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Tarantulas hadn't stopped touching him since he said yes. His large, alien paws lay heavy on Prowl's shoulders as he steered him through the winding corridors of the Tor, they slid down his arms to tenderly push him down onto a plain, backless bench , they grasped his hands in the gentlest hold as Tarantulas pressed close, wrapped around him in an encompassing embrace. Prowl shivered, but let his head be nudged to the side so Tarantulas could nuzzle his neck.
“Tarantulas…” With his hands still caught in Tarantulas’, Prowl felt uncomfortably restrained. “I understood this agreement to mean I would be able to come and go at will. Why are you still keeping me captive?”
“So impatient, Prowl,” Tarantulas cooed, releasing Prowl's hands to run claws up and down the seams of his torso instead. “I'll let you leave, but as my sources tell it, you're a wanted bot on Cybertron. You have an untraceable hiding place right here, with full access to all my toys to play with.” Tarantulas lifted one paw to gently tilt Prowl’s chin back. Their optics met. “Stay awhile. I'll take good care of you.”
Prowl frowned unhappily. His own discomfort aside, the logic was sound. There was no sensible reason to rush back into Starscream's custody, to face Optimus’ anger, without a plan or resources - the exact resources that Tarantulas could give him. No reason, except that he knew exactly what Tarantulas wanted, and the absolute certainty that if he stayed, it would happen. Prowl did not examine why the thought made his fuel pump lurch in his chest. He wouldn’t like what he found.
“You're... right,” he said, pushing his reluctance aside. His personal feelings did not outweigh the benefits.
Tarantulas’ arms tightened around him almost giddily. “I'm very glad you think so, Prowl. I've so looked forward to having you all to myself like this…” His voice lowered, thick with meaning, sending shivers down Prowl's spine.
“I don't think giving me a hug is what you've been looking forward to,” he said quietly, reaching to run hesitant fingers through the thick fur of Tarantulas’ arm.
Tarantulas’ shifted restlessly around him. His mandibles, pressed to the side of Prowl's head, quivered. “Should I want something more, Prowl…?”
“Get on with it, Tarantulas. No waiting games.”
Tarantulas tsked, but began to move, shifting Prowl's limbs gently around until they were face to face - or rather, Tarantulas’ face to Prowl's abdomen. Paws teased and rubbed at seams, adoring every inch of plating within reach.
“Why such a hurry, Prowl? We have all the time in the world.”
“I'm not in a hurry, I’m being practical. You have what you want, Tarantulas. So take it.” Prowl's voice was stronger and more confident than he felt. It was the reasonable course of action to let Tarantulas work out the worst of his… pent up desires for Prowl, if only so they could get down to real work afterwards. But having him settle between Prowl's thighs highlighted the sheer bulk of him - he was so much larger than Prowl anticipated.
Nothing at all like Mesothulas. (And that was a thought Prowl ruthlessly quashed almost before he could finish it.)
Prowl pulled his knees up, attempting to find a position that didn't leave him quite so obscenely spread open, but Tarantulas took immediate advantage, curling his paws around Prowl's thighs and tugging him closer. The move drew a surprised stutter from Prowl's vocalizer. Tarantulas chuckled hoarsely, exventing hot air against Prowl's abdomen. His mandibles tickled against Prowl's stomach, trailing soft little caresses down his plating.
Prowl gulped cool air into his trembling vents, trying to hold on to his composure despite the budding heat in his array. Prowl fumbled blindly behind him for the bench arm rest, then clung to it to elevate his upper body enough that he could watch Tarantulas over the edge of his bumper. To keep an eye on him, obviously. Nothing more.
Tarantulas’ paws caressed up and down Prowl's thighs, almost soothing, but his mouth trailed steadily, inexorably downwards. It was nearly a relief when he reached the apex of Prowl's thighs and nuzzled delicately at his panels. His paws effortlessly tugged Prowl's thighs further apart, like manipulating a puppet.
