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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
- 9
- 10
- 11
A/N: Beginning once again mail-ordered by one of BPC's pictures. SHE CRAZY INSPIRE ME.
Takes place basically the night of/close to their confession. Recovery sex! The next ones will be unfathomably dirty, promise.
Warnings: anal, oral, SUPER fluff
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Recovery
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Back, forth, back, forth.
Eyes closed, feet wiggling on the chilly linoleum floor, Prowl pushed at his toothbrush without gusto, feeling the bristles as little more than a prickle on a tongue worn numb by kissing. The minty flavor made his mouth feel a little more alive.
Not much could be said for the rest of his body, however, even after the warm nap. He ached from head to toe, and that was nothing compared to the oh-no-not-again pang that ricocheted through his sore muscles when warm, hard skin pressed against his rump, followed by a strong, greedy hand sliding up his side.
"Christ, you smell good. Don't ruin that with a shower," came the rumble from behind him. There was a syrupy pause, a pensive squeeze at his hip. "Unless you're gonna let me go in with you."
Incorrigible. That was the only word in existence for him at the moment.
Resignedly, Prowl opened his eyes. Lockdown's huge form was docked behind his in the small, dimly-lit bathroom, white back hunched just enough to allow Lockdown to press his face into his neck. The sometimes-mechanic purred audibly, placing several slow, firm kisses to the soft skin under his jaw. The tingle that coursed through Prowl's body was immediate and, if nerves could actually be rubbed raw from over-stimulation, rightfully painful.
He ignored it, focusing only on the backforthbackforth scrub of his toothbrush. Cleansing. Orderly. Slow.
Flowing river. Not creaking bedposts, but flowing river.
He remained placid, soaking in the passivity of the moment—rather, enduring all manner of soft fondling to his chest before Lockdown's big bear hand began to toy lower. At that, Prowl finally straightened and twisted away, pricked.
"Mak-bow—" he frothed irritably, struggling to keep the pale green foam in his mouth while expressing his displeasure. Lockdown only laughed into his neck, the very tremor of his deep voice making Prowl's knees weak.
"You gonna talk Japanese to me?" he growled into his shoulder, teasing him for his toothbrush-garble. He ran a big hand along Prowl's silky inner thigh, leaning forward to whisper into his ear, more hopefully than he should have, "Dirty Japanese?"
Provoked by a warning slap to the stomach (very close to a 7-inch prize possession and an accurate barometer of how ready he was to git this goin for the third time), Lockdown at least had the decency to give his lover enough room and time to spit into the sink and wipe his mouth, half-glaring tiredly into their reflections.
"According to my exposure to the culture, I don't believe such a thing exists. And if it does, it most likely focuses on correcting slips in dress-code," Prowl said in a curious mixture of exhaustion and primness, as though he knew it would only be seconds before Lockdown scooped him up over his shoulder and fled the bathroom with his bounty—which he did.
Heaved up like a sack of grain, Prowl oofed and clapped his hands onto Lockdown's scar-riddled back, digging in; the toothbrush clattered into the sink and spattered green gunk up on the mirror. Prowl didn't even have time to sigh about the inexorable clean-up before he was thrown onto the bed, bouncing hard once and topping out at two feet, to Lockdown's immensely satisfied hoot.
"Goddamn, didn't know the bed had that much left in her!"
During the last few hours, it became very obvious that Lockdown was set on getting a new bed—but for it to be worthwhile, they had to break the old one.
Prowl felt a little like a car crash victim (albeit a very tolerating one), but that feeling went away quickly enough once he was on his stomach in the cool sheets and Lockdown's satisfying weight was atop him, pressing in all the right places. After sucking at the back of his neck, Lockdown reached beneath his warm body and slowly stroked him to hardness, growling in pleasure whenever Prowl would catch his breath and press his soft behind into his lover's already-roused erection, thick and hot at the apex of his thighs.
