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Just A Moment, For Your Affections	By : Chaosdreamer Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 1603 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers and all recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I am making no profit writing these stories.

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- 1-Title: Just A Moment, For Your Affections
- 1
Title: Just A Moment, For Your Affections
Author: dreamerchaos
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I'm only playing with them.
Pairing: LockdownxProwl. MegatronxOptimus Prime.
Rating: Mature. STICKY.
Summary: Following the episode ‘Human Error’. Lockdown docks aboard the Leviathan, keen to rendezvous with his favorite cyberninja.
Author’s Note: My first ever LockdownxProwl. I’ve finally succumbed to write fanfic with this pairing, no matter the tantrum and kicking and screaming fit I threw. I blame the many LockdownxProwl authors who have unintentionally tempted me, as well as Enolianslave’s artwork.
Author’s Note2: While this fic is mainly based on the LockdownxProwl pairing, I forever remain a MegOP beeyootch. So! Saying this, I will unapologetically squeeze that pairing into this fic as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Easy there, darlin’.” Lockdown purred, cautiously patting the moaning console of his ship as the slimmer ruby shuttle docked with the massive Leviathan, the grand obsidian black space ship hovering outside the dense atmosphere of a small desolate red planet. Suspended behind the planet, tucked away out of radar detection in case there is a stray Elite Guard vessels that would dare to test their mettle against the war ship.

His ship growled in seeming displeasure as the docking cable locked onto the port door, locking Lockdown’s ship to the Leviathan. Lockdown’s ship settling alongside the Decepticon vessel, the smaller ship a sharp contrast like a tiny guppy swimming alongside a great white shark.

“You are confirmed and docked.” The Leviathan’s smooth baritone comm. system informed the bounty hunter. “Bounty Hunter Lockdown. Class 5-A. Your escort will await when you step aboard.”

“Nice.” Lockdown rubbed his hands together greedily, patting the console of the ship once more for good measure before falling back to sprawl comfortably in his seat, eyeing the wide viewing window, surveying the impressive vessel he was currently docked, “Time to collect some credits.”

The albino face grinned, black tattoos stretching with the glimmer of crooked denta, ‘Won’t hurt none to spend a bit of time knocking boots with Prowl and share a bit of rest on a familiar berth, either.’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lockdown’s eyebrow ridge twitched with a clear display of surprise when the docking door spiraled open to reveal the cool glimmer of slanted crimson optics, the young Prime standing at attention awaiting the bounty hunter to adjourn onto the Leviathan’s deck.

“Well this is certainly an honor.” Lockdown snickered, sauntering up to the Prime, sliding his optics up and down the mech’s frame, “Megatron must be in a good mood to allowed his favorite mech out of his sights, and all for little ol’ me.”

Optimus Prime’s lips twitched with unwanted, but wry humor. Saying nothing, not eager to fall willingly into Lockdown’s game to prod and stir the Prime’s patience and cause the mech to sputter and spit in fury at the bounty hunter’s audaciousness, Optimus Prime beckons the bounty hunter with a nod of his head.

Lockdown willingly trails the Prime, and the silent command to follow.

The silence lasts as long as can be expected before the patchwork bounty hunter comments, “I’m going to need to resupply before I head out.” The prisoners aboard his ship had put up a nasty fight, their blasts scouring the ship’s outer skin, and the last thing Lockdown would want was a gaping hole in the hull that needed mending.

Optimus’ words chuckles with a breathy whisper, “I am sure you will enjoy your rest and Prowl’s company while the drones repair and restock your ship.”

“Mmm.” Lockdown purrs at the thought, but decides not to get colorful and go into detail about what he plans to do to the cyberninja. The Prime is smart enough to make his own conclusions. Still…he does have to try his luck and goad the Prime, “Whatever gave you the idea that I’ve been missing the cyberninja?” He teases.

The Prime glances over his shoulder as he continues to walk, for a brief moment a shine of silver revealed the even line of pristine denta as the red and blue mech smiles knowingly, “Your engine rumbles like a mech-lion at the very mention of him.”

