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"Shh, that's good now," Hook purred in his audial. "Darling Prowl, look how well you're doing."

Prowl's array throbbed and he gasped, trying to look over his shoulder to see whose spike had just prodded the swollen, wet folds of his valve, electric tingles racing through straight to his belly. His shoulders got in the way, though, his arms bound up just beneath his doorwings, and a gentle hand guided his face back to the pillow he'd been resting it on before.

"Hush," Hook said, caressing Prowl's head in gentle pets that made his wings flick and twist with all the movement his hands were being denied. "Crusher's taking good care of you, like he always does. Right, Mix?"

Charge flared at the base of Prowl's doorwing, where dexterous, blunt fingers tickled the delicate seams.

"He's so excited," Mixmaster said. "He's been talking about it, all the things he wants to do to you: string you up; kiss you from the top of your spinal strut all the way down; let me eat you out while he rides your spike. Now that he's here, though, Prowl, you're so irresistible that he can't think about anything but getting his spike in that nice, warm valve."

Prowl tried to push back as fingers joined the spike. They dragged along the edge, framing his valve with more of those desperately feather light touches. He could feel them picking up his slick, and an unintelligible sound escaped his vocalizer as he felt a drop of it escape and run down the paneling of his inner thigh.

"Oops! Can't let that go to waste." And Prowl could only exvent as the touches of Mixmaster's fingers were replaced with his tongue, glossing over Prowl's plating.

"Mixmaster!" Hook snapped. "You'll have your turn. Crusher's been patient."

Mixmaster whined but the touch of his tongue disappeared, and Prowl was able to focus again on the solid spike prodding at him with curiosity.

"Please," Prowl said. "I want them."

A kiss was pressed to his chevron. He looked up and met optics with Hook.

"And you'll have them," Hook promised. "Crusher, go ahead."

Prowl moaned as the thick spike sunk into him, uncomfortable squeeze morphing into warm pleasure as his calipers relaxed and rippled around Bonecrusher. His spike was solid and familiar, a weight within Prowl that grounded him in the moment. He missed its pressure as soon as it was gone, only to fall into relief again as Bonecrusher thrust back into him, faster now that Prowl was opening up.

"Good, so good," Hook praised, fingers petting over Prowl's audials. "Doesn't he feel good inside you, Prowl? Don't you want to let Crusher know how nice he's making you feel?"

Prowl whimpered as the blunt head of Bonecrusher's spike pushed up into his ceiling node. Warm, sparkling charge ballooned within him, strengthening when Bonecrusher's hands came around his waist to hold him still.

"Perfect," he got out.

Bonecrusher grunted and his next thrusts were stronger, sloppy but with greater intention as he pushed down deeper into Prowl. He hit Prowl's ceiling node again and Prowl groaned, dropping his face back into the pillow so he could focus on the spike inside him, the way it pushed and opened and held him, the strength of Bonecrusher's hands that had started minutely pulling them together with each thrust.

He bit down on the soft fibers when he felt the spike head prod against the port to his gestation tank, a spiral opening lined with soft, sensitive rubber. He felt the vibration like it radiated through his entire frame, so caught up in it he didn't even realize Bonecrusher was pulling back until he hit it again, more forceful now that he knew where it was. A third thrust: the spiral cover started to twitch.

Prowl could have sent a command to open the port manually, but why would he? Why deny himself the raw power of Bonecrusher as he thrust against the lock, the squelch of lubricant followed by the clang of metal? Prowl gasped aloud when the fourth thrust came and his gestation port spiraled open, the head of Bonecrusher's spike pushing through with a wet, inaudible pop.

They both sat still for a moment, gasping. Prowl's nodes were still tingling, but without the constant friction the pleasure dulled to a rolling burn that allowed a few more coherent thoughts to break through. Even as the impaling spike started to swell within him, the charge resisted building with the same momentum it had only seconds prior, and his arms strained in their bonds. If he could only get at his anterior node...

