#prowlmax

Or rather, he was sure that he did. Those thoughts had an odd way of sneaking up on someone, especially someone all alone in the vastness of space in a single shuttle. Especially someone who on up until that point had gotten used to the notion of cohabitation in both life and recharge and the various perks that that came along with that.

He woke from the first interrupted recharge slurring the sleepy demand for Fort Max to keep doing what he was doing, and to replace his hands post-haste on Prowl’s chassis. 

Prowl blinked a few times into the silence as the words died in the air on his sit-up, as he remembered where he was and who he was without. 

He could only stare disapprovingly at his open array, because Fortress Maximus wasn’t there to bear the brunt of such scalding affect.

The memory file kept replaying in Prowl’s head, and he scowled into the dim lighting of the cabin.

Just days prior had Fort Max’s attention brought to near-worship, for the way he so carefully played Prowl’s frame and brought him to overload. 

He’d carefully pinned him down with a firm grip and eaten him out as if Prowl’s lubricants were life-giving energon and he was on the edge of empty. Only then, when he was sloppy and open and pliant did he press his weeping spike inside, filling Prowl easily in a single delicious, torturous push. 

For a mech previously so ready to voice the bodily harm he was happy to do him, Max touched Prowl like he was precious. 

Fort Max meticulously interfaced him through another powerful overload and held him closer on the next. Coming up on the end of their interfacing sessions was always Prowl’s favorite, where some of Max’ tightly held control slipped in his desperation, and he thrust into him a little harder, a little faster, until he pressed in and succumbed to his climax, red optics blazing down on Prowl in an unspoken confession. 

Prowl saw it each time, preened in the feeling of being The One it was directed at, and had his gentle, over-sensitized rebound overload to go along with the feeling of charged transfluid filling up his deepest places. 

Then Fort Max would hold him as they both drifted off to recharge, not bothering to withdraw himself from Prowl’s valve. 

Prowl always left shortly before Max awoke, each time frowning at the emptiness withdrawing off the big mech would leave him with, but there was a message to be sent every time about how he wasn’t going to get complacent in their arrangement. 

At present, he couldn’t be angrier to have entered into it at all. 

His frame craved the contact to which it had become accustomed, and his spark protested mightily, enough that for once in his life, Prowl could not ignore it for the ruckus it made. 

There would be no coming back from this mission to Earth and here he was, already compromised. That last expression from Fort Max now readable as hurt and disappointment tinged with having expected just that made Prowl’s spark pang and mourn in a manner most unbecoming and annoying. 

He would’ve thought that it wouldn’t matter if some part of him loved Max back, but clearly he was wrong. 

That last look, the memories prior, those pangs; would haunt him all the way back to Earth.