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Odd Couple	By : DeeDaday Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 16228 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers Animated or anything associated with it. These are purely recreational materials: I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
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A/N: This is the place where of my smutlings from my (gasp) human-AU, TFA, Lockdown/Prowl fic ‘Odd Couple' will hide. If you wish to read the actual fic and actually make sense of this character-driven porn, go to Ffnet and look up Odd Couple in the Transformers section.
There will be so many scattered sexual scenes in this fic that they needn't be posted separately. This will be a ‘collection' of sorts. Once a certain plot-progression happens (and you'll KNOW when it happens), you should check over here every so often for some smut :D Because it'll totally happen on-screen and off-screen. Yeeeeep. That's all!
God, this is my first time writing human smut in the longest time. WEIRD. Also, you can't tell me that, while possessing the greatest aptitude for sexy-moment-breaking, Prowl isn't fucking adorable. And neurotic.
Mostly neurotic. And virginal. Hee.
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To Take a Chance
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Time, a murderous and terrifying collection of hard-won seconds passed in the realm of an enemy, was no longer an issue once the two men locked together.
Through a skilled procedure of pressing and grabbing, Lockdown somehow hoisted the prudish young officer onto his lap and close to his wide, warm chest. Prowl's tight belt hit the floor after being whipped off his waist. Any misery Prowl felt at the open-legged, on-knee position was quickly erased by Lockdown's hard hands, both fully occupied with gripping and stroking him inside the confines of his pants—back and front.
Prowl exhaled sharply and twitched, nearly swooning into the racer's white neck as Lockdown's rough fingers pried down further, against the bite of his zipper, and did unmentionable, swirling-pumping things to him. He moaned and bucked his hips, both hands bunching in the racer's green shirt as he clung to the other man. The heat of his skin seemed to cauterize all reason, narrowing his existence to nothing more than a nerve-bundle for the hand around his erection. Lockdown's other hand, entrenched in the seat of his pants, squeezed his rear.
"Too much to ask for a little reciprocation?"
Woken from his stupor, Prowl drew back and stared at him, then shifted the same pale, wide-eyed gaze down to the buckle of the other man's pants—regarding it much like it was either an enemy or an alien. Lockdown chuckled roughly.
"I'm all natural from the waist down, kid. Don't look at me like I got other prosthetics I ain't tellin' you about."
Hesitantly, forced only by dragging seconds of silence, Prowl unbuttoned the other's tight jeans, skin chilling at the first flash of pale masculine fur and the sculpted slope of the flat space guarded by his hips. He stopped there, blankly questioning his sanity as the outline of Lockdown's erection became clearer; the racer leaned forward and nipped his jaw, urging him on with an indolent flicker of his tongue. After another moment, Prowl dipped his shaking hand into Lockdown's worn jeans—and met directly with rough, hot flesh, tip slathered in warm fluid, pressing directly against the pitiless cage of the material. No form of underwear.
Of course he would, Prowl thought too late, but by then Lockdown was already stroking him again; as though the two appendages were directly connected through a red, tender nerve, his hand tightened sharply on the other's trapped shaft, making Lockdown hiss in warning even as he groaned.
"Easy does it, Geronimo."
Thus chastised, Prowl pressed at him somewhat dumbly, half repulsed and half entranced: he could hardly fit his fist around the other man and the heat underneath his hand, trapped in those jeans, made his gut tighten in a way he hardly understood. His lamentable lack of skill was showing but before his numb mind could fully register it and have him react to his own aching incompetence, Lockdown called the tangle off right then. He whipped the stunned young man off his lap impatiently and pushed him, as he yanked his khaki pants up, deeper into the tiny house—straight for his bedroom.
Once inside, the older man mauled him in a way that was both beastly and clever: a knowledge of instinct that Prowl had never experienced, let alone claimed, but he knew on sight—on touch—that it was beyond powerful.