"Hey, Prowl, how are you doing?" Hook asked, drawing his optics back up again. He wasn't sure what his expression looked like now, but it made Hook lick his lips.

"Good," Prowl panted. "Feels good. It's coming?"

"Primus, you're so slagging hot like this," Hook murmured, breaking character for a moment before he forced himself to snap back, attention shifting to Bonecrusher. "Well, Crusher? Got it moving?"

"Y-yeah, Hook, I, hoo—" Bonecrusher grunted and Prowl felt a new definition of pressure at the entrance to his valve. His winced at the burn as his valve lips were spread apart, only to be distracted by Hook kissing his other lips, prodding them with an insistent glossa. He pushed into the kiss, almost missing it as Bonecrusher gave a minute thrust and the lump of egg pushed into his valve.

It moved at a crawl, from the base of Bonecrusher's spike through Prowl's channel, forcing his calipers to spread further than they ever had before. Prowl grunted and huffed as the egg pushed through him, the feeling too novel to register as pleasure and yet intriguing all the same. He gasped as the egg pressed up against his ceiling node, all other sensations forgotten as his circuits briefly lit with the crackle of ecstasy before returning to the same slow push toward his gestation tank.

He gasped again when the egg pressed against the rim of his port, this time breaking his kiss with Hook as he buried his face in the pillow and panted. His sensornet had apparently picked this moment to categorize the concentrated pressure of the egg, and the combination of it filling his valve, pressing against his tank, and Bonecrusher's tightening grip on his hips racketed through him. Charge, hesitant before, now made up for the lost time by zipping and snapping throughout his lines.

"So good, Prowl," Hook murmured, and Prowl overloaded, a high-pitched tone streaming from his vocalizer before tumbling into static.

Bonecrusher thrust once, twice more, and the egg forced its way through, followed by the familiar warmth of Bonecrusher's spill. Prowl, just coming down from his climax, was passively aware of the way both settled in his tank, the egg knocking and rolling through his gestational fluid. Safe, he thought, with a surge of protectiveness that caught him off-guard.

There was a life inside him, put there by a mech he'd come to love with his whole spark and more, his to protect and nurture while it grew. His arms strained in their bonds, aching to touch his yet flat middle, but gentle caresses from Hook soothed the need.

"Amazing, Prowl," he whispered against his audial. "You did so well. Ready for Mix?"

"Please," Prowl said, his rebooted vocalizer making the sound a whimper.

Bonecrusher's deflating spike pulled out, the long slide causing Prowl's frame to twitch and writhe as it dragged across oversensitive node clusters. He cringed as the head withdrew from his valve entrance and a waft of cool air caressed the slick mesh. Hook's hands were on the hinges of his doorwings, working deep into the sensitive wires within, his touches seeming to draw the warmth out and spread it to the rest of his frame.

The feeling was enough for him to focus on in place of the shuffle going on behind him, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster swapping places and Mixmaster's eager hands starting to explore the planes of his thighs and aft. He knew Mixmaster would not be gentle, so he did not buck too hard when the hard spike slid straight into him, though an unbidden whimper did escape his vocalizer.

"Prowl?" Hook's hands drew down, one on the back of his neck and the other petting his chevron. "You'll tell us if it's too much. Mix will stop."

"Please don't stop," Prowl begged, optic shutters pinched tight. His hips rolled back into Mixmaster and he was almost sure the explosion of sensory input would fry his processor. Everything was sharp, hot, a smell of ozone permeating the room. His calipers rippled around Mixmaster, a tactile plea to keep going, press further. His frame shuddered as the new sensations built directly over the leftovers of his overload.

Mixmaster's spike tapped Prowl's gestation port and breached, the Constructicon grunting as his swelling spike locked them together. Prowl took the moment's peace to ventilate, realizing too late that his mouth was open and he'd been drooling on the pillow. With no small effort, he raised his face, and Hook's hand appeared with a cleaning cloth that dabbed away the mess.

