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anon-e-miss · 7 months

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War's Bride - 3

Prowl waddled down the path. His belly was hugely swollen, the newspark was due to emerge any day. He had thought there would be concubines for this, though Jazz had told him early on there would only be him, he had just thought it was too unlikely that his Alpha spark would kindle. It had though, and kindled quickly. The medic declared Prowl had conceived on the dark-cycle of their bonding and he had conceived not only one but two bitlets. Jazz said they were splitsparks but Prowl did not entirely understand the significance of the glyph. It did not exist in the Praxian dialect.

He leaned against a low wall and panted. With his belly, he waddled enough but now that he had a huge falsespike magnetized in his valve, it was so much worse. Prowl shook as he sank to his knees. There was no ignoring it. The toy rubbed against his biolights and nodes as he walked and Prowl was desperately aroused. Sitting in the dirt, he rubbed his node and thumbed his nozzle, desperate for release. It was difficult. His frame had been conditioned to overload on Jazz’s spike and knot. Jazz was away however and if Prowl wanted release he needed to find it for himself but it was never as satisfying as when Jazz fragged him.

If he could take the false spike out, maybe he would not be always so desperately aroused but it was magnetized and locked and he could not remove it. Because the bitties were large and he was an Alpha with a less elastic valve than that of an Omega, they wanted to keep his valve dilated so emergence might go more smoothly. Punch, Jazz’s originator thought such steps would be less necessary with any successive carrying; Prowl did not want to think of that, he wanted to survive this carrying first.

“Look at you,” Jazz crooned. Prowl lifted his helm and saw his King walking towards him.

“Jazz,” he moaned, still stroking his node.

“ ‘M impressed ya walked this far with that girder stuck in y’a,” Jazz said.

“Took four breams,” Prowl grumbled.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Jazz crouched and cupped his face. “Ya won’t be walkin’ once ‘m done wit ya.”

Jazz took him face down in the dirt, right next to the garden path. It was like he had said he would have done, when they had faced each other in battle, if Jazz had not thought he would be shot for it. Prowl cupped his huge belly as Jazz took him from behind, spike gliding effortless in and out of his slackened channel. It felt good all the same, Jazz had girth enough, even alongside the toy, to steal Prowl’s intakes.His wells swung back and forth, bouncing off his belly. Beads of energon fell from his stiff nozzles. They had started to leak. Jazz declared they would have no further need of the toy that had been plugging Prowl’s aft so he pushed it up Prowl’s aft and locked it there. Prowl squealed and overloaded as it vibrated against his transfluid duct. He had not known it could do that.

“As for the matter of Tarn…” Prowl mewled, helpless as he girated on Jazz’s lap. His aftpipe strained around the toy the same way his valve strained around Jazz’s knot. As Jazz spoke to the Vosian envoy, he digit fragged Prowl’s sheath with buzzing digits and massaged his swollen well. His huge belly jiggled as he writhed as he was made to warm his King’s spike before the Seeker trine. Even when the Prime came to feast with them, Prowl was trapped on Jazz’s knotted spike, never was he allowed to be empty.

They sang Psalms in the temple, with dignity and solemnity. Save for Prowl, who could only mewl as Jazz had him seated on his spike again, with digits deep in his sheath. Behind the curtain, Prowl’s half brother was being taken for a bride. Praxus had not learned from Prowl’s defeat and Jazz’s army’s servo. Jazz refused to take another bride or consort and so it was his Twin who had taken his virginity in his tent when the battle had closed and was now taking him for bride. Jazz stuck his digits in Prowl’s mouth as he moaned and mewled, overloading himself as his brother cried out in ecstasy as he took his Lord Consort’s knot.

Barricade took to pleasure well and Prowl was relieved. His brother’s temper was hot and he had been worried he might resist out of pride or spite. It seemed Ricochet had not forced himself on Barricade in that tent but had seduced him and seduced him well. To be seduced like that was scandalous given their rank but it mattered not to the Polyhexians. His belly was small now, but it would soon grow round as Prowl’s had, Punch had confirmed that Ricochet had worked hard that dark-cycle in the tent and had left Barricade with spark to ensure Praxus could not refuse his claim.

