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Toys and Tricks	By : DeeDaday Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 3893 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers and all characters and related belong to Hasbro. I make no profit from writing this story. This is just for entertainment.

Chapter List
- 1-Toys and Tricks
- 1
A/N: YAY 60 CHAPTERS.
… Other than that, I have no excuse. Except that I love adorable exchanges that would definitely happen, as mod-happy as Lockdown is and as conservative as Prowl is.
Warnings: Anal and I would say oral, then extreme oral, but it's more tentacle-porn than anything. Improper use of modifications? Okay, don't give me that apprehensive look, just read it. It's precious in a twisted way.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Toys and Tricks
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The musclecar's room was dark like always, so the glow of their optics stood out like gems.
The two mechs tangled, paint-jobs freshly scratched from a wild hunt that refused to leave their tight-running systems when the bounty was sent off. Prowl hummed ardently, visor-feed flickering in and out at the feeling of his partner's blunt dentals teasing at his windshield. Lockdown's big servo rubbed between his legs, every inch of substructure vibrating eagerly under his hot plating. It was much like every other post-hunt interface, yes, but with one big exception: Prowl was feeling feisty that particular solar-cycle, which usually meant things wouldn't exactly go to plan for his partner.
Lockdown had just half-slammed him flat onto the big berth, engine roaring his want, when Prowl did something he rarely did: he stopped the other mech cold. The jolt of the relished physicality set something else off inside of him, and that something was bold and infinitely more prone to testing the impatient machine whose only setting was 'fast and hard'.
When Lockdown heaved himself up onto the berth and approached the sprawling bike with intent to assume his favorite position, Prowl propped himself up and halted his partner's progress with a solid pede to his shoulder-plating.
The huge mech's shadow engulfed little more than his creamy lower-half, but Lockdown's instinctive frown at the lack of momentum soon reformed itself into a smug grin. It only grew, seeing Prowl lounge on his back like that, cream legs spread wide and inviting. It wasn't necessary for the bike to lock his smoldering, dirty-teal visor with his optics and slide a servo over his port paneling, but it sure looked nice. The old musclecar's engine rumbled, deep and happy.
The kid wanted a little play beforehand. That was fine.
Feeling like both the luckiest and most obliging mech in the universe, Lockdown lowered himself to the already-warm plating snug in-between the little minx's slender thighs, unable to help but love the boldness with which Prowl perched both of his pretty legs between the spikes on his shoulder-plating. Settling in for the ride.
He hummed a little first, feeling Prowl's bite-sized hips jerk slightly with an answering hum of pleasure, but when he stopped to push at the bike's plating to expose him, it remained locked in place. He glared up from between Prowl's thighs.
Kid also wanted to make him work for it.
Not that he wasn't up for a challenge. Prowl just didn't know what exactly he was asking for, being cheeky like this. Not with that whole you-shouldn't–be-spending-so-much and the your-sigil-is-scratched slag, and especially not with what he'd been working on for the past month.
With a few reach-ups to stroke his chassis and some girder-rattling humming, Prowl opened up for him with a sweet little sigh. It tightened into a moan when the musclecar's big digits circled his port, then barely teased inside of him. His digits came out dripping.
Lockdown had to muscle down a shudder. His plug was like a lead pipe, Spark denser than a sun, but he focused on the eager little thing underneath him—and what little revenge he could get on a snotty little bike that couldn't be bossed around for bad purchases.
Lockdown swapped his grip to Prowl's aft, lifting him a little so he could nip the tender wires in the in-seam of his spread legs. Kissing the bike's port earned him a growl. When he teased his mouth across the sticky metal rim and hummed hard and deep, however, Prowl arched clean off the berth with a whimper, both servos on his white helm, pushing him down and venting high and fast. Grinning against the hot, electrified metal, Lockdown made sure his grip on the little bike's hips qualified as 'crushing', then called out the trick he'd been waiting for, pushing it hard and sudden into the bike's slick port.
Prowl screamed.
But it wasn't a scream of pleasure, because Prowl didn't do those, but a rude 'dear-high-and-holy-frag-what-was-that' scream that was followed by an even ruder unseating of the musclecar's new gimmick and a desperate scramble backwards. Prowl only stopped when he hit the wall, both servos cupped around his lubricant-smeared groin in a bit of a pathetic display that suddenly reminded the bounty-hunter that Prowl was barely half a thousand stellar-cycles for this world.

Somehow, that didn't exactly help his lust. No matter if they would be partners until the end of time, there was still something about the bike that screamed 'virgin metal'. All Lockdown had to do was find the right toys to spook it out of him.
"What—what was--?"
As quiet as he was, it wasn't often that he got to see Prowl speechless. It was always about 'facing, true, but Lockdown still cherished it with a shitty grin. The expression on his long, elegant face only got better when Lockdown raised his servos up and, with a slithery swipe, cleaned the warm lubricant off of his digits. For a moment, the room was deathly silent.
"What is that?" Prowl demanded, vocals too soft for comfort. His visor was locked on his partner's wide white mouth, a hostile butterfly blue.
"New toy."
Only Lockdown could breeze past that dangerous tone, or add a gap-toothed grin to match it.
"And you—you just—" the bike sputtered, quickly losing dignity as he tried to get around where it had just been. As if instinctively, his plating clacked shut.
"Yep."
If Prowl was close to losing his composure, that made it snap back into place: because dammit, that was practically a purr.
"Where did you acquire it? And when did you plan on informing me?"
"Trust me, darlin', you don't wanna know."