"Good?" Hook asked.

Prowl could only nod.

He pitched his helm back in a howl as another egg began to slide into him, Mixmaster's eager fingers sliding into the gaps between his plating, his whole frame lighting up with charge. This time, his sensornet knew what to expect, and Prowl keened as the egg slid across his nodes, working a warm and filling path up inside him.

Again, it hesitated on the threshold of his gestation tank, but a few labored thrusts from Mixmaster and it was in, followed by the wash of transfluid.

Prowl gasped and let his body melt to the berth for a moment, a minor overload causing him to shiver. Three pairs of hands were on him now, gentling him with soothing touches, and his doorwings wiggled lazily as one of them took to rubbing them in long, heavy strokes.

Another pair came under his chin and angled it so he was looking at Hook again. His lover's optics were shining brighter than before, though he only had a moment to see it before his face was being peppered in desperate kisses.

"I'm so proud," Hook said in between. "You're doing so well. Feel anything yet?"

"Maybe," Prowl said. He knew, in theory, what was taking place within his gestation tank: each of the eggs, encountering transfluid distinct from that of its progenitor, was absorbing a few unfamiliar coding nanites and swelling as a result. The movement of a single egg lolling around was gone, replaced by a gentle but steady pressure deep within himself. He tried to turn to see his midsection, though he knew it would be hidden behind his bumper for a while yet.

"Not showing yet," Mixmaster reported, his hands traveling to Prowl's midsection, circling the plating covering his gestation chamber. "Feeling warm in there, though."

"Gestation systems are activating," Prowl said, mildly surprised by his own coherence. "We need to keep going."

"No," Hook said, redirecting Prowl's attention. "You're getting fuel and giving your valve a break."

"But—"

"You'll listen to me, Prowl," Hook said with the same sternness he'd earlier used to address Mixmaster. His expression gentled immediately, though, the planes of his thumbs rubbing the tender metal under Prowl's optics. "Long Haul's been looking forward to this part."

At those words, large hands wrapped around Prowl and lifted him up, sliding him off Mixmaster’s spike. Prowl let himself be handled a bit until he was turned to face his proudest lover, whose usual sour demeanor was offset by the dim fondness of his optic band.

“You’re so gorgeous, Prowl,” he murmured, and even with his senses dulled by the effects of two overloads and the eggs in his chamber, Prowl was aware enough to be touched by the compliment. Meaningless niceties weren’t part of Long Haul’s repertoire.

“Only the best for you, right?” Prowl countered, smirking as he felt the larger bot’s plating heat up against him.

“Hey, hey, fuel first,” Hook’s voice snapped. It was tempting to ignore him, but it was harder for Prowl to disregard the warnings popping up in his HUD about fuel and energy levels. If he wanted to be awake to commit every moment of this night to memory, he was going to have to top up before they went on.

He pressed a kiss to Long Haul’s faceplate.

“Well, Haul? Fill me up,” he murmured, startling a laugh out of his lover.

“If you insist.” An energon cube appeared in Long Haul’s hand, one of Mixmaster’s personal brews that shimmered almost opalescent with the complex mixture of chemicals and additives. Though he couldn’t reach for it with his arms still bound, Prowl still leaned toward the tempting fuel. The hand on his back hooked into the armor between his doorwings, holding him back.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Long Haul rumbled as he lifted the cube and tilted it toward Prowl’s mouth. “I’ll take care of you. It’s my honor.”

Prowl almost shivered as the sweet fuel touched his lips and he drank it down hungrily, the slide of slick energon into his empty fuel tank in stark contrast to the ever-present pressure in his gestation chamber. If the logical unit of his processor had been fully operational, it would have struggled to justify the opposed sensations, but this far into interfacing it had powered down, content to submit his frame to whatever pleasures his team had in store for him.