It was stranger to hear that they would have yet another sibling in half a joor’s time as someone across the desert had claimed their Omega originator and bedded him well. Prowl knew it was not his originator’s consort who had ensparked him this time as Camshaft had killed Barricade’s cruel progenitor long ago and had not taken another. The Duke preferred not to share his power. There was no suggestion there had been a bonding, just a mating claim, but Prowl did not know if that was his originator’s preference. Jazz was trying to arrange a visit but the renewed hostilities had stopped him from travelling and he had been delayed in an oasis, where he had been kindled. At some point Prowl would hear the story, as much of it as he would want to.

Prowl groaned as he bore down, crouched on his peds, he pushed as he was supported by Punch and Jazz as he medic directed him to push. Perhaps being knotted nearly constantly had not been such a terrible idea, the bitlet slipped from his valve, followed quickly by his twin without the need for surgery, as the medics had feared. The bitlets were cleaned and nursing lustily from his wells when Barricade and Ricochet came in to meet their nephews. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were quite perfect, everyone agreed.

“Ricochet finally found the nomad that claimed Origin,” Barricade told him. “They’ll be given save passage to visit the capital soon.”

It could have been far worse, Prowl thought, all things considered. When he had been chosen to be the Bride, he had expected that he would never see his kin again but the only kin he cared for would soon be close at serve. Perhaps this nomad who had claimed Camshaft could be convinced to stay.

#maccadams #valveplug #mechpreg #tf prowl #tf jazz #anon-e-miss writes #tf ricochet #tf barricade #war's bride #a/b/o dynamics

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anon-e-miss · 2 years

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The War's Bride

Prowl stood on the small pedestal as the detailer and her assistants spun about him. They held lengths of silken cloth against his protoform and debated their futures. Already, he was armoured, such as you could call it that. It would not protect him from anything. The bikini cut girdle covered his array, and nothing else. It did not even cover his aft segments but cut between them; he found it odd feeling armour. His chestplate ended just under his wells and tightly followed their shape. The thin black and white metal was inlaid with fine gems. It was the armour of a Polyhexian Bride. A bride was meant to be an Omega. He was neither Polyhexian nor was he Omega but he had been chosen from the Praxian host to go in bonding to the Polyhexian King of the Torus States to cement the peace between their lands. That Prowl was an Alpha, as their king was, had not troubled the Polyhexians and so, Prowl was to be an Alpha’s bride. From General to Ornament, it was quite a twist in fate.

“Yes, this is the one,” Hotwire, the detailer, declared, holding up a linen whiter than snow.

They placed a belt of gold inlaid with red and white crystals on his hips and draped panels of that linen over his front and back. The same linen was clasped to his shoulders and made to fall under his doorwings, already cover in gold mesh that was strung with crystals. Sleeves of the same linen fell from cuffs on his upper arms and connected to bands on his wrists. He was made to kneel so they could put the strung crystals on his chevron and connect the veil to it. The train was so long, Prowl thought it would be unmanageable but then, he was not meant to walk far, certainly not with the heels outfitted to his peds. Prowl did not dare move less he trip and the the linen, or the cuffs smear the ornate paint that had been applied to his protoform. Only the detailing on his face could not be smudged. Fine dots and line marked his face, the etchings inlaid with gold. They were the symbols that would mark him forever, whatever armour he wore, that Prowl was a bride. He had no idea what any of the symbols meant but the detailer had been very precise in her orders.

“The picture o’ a perfect bride,” Hotwire declared. “Surely fit for a king.”

There would be concubines, in time, Prowl knew. The Polyhexian king would no doubt have a harem of them to give him the heirs he would need to secure his dynasty. He could not be expected to gain them from an Alpha bride. Prowl looked at his servo, at the delicate paint that ran over the back of his digits, drawing attention to his claws which were also painted gold. The Alpha had always kept them capped; long claws were a status symbol for Omegas, not Alphas, to show how well they were looked after. If an Omega’s claws were chipped or rough, or filed down, it showed they were expected to perform manual labour. Prowl supposed his would be kept long and uncapped from now on.

