Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Odd Couple	By : DeeDaday Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 16235 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: HAWHAW. Prowl, you're still not gay yet.
Warnings: Oral, handjob... dubcon once again, because Prowl just isn't smart enough to know when he wants it D: Oh and some very pissy (AND ADORABLE) officer-ing.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
What's in a Uniform
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Prowl didn't know where the conversation started: he had no idea where it would end, or else he would have stopped three sentences ago with ‘yes', or a cheeky but closed ‘if you ask properly.' In any case, an unusual shift of his schedule found him sitting on the couch at noon, stalling with over-clocked report write-ups before he had to go into work and being regaled with something by Lockdown (it was all so fuzzy now) that somehow ended up with Prowl giving his housemate a very strange response.
The response wouldn't have been so deadly, of course, if Lockdown hadn't had that look in his demonic eyes from the moment the young officer walked in from his own work, and Prowl wasn't too occupied to see it and comprehend the danger.
"Of course not," Prowl responded blithely to something, looking down his nose at the pale reports, all penned in immaculate, if cramped, script. "I'm from a Catholic family: we all wear chastity belts and think masturbation is a crime punishable by death."
"It is if you don't do it right."
"If there is a correct form of masturbation, I'm afraid I have lost the manual."
There was a part of him that always wanted the (painfully dry) last word with Lockdown, but he shouldn't have said anything more. He should have just gone back to his reports and left that filthy statement to air. Lockdown didn't waste time letting him know of his slip: he just sat down next to Prowl and slid a huge hand over the front of his khakis, easy and quick as anything.
"Ain't nothin' a little hands-on experience won't cure."
Prowl's first instinct to throw off the grip was to stand up, then possibly bolt into the kitchen. Lockdown conquered the attempt by rolling and pinning him to the couch, and after a brief and violent wrestling session, he was able to secure Prowl's hands above his head, both skinny wrists contained by one of his mammoth hands. Leaning awkwardly on the couch, kneeling on the edge with each knee on the outside of Prowl's, he smacked Prowl's leg down when the officer made to kick him away, then unzipped his pants to spite the other man's frantic rising protests about work in an hour and so forth.
"Unhand me!" Prowl finally burst out, tears nearly in his eyes from the exertion of trying to get his far, far larger housemate off of him.
"Unhand me? You're makin' this too easy, kid," Lockdown chuckled evilly. "F'you just give ‘em to me, ain't any fun."
"Gah—but—you---Lockdown—Lockdown," Prowl fairly shrieked through his teeth, hips rising off the couch in his sudden burst of anxiety, as though presenting the shiny DPD-stamped belt buckle to Lockdown's nose as proof. "Uniform."
The precious, precious uniform.
It took him a few more rough operations and snit-fits to finally work a very, very uncooperative Prowl out of his stiffly starched pants, but Lockdown set to stroking him to hardness with a greedy grin, relishing the heat of the delicate, young erection pulsing in his callused fist. Lockdown made a game of squeezing when he least expected it, so Prowl, captured and pinned, caught his breath and moaned at the sudden flux of sensation, hips straining forward. He finally clenched his eyes shut and twitched, open-mouthed, whenever he was touched: radiating wanton helplessness that only made Lockdown's own erection press painfully into the scratchy front of his work jeans.
By the time the torture started earning some real sounds, Prowl seemed to wake up with the help of his police report sliding off of the couch and onto the floor, clattering loudly. The officer opened his eyes and looked down, seeming to realize the state of things with an undue horror, then bit his lip. He suffered in silence for a few more seconds, then drew a shaky breath.
"Uh. More. Please."
Lockdown wouldn't have heard the whisper if he hadn't felt it first, practically against his cheek, hot and unsteady. He looked up and Prowl's face went red. He tried to duck from sight, arms still pinned above his head, as he forced himself to mutter the next bit.
"With your. Um, mouth. P-please."
That was different.
While his sweaty skin shuddered at Prowl pleading for it (in his own awkward way, which he was getting more than used to because it didn't seem due for change), Lockdown knew from the simple track of his eyes earlier that the apparently lusty plea was just another way to keep stuff from getting on his perfect, freshly starched uniform. He hated getting ‘stuff' on anything. He could be a clever little bastard, but Lockdown wasn't letting him compromise his dignity with an ulterior motive in mind. Humiliation couldn't have a payoff or else it wasn't satisfying.