His fuel tank reached capacity and Prowl closed his mouth, Long Haul pulling the cube away so only a couple spare drops rolled down Prowl’s chin. Long Haul’s hand returned a moment later and he used his thumb to wipe away the excess.

“That said, we do need to make sure nothing goes to waste,” he murmured. “You’ll need all the fuel you can get to keep our bits healthy. Open for me?”

Prowl obliged, optics fluttering off as the thumb pressed in, pushing past his denta and caressing his glossa. He closed his lips and sucked, pleasuring himself with the way the sweet taste of the energon mixed with the sharpness of Long Haul’s paint. He wrapped his glossa around the appendage, mapping its plains, the minute nicks and marks picked up over a lifetime of labor.

He felt Long Haul stiffening against him, so he onlined his optics again and smiled, drawing his head back to release his thumb. Long Haul continued to stare at him a moment longer before he shook his head.

“Primus, primus,” he muttered. “Hook, Hook please, can I please have him—”

“Fine, yes.”

The effect was instantaneous. Long Haul’s engine roared and his grip tightened. Prowl felt himself lifted again alongside the transformation sounds of a panel sliding open, and then he was being lowered, the folds of his valve lightly brushing against the head of Long Haul’s spike. He shivered in the warrior’s grip, leaning forward to steady himself against Long Haul’s chest.

“Fast or slow?” Long Haul asked. Holding Prowl still, he shifted his hips, so his spike pressed up into Prowl’s anterior node. Prowl bit his lip.

“How do you want me?” he asked, but Long Haul shook his head.

“I’ll get mine,” he said. “What do you want?” Prowl knew it was more about Long Haul’s pride than anything else, proving he could be the most attentive, caring, satisfying lover, but that didn’t stop the arc of excitement he felt when that spike prodded up into him again.

“Take care of me,” he said, and he felt against his cheek the way Long Haul’s spark picked up speed, his arms tightening protectively around him.

“Always,” Long Haul growled. “You’re mine.” Which really meant ‘one of us,’ but Prowl felt no room to complain, or do much of anything else, as he was finally lifted up and seated on that spectacular spike. Long Haul stretched him, and Prowl got to feel every glorious moment of it as controlling arms gradually lowered him down the shaft, his valve opening pleat by pleat. Bonecrusher, Mixmaster, and both their eggs had provided some preparation, but he could still feel the lips of his valve twitched as they stretched to accommodate the new girth.

“Nobody like you, Prowl,” Long Haul murmured as he abruptly lifted Prowl an inch. He gasped at the backwards friction, burying his face in Long Haul’s neck while his valve squeezed the spike, filling him anew with molten heat. He strained against his bonds, a desperate need to grab onto Long Haul’s shoulders and take control, but the hold on him was sure as he started to sink again.

Inch by inch, Long Haul worked him down, filling Prowl with his spike and occasionally lifting him against to drive against overheating sensors. Prowl whimpered and twitched, and he cried out when he felt the lips of his valve press against Long Haul’s pelvis. His vents were open full bore, panting out heat.

“Please please please,” he begged; he could feel the edge of the overload growing, almost but not quite, so close

“I gotcha, Prowl,” Long Haul said, his voice rumbling through both their frames. And then he lifted Prowl up and thrust, pushing into him with a harsh beat that knocked words out of Prowl’s grasp entirely.

It so much. Before he had really had time to process all of the tactile stimulation, Long Haul’s engine was roaring as he thrust in once more, spike seating deep within him as he felt the now familiar sensation of expansion. It was so much more this time, though: Long Haul was already a large bot, and the spike inside him was growing at a faster rate than he had anticipated, starting to push the feeling from pleasure into pain.

“Hook, release the bonds,” he said, voice popping with so much static he had a moment of panic in which he was not sure they would understand. A second later, though, his arms were free, and he took advantage by reaching forward to wrap them as far as he could around Long Haul and cling. He cried out as his already stuffed valve lips parted further to greet the passage of the egg.

“Are you okay, Prowl?” Hook asked. It might not have been the first time.