Huge hands locked around his waist, plowing up under his shirt as their mouths mashed and his back hit the door, shutting it with a crisp snap. Prowl kissed stiffly, jaw locked, as though he were fending off the heavy, too-fast push of the other's body with the clench of his teeth—the last defense of the small part of him that was still panicking. He suddenly turned his face away, breathing raggedly and digging his hands into the other's shirt again as Lockdown's mouth quested down to his throat for a moment; Prowl made a noise when the other's thumb locked on his chin, pressing down.
"Open up, kid," the dragster muttered against his lips, cementing it with a lusty kiss.
Hesitantly, Prowl opened his mouth—then jerked and whimpered and hiked a leg against the wall as Lockdown kissed him deeply. The slick intrusion sent a jolt of desire down to his groin and he pressed back single-mindedly, making a piteous noise into the other's hot mouth. Lockdown's muscled thigh parted his legs and he broke the kiss to gasp over the dragster's shoulder, hips twitching against the slow grind.
Undressing one another was not expected for any form of foreplay: Lockdown shucked his minimal clothing in a split second and ripped Prowl's shirt over his head, catching painfully on his modest ponytail. The young man sputtered when the other attempted to ‘help' with his khakis, nearly sending him crashing to the floor with an unfortunate and over-eager pantzing; Lockdown got a hearty laugh out of it even if it made Prowl's face fill with blood.
The second his riding boots hit the floor, however, Prowl staggered into low-pitched bed, flinging the crumpled navy sheets up over his naked body; sitting up, he regarded the other man with a sudden fear unmatched by any pedestrian viewing an armed robber. Lockdown, utterly naked and glowing in the yellow lamplight, closed in with an alarming dip of the mattress. Prowl looked to the side, both terrified and titillated by Lockdown's firm grip on his arms, pushing him back into the bed.
Gasping quietly, Prowl twitched when his nipple disappeared beneath the man's roving velvet mouth, followed by a teasing prick of teeth and a rush of desire when a rough, flat thumb stroked the other bud in circles. He moaned into the black of his tightly-shut lids, responding blindly to anything done to his taut body. His sensory overload, a roar of sound, touch and taste, was too intense to permit another sense—a sense far more adept than smell at ruining his current flood of denial--so he kept his eyes closed. Lockdown leaned in after a few minutes, nothing more than a pulse of warmth and a scrape of skin, and whispered:
"You're missin' the show."
Prowl opened his eyes and saw something that would have made a man twice his size gape—and in horrible proximity to his skinny body. He shut his eyes again and, of all things, started praying. It wasn't through any hope of salvation and it might as well have been his precious legal procedure again: he hadn't prayed since he was ten.
"Oh my g--our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come thy will be done—"
"Altar boy," Lockdown growled appreciatively, ripping the sheets from between them with a flurry of navy and a grimy chuckle. "That means y'like it better on your knees, right?"
"Oh Jesus Christ," he wailed, not even caring to see the other's evil grin—too hysterical to see that the man was, as always, messing with him. The young officer made a sound close to a shout when Lockdown kissed him fiercely, even if it melted to a wanton moan as Lockdown pulled him between his spread legs, the older man's erection rubbing against his inner thigh; his own shaft slid against Lockdown's stomach, sparking a pulse of pleasure. His shaking hands reached for the other's neck, locking behind the nape atop the black stripe tattooed there, fighting to press himself to Lockdown's smooth muscled chest and grind his pulsating member over the taut skin.
Lockdown held him like this for several intense minutes, ravishing his wet lips with the hungry slither of his tongue. Prowl gripped and groaned helplessly, nervous, wanting fingers snaking down in the hot sliver of air between them and fastening on Lockdown's marble shaft, palm soon slicked with fluid as he pumped his fist. Lockdown hissed, white arms wrapped around the young man's shoulders and neck, until, after a dense, ecstatic shudder, he flipped Prowl on his back and hooked a hand underneath his knee with a ravenous growl, pushing up and spreading his willowy legs. Prowl, mind jarred out of its velvet haze by the bouncing of the mattress, wrenched himself out of the exposing grip and threw out his hands.
"Condom," Prowl gasped fearfully, throwing out the only thing he could think of—defaulting to his eighth-grade sex education with bananas and green sticky plastic sheathes and muffled giggles. "Condom."