He could not deny that he felt cyber-butterflies in his fuel tank as he was escorted to the litter upon which he would be carried to the temple. Prowl sat stiffly on the cushioned throne as he was carried down the road. Dancers, trumpeters and drummers led his way and mechanisms lined the road. Alongside his litter, groommecha threw coin into the crowd as guards in dazzling armour followed. This was his dowry, not paid to the king but to the citizens of Polyhex. It would pay for feasting for an orn in celebration of the bonding. He saw sparklings jostled by the excited crowds and he looked down to the groom closest to him.

“Lay coin in the palm of every sparkling and youngling you see,” he ordered. “See that none is robbed.

The groom did as he was asked and Prowl was pleased to see the young receive a share of the boon of his dowry. He was both fascinated by and detached from the spectacle of his procession. Prowl had spent his adult forms largely in the background, overseeing and directing battles. His strategies had earned him accolades from the Crown for a period, though his methods had not earned him great love from his soldiers. Generals who led from the front tended to earn the love of worship of their subordinates. They also died in greater number and Prowl’s best work was done when he could see everything around him. He had never been able to find the perfect balance. Prowl thought he would have made a better scholar, perhaps than a commander, hiding behind his tomes.

Now he would rust as a bride. His litter was lowered to the ground and as the band struck a lively chord, Prowl walked gingerly along a deep blue carpet as he made his way into the temple. The king of Polyhex, Jazz of Staniz, waited at the altar, its surface draped with cloth. Curtains were drawn back and at the sight of them, Prowl flushed. This was where the bedding would happen, where this king would make him his bride in frame and spark. The temple was filled with the elite of Polyhex, their allies and Praxus. Delicately, Prowl walked past them and made his way to his groom. Priests spoke blessings in an ancient tongue. Prowl stood tall next to his groom, the king of Polyhex would have been shorter than Prowl without the heels and with him the difference in their height was that much more distinct. The priests called for Prowl to take his place on the altar. As the curtains closed around it, separated Prowl and his royal groom from their audience, Jazz pulled back his veil and kissed him gently.

Jazz unclasped Prowl’s chestplate and set it aside. He did the same for Prowl’s bikini girdle. Nakedness did not trouble Prowl but in general but this was a different dynamic than he had ever faced. His royal conjunx cupped his wells as he kissed him. On the other side of the gossamer curtains, the bonding guests and priests waiting, singing psalms and burning incense. Prowl willed himself to relax as his kingly conjunx touched his frame. The paint smudged as Jazz, his conjunx, traced the symbols and Prowl realized it was intentional. It seemed like the paint had been a great deal of work for such a limit show. Jazz’s touch slowly but not so slowly grew Prowl’s charge and he moaned softly against the king’s lipplates. He felt his conjunx smile. His servo was between Prowl’s legs; Jazz stroked his node and behind his seal, Prowl felt his valve grow wet and he flushed. Of course, as an Alpha, Prowl had made some use of his spike but his valve had never been touched. His flush darkened as Jazz stroked his folds as they swelled and bloomed away from his sealed centre.

“Relax,” Jazz whispered in his audio. “I’ll break yer seal with my digits, so I can prepare ya better. It’d be a bad omen if I tore ya on Primus’ altar.”

It was a fair concern. Prowl shivered as his spike began to pressurize as Jazz continued to fondle his valve. Alpha valves did not lubricate the same; neither did they stretch as easily as Omega valves. More preparation was required to prevent damage. Jazz lowered his helm to Prowl’s well and kissed and then sucked Prowl’s nozzle. There was a wet sound as Jazz’s digits broke passed his outer seal and stopped just within Prowl’s untouched core. It did not hurt but it felt strange to have these digits inside of him. Prowl panted with increasing force as Jazz sucked and mouthed his nozzles at the same time as he gingerly tested Prowl’s tight valve. He stroked a cluster of sensory nodes and biolights at the roof of Prowl’s valve and the Alpha bride gasped as his valve tensed and a rush of lubricants sprayed from his centre. His spike stiffened against his belly but that did not seem to bother his groom.