Before Lockdown can dredge up the effort to defend himself¯internally growling at the betraying engine, his fans revving hotly at the mention of Prowl¯Optimus Prime halts in front of the goliath tarnished steel doors of the Decepticon Lord’s throne and war room.

“The big mech himself,” Lockdown chuckles, smirking at the reproachful look tossed in his direction by the two Decepticons guarding the throne doors, the large sentries glaring at the bounty hunter, one’s gaze narrowing in distaste.

Optimus sneers in disdain at the guards, their lack of attention for their assigned duties stirring his ire, “Optics forward.” He warns sharply, and the two sentries snap to attention, cowed by the Prime, Optimus continuing to frown in disappointment over the short moment of the young Decepticons’ inattentiveness as he raps twice upon the heavy sealed doors, “It seems with every fresh team of recruits who come in, they are more dense and useless than the previous set.” The Prime growls when he catches the guards’ attention, his cold rebuke causing them to twitch.

The doors wait a few astroseconds before a rattling groan signals approval for the two mechs to enter. The broad heavy panels drifting apart with a slow, steady glide that belies the age of the huge vessel.

Megatron does not grace the two mechs by lifting his helm in acknowledgement, nor a word of greeting. Seated upon a smaller throne at the head of the long war table¯the much larger, looming throne at his back upon the large raised dais and the tall stairs bowing at the chair’s feet¯Lockdown is mildly impressed by taking note of the Decepticon warlord’s upgrades, the large mech outfitted in his previous framework that he had worn before the disaster of the Ark falling and crashing to Earth, sending the warlord smashing into the planet, left to rot in pieces upon the miserable dirtball organic planet for over fifty years before his loyal Decepticons used the Key to bring him online.

“Looking good, I see.” Lockdown compliments, pulling a chair out at the opposite end of the table, and falling down and sprawling indolently within its arms.

The corner of Megatron’s lips curls with wry amusement.

Lockdown isn’t so daring to keep prodding the mech, like he would with the Prime. Testing the warlord’s temper was like twitching a cattail in front of a lazing tiger: momentarily amusing for the tiger, but one fatal twitch in the wrong direction would have a massive paw loping off your head.

Still seated, and not responding to the bounty hunter’s words, Megatron’s optics flicker in the direction of the Prime. Curling a finger to beckon the mech closer.

The Prime bows his helm in deference, approaching the seated warrior, sliding his hand into Megatron’s with a brief caress in greeting, before stepping aside and advancing to the tall energon dispenser not too far from the large table.

“So few bounties this time.” Megatron’s low rumble causes Lockdown to balk in surprise.

He regains himself quickly, “Fewer Autobots.” He grumbles, folding his arms across his green and black chassis. Broodingly scowling over the fact that the Autobots he has captured had piss-poor trophies not worthy of his time or effort to scavenge, causing the bounty hunter to feel less the charitable in holding back from damaging his prey too badly.

“Hmm.” Megatron purrs.

The Prime gently sets a chalice of oil near Megatron’s hand, striding down to the opposite end of the table and placing a glowing cup of energon in front of the bounty hunter.

“Fresh out of neurotoxin, I’m sad to say.” The Prime quips when Lockdown’s optics twitches in the direction of the offered drink, “I hate to disappoint you with a lack of poison in your drink.” The young mech jokes.

“Ch.” Lockdown snorts, but grins toothily as he accepts the drink, “If your boss wanted me deactivated, I would have never made it on the ship in the first place.”

Optimus smiles¯with award worthy composure¯in feigned incomprehension, as if perplexed by the notion that Megatron wouldn’t be beneath deactivating any online mech or femme. The Prime stepping aside and returning to his Lord’s side, standing tall and at attention a step behind the arm rest on Megatron’s right side.

Wasn’t that long ago that Starscream upheld the position, Lockdown notes privately.

Then again, a traitor too many times over tends to lose that respect and honor, and in Starscream’s case, his head made a fine trophy on one of the walls in the main hall outside Lord Megatron’s chambers.