“Will you open for me?,” he murmured softly, reverently, mouth pressed directly against the valve panel. Hot air washed over it, sending a shudder through Prowl's frame, head to toe.
“T-Tarantulas…” Prowl shifted restlessly, hitching his legs over Tarantulas shoulders, took a deep vent and counted to five just to reassure himself, then allowed his panel to snap aside.
Tarantulas’ paws tightened on his thighs, and his mandibles quivered with excitement, a maddening, just out of reach tickle against Prowl's valve lips. His hips twitched, but Tarantulas effortlessly pinned him down, and pressed his face firmly against Prowl's hot valve. One set of mandibles expertly parted the lips, while the others tickled and kissed at the beads of lubricant already beginning to well up. Prowl's vents expelled an embarrassing hiccup every time the mandibles met in a teasing pinch; whether intentional or not he couldn't tell.
Tarantulas turned his head and dragged his mandibles all the way down the slick folds in one long line, then lifted away enough to take one valve lip in a firm, but delicate pinch, then the other. He repeated the same series of moves several times, never once coming close to Prowl's pulsing anterior node. He finally settled over the valve entrance, and blew a hot, wet breath directly inside.
Prowl jerked, mouth falling open on a gasp even as he was pinned back down. “Tarantulas!”
“Hmmm?” Tarantulas had the audacity to sound innocent, even as the hum sent another helpless little shiver through Prowl's body.
“Get… on with it,” Prowl demanded, voice not quite dipping into pleading, despite the desperate stutter of his vents.
Tarantulas made a great show of considering, mandibles fluttering and tapping absently against the folds where he was still buried in Prowl's valve. “Now,” he said slowly, vocalizer thrumming directly into the valve, “Why would I want to fulfill such an impolite request?” He shifted and splayed all his mandibles wide, stretching the valve lips wide open, and blew an open-mouthed gust of hot air over Prowl's array, optics fixed on Prowl's. “Let's hear a... humbler approach, hmm?” He dragged his parted mandibles slowly up and down, keeping the valve spread and vulnerable.
Prowl was shivering non-stop, every stutter an audible whine from his vocalizer. “Tarantulas…!” This time it was a plea, but Tarantulas was merciless, dragging slowly up, up until his mandibles surrounded Prowl's fitfully glowing anterior node… then dragged back down without ever having touched it. A drawn out, humiliating keen escaped Prowl's vocalizer, every inch of his frame trembling with need. “Tarantulas,” he sobbed. “Please. Please .”
Heavy paws curled suddenly over his abdomen, wrapping him in a tight, hungry hold. Tarantulas sighed a long, shuddering breath, lifted his head and nuzzled Prowl's thigh with great affection. “Oh, Prowl,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “That was beautiful. Perfect.”
Before Prowl could protest that he had stopped , Tarantulas dipped back down, gathering lubricant from its wet, trembling source, then pressed his mandibles tightly together into one solid, ribbed surface. When he finally, finally set a hard, slick rhythm right against the anterior node, Prowl moaned , low and long. His entire body jerked, his hips made needy little thrusts against Tarantulas that were stifled by Tarantulas’ firm grip on him, but earned a pleased purr that thrummed right back into Prowl's throbbing node. A steady stream of hot, needy sounds poured from Prowl's vocalizer, mouth hanging open, dignity so far out of his grasp that he could hardly remember it, or anything but the hot, delicious friction sending him spiraling higher and higher.
Tarantulas never let up, keeping a steady, focused rhythm that pushed and pulled and piled the pleasure ever higher, until, at last Prowl plunged off the precipice with one weak, worn-out wail. His legs fell slack draped over Tarantulas’ shoulders, his entire frame feeling absolutely strutless, even as Tarantulas continued his attentions on his node through the aftershocks. Finally, a garbled protest worked its way out of his vocalizer, his legs tightening feebly around Tarantulas’ head.