Lockdown stopped, glowering down at him.
"Shit. Should've made you drain the beer instead of that tea," he muttered grumpily, moving toward him. Prowl fell back with a scared sound, grasping for the sheets again, but Lockdown only reached for his bedside table, getting into the drawer and fumbling for something. Plastic crinkled and Prowl, had he been more aware of his body other than the concentrated, torturous throb spreading through his groin that seemed to numb his braincells, would have realized he was shaking madly from the waist down. He rolled over when Lockdown's huge hand wedged between him and the mattress, pushing him to the side and onto his stomach.
His view of the dark-wood headboard was both freeing and nerve-wracking: with the deprivation of his sight, the sensations became explosive and saturated with vulnerability. Prowl grit his teeth, muffling any squirming or noises in the sheets in his fists and under his chin as the other man's thick, lubricant-coated fingers were forced into him with a small twinge and thrill of pain, hips twitching. Thin sweat dripped down his temples and through his loose black hair, stomach clenching.
There were a few moments of discomfort, then Lockdown's mouth closed on the back of his neck—and Prowl cried out as the slick length pushed into him, legs convulsing apart. He arched up and back instinctively, fingers digging into the fabric as his erection, swollen and tingling, was driven roughly into the sheets, raw-edged pleasure pulsing through his gut. Pain, present and stinging, was secondary. Somewhere behind him, Lockdown groaned thickly, white weight descending on top of Prowl's narrow back, only intensifying the tense feeling as he thrust into the young man again with shuddering, delicious difficulty, sparking an anguished moan from beneath him.
Lockdown braced himself back up like a glacial monster, taking in the sight of Prowl's young back writhing, shoulders knotted up against the wreck of sensations—the slightest twitch of his cock, jammed in just the right spot, made the boy whimper and claw at the pillows. Lockdown cursed into the back of his neck, barbaric breath marking the heavy rocking of his hips. Prowl, nothing more than a throbbing brainstem and molten blood and a taut erection, all a furious shade of red, gasped in time as the thick length filled him to the point of pain, face twisted in spiraling, tightening spasms of pleasure.
Frantic and scraping, it wasn't long in lasting. Logical mind voiding, Prowl twitched and bucked back with a sharp, helpless cry after a few minutes of the furious rhythm, come slapping along his stomach and the sheets.
Still riding that hot, trembling tide, Lockdown thrust feverishly into his tight, numb body, hands knotted into the sheets inches from Prowl's own until he lurched and snarled and strained against the boy's backside, panting sharply into Prowl's neck for a moment before his arms gave. He laid along Prowl's sticky back, breathing as raggedly as the young man beneath him—then chuckled breathlessly and dragged his mouth along Prowl's ear, kissing the tingling space behind it that was matted with sweat and whatever hair had fallen loose from his ponytail. Prowl whimpered, paralyzed by the other's weight. After his breath slowed to a syrupy, satisfied rhythm, Lockdown pulled away and Prowl curled to the side, singed to his center.
It was not over. Not through any want of tenderness, but a simple addiction to touch and sex, Lockdown coaxed his limp body close and continued to maul him even after his lusty shudders ceased, rough hands gripping up his sides and up to his sore chest.
For at least half an hour, they fell to twisting and kissing each other, every movement warm and glazed with heavy satisfaction, one overwhelmed, one all-too accustomed —but where Prowl expected the small assault to peter off and end with the soft, final squeak of the mattress, segueing into sleep, it was not so. Lockdown's touches became firmer and more demanding in the dark, teeth scraping at the retreat of his tongue after a deep kiss, rousing him again and again from a prospective stupor just for a bite or a kiss. Finally, Prowl, hideously overwhelmed, was forced to moan unhappily, blown mind not caring for the others' high-maintenance wind-down; Lockdown responded by scooping the youth's warm, liquid shoulders off the bed with his thick arms and laying between his splayed legs.
"One more time," he growled, mouth against his neck.
