them from the Decepticon Command Center. They all froze at the odd sight for a klik and when Jazz managed to shake it off, he asked the questions that were on all of their processors. “Prowler! Luv, how didja escape?! Where are tha ‘Cons?”
The tirade that spewed from the carrying Praxian’s vocalizer would have made magma seem cold in comparison. Most of it was largely unintelligible, but the few comprehensible comments made it clear enough what happened.
“Those, mumble mumble growl snarl, worthless, grind snarl snort mumble, wouldn’t know a proper interface if it snuck up behind them and rammed them in the aft port, growl mumble mumble grind snort, toys give a better charge, grumble growl snarl…”
And so it went, at least until the unhappy Tactician realized the entire assembly of mecha was dying of laughter.
Prowl drew himself up and issued a few concise statements. “The Decepticons are indisposed, I am raising the flight tower, send Skyfire to retrieve me immediately. And Jazz, prepare the highgrade, the polishing kit, and all the facing toys we possess. Oh, and it would probably be prudent for you to remove yourself from the roster for at least the next three orns, these Philistines have no idea how to properly stimulate a carrier and I have had the most annoying light buzz for joors now.”
Jazz snickered and complied, more than willing to have his mate safely back in his arms where he belonged.
[END]