“The credits will be transferred to your accounts, as before.” Megatron raises the cup to his lips and dips his chalice, savoring a draught of oil.

Lockdown savors his cup, the high grade scalding his throat, pouring down and humming through his systems. Decepticons always horded the highest quality.

“Since your selection in quarry is growing slim, I think that I will use this opportunity to employ your skills elsewhere, Lockdown.”

“Oh?”

Placing his chalice down, Megatron steeples his hands together. Resting his chin upon folded interlaced fingers, “That wretched planet that I was forced to dwell upon for so many orns will be part of my next campaign. I plan to lay waste to the entire planet, and I may have need of your services.”

“Another job, then?” Lockdown frowns in distaste, his joints aching from lack of adequate recharge, having spent so many solar cycles tracking Autobots with an insufficient supply of rest, “Don’t care much for organics myself, but I’m a bounty hunter, not a mercenary.”

“But your ship’s cloaking device will allow you to slip beyond the human’s security network satellites.” Megatron’s gaze narrows in disapproval at Lockdown’s lack of enthusiasm. “The Leviathan and other ships in my squad are not outfitted with such systems because of their mass. Acquiring the number of ships with these modifications will be an expensive and prolonged endeavor.”

“So you’ll hire someone like lil’ ol’ me to do the job, and at a bargain rate no less,” Lockdown chortles, picking at the subject like it was an annoying scab, “Flexing your hand and delving into sectors of finances and manufacturing. Won’t be long until we see you charging fees and pushing interest rates for docking your ships. You’re not turning into another Swindle, are you?”

That statement is clearly an example on how to sufficiently rankle the warlord’s testy patience, especially by hinting the Decepticon as being related to the dealer who would trade his own motherboard for a hot deal. Optimus Prime stiffens as well at the bounty hunter’s remark at the callous comment, knowing from previous events that Megatron is still entirely unamused. A recent altercation with Swindle occurring a fortnight ago, the schemer/dealer caught in a middle of a transaction with a lowly gaggle of human thugs, selling Cybertronian weapons to the young punks, much to Megatron’s displeasure, since the weapons had been ‘liberated’ from the crashed Nemesis’s hull.

“You step out of line by being so casual.” The Prime warns, distaste lacing his words, “And to add to insult, following with such an offensive insinuation.” Earlier jokes aside and forgotten, Lockdown notes how Optimus’ hand flexes against his hip, probably ready to snatch up the handle of his battle axe and defend his Lord for the insult made.

Lockdown raises his hands in submission, interceding before anyone or anything can begin to get out of hand. “My bad.” He admits.

“I care little of your opinion, Lockdown,” The warlord growls, “I am willing to compensate you with credits and energon for your services. Do not tempt me to lower your salary because I am questioning your skills and usefulness.”

“Don’t have a problem with the job, or the payment, my Lord.” Lockdown quickens to sooth the Decepticon’s hackles. “Just feeling a bit rundown after such a long time hunting down the few Autobot stragglers still scurrying and hiding within perimeter of the Outer Systems.”

“Lonely for a specific companion, if I am safe to presume.” Optimus Prime mirrors his Lord’s amusement when the warlord suddenly realizes why the bounty hunter is feeling particularly churlish, and not in a mood to play niceties.

Lockdown shrugs helplessly, “What can I say? ‘M not a popular mech, and I take pleasure with the company I have earned.”

“Then by all means.” Megatron grants his a reprieve. Forgiving Lockdown’s misstep in courteous behavior in front of the Decepticon Lord. This time.

“Find your cyberninja and enjoy the remainder of the night cycle. However…do not get too attached. When the campaign is underway, he will be joining Prime and his team on the planet, acting as the first wave. I will expect you to await further orders at the allotted specific coordinates, your ship circling the planet Mars until I give the command to approach Earth and begin the secondary assault.”

Lockdown slaps his hands upon the armrests, shoving onto his pedes with a flattering bow, to further improve his chances of stepping out of the room with his head attached to his shoulders. “Many thanks.” He mumbles, stepping around the chair, while taking the effort to keep the Decepticon Lord within his optical sights at all times.