“Stop,” he sighed, reaching down to push tiredly at Tarantulas’ head. “It's too much…”
Tarantulas drew reluctantly back, rising from his kneeling position to take Prowl's exhausted frame in his arms. “You still get sensitive after overload?” he teased, gently rubbing Prowl's back with a paw. “How cute.”
“It's not cute,” Prowl grumbled, leaning against Tarantulas’ furry chest. “It's completely normal.”
“Of course it is,” Tarantulas agreed pleasantly.
He pressed his mandibles, still wet with Prowl's fluids, to the side of Prowl's head in a mock kiss, earning a disgusted flinch. “Stop that. You're getting me filthy.”
“Oh, Prowl,” Tarantulas cooed, tugging him back close. “I haven't even begun to get you filthy yet.”
“Tarantulas…” Prowl shifted uncertainly, eyeing Tarantulas with one wary optic. “I'm tired, and I need repairs. I don't think--,” abruptly, Tarantulas shushed him with one paw against his lips.
“You won't need to do any work, and I'll have to sedate you for repairs anyway. No harm at all in wearing you out, first.” He shifted, guiding Prowl gently but firmly onto his belly. “You just lie there and let me take care of everything,” he purred, wrapping his arms around Prowl in a tender embrace.
Prowl shivered unhappily, but let him have his way. If Tarantulas wanted to spike him so badly, Prowl supposed he'd earned it. Prowl shifted his legs further apart, giving him access to his wet, loose valve.
“Beautiful,” Tarantulas sighed behind him, leisurely rubbing his closed panel against Prowl's valve. “You're so beautiful, Prowl. Absolutely perfect.”
Prowl shivered, feeling heat stirring despite himself. “I thought you liked me for my mind,” he muttered hoarsely, wishing Tarantulas would move, or get his spike out, or something .
“All of you, Prowl,” Tarantulas said, voice warm in ways that Prowl was reluctant to analyze. “All of you.”
He lifted his pelvis away for a moment, and Prowl tensed in anticipation-- then lurched away at the sudden feeling of something alien, something wrong touching his valve. A strangled yelp wrung its way out of his vocalizer when Tarantulas’ arms clamped down around him like a vice, keeping him from moving an inch.
“Hush now,” Tarantulas said, breathless with hideous hunger. “It's only me. I'll take care of you…”
Prowl's legs were neatly pinned down as well, giving the foreign appendage full access to his valve, with Prowl utterly helpless to stop it. It was cold, and slim, and tapered like a needle, and Prowl choked on his vents as it nosed around his valve.
“Tarantulas,” he said, very carefully. “What are you doing?”
Tarantulas panted above him, clearly excited in ways that Prowl did not like one bit. As the searching appendage found the valve opening and dipped slowly inside, drawing an unhappy whine from Prowl, he dropped his mouth to Prowl's audial.
“Just a little something inspired by my organic studies,” he said, nuzzling lovingly at the audial. “Something I've looked forward to using on you for a long, long time, Prowl.”
Prowl shuddered, even as the appendage dipped ever deeper. “What is it? Tarantulas, what does it do ?”
“Hush now, you'll miss the good part,” Tarantulas whispered, stroking a soothing paw down his flank.
“Tarantulas…” His protest died on his lips. The appendage was so thin, and Tarantulas so slow and careful, that the penetration itself was barely felt, but for the intense wrongness of it. Prowl definitely felt it when it reached the end of his valve, however. It pressed searchingly against the opening of his overflow tank; uncomfortable, wrong. A breathless whine wound its way out of his vocalizer, barely audible.
Tarantulas paid no heed and kept prodding intently, hissing triumphantly when the needle sank into the very center of the tank opening, where the spiraling teeth that kept it sealed shut met. The slim needle easily slipped between the teeth, forcing them aside, pressing into the tank itself. Tarantulas paused there, seeming to ponder how to proceed. The overflow tank was small and flexible, absolutely not intended to be penetrated, and Prowl shuddered deeply every time the stinger brushed against the soft mesh walls.