“It’s—huh—it’s a lot,” Prowl gasped as the egg worked to enter his valve; every time he thought it must have reached its apex, it kept going, until with an extra grunt from Long Haul the widest part pushed through his entrance. “I’m okay. It’s—ah, AH!”

He shouted as the egg ascended rapidly, riding up against his gestation chamber with a force that befit its massive progenitor. Prowl lost his words again and focused on just holding on, riding it out while Long  Haul thrust into him once, twice, again, until with a plunk and a gush of transfluid the egg was forced into his gestation chamber among its siblings. Overload slammed into Prowl a second later, waves of pleasure radiating out from where Long Haul’s spike was still buried deep inside him.

He was still shaking and gasping as he reached down to feel the plating over his gestation chamber. There was no doubt of it this time: internally, he could feel the three eggs absorbing nanites, swelling up, as against his hand he felt his plating shiver before it started to expand. He rubbed his hand up and down his belly, completely distracted from any discomfort while he marveled at what had once been flat plating becoming so pleasingly round so quickly. Visually, it still wasn’t so impressive, but he delighted when he felt other hands coming to join his own, fondling his sweet little bump.

“You know you’re the most gorgeous bot we’ve ever seen, right?” Mixmaster said from where he was kneeled next to Prowl and Long Haul, closely examining Prowl’s abdomen as he ran his fingers along the surface.

“Love you, Prowl,” Bonecrusher murmured as he pressed his faceplate to the side of Prowl’s helm, arm wrapping around from behind.

“I do good, Prowl?” Long Haul asked, forcing him to look up. Haul didn’t often ask about his performance: it was more in his nature to assume he had done well and dismiss anyone who thought otherwise.

Prowl leaned forward to press a kiss against his chest.

“I feel very cared for,” he said. “I can tell I’m very lucky.”

Long Haul’s spark heated again and Prowl allowed himself to lean against it for a moment, basking in its warmth.

“No rush, Prowl,” Hook said from somewhere behind him, “but when you’re ready, I know someone who’s been very patient.”

Lazily, Prowl pulled back from the source of his comfort to peer over his shoulder. Scavenger stood by, just a little behind where Mixmaster was crouched, looking equal parts excited and nervous. Prowl pulled one hand off Long Haul to beckon Scavenger closer. Scavenger reacted instantly, almost bowling Mixmaster over as he rushed forward, gasping in delight as Prowl twisted himself around to drape his arms over his shoulders.

He yanked Scavenger into a bruising, sloppy kiss as he sought out the comfort and safety the least confident of their number so effortlessly provided. He pushed and sucked until he felt Scavenger start to take the lead, and then he let him, not thinking as he kissed and was kissed until Scavenger started to growl with his unanswered arousal. He was the one to break off the kiss, pulling back just an inch from Prowl so their mouths almost brushed when he spoke.

“Can I?” he asked.

Please do,” Prowl begged, glancing down pointedly. That was all the encouragement Scavenger needed: his spike unfurled before Prowl’s optics, green tip glistening with prefluid as it bobbed with excitement. Several hands helped Prowl lay back onto the berth, and then Scavenger was straddling him, hands moving worshipfully over his bumper.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Scavenger whispered desperately, rutting his spike into the folds of Prowl’s valve but too excited to sink home. Prowl reached between him, his fingers wrapping around Scavenger’s spike eliciting a gasp from the Constructicon and an interested quiver from his member.

“Easy,” Prowl said, voice gravely with his own arousal. “I’m here for you and I’m not going anywhere. So, go slow and enjoy it.”

Hook still stood above him, watching the proceedings with a careful optic, but Prowl was grateful he did not interfere. Scavenger tended to get reckless in this headspace, which made him more prone to debilitating embarrassment; the less he remembered that they had an audience, the better it would be for both of them.