Megatron flicks his hand in the direction of the closed doors, dismissing the bounty hunter with an apathetic gesture to abandon his sights, “Go. Amuse yourself. I have wasted more than enough time with you whilst abasing myself by suffering your humor for a sufficient period. I am more interested in reviewing schematics and discussing the campaign with my Prime.”

Lockdown doesn’t feel secure in commenting on the undertone of tension within the room, not missing the way the Decepticon warlord’s hand slides suspiciously out of sight behind the lowest plating above the Prime’s posterior. Optimus’ ruby optics pulsing quickly, a small hiss of surprise escaping the young Prime, obviously responding to his Lord’s concealed handling, ‘Someone is feeling hot an’ bothered, I take it.’

“Haven’t heard that one before...” Lockdown chuckles under the lowest breath of his vents once his is safely beyond the doors, winking brazenly at the two growling guards as he saunters towards the barracks, “Guess for old Megs, reviewing schematics is a hint that he wants to throw Prime over the table and have his way with him.”

Whistling an old tune he picked up somewhere in the Megaul Quadrant, the bounty hunter briskly made his way towards Prowl’s quarters, not taking any shame in hiding his clear intentions.

‘Hope Prowl’s neighbors don’t mind all the racket tonight.’ The bounty hunter leers privately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knocks at the door to Prowl’s quarters. His steady rap not returned with any form of an answer, Lockdown takes the silence as a cue for approval to enter.

Punching in the series of code onto the flat silver key pads¯and how much it burns Prowl that the bounty hunter has always managed to find access to his private codes, no matter how many times the cyberninja changes the password entry sequence¯and with a soft chime and brief pulse of acid green the locks release, and Lockdown grins when the door hisses open.

He surveys the interior of the room as the door automatically shuts and locks behind him. Gaze sliding over the bare walls, the majority of the floor edged with various sizes of foliage that the cyberninja has gathered from the organic planets the ship has encountered throughout space. Only the berth and the entryway into the washracks are safe from the scattered fingers of vines and lush leaves choking over half of the room.

“Kid, you need a new hobby.” Lockdown mutters, taking care to step around a spindly potted plant when he ventures another step forward. He’s a quick learner, having thus dealt with a silently irate cyberninja when having previously knocked over one of Prowl’s precious organic arrangements when he had visited last time.

“Well, that’s certainly something, coming from you.”

Lockdown feigns looking to his left, but clearly having heard Prowl’s voice from the right. The little tease was using his holographic projector. “Nothin’ wrong with my hobbies. I just don’t tend to bring pets on board.”

“Dismantling your quarry and building a shrine in your workroom for all of the upgrades and mods that you have acquired off your bounties. Certainly a charming piece of conversation for any sane mech to endure,” Prowl releases a sharp gasp when the bounty hunter whips around, snagging the cyberninja’s wrists with his one hand.

Prowl drops the hologram with a frown¯now that he has been successfully captured, there is no need to feign stealth¯glaring with ruby optics at his leering partner, “And as for bringing pets on board, I was not aware that that species of plant held a colony of miniature sized Insecticons. But do please remind me. Ratchet still hasn’t tired of yelling at me about that, after those gruesome creatures devoured half of his Medical bay before Oil Slick synthesized a liquid agent to dispel the Primus-forsaken spawn.”

“Gave Blitzwing a good laugh, I heard.” Lockdown kneads the pliable metal in between his fingers, Prowl’s gold and black fingers flexing as the bounty hunter’s palm flexes and massages the sensitive inner plating of his wrists, “I thought three-face gave the little Pit-spawn names?” He shuddered, remembering Random fondly nicknaming one particularly gruesome little Insecticon ‘George’.

“Only until his newly named Insecticons tried to munch on his pede.” Prowl smirks, earning an answering chuckle of mirth, “Lord Megatron and Shockwave weren’t amused when Blitzwing began to fire his laser cannons throughout the ship in order to eradicate the vermin.”