“Tarantulas,” he croaked, struggling to hold back the helpless whimpers that seemed to long to dominate his vocalizer. “Whatever you're doing… Whatever you're trying to do… Don't. You already have me, you don't have to--”
“Hush now,” Tarantulas cut him off absently, one paw reaching up to pet him like a frightened animal. “This will hurt, but it's not a punishment.” He gripped Prowl's hip, and shifted with deliberate intent, pressing his mandibles against the top of Prowl's head in a distracted kiss. “This will bring us closer than ever…”
And he reared back and thrust , and Prowl's vocalizer cracked out a binary shriek as the delicate mesh was pierced in one fluid motion and the stinger triumphantly nosed its way into his internals.
Prowl thrashed, single optic weeping plasma, vocalizer stuttering on breathless sobs, but Tarantulas was a prison around him, solid and unyielding, not letting him move a single inch.
“Shh, shh,” he murmured, mandibles twitching and trembling against Prowl's helm in arrhythmic excitement. “You're fine, I have you.”
Prowl gagged on his sobs, the sensation of the stinger nestling delicately between bundles of wires and throbbing energon lines, nosing at his fuel pump, so wrong and so alien. Every inch of him felt fondled, violated.
Finally, the needle seemed to find its destination, settling as Tarantulas slumped around him, exventing hot air overhead. “You're doing so well, Prowl,” he murmured hoarsely, cuddling Prowl closer to himself, paws rubbing affectionately at plating. “Now we just have the fun part left. Just be strong, Prowl.”
And the stinger began to expand. Prowl felt it happen like a slow dawning horror, growing thicker in his gut, expanding the tear in his overflow tank, forcing the teeth of the tank lid wide open as far as they could go, filling his valve channel past the point of comfort, and there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. His mouth hung open, but not a sound made it past. Overwhelmed. Overtaken.
Tarantulas tsked chidingly, stroking Prowl's tense back. “There now,” he cooed, “This will only be worse if you don't relax. Hmm… I know what you need.” He shifted, taking Prowl's hand, and guided it lower. Prowl made no attempt to resist, until he gave a violent start when his own fingers brushed against his node.
“Tarantulas,” he croaked, struggling to find his voice. “Don't--”
“I know you don't believe me,” Tarantulas said quietly, “But I truly don't want to hurt you. The process will be much simpler if you just... enjoy yourself.” His voice grew even quieter. “Let me see you touch yourself, Prowl. Please. I've longed for you for so long… let me see you in pleasure.”
Prowl shuddered wordlessly in Tarantulas’ arms for a long, long moment, then slowly began to move. His fingers stroked his node tentatively, unsure, then dipped lower into the slick mess in his valve. He jerked when his fingers connected with the appendage emerging from his opening, but then prodded it experimentally. In its expanded state, it seemed to have split into several prongs, between which warm, rubbery walls stretched. It was… disturbingly organic.
“How much can this expand?” he asked. It was almost comforting having something to focus on. Information gathering. He could do that.
He found himself absurdly grateful when Tarantulas actually answered.
“A little more than this… I didn't have your current dimensions on hand when I was designing it.” He stroked Prowl's belly appreciatively, not far from where the end of the now tube-like appendage nestled. “It goes longer, too. But don't worry, I won't use any more than you can handle.”
Prowl shuddered softly. “Did you really give yourself this… thing, just to use it on me?”
“Of course, Prowl. Everything I do is for you.” Tarantulas snuggled closer, adoring Prowl's frame with his paws. “I've never wanted anyone else.”
“What does it do?”
Tarantulas snickered. “Nice try. You'll find out soon enough.” He gave Prowl's arm an encouraging nudge. “Sooner if you complete your task.”