“Good,” Jazz purred as he massaged that spot within Prowl valve, causing his valve to lubricate to an obscene degree. The king sank his digits deeper into Prowl’s valve, stretching them apart as he tested Prowl’s elasticity. “So responsive. So wet.”

Prowl watched as Jazz stroked the length of his turgid, Alpha spike with the bride’s own lubricants. His length glistened with them and still the king pressed his digits deep into Prowl’s tender core and gathered more lubricant. The bride’s jaw fell open ever so slightly at the sight of the behemoth the other Alpha was lining up to his tiny valve. Jazz lifted Prowl’s legs from where they had been dangling over the altar and held them up as he made the first push in.

“Ah!” Prowl gasped in shock as his valve was breached by so thick a spike.

His folds hugged Jazz’s girth as Jazz stood patiently still. Prowl wriggled his hips as he tried to adjust but he knew more was coming, he could see the vast majority of the other Alpha’s spike remained outside of his frame and he gasped like a cyberfish out of energon. Slowly, the king rocked his hips and work more of his great length into Prowl’s small, narrow channel. An Omega’s valve channel was naturally deep but Prowl’s was not. Jazz physically stretch him to his natural limits and still beyond. An Alpha’s plug was far firmer than an Omega’s but with only a fraction of his spike buried in Prowl valve, Jazz popped his plug and plunged his spike into Prowl’s gestational tank. It was, like Prowl’s valve, undersized but as Jazz began to actively frag his tank, battering his walls, Prowl’s internals stretched and shifted. Jazz forced every last micrometer of his spike in Prowl’s tender frame, making him ache with fullness. Faced with Jazz’s spike, Prowl’s valve was made to stretch, to lengthen until all that remained, pressed against Prowl’s taunt folds was the other Alpha knot.

They could surely hear Prowl over the psalms they sang, as he cried and squealed as he was remade on the other Alpha’s spike. His wells bounced on his chassis as Jazz took his due. Prowl’s jaw hung open as he gasped and grunted as the king sawed his spike in and out of him. The incredible ache as his frame was forced to shift and to stretch to take Alpha spike made Prowl sob and shake. Tears fell from his face and snot from his olfactory ridge as the other Alpha thoroughly dominated him. There was pleasure in the agony, however and, Prowl’s peds curled as the sensations overwhelmed him and Prowl overloaded with a cry even as he sniffled. He wailed, shrill and broken, as Jazz broke him on his knot and locked them together. Prowl shattered as he overloaded, his spike sprayed his belly with transfluids.

His belly, already bulging just with the king’s spike, swelled up as his small gestational tank was filled with Jazz’s spend. Prowl sobbed, overstimulated, overwrought as Jazz’s reservoirs emptied into his belly and forced his gestational tank to expand as the Alpha’s knot prevented even a drop of transfluid from escaping Prowl’s aching valve. Jazz bared his spark and Prowl mirrored him. As Jazz brought them together, their coronas merging, Prowl’s gamma cluster was ground against his knot. Even as Prowl’s spark meshed with the other’s, Prowl felt his nodes and biolights flash and his optics rolled back as he shattered again, overloading, seemingly endlessly as the other Alpha merged with him. He was limp, utterly strutless before Jazz slowly withdrew his spike and spark. Prowl was dazed and exhausted and he could not imagine how he was to be expected to walk.

“We ain’t done just yet, Lovely,” Jazz crooned, helping him sit up. “Still got the rest o’ the ceremony and then the feast.”

“Oh Primus,” Prowl moaned.

#war's bride #alpha/apha #a/b/o dynamics #getting fragged again #tf prowl #tf jazz #arranged marriage #cultural differences #valveplug #maccadams

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