Oh, and how good it was. Prowl maintained his lead as he guided the tip of Scavenger’s spike to the entrance of his valve, dipping it in a couple times to test the feeling. Opened as he was, there was no resistance, Scavenger slipping in like a well-oiled piston.

The grip on his bumper tightened.

“Don’t come yet,” Prowl warned. They could recover the egg, but he doubted Scavenger’s dignity would survive the inevitable beating.

“I won’t,” Scavenger promised, continuing to squeeze with one hand while the other took to tracing a headlight. “But, Primus Prowl—you’re beautiful? And I can’t believe how lucky I—we are?”

“Your luck, too, Scav,” Prowl said as he pulled the spike further in, relishing the feeling. “I love you as much as the others.”

Scavenger whimpered and his hips bucked, but Prowl did not relinquish his hold yet, keeping their movements slow and deliciously controlled.

“I didn’t get a ‘love you,’” he heard Bonecrusher grumble, followed by a shuddery gasp as someone’s panel snkkt open. Prowl could not be bothered to glance over: he was too busy watching Scavenger’s visor, the way it fritzed and wavered as he fought to maintain control.

“This is all for you,” Prowl said as he withdrew Scavenger’s spike. “Yours, forever, as long as you have me.” He thrust it in again, reigniting tired sensors. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Scavenger nodded, desperate, aborting the buck that would have forced his spike all the way home.

“Good,” Prowl said, releasing his grip. “Then fuck me.”

Scavenger curled around Prowl as he took him, powerful thrusts that belied his meek demeanor. Prowl groaned and let his helm fall back as he was tossed into the sensations, filled once more with a dear lover. Like no time had passed and yet all too soon, he felt Scavenger’s spike plunge into his gestation tank and swell, the knotty lump of egg pressing against the entrance to his valve before Scavenger had even fully dilated.

Well. It wasn’t like his eagerness was an insult.

Scavenger stayed close as his egg worked its way into Prowl, squirming only when progress slowed as though adjusting his position would give him extra leverage. The second time it happened, he squeezed Prowl’s bumper again, almost painful, so Prowl took his hand and moved it down to the round of his abdomen.

“Easy,” he said. “Do you feel that? That’s—”

Prowl’s words were cut off, though, with a gasp, as for the first time that night he felt something he had not expected: a second lump at the base of Scavenger’s spike, already pushing through the rim of his valve.

“Scav,” he choked out. “Wha—”

“Uh,” Scavenger said, then cringed as his body continued to do what it needed.

“Prowl?” Hook was leaning next to him, hand on his face gently turning him so their optics met. “What’s going on?”

“There’s—he’s—”

“There’s another egg!” Scavenger cried. “It’s coming it’s coming it’s—hhaaaah.” He sagged forward, his frame twitching with the effort of pushing two eggs at once. Hook’s visor flared with alarm.

“There’s two?” he demanded. “That wasn’t part of the plan!”

“I didn’t, I—”

“He couldn’t have known,” Prowl said. Technically, he could have, but it would have required a test more invasive than he had assumed was necessary. Clearly, that had been an oversight, something to consider for the next time—and clearly his processor was far too pleasure drunk, if he was already thinking about a next time.

Hook’s attention snapped back to Prowl, hand gently petting the side of his head.

“Tell us once the first one’s in, and then Long Haul will get him off,” he said, and Prowl felt his spark seize.

“No!” he cried, hand tightening over Scavenger’s. If Scavenger pulled out, the second egg would have nowhere to go. It would get cold and lonely, with no one to love it and nowhere it belonged; the thought made his engine snarl in protest and Scavenger grunted as the crush on his hand turned denting. “I want both. I’m taking both.”

Hook’s hand stilled for only a moment before he resumed petting.

“You’re sure?” he said.

Prowl nodded sharply.