Prowl huffed, but didn't argue. His arousal had faded with Tarantulas’... inventive penetration, but his valve was still sticky with lubricant to wet his fingers. He didn't waste any time, but ran slick fingers over his node, sighing softly. Like this, Tarantulas patiently holding still for him, the pain faded to a dull throb, more like being well fragged than an intense invasion.
His charge slowly ramped back up with each stroke over his node, and every sigh that fell from his lips prompted an adoring brush from Tarantulas’ paws. Knowing that Tarantulas was watching him sent a thrill down his spine. His methods may be unorthodox, but the knowledge that Tarantulas wanted to please him, to pleasure him, to worship him… despite everything, it was… gratifying. Intoxicating.
As his overload began to peak, he didn't hold himself back, but rewarded Tarantulas with a full display of his arched back, and a soft moan. He rolled his node between slick fingers until it grew too sensitive, and then he let his arm drop and his body slump, vents gulping desperately for air under Tarantulas’ bulk.
Tarantulas himself was trembling, Prowl noted with satisfaction. He seemed almost overwhelmed, paws blindly running up and down Prowl's chassis, breaths stuttering.
“Oh, Prowl,” he whispered like a prayer, helpless, raw, “Oh, Prowl.”
His paws rose to Prowl's face, stroking his cheeks, trembling with deep longing. “I have to do it now,” he murmured. “I can't wait any longer. Oh, Prowl.”
Before Prowl could protest, the tube began to pulse. The stimulation against his valve walls sent pleasant pricks of heat through his array, but he was acutely aware when a foreign object pushed its way through the tube and snuggled up against his valve entrance. It was large, but flexible, and took only a moment to pop through the opening, pushed along by the convulsing tube. It pressed snugly against his walls, letting him feel every inch it traveled with sickening clarity.
“Tarantulas,” he said slowly, trepidation rising, “Tarantulas, what is that?”
“Hush now…” Tarantulas sounded distant, deep in concentration. One paw patted clumsily at Prowl's face, doing nothing at all to soothe him.
The object breached the wedged open tank opening. Prowl was running out of time. He grabbed Tarantulas’ paw, demanding his attention. “Tarantulas! You can not lay eggs in me!”
Tarantulas sighed with disappointment, though obviously still focused elsewhere. “I was afraid you'd see it that way. Don't worry. I have faith you'll learn to love them.”
With rising panic, Prowl realized a second egg was already nosing at his opening, even as the first was sliding steadily toward the end of the tube. “Tarantulas, no. Tarantulas!” With a sickening sensation, the first egg left the tube and snuggled up against his fuel lines. It was sticky, and horrible, and wrong . A helpless whine bubbled in his throat. His vocalizer stuttered and choked. “Didn't you want to be partners again? If we're partners, we can't-- we can't do this to each other-- Tarantulas-- Please--”
Tarantulas paused, attention drawn by the rambling deluge. “I'd let you lay eggs in me,” he said, almost shyly. His paw stroked more firmly down Prowl’s face, not obstructed at all by Prowl’s feeble grip on it. “Anyway, you worry too much. You’ll see, Prowl. This will make our relationship stronger than ever.”
Prowl sobbed. The second egg knocked against his fuel pump as it emerged, leaving him nauseous. A third egg was in his channel, and a fourth was just pressing inside. It wasn't pain, not really. Pain, he could handle. Pain could be endured for the sake of a fruitful partnership. But this, this was something far more permanent, and Prowl was-- he was-- he was afraid.
The third egg shoved a bundle of cables out of alignment as it settled inside him.
“Tarantulas,” he tried, one more time. “Why are you doing this?”
Tarantulas sighed softly above him. “I realized my mistake, you see.”
Number four. Number five wedged between two fuel lines and refused to budge. Prowl's abdomen was beginning to feel unnaturally full.
“You never got to be involved in Ostaros’ creation. How could I have expected you to love him when you never truly got to feel that he was yours, just as much as he was mine?”