They fell into a smaller rhythm, that of the older man grinding into the cleft of his ass as Prowl trembled at the knees to have him so close, vulnerable gasps sneaking out every so often. The sound of Lockdown panting huskily in his ear made his skin tingle so hard it hurt. His nipples scraped the sheets, sending exquisitely sharp jolts down to his groin. He closed his eyes and simply pressed upwards, feeling the man in every way he could.
Lockdown had, in the past three hours, made an art of delaying orgasm for as long as possible. It was this game and all its small, maddening rhythms, not the final act, that had made Prowl want to curl up into a ball and forswear sex for weeks.
... Perhaps days. Maybe hours. Yes, hours was probably more accurate.
"What do you want?" Lockdown asked, hand pulling languidly at his sore cock.
Prowl bucked and writhed slightly, trying to escape the chafe but not the pleasure. In their current blitzkrieg of recovery intimacy, positions and acts had become something of a negotiation, but at the moment Prowl was in the mood for anything that put the older man atop him, moving slowly and breathing in time.
"You," Prowl answered over his shoulder, breathless. He felt Lockdown smile and moaned gently—encouragingly--when the older man licked behind his ear.
"Sweet-talker."
Shifting off, the huge man turned him over and immediately descended, white hands dug into his rear-end where they kneaded appreciatively. He hissed as Lockdown's wet mouth slid over him, red flesh stinging from earlier abuse, but with a few gentle bobs, soft tongue swirling over the head, Prowl was on his elbows and panting. The older man rose enough to free his shaft, tongue then dipping into his navel and into the brown planes of his muscled stomach as Prowl's hands played anxiously over his bulging ink-marred shoulders, urging him upward.
For a moment, chest-to-chest, Lockdown lay atop him, breathing quietly. Prowl wrapped his arms around the older man's barrel chest and nuzzled his neck, making a soft sound when he was kissed on the cheek. His lips lay atop a scar and Lockdown's stubble was prickly against his ear, rich musky smell all around him. When his lover made to move, Prowl tightened his arms and closed his eyes, keeping him and his warmth and his weight there.
As much as he'd almost hoped it had run its course, Prowl was once more conquered by a tense, painful convulsion that was as much a product of Lockdown's body against his as the knowledge of it, the perfection of the moment that almost made him afraid to move. It was several things: how close he had come to losing the man with him, how uncertain the world itself seemed with such endless stability holding him, and how worrying it was to feel so strongly that it changed his very perception of existence.
He had always functioned off of only the highest rungs of logic, and to be reduced to something involuntarily warm and emotive, something that was helpless but to feel... It made him feel frightened and safe, vulnerable and strong. Inconceivable, that someone should be able to feel so much of two opposing sentiments—but then, it was equally inconceivable that two completely different men could find so much to love in one another.
Finally, when he could bear the stifled quiver of emotion no more, he released Lockdown, who grinned down at him with a reassuring immediacy and reached over to the bedside table drawer. Returning the smile, Prowl closed his eyes again, struck with a strange flash of the first time Lockdown succeeded in luring him into his bedroom.
He clearly recalled the fear of the unknown and the fear of the huge albino himself: the terrifying urge to close his eyes and ride it out like a nightmare, anxiety freezing his heart as surely as the heart of a weeping virgin sacrifice tied to a bloody cross. Prowl chuckled slightly to himself, struck by the thought. Not an altogether inaccurate metaphor. He certainly felt as though he were murdering himself and all of his values by giving into the man's advances.
"Whatever's goin' on in your head, darlin', guarantee there's more fun out here."
"I apologize," Prowl responded, looking somewhat wryly up at the older man and his predatory pose. He shifted back into the pillows, admiring certain... attributes Lockdown claimed and the way his big hands moved over them, pink-white skin glistening with lubricant. "I was thinking about you."