“Okay,” Hook said, stepping back to give them room again. “Scav, g—”

“Ggghh,” Scavenger groaned, barely waiting for Hook’s command before, with a shuddering heave, he pushed the first egg up and into Prowl’s crowded gestation tank. He barely noticed the feeling of it colliding into its siblings, all his attention on the second egg and making sure it reached safety. Scavenger was struggling with it, his vocalizer reduced to a peppery blend of grunts and static as he rocked against Prowl, their offspring inching up their joined channel. Prowl wrapped his free arm around Scavenger’s back, stroking him between thrusts.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “So strong. A good guardian. These bitlets will be so lucky.”

Into the crook of Prowl’s neck, Scavenger sobbed.

“I—I’m sorry, Prowl.”

“Nothing to be—ack—nothing to be sorry for,” Prowl said, gracing by a particularly rough thrust. “I’m getting exactly what I want. How many beings get to say that?”

Scavenger moaned, long and low, and the egg shifted further. Prowl could feel it pressing against his gestation tank now.

“Would give you anything you wanted, Prowl,” Scavenger said once he got his voice back. “Anything.”

“I know,” Prowl said, pressing a kiss to Scavenger’s head. “That’s how I know I already have it.”

With a cry and a final, berth-shaking thrust, the egg forced its way inside, followed by spurt after spurt of transfluid. Prowl tossed his helm back, shuddering with the sensation as he felt himself get filled. And that was only the beginning. As Scavenger’s overload finished and his spike retracted, the both felt a ripple under their hands, and then the eggs in Prowl’s tank started to expand again. Five in total now, they all eagerly absorbed the rich transfluid, forcing Prowl’s tank to swell with them. The gentle curve of his abdomen became a true hump, swollen and round and pinching against his internals. Prowl brushed his hand over it in awe as it grew, Scavenger pushing himself up so they could both see the way Prowl’s fingers disappeared around the underside of it.

“Slag, Prowl,” Scavenger murmured, voice husky from overuse. He did not move his hand, but carefully rubbed his thumb over Prowl’s belly, like he had never touched anything so precious.

Another hand joined them—Hook’s, Prowl realized, though only peripherally, most of his attention on his new figure. Even lying down like this, the weight of his tank was noticeable. How would it feel when it eventually came time for him to stand? Even were it not so heavy, the sheer volume of it was sure to change his gait; even people walking behind him would know he was carrying.

Hm. He was overcome suddenly with a jealous protectiveness that made him simultaneously want everyone to know and absolutely no one. This would make for interesting command meetings.

“You’re fragging beautiful,” Hook said, slipping out of his role for a moment. Prowl didn’t mind. He liked the attention. He covered Hook’s hand with his own, causing him to still and meet Prowl’s optics.

“One more,” he said. He hoped. He would love every creation that came out of this, but every bitlet added to the mix was another host of problems to worry about in the future.

Hook’s vents caught.

“You—but you agreed to five.”

Those had been the terms, but—

“I’m changing the agreement,” he said, reaching up with his free hand to touch the armor plating just above Hook’s spike housing. He was only imagining that the armor bowed out around the hard lump of egg, but knowing that did nothing to dull the want that curled through his systems. “I want all five of you.” And for this little one to meet its siblings.

“Are you sure?” Hook asked, his voice quiet and frame very still.

“Without doubt,” Prowl said. Physically, it would be taxing on his systems, but Hook’s tests had shown that his carrying capacity was almost double what he already had in him. And by the buzz of other frames surrounding them (two of them much more active than the others) he knew he would have plenty of support.

Hook swooped in capturing Prowl in a long, sensual kiss as though finally releasing everything he had been holding back for the purpose of doing his job. Prowl automatically wrapped his arms around Hook, trying to pull him in closer and feeling his belly get in the way. It was almost amusing, but it would have been too hard to laugh around the way Hook was kissing him, drinking him in like he was something rare and precious.

“I love you,” Hook said when he finally broke away.

“I love you, too.” Bonecrusher’s huff was silenced by more enthusiastic clanging. “Now, please frag me.”