Number six. It was hard to focus on anything but the slick slide of sticky eggs settling against each other inside him. It was a struggle just to comprehend Tarantulas’ words.
“This time will be different, Prowl.”
Paws settled lovingly on his abdomen, pushing down gently. The pressure made the eggs shift, drawing a thin whine from Prowl's lips.
“This time, we'll be a true family.”
Number seven. Number eight. Prowl felt hot all over, fuel lines throbbing inside him. Number nine was a thick weight in his valve.
Tarantulas put his mouth to his audial, tickling him with his breath. “I can feel them move in you, Prowl. You don't know how long I've dreamed of this… of having you bear my children… We'll be so happy together, Prowl.”
The paws on his swelling belly rubbed soothing circles. Prowl sobbed and squirmed with every shift inside; he was so full, there was no more room, but number nine squeezed out of the tube, mercilessly shoving its siblings aside, and he could already feel more on the way. The seams of his abdomen strained as far apart as they could, which was woefully little. His plating wasn't made to stretch, but it could part enough to produce a noticeable bulge, which Tarantulas’ paws stroked and petted and adored.
Amidst the pressure and weight and stress on his body, those soothing caresses felt shockingly good. He shivered and shivered under Tarantulas’ ministrations, almost missing the plop of number ten emerging. How many were left? Prowl wanted to ask, but he felt so overwhelmed. His head throbbed, his vocalizer was stuck on a litany of hitched sobs, and Tarantulas’ touches were so... much. They felt like the only real thing in the world.
“You're doing so well, Prowl,” Tarantulas whispered from far away. “We're almost done, just be brave a little longer. You're being so, so good.”
Number eleven made the entire brood ripple inside him, they were squeezed so tight. Number twelve seemed to travel slower than the previous up his valve - or was his sense of time just addled? Was this as tiring for Tarantulas as it was for him? Prowl hoped so. It would serve him right.
As the egg slowly, slowly wound its way up his channel, he realized there were no more following it. Hoping seemed premature, but his breath hitched anyway. He followed the path of the egg with acute awareness, the squeeze through the tank opening, the brush against the tear in the tank, which was nothing but a distant throb by now. So, so close to the end, it seemed to falter. Prowl became slowly aware of Tarantulas’ labored panting above him. He sounded almost as exhausted as Prowl felt. On impulse, Prowl reached for one enormous paw and squeezed, a plea or a command or an encouragement, or maybe all three. Tarantulas’ breath hitched above him, and the tube gave one last great pulse, and number twelve trembled on the edge - and rolled into Prowl.
Tarantulas nearly collapsed around him, though he was careful to keep his weight off Prowl's abdomen and the precious load within. For several long moments, they both simply breathed, dragging air into their heated frames. Inside Prowl, Tarantulas’ appendage began to fold in on itself, collapsing back into its slim stinger form. Slowly, laboriously, it retracted, a long, drawn out slide through Prowl's channel that left him shivering helplessly.
As the stinger dragged free of the slick depths of Prowl's valve, Tarantulas sighed appreciatively. “That was fun,” he murmured, then propped himself up, petting Prowl's back with one paw. “There, now. It's over. You've done so well, Prowl.” He punctuated the statement with a mandible kiss to the back of Prowl's neck. Prowl shook beneath him. He didn't have the energy to even speak, but a mewled protest slipped from his vocalizer when Tarantulas unceremoniously picked him up and placed him in his lap.
Like magnets, Tarantulas’ paws found their way back to Prowl’s heavy belly, rubbing and stroking every inch he could reach, ignoring the uncomfortable whines that dropped from Prowl's mouth in little pants. Prowl batted ineffectually at the paws, but Tarantulas caught his hand and guided it to his belly as well. He pressed Prowl's palm flat against the swell of eggs.