"No," Prowl nearly gasped, stiffening at the texture and scrape of the other's hard cock against his abdomen, even as a pulse of trepidation and arousal shot through the skin underneath. He shifted weakly, trying to push the overly-virile monster away, but Lockdown locked his arms, pressing his rough face more firmly into the flesh of his neck.
"C'mon, darlin'. Shit, just—touchin' you, y'got me riled up again."
A brush against the young man's inner thigh proved it, leaving a faint train of fluid. Prowl shuddered at the sensation, then at the following coaxings, whispered in his ear between nips at his earlobe.
"You're gorgeous. One more time, kid, one more. Lemme have you."
The brief dip into almost-sleep had offered him some lucidity: and Lockdown was once again a feral force, mostly unknown and devouring his most basic, barricaded vulnerabilities in his hot mouth.
He had never expected that he would be this weak. Within minutes of the gritty, filthy coaxing, the sexual praise delivered between thrilling physical promises and the pressure between his pale thighs, he was hard again, heart beating so fast it nearly pained him—it nearly popped when Lockdown slid back and added a hand to help him along, thumb teasing his tender slit. He wasn't undone until sly fingers slid between his trembling legs again, pushing in, and drove expertly at that one pulsating spot; a tongue snaked along his inner thigh. He whimpered his acquiescence, head falling back onto the pillow.
Before Prowl could push up from the bed or mechanically try to turn over, Lockdown's weight came down and relieved him of any sort of movement.
"Stay," he growled into his neck, nuzzling his throat before drawing back in a thick shuffle of sheets.
He slid on another condom and slicked himself up again, then suspended his huge frame over Prowl's splay-legged body and pressed into him with surprising slowness. Pleasure pooling in his tight gut at the young, warm clench around his erection, the older man fell down to one elbow and teased his tongue over Prowl's neck, sucking viciously at his throat as he thrust in. Prowl cried out for both reasons, but the ensuing easy rhythm was another brand of torture. With the first burning need quenched, Lockdown pulsed atop him in slow and steady moaning motions, forcing him to feel in scraping, wet detail precisely what was happening.
With it brought a nearly suffocating seed of embarrassment--crippling self-consciousness--but the older man panted in his ear and the noise and rush of heat caused him to tighten up and moan and forget anything but the ripping physicality of the act and the stunning girth of the racer's length buried in him, every pulse bringing his pleasure jolting higher. Lockdown slipped his mouth around the officer's red ear, doubling the assault by scraping his huge hand up the back of his skull. The heady slurp of scalp-neck-spine pinpricks it provoked was unmatched by the gut-wrenching sensation when the racer dug his fingers in, pulling Prowl's black hair so firmly that he cried out, twitching into the grip.
"Harder," he murmured fiercely when he found his voice, every hair on his body at rapturous attention, all thrilling against the sheets or Lockdown or the cold air of the room. It didn't matter what he meant: Lockdown rammed into him and yanked his hair again, both harder than before, and a piteous, wanton noise escaped Prowl's open mouth as his skin and gut pulsed with hard bliss. Prowl's trembling legs crept up further, finally locking behind Lockdown's mangled white back as the older man feverishly finished with him, the sound of flesh slapping muffled by the panicked clench and scrape of Prowl's thighs as he came with a muffled, tortured gasp, chin snapping back. Lockdown cursed explosively, then sagged down and panted against Prowl's lean, sweat-glazed chest, giving one last twitch of his hips as an echo of ecstasy. The roar of sex and blood died in their ears and the scalding avenues of their wrists and throats, leaving each warm and echoing and exhausted.
Very soon they were disentangled, each lying a happen-stance foot apart. Prowl was curled on his side with his legs pressed tightly together, shivering slightly and radiating a stunned variety of rawness. Lockdown sprawled beside him, breathing deep and easy, but it wasn't long in lasting. After a few minutes of silence, he started chuckling, and at that point, Prowl didn't care to know why. Desperate for sleep, the emptied youth jerked the covers up and bundled himself away from the dragster, aching from head to toe.
He escaped with a simple pinch—one, very hard, and located on his ass—but it was enough to keep him awake for another five minutes, Lockdown's fresh rash of chuckles included.
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Odd Couple