But he let Prowl think he was just that thick, so he bent and, still holding his wrists tight, sucked him off for a few torturous minutes, teasing the young man's smooth erection across his lips and teeth before swallowing it down. He grinned at the fluttering breaths and lavish moans that came from above him, like the breathy ‘god-god-god-god' when Prowl got close and the heated groan when the talented mouth pulled away with nothing more than a cocky lick to his abused pink shaft—then Lockdown's rough hand started in, just as strong as before.
Prowl remembered his plan just as it failed: even as satisfaction hit him, he arched for an entirely different reason that had so much more to do with the sticky fluid spattering his freshly starched work shirt than the rough pleasure coursing through his gut.
"No! No—nonono—no-no! Ngh!"
Prowl panted, struck boneless against the couch with his wrists still in Lockdown's grip, then jerked and stomped his booted foot and cried:
"Damnit!"
Lockdown decided to let him go at that point. Retreating was the better option, seeing as he'd just made the prudish ex-Catholic pop his own swear-cherry.
He sat back on his haunches and followed Prowl's livid retreat to the bathroom, where he would wash himself, wash his shirt, wipe his pants for good measure... then strip and throw all of it in the laundry basket because he couldn't stand the thought of wearing something stained with jizz, feeling as though people could smell it on him like a black reeking stain of sin. He was still neurotic about such things, no matter how hard Lockdown had been trying to normalize him... but the older man had a funny idea that if Prowl kept the shirt and anyone asked him about it (or even approached within fifteen feet), his response would be something like ‘IT'SNOTSEMEN--I'MNOTSLEEPINGWITHAMAN', so it was probably better that he took care of it in his own way.
Lockdown watched the shadow of him at the sink, scraping and scrubbing, and chuckled deeply, huge hand still dripping with cooling fluid. He looked around and heard the water start up (interrupted by several furious little splashes), then grinned evilly and flicked his hand—sending some of the cum spattering onto Prowl's neatly penned police report.
When Prowl stomped back out of the bathroom in his petite dark blue underwear and too-high black socks, he glared daggers at the other man and flopped down on the couch again, reaching down to where his clipboard had fallen. Inked eyebrows drifting high, Lockdown chuckled and sauntered out of sight. He almost made it into the bedroom, then--
"Oh my god. Oh my god."
Prowl howled it from the living room, and was found clutching the clipboard with a look of the utmost horror and revulsion on his pretty face, mouth so wide it could catch fish. It didn't even matter that the triangulation of the debacle didn't fit in the slightest, nor that Lockdown could and should constantly have been suspected of foul play: Prowl had semen on his police report. Lockdown wandered around so he could ‘see' what it was, letting out a low whistle when he saw the shiny droplets over his immaculate hand-writing.
"Tell ‘em it was too boring," he drawled, unable to chase off the almost painfully intense grin as something prudish and hilarious snapped inside of Prowl when he finished, "so you jizzed it up a littl—"
"Don't—say it!" Prowl nearly screamed, tossing the clipboard as far away from himself as he could; he dug his freed hands into his hair, ponytail coming loose and letting his usually glossy hair out in an inconsolable poof. He drew in three increasingly deep breaths, calling on images of rivers and forests and nirvana as his pupils dilated viciously, then simply exploded.
"I hate you! I hate you with all of me!" the officer cried suddenly, jabbing a finger at the older man then stomping his foot with all the grace of a five-year-old. "I have an hour to get to the station, that was the only shirt I had left, and now look what you've done! Look at what you've done, you—you--"
"You're pretty cute when you yell in your panties," Lockdown said rather stupidly, unaffected by the gushing fountain of vengeance that was his housemate. His equally stupid attempt at pinching Prowl's undeniably adorable ass was deflected by another (thankfully wordless) scream of rage and an indignant socky march off to the bathroom to dig out the hair dryer so Prowl would actually arrive to the DPD dressed, even if he was still twitching madly and, every so often, sneaking furtive sniffs at his shirt.
Some days, Lockdown couldn't decide which he enjoyed more: screwing Prowl or just screwing with his head.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Odd Couple