“Can you feel them?” he asked quietly, voice reverent. “Our children. Made by me, but in your honor. Aren't they perfect?”
Prowl ducked his head, sinking back against Tarantulas’ encompassing embrace. His mind was a blank fog, Tarantulas words sluggishly passing through in a distant haze. He wanted so badly to rest. Tarantulas was warm and soft around him, protective and possessive in equal measures, his touches so adoring, worshiping Prowl's exhausted frame like a precious object.
Prowl was on the verge of falling asleep like this, cradled and safe, when a hot length prodded at his valve. He'd been too tired to even close his panel, he realized. Distant mortification tugged at him, but he shunted it aside, more concerned with the spike - and it was a spike, this time - nosing at his quivering valve lips.
“Tarantulas,” he moaned, breathless. “I can't… Please…”
“Shh, shh,” Tarantulas soothed, stroking Prowl's belly in time with the lazy prodding of his spike. “You've had yours… Just let me take care of mine… You don't have to do a thing.”
Prowl quivered, a single soft, helpless little sob travelling through his body. Tarantulas gave him a distracted kiss.
His spike kept prodding gently, apparently unwilling to get forceful to get between Prowl's valve lips. Huffing, Tarantulas paused his ministrations, paws reluctantly leaving Prowl's belly. They took Prowl's legs, effortlessly manipulating them, spreading them and tucking them along the outside of Tarantulas’ thighs. Prowl was a pliant object in his grip. Like this, his valve was spread open, the lips parted, finally allowing Tarantulas’ spike to slip inside. It didn't penetrate the valve channel, a fact for which Prowl was absurdly grateful, but rubbed along the length of the lips, eagerly sampling the sticky mess of fluids left behind by Prowl's overloads. Tarantulas sighed with pleasure. His arms wrapped around Prowl's abdomen, tugging him closer, while his spike thrust lazily along the valve, head nudging at Prowl's node.
“You feel so good, Prowl,” he said thickly. “Just like I remember. Perfect. Perfect.”
Prowl felt paralyzed, the friction of Tarantulas’ spike dominating the last frayed threads of his processing power. His body wouldn't move on his command, but his hips twitched every time his node was touched, his vocalizer hitched with every thrust. His mouth hung open, a single line of oral solvent bubbling down one corner. Tarantulas rubbed the head of his spike in a lazy circle against Prowl's node, and all he could do was shiver and shiver.
It felt like an eternity to Prowl's exhausted mind, but finally, Tarantulas shifted, thrusts turning more deliberate, and with a shudder, he spilled his transfluid against Prowl's valve. It mingled with Prowl's own mess in a way that made him feel hot and filthy all over, but the only protest he could muster was a weak whine.
Tarantulas sighed happily above him. As soon as his spike retracted, he pressed his mouth to Prowl's audial, hot breath washing over it. “Close your panel, Prowl,” he ordered quietly.
Protesting was impossible. Prowl obeyed. Tarantulas rewarded him by returning his paws to the swell of his midsection, lavishing it with loving caresses. A cluster of eggs knocked his fuel pump out of alignment. Prowl was too tired to even feel nauseous.
Tarantulas’ eggs shifting in his belly. Tarantulas’ transfluid trapped behind his panel. Tarantulas, surrounding him from all sides like a cage. Prowl felt-- He should-- He was so tired. He lay limp in Tarantulas’ arms, optic slowly dimming. His fingers twined mindlessly in Tarantulas’ fur.
Tarantulas nuzzled the side of his head, all affection. “Sleep, Prowl,” he murmured, so sweet and attentive. One paw gently touched his shattered optic. “When you wake up, I'll have you all fixed up. Good as new.”
Giving Tarantulas free reign of his unconscious body was a bad idea. A terrible idea, and yet… Prowl lost the train of thought in the fog. He cuddled close to Tarantulas’ warm, broad chest, a sleepy mumble on his lips. His optic clicked off.
And he slept.