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Rumble crept through the ventilation system of the enforcer’s station, pausing every once in a while to let his auditory sensor’s sweep the building before moving on. 

This wasn’t their usual M.O. but Frenzy was being an absolute slagger and Rumble had stolen some primo dross that really wasn’t meant to be done alone. None of the other cassettes were into it, and none of Rumble’s other contacts were answering their fragging comms, so that left Rumble with a simple B&E and some quality time with his favorite cop.

He stopped over his usual vent, barely venting and straining his sensors to the best of their ability. Rumble’d finally been in Prowl’s office enough times to differentiate between the air pressure of ‘door closed’ and ‘door open,’ and right now it was definitely closed. Prowl was the only occupant of the office...for the moment. Rumble lifted the vent and slid through.

Prowl, sweetheart that he was, no longer flinched.

“Why,” He didn’t even bother phrasing it as a question.

Rumble considered this, picking his way around datapads to sit at the edge of the desk. He grabbed Prowl’s collar faring to draw the mech into a kiss, reels whirring when Prowl melted into the contact. He pulled back, smacking his lips to Prowl’s cheek, “Ya worked second shift today, Cop.”

It was firmly the middle of the third shift right now.

Rumble let himself get distracted by Prowl’s mouth a few more times, “Deserve a break.”

Prowl stiffened at the words, but Rumble held fast to his collar faring, licking into Prowl’s mouth lazily. He rolled his glossa over Prowl’s until the other mech relaxed into him once more.

“Gotta a pretty nice couch in here, Cop,” Rumble let himself slide off the desk to stand on the arms of Prowl’s chair, a quick and easy facsimile of towering over him, “Yer gonna take a break. With me.”

“I—” Prowl cycled his intake. Rumble watched the overbright glow of his optics try to dart back to the desktop. Rumble shifted his grip to Prowl’s chin, tipping his head back and forcing his gaze on Rumble.

“Cop,” Rumble paused as Prowl shivered, “I ain’t sayin’ it again.”

“Couch,” Prowl choked out, after a tense klik.

“Good,” Rumble kissed him again before hopping down to the floor, “Broughtchya a treat.”

Prowl moved with him to the couch, sitting stiffly beside Rumble without touching him. Rumble snorted and moved over to sprawl over Prowl’s side, letting him loosen increment by increment on him, “Well, more a treat for me, but I’m a generous mech. I’ll share.”

Rumble fumbled the dross from his subspace. It was real nice, that fancy pre-rolled slag that the Towers mechs were into. Prowl had dropped his helm on top of Rumble’s, and the mood in his office was already sticky slow. Rumble had a hunch that Prowl had been here longer than a shift and a half.

“Didn’t know you smoked cygarettes,” Prowl mumbled, sounding staticy and far away.

Rumble snorted and didn’t answer, pulling one of the joints out of the tin and lighting it. He gave it a second to burn away the worst of the aluminum casing before rerouting his vents to his mouth and dragging the vapor into his system. He held it in for a moment, letting the sticky sweet substance settle onto his circuitry. He knew it would take more than one hit to slow any electrical pulses down, but he liked to imagine he could already feel it working. 

Rumble exhaled, letting his weight fall further onto Prowl, slight that he might be. Prowl’s digits crept into one of Rumble’s lateral seams. Rumble exvented again before taking another drag on the joint. He tipped his helm back, disturbing Prowl and licking at his chin, “Open up.”

Vapor curled past his lip plates as he waited. He heard Prowl’s intake cycle again before he kissed him. Rumble hummed into the contact, letting the dross vapor spill into Prowl’s mouth. Prowl invented, before clearly rerouting his vents to take the vapors in through his mouth. Rumble kept the kiss lazy, the angle too awkward for much else.

“Oh,” Prowl exvented on a sigh, secondhand vapor washing over Rumble’s lip plates, “Not cygarettes.”

“Quick on the uptake, Cop,” Rumble couldn’t manage any malice in his tone, too comfortable for anything approaching it. He shared another drag with Prowl before passing the joint over, letting the dross catch up to him. It really was good stuff. Rumble left Prowl to the rest of the first and worked another one out of the tin, alternating between exventing and sharing with Prowl until they were both puddled rather nicely on the couch.

Rumble stretched, content to let the time pass as it would with Prowl keeping his frame warm. 

“Hey,” Prowl mumbled. Rumble didn’t bother onlining his optics, “You got...bigger.”

“Hm?” Rumble stretched again, enjoying the way his frame felt.

“Bigger,” Prowl said, “Just did it again.”

“Oh,” Rumble considered this and laughed, “Mass displacement must be, uh, outta wack.”

“Can I—?” Prowl cut himself off. 

Rumble let a servo fall to pat at him, not particularly caring what part of him, “S’yer break, Cop. Do whatcha want.”

Prowl pushed him back upright, and Rumble didn’t have a chance to protest before Prowl was sliding to his knees in front of him. Prowl vented against his knee for a long few kliks, and Rumble brought a servo up to trace the edges of his chevron. Nice and easy, back and forth. Prowl shifted his helm up higher, “Want to suck your spike.”