“Mech after my own spark,” Lockdown cajoles Prowl to follow his lead, their pedes intertwining in a slow dance as the bounty hunter beckons the cyberninja closer towards the inviting berth, “A good dose of weapon firepower never hurt anyone.”

“Over-clocked brute,” Prowl grumbles, but doesn’t resist when Lockdown plops down upon the berth, tugging the cyberninja onto his lap.

“Oooh, darlin’,” Lockdown purrs, nuzzling Prowl’s chin, nudging the sleek black and gold mech to arch his throat to allow the bounty hunter more plating and tubing to lave and map, “Keep talking dirty to me.”

Prowl’s engine switched into life with a loud growl, the snarl trembling throughout his plating. Hands freed, the cyberninja dragged his hands up and around Lockdown’s rotor cuffs, nipping with his sharp denta at the bounty hunter’s collar strut.

“Frag, you’re eager.” Lockdown laughs, twisting around and sprawling Prowl onto the berth. Answering the cyberninja’s incensed growl with a loud snarl, growling his denta around a thick energon cable.

Prowl moans, switching suddenly into eager submission, the steady pressure of the bite sending his energon pulsing wildly. Legs sliding up Lockdown’s waist, clenching atop the bounty hunter’s hips, Prowl curls his fingers in between his mate’s plating.

Lockdown, amused, observes the cyberninja as he falls into a practiced pout, biting his silver lip between the smooth edges of his denta, “Y-You were late in returning from your bounties.” Prowl groans, tossing his helm back, helmet tapping against the bounty hunter’s hook, Lockdown steadying the cyberninja as Prowl rubs and thrusts against his frame.

“Sorry, darlin’,” Lockdown rakes his hands up and down the seam of Prowl’s chassis, fingers just barely delving in between the rubber edges, only just probing the periphery of the cyberninja’s spark casing, “Had a bit of a time hunting down a mech by the name of ‘Rodimus Prime’. Gave me a bit of trouble on Charr.”

“Poor thing…” The cyberninja gasps, jerking when Lockdown’s hand begins to creep downward, plunging between his legs.

“You should feel sorry for me.” Lockdown wriggles until he is completely and quite comfortably settled. Ignoring his partner’s growl of discomfort, he sprawls across Prowl’s chassis, his deadweight effectively pinning the writhing mech, “I had to listen to all of this whining of, ‘I’m a Prime,’ and ‘The Elite Guard will throw you in a cell to rot!’, or my favorite, ‘You can’t do this…We’re part of the Autobot Elite!’ Pfft! Made me want to rip out my audio receptors. And the Prime’s little buddies…between the femme calling me every caustic word this side of the galaxy, or the loudmouth shorty who’s brawn is bigger than his mainframe, I was tempted to jettison all their afts into the nearest orbiting sun.”

“My spark weeps.” Prowl’s voice is dry and unmoved.

“Ain’t the only part of you weeping.” Lockdown leers, rubbing his fingertips along the outside seams of Prowl’s cod piece. Pale lubricant smearing his fingers, and the cyberninja chirrs in gratuitous encore, his port and valve sending sharp bursts of electrical relays from the rough stimulation of Lockdown’s fingers over his codpiece and along the inside of his thighs.

“Do not tease me!” If Prowl were able, he would have flung Lockdown off the berth and onto the floor, straddled the bounty hunter and had his way with the larger mech, if not for his partner’s heavier mass that still persisted in keeping him lying prone and helpless in sating his rising need.

Lockdown clucked his glossa in disappointment. “Temper, Prowl. Your impatience is showing your young age. Are you sure that you’ve outgrown your protoform frame?”

Prowl seethes, but his hackles are smoothed when Lockdown, just as eager to attend to his mounting desire, snaps loose their codpieces. The bounty hunter tossing the pelvic guards aside to keep them out of the two mechs’ way, “Much better,” Lockdown sighs, shuddering at the kiss of cooler air on his stiffening cord and throbbing valve.

