“You’re getting glitter all over me...”
You look up from Prowl’s spike, glossa still halfway out of your mouth and connected to him by oral lubricant, to give him a withering look. You shouldn’t even dignify his grumbling with a response.
“Are you really going to complain about my paintjob when I’m blowing you? You can’t wait to complain for five seconds?” You should storm out and leave him in his office with a hard on, but you didn’t actually come here to surprise him. You have needs too!
“I’m just saying I would be able to enjoy this a lot more if there wasn’t obvious evidence of what we’ve done all over my lap,” And he’s right. His thighs have iridescent glitters all over them, not nearly as jam-packed as your own armor, but when the fluorescent office lights hit him just right it’s undeniable that there is a distinct glimmer to his stark black paint.
Your fingers glide across his legs to brush away the loose shimmers, but your servo just leaves more stuck to him. Everyone else likes your paintjob, and you love to boast about how Prowl paid for it, so it’s a small price to pay for your favorite luxury.
“I think it looks good on you,” You kiss the tip of his spike, servo working quickly on the shaft of his waning erection, which startles a groan out of Prowl. He bucks up from his creaky office chair, helm tipped back as you work your tongue along his segmented length, “And wouldn’t it be hot to know others can tell what we’ve done.”