“Kay,” Rumble agreed, taking another several kliks to find the command prompt for his panel despite Prowl venting slowly right across the damned thing. It finally spiralled open, and his spike barely pushed past its housing, “Might, mm, take a while.”

Prowl didn’t give any indication he’d heard, glossa already doing its level best to tease Rumble out. Rumble sighed, keeping a servo on Prowl’s helm and sinking into the sensation of his glossa working over his entire housing. Rumble’s spike pressurized slowly, dross vapor heavy on his circuits keeping his charge sluggish. 

It was good in its own way, the feedback disconnect. He heard Prowl’s glossa move over sensitive mesh before the sensation made its way to his processor, and while that was processor-meltingly hot, his frame continued to build charge at dross speed. Rumble exvented, slouching down to give Prowl more room.

Prowl hummed, closing his mouth around Rumble’s spike and Rumble gasped, “Frag, Cop.”

Prowl groaned, his helm working up and down a few times under Rumble’s servo before stilling, lip plates pressed to the seams around Rumble’s spike housing. It took Rumble a long few kliks before he registered the lack of movement.

“Alright?” He onlined his optics and peered down at Prowl, the outline of his helm still, optics either shuttered or offline.

A low-band comm hit his suite, Good. Want to stay like this.

“Okay, Cop,” Rumble huffed, affection bleeding into his vocalizer, “C’n do that.”

Rumble offlined his optics again and let his hydraulics loosen, sinking into the couch. Prowl’s mouth was warm and wet around him, and the steady pressure of not having to react to new stimuli was almost working better for him in the moment. Prowl wasn’t sucking or moving his glossa, and the only thing that really differentiated him from offline to online was the occasional swallow.

Rumble hummed, petting lightly at Prowl’s helm, letting his digits wander down to trace Prowl’s lip plates every so often.

Prowl didn’t react to anything. His optics were shuttered according to Rumble’s gentle perusal, and all he did was vent, perfectly even and measured. Rumble bet it was some kind of venting pattern that optimized frame productivity.

“Ya like this, huh?” Rumble finally found his vocalizer. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The dross was still laying across his circuitry, but not nearly as stifling. Charge was starting to spread out in warm waves from his array, and he was interested. Prowl didn’t respond.

“Yeah,” Rumble exvented, letting his servo press on the back of Prowl’s helm, “Ya like bein’ filled up.”

Prowl twitched, a flutter of plating more than anything else, but Rumble felt the heat he dumped with the movement.

“Should gag ya sometime,” Rumble considered, “Before stuffin’ yer valve fulla my spike. Don’t think we tried that way yet.”

Prowl’s glossa found a way to move again, curling around Rumble’s spike to the best of his ability without moving his mouth up or away.

“Maybe that’s not full enough for ya,” Rumble mused, letting charge work through his system like hot oil, “I’ve seen some’a the stuff those fancy mechs get up to.”

Rumble let the statement dangle, relaxing his grip on Prowl’s helm enough for him to lift just a bit before sliding back down. Rumble smiled, “Maybe get ya one’a those little plugs for yer aft.”

Prowl sucked as the words left Rumble’s vocalizer. Rumble made a noise, hips rolling up into his mouth, “Yeah, I’ll start lookin’ for a good one. Gotta match yer pretty plating, Cop.”

Prowl whined and the vibrations carried through Rumble’s entire pelvis. Rumble traced his digits around Prowl’s lip plates again, picking up the slightest movement as Prowl swallowed. Charge drove itself a little higher through Rumble’s frame, his reels humming. He dropped his vocalizer down in the range he knew always drove Prowl a little wild and grasped the last of his coordination to push his mass displacement to its limits, spike stretching Prowl’s lip plates just enough , “Like ya like this, Prowl.”

Prowl groaned and drew back to flick his glossa over Rumble’s transfluid slit and that was all she wrote. The overload felt as sticky sweet as the dross still lingering in his frame, pulled out of him from every corner of his circuitry, pulsing low and slowly. Prowl dropped his helm back down to take in all of Rumble’s spike, mouth loose around him and transfluid falling back to Rumble’s array plating. Rumble decided to allow it. He’d give Prowl slag for it another time.

“Tryna make me messy as ya usually get?” Rumble finally managed to gasp, vocalizer staticed over. He pushed Prowl away, pretty well done for the moment. Dross made charge slow to build and quick to spend.

Prowl retreated back to rest on Rumble’s knee, fans whirring lowly. Rumble worked his way back up to having power over his own frame and drew Prowl up, keeping a grip on his chin while he kissed him.

“Whaddya want, Cop?” Rumble nuzzled against Prowl’s face, licking the taste of his own transfluid away from his lip plates.

“Lay with me?” Prowl mumbled, then froze, dross clearly loosening his glossa.

“Yeah,” Rumble smiled, “Get up here.”