“In!” Prowl isn’t beneath pleading, rubbing and thrusting his interface relay in Lockdown’s direction. Crying out need fully, “Inside me--” The cyberninja cut short when Lockdown leans forward, preparing to penetrate, but the bounty hunter pauses, earning a reproaching moan from the frustrated black and gold mech.

“Want to savor this.” Lockdown guides his cord with his hand, and teases the rim of Prowl’s port with the head of his stiffened piece. Prowl tries to thrust against him and push the cord inside, but the bounty hunter will have none of this.

“Let’s try something different,” Before Prowl can raise his voice in defiance, Lockdown flips the smaller mech around, guiding the Decepticon onto his hands and knees, “Try and be a little adventurous.” Lockdown adds his suggestion with a sharp smack to Prowl’s wiggling aft.

“Aah!!” The cyberninja squeaks in horror at the brazen attack on his posterior. Collapsing from stunned laughter, Lockdown hangs onto the mech, nearly bursting a gasket at the tinny shriek from his partner, the bounty hunter chortling at the undignified sound that escaped Prowl’s lips.

“It’s not funny!” Prowl’s hands tremble as he manages a few astroseconds without abuse, and learns how to balance his weight with the larger mech covering his frame, the cyberninja’s knees spread, elbows twitching as he insists upon remaining partially upright.

“You’re right.” Lockdown lines up, guiding his cord with his hand once more, “No more funny business. Time for some action.”

Prowl sobs in wrenching pleasure when the bounty hunter slowly penetrates, helm bowed between his arms, prevented by Lockdown’s hook and forearm curled around his waist from thrusting his hips and aft backwards to force the cord entirely inside.

Lockdown snarls as he observes Prowl’s port and valve slowly steer his cord all the way inside. Face twisting with pleasure as the round mouth suckles and swallows him whole. If only his optics could download the image into his CPU for the next thousand vorns, he would be a very happy mech.

“M-Move!” Prowl smacks a ball fist against the berth, ready to scream with frustration when Lockdown’s hand joins his hook to keep the cyberninja spread open but unable to move without the bounty hunter’s consent.

Lockdown chuckles, “Just enjoying the view for a bit,” He replies, probably deserving the foul words that the cyberninja mutters.

Prowl mewls when the bounty hunter finally decides to move. Lockdown’s hips snapping forward, pushing the cord impossibly deeper. He wriggles his hips and arches his thighs in a specific manner, rotating upon the cord as much as he can manage.

“Don’t make me strap you down.” Lockdown’s warning only excites the Decepticon.

“If I don’t do something, I’ll be bored to tears waiting for you to get on with it!” Prowl snaps.

“Get on with it, he says.” Lockdown growls, hands digging into the seams of Prowl’s plating, “All right, kid. You want it so bad, then don’t come complaining to me when you can’t sit straight. Take it like a real mech.”

Prowl is nearly flattened by the intense response his words have earned. The next thrust smearing a scatter of stars across his optical screen. He whimpers in tandem with the sharp, snapping thrusts punctuating against the plating of his aft, valve clenching like a glove around the stiff, ridged cord.

He moans a litany of pleas and approval, head bobbing with every thrust. Desperately wanting to reach down and stimulate his own cord, but not daring to risk slipping and losing his balance and smashing his face on to the berth.

The cyberninja gurgles with surprise when Lockdown’s hook loops around his throat, yanking the smaller black and gold mech off his hands, pulling the cyberninja onto his knees.

“Try to keep up, ‘kay darlin’?” Lockdown curls his arms around Prowl, molding the smaller mech along the front of his chassis. Prowl whimpers at the new angle, the bounty hunter’s cord stimulating another range of sensors along his valve walls. Coiling one arm behind his head and around Lockdown’s neck, Prowl arches and sighs brokenly, vents hitching with the steady pumps of Lockdown’s hips.

“Lockdown--” Prowl whines, his other hand tangling with the bounty hunter’s, Lockdown curling his hand around the cyberninja’s cord.