Although he hadn't meant it that way, Lockdown half-froze, a candid look of stupidity on his face. He wasn't used to being thought about, that much showed in his expression. Almost instinctively, Prowl saved him the struggle of coming up with a witticism to negate such an emotional statement: he drew the huge man down and wrapped his legs around his waist, kissing him deeply.
After some lazy shifting, none of which put them more than an inch apart from each other, Prowl caught his breath then moaned aloud when Lockdown pushed into him. His lover's hard length slid in deep, straight to his center, and made his spread thighs tremble; heat rushed up and down his body and he bit his lip, whimpering faintly. Cursing softly, Lockdown kissed him, holding his face and kissing the side of his mouth, then let their tongues slide against each other with the fervor they couldn't allow their hips.
Lockdown held his narrow back and thrust into him, sticky olive thighs rubbing against his white hips, all trembling. Prowl gasped in time and dug his fingers into Lockdown's strong shoulders, arching off the bed when pleasure jolted through him again and again.
When the pleasure became too much to bear, he muffled himself in Lockdown's shoulder, but the tender, helpless noises that made it out made Lockdown clutch him tighter and mutter fierce nonsense into his hair, painfully breathless. They rocked and shuddered until Prowl leaned back and groaned as though struck—and struck he was, pleasure slamming into his gut as bliss whited out all his senses for a single convulsive second, release warming his stomach. Pushing again and again into his lover's tight, lithe body, Lockdown was quick to follow, hips jerking as he emptied into Prowl, all twined limbs left shaking and slick with sweat.
After it was done, Lockdown did not move away. They stayed intertwined, slowing together, nosing at each other's slick cheeks and foreheads. Lockdown's big hand came to push away all the damp hair that had tangled over Prowl's face, and Prowl's stunned skin thrilled at the loving gesture and the look that followed it. Safe and protected, he lay in the other man's presence and believed him: that this was different, very different, than random carnality with a random person. How else could touch penetrate so deeply? This was not a summation of nerves and their duty: this was transcendent.
"Damn," Lockdown muttered weakly once they were side-by-side and cooled down, sounding as emptied as Prowl felt. "You're better'n crack."
"Would you know?" Prowl asked without alarm, too focused on the feeling of the older man's chest against his nose. The wonder came in the little things, like fingertips against ribs and the feeling of his breath getting caught in the hollow of Lockdown's neck. Soft sheets shifting, shifting, shifting, and then Lockdown's big white arm around him, squeezing once.
"Just heard things. But for certain you're gonna make me go into withdrawal tomorrow when I gotta go to work. You'll be in my head all day."
Captured by the other man's husky tone and the strength of his arms, by the warmth that had just passed so passionately between them, Prowl murmured three words into Lockdown's damp chest. Blinking back his exhaustion, perhaps not realizing what he himself had just said, Lockdown looked down at him curiously.
"What'd you say?"
"I cannot," Prowl muttered after a moment, tensing as if caught. At a raising of Lockdown's inked brow, Prowl shook his head almost desperately, hiding in the older man's chest. "I... I cannot repeat it."
"Ever?" Lockdown asked skeptically, stymied by the little ball of half-Japanese reluctance bundled against him. Prowl began to shake his head, then just grumbled and pulled the sheets up around his chest, begging protection from the cotton barrier. Lockdown tapped at him, uncommonly interested but not uncommonly persistent or obnoxious. "How long ‘till you can?"
"Forty-eight hours," Prowl blurted irritably, simply wishing to be asleep and incapable of blushing or shooting himself in the foot. Lockdown chuckled some and patted his boyfriend's rear, settling down in the sheets next to him with a great comforting rustle. He rumbled contentedly when Prowl nudged in under his arm and held off purple, rich, satisfying sleep just long enough to mutter:
"Hold you to that."
More than forty-eight hours later, when Lockdown nudged him and looked at him expectantly, Prowl only swallowed and hesitated for a moment. Then he leaned into the older man's lap, arms around his shoulders, and murmured, "It is you."
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Odd Couple