Hook laughed and captured his lips again. Then he was climbing on top of Prowl, careful not to squish his belly while his hands ran worshipfully over his body. At the same time, Prowl became aware of his other gestaltmates closing in: Scavenger appeared over his helm, stealing a quick kiss before nuzzling into his neck cables, while Long Haul’s large hands started to stroke the sensitive plating of his inner thighs.

Hook’s spike released and he pushed in. He was met with no resistance: Prowl’s valve was relaxed and inviting, slippery with lubricant and leftover transfluid. They groaned together as Hook slid in, and Prowl’s hands found their way to the back of Hook’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

There were hands on Prowl, mouths, the perfect pressure inside as Hook pressed toward his gestation tank. Someone—no, someones—was rubbing his full, tight belly, tracing the curve with a reverence Prowl had never known before. He wanted to cry out, but Hook still had him locked into his kiss, so he pushed into that instead, trying to say in action what words were failing at.

He was barely aware when the egg started making its way up, gliding where before it would have struggled.

Welcome, he thought. Come on, so close. So close.

It pressed against the gestation tank seal and the tightness caused him to wince. He was so full.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

“You’ve got this, Prowl.”

“Doing so well.”

He reached out blindly and someone caught his hand. He squeezed tight and gasped, breaking the kiss, as the egg started to wedge its way inside, pushing into the others. They knocked together inside him, vibrations that triggered his final overload. Light exploded behind his optics as he shuddered, coming back just in time to feel his gestation tank expand at last around final egg.

He couldn’t feel Hook’s transfluid; he was too full of eggs and fluid to tell the difference. He did, however, feel the immediate reaction, as six (six! They were remarkable!) eggs expanded one final time. They swelled in tandem, and he felt himself grow with them. Hook, still recovering from his overload, still found the strength to sit up and watch the miraculous transformation. All optics were on Prowl’s belly as it stretched past his bumper, round, full. There were hands on it, his own included, rubbing and pressing up to the moment that, finally, the growth stopped. They were done.

“Prowl,” Mixmaster whispered.

“I’m huge,” he said, unable to take his optics away from his belly. Forget being seen from behind: he would be lucky if he was able to walk at all.

“You’re perfect,” Hook said. When had he withdrawn his spike? Oh well, it didn’t matter. He was kissing Prowl again, and that was good. So was when Long Haul swooped in to replace him, followed by Bonecrusher, Mixmaster, and Scavenger. Those without mouths nuzzled him lovingly, a gentle habit that they indulged only in the tenderest moments.

“Help me up?” he asked when they were done. Scavenger, the closest, immediately obliged, taking Prowl’s hand while supporting his neck. Hook took his other hand, and Long Haul helped from behind, holding his lower back. Together, they raised Prowl until he was sitting up, the first time he had been upright with his new figure.

Oh. Oh. This was different. Not bad, but it would take getting used to. His hands went to his girth again; it was like he was magnetized to his own frame.

“Fuel?” Mixmaster asked.

“Please,” he said.

While he busied off to prepare the energon, Bonecrusher stepped forward with a cleaning cloth and started the task of wiping down Prowl’s frame. It was a slow process: his plating was still highly sensitive, and he had to ask Bonecrusher to stop every couple minutes to avoid overwhelming himself. Still, better this than to be left with transfluid to grow crusty by morning.

“Love you,” Prowl said as Bonecrusher reached up to wipe a dot from his chevron. The squeak he got in response was entirely unbefitting the brawler, and it made him smile, gentle and content.

They took a break when Mixmaster returned with the energon, which Prowl drank in large gulps. The additives tasted sweet on his tongue, rich with all the materials his body would need to keep up with his carriage, and he tilted his helm back until the last drop rolled into his mouth. Hook took the cube when he was done and set it aside.

“So, how are you feeling?” he asked.

Prowl looked around at the caring, attentive faces of his team and down to his gravid midsection. Placing one hand atop it, he sighed, a happy, light sound.

“Perfect,” he said.