“Need something, Prowl?” Lockdown pumps his hand sharply up and down, dragging a low cry from his writhing partner. He drags his hand down to the base of the cyberninja’s cord, and tightens his grip. Not hurting the Decepticon by any means, but circumventing the basic programming of Prowl’s interface array, tricking the system to believe that overload was now unfeasible with the degree of pressure upon the base of Prowl’s cord.

“Interesting thing about Cybertronian systems,” Lockdown nips at Prowl’s audio, coating the rich paint with a coating of clear lubricant, glossa delving into the tiny audio tubing, “Add the right amount of pressure in the correct spot, and you can confuse the programming. For example, wrapping a hand around the base of a cord, and cutting off the electrical feed, you can trick the system into summarizing that there isn’t a cord there.”

Prowl sobs, quakes racing up his frame, the undirected feedback flooding his internal sensory network, the lattice of lightning racing throughout him, until a tiny electrical storm of current slithers and peeks in between his plating, coating his lips with tiny implosions of static electricity. Teetering with the promise of overload, but as Lockdown promised, the sensory relays were alerting the cyberninja that there wasn’t an overload to be accomplished, since he lacked the proper facilities and structure to simulate overload. “Please!” Scrabbling at Lockdown’s hand, desperately trying to unseal the firm grip at the base of his cord.

“Oh?” Lockdown blinks in staged astonishment, “did you need something, darlin’?” He inquires.

“I need it…please!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“What is it that you really need, Prowl?”

Prowl jerks as if he is connected to a live, open socket; helm rocking back against Lockdown’s shoulder, moaning as the bounty hunter’s engine roars against his back strut, “Please! L-Lockdown! Let me overload!”

“Well….” Lockdown ponders his dilemma. But in the end, decides to grant Prowl a little bit of reprieve, “Since you asked so nicely.”

Prowl mouth drops open with a soundless scream when Lockdown’s hand unleashes its grip. Overload hitting him like a large cargo vessel, otherwise knocking him onto his aft if it weren’t for Lockdown pounding into him and propping the black and gold mech upright.

Lockdown spasms, gasping as overload cold-cocks him. The larger mech groaning stiffly, hips snapping in brief stucco as transfluid is released from his cord, sluicing the flexing lining of the cyberninja’s valve walls.

Prowl groans at the stimulation of the viscous fluid. Shivering as the last tumbling dregs of overload are strangely yet perversely rekindled by the shockingly cool flood of transfluid splashing against the overheated walls of his valve and trickling from his port and down his trembling thighs.

Lockdown drops forward, managing not to crush Prowl, sending them into a forward sprawl to land on their sides. Prowl moans when the bounty hunter shifts with the intent to slide out of him, the cyberninja reaching behind and clenching a hand on Lockdown’s hip, silently commanding him to stay put.

The bounty hunter purrs against the back of Prowl’s neck, nuzzling the warm, flushed plating. Grinding against his partner when Prowl moans, pushing further into the bounty hunter’s clenched embrace, “Missed me as much as I missed you, I take it?” The larger mech winds his hand together with Prowl’s, post-overload allowing his more affectionate nature to peek through, Lockdown amusing himself with comparing the scratches and difference in finger circumference and plating texture, while Prowl stares at their intertwined hands.

“You’re an adequate distraction,” Prowl regains his breath long enough to speak, looking over his shoulder, coyly eyeing his relaxed mate, “Better than resorting to my hand for another night cycle.” The cyberninja boldly taunting the bounty hunter, and ‘Oh, you’ll pay for that comment later, darlin’,’ Lockdown vows.

“Keep telling yourself that, darlin’.” Lockdown curls impossibly closer against his partner, winding his arms tighter around the sated, supine mech. Prowl sighing within his embrace, turning around partway to press moist lips to the bounty hunter’s, before allowing the larger mech to continue, “If you’re lucky and are up for another round within the joor, next time I just may let you top.” The bounty hunter offers.

“And you claim that I am a tease.” Prowl snorts, but smiles slyly when his feels the tell-tale glide of Lockdown’s smirk and brushing lips trailing down his neck and collar.

END
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Just A Moment, For Your Affections