Prowl adapted quickly. It was the only way to survive. Considering he had just been violated, he accepted all of it rather quickly (as per half a millennium with Lockdown) and ended his brief fit of fussing with a servo out.
"Allow me to scan it."
Lockdown growled. It was a little less from unease than to buy time: he wasn't sure he wanted Prowl scanning it, easily spooked as the bike was about kinky things. Some things were better left unsaid, and unseen, especially if he wanted to keep shoving them into the places he wanted to shove them. The older bounty hunter started to nudge into him, to make this nothing but a brief intermission in a processor-scalding face, but Prowl's no-nonsense vocals (and a no-nonsensier grip on his jack) stopped him cold.
"If you are going to put it to use in the way you have demonstrated, I believe I have the right to inspect it." A chilly pause. "Indulge me."
Engine winding down into a mistrustful rumble, the musclecar seated his massive black girth in front of the little bike. The ninjabot really did ruin all the fun of a good surprise, but it wouldn't go any further without Prowl's approval. Calling up the action commands he still didn't have down quite yet, Lockdown uncoiled the mod a little clumsily and allowed it to loll out of his mouth, feeling a bit like a stupid Insecticon with it hanging there.
Prowl didn't gasp when the insanely-complex string of ridges made it into the air–kid though he called him, the ninjabot was too seasoned to gasp at anything anymore—but frowned at it for a good ten kliks before tentatively reaching forward and running a single digit along its length. Lockdown's red optics flickered; barely, just barely, his shoulder-plating shuddered with a relishing little rattle.
"You have wired it into your neural network," Prowl observed with no small amount of awe.
Lockdown rumbled lustily, as if to say how it was wired: he nearly stalled at the feeling of Prowl's sensor-riddled port tight around the mod, making every node sing straight to his Spark. That, and his systems weren't used to juggling double input yet. It was like having another jack, and one that would stay just as snug in protective sheathing when not being used. He wasn't stupid, just a horribly inventive, hot-sparked old bastard with too much time on his servos and a 'face-toy for a partner—a 'face-toy who still squeaked when he did something even slightly dirty.
Prowl, in the meantime, merely continued to touch the thing. His partner's impromptu tricks with modifications never ceased to amaze him, and that small bit of professional admiration distracted Prowl enough that he actually blipped and pulled back when the 'appendage' swirled around his digit, tightening teasingly with a strange slithering sound.
"It appears… organic," Prowl said slowly, watching it unwind from his digit and disappear back into Lockdown's mouth.
"And here I thought that'd be your favorite part," Lockdown said roguishly, not missing the poorly disguised unease Prowl eyed it with. Prowl liked organic slag from a hobbyist's standpoint. He did not, however, like 'facing anything but pure metal and this blurring of the lines obviously perturbed him.
Still, the inspection was officially over. Lockdown gave the bike a wry 'you done whining?' look and Prowl huffed a disapproving bit of air, meaning he couldn't find anything to officially disagree with. Smirking, the older mech leaned in for a smooch, which Prowl habitually allowed (if with a touch of stand-offishness, practically normal for the prudish bot) but inches before he actually touched down, the ninjabot underwent a sudden and shocking realization. Prowl's servo whipped out and tightened on one of his spikes, stopping him right in front of those pretty lip-components, visor suddenly thinned.
"If you dare, I will bite it off."
Lockdown winced. Considering the pure heft of neural net he had hooked into the little sucker, that would be the equivalent of getting his jack crunched in half. Playing nice, Lockdown leaned in and brushed his mouth across his partner's, cupping his tank.
Almost gloomily, Prowl obliged, then hummed thickly when the musclecar turned it into something crushing and passionate, immediately re-kindling his slowing blue Spark. The bigger mech used all of his weight, something that never failed to get the small bike into a tizzy. Prowl broke from him after a moment, half dazed by the force of the kiss and the fact that Lockdown had resisted such an obvious temptation--then snarled shrilly when his partner suddenly unsheathed the damn toy and licked his whole face, chin to horns.
The look on his little bike's face had the musclecar laughing down to his girders, slapping at his berth and rolling. He was always one for cheap thrills, and Prowl's 'frag-off-and-die' look was pretty easy to manage with the right equipment. Hot damn he was good.
"Sometimes I believe you are disgusting simply for the sake of being disgusting," Prowl sniffed at length, glaring accusingly at the musclecar, who didn't have the beginnings of the common grace to look ashamed for any of it. Lockdown chuckled evilly, claw servo already drawing circles on the bike's rank arrow above his groin.
"That—and it makes you hotter'n a slaggin' fusion core." Prowl half-growled when Lockdown knocked him flat with that same claw-mod, moving to secure both of his arms above his head before leering into his face and growling, "Admit it, kid. No 'bot gets you riled like me, tricks and all."
"I will do no such thing," Prowl hissed, jerking against his grip.
"You love the way I roll. You always come back for more."
"Or you badger me until I concede."
"Yer bein' difficult today," Lockdown purred, nuzzling into his abdominal plating and then between his legs, soaking in the sudden spike in scent and energy-signal his little partner radiated. "I like that."
"Degenerate!" Prowl gasped, trying not to buck into the pressure as he fought to free his servos.
"Sweet-talker." The musclecar scraped his dentals along his partner's thigh-plating, earning himself a desperate groan. "Just make sure you get to the part where you like havin' me work you down to a pile of magma."
Though such tussles were normal, and Prowl wasn't in a state to consider it, it was true in a twisted way.
Lockdown—and his inability to take no for an answer—let him experience things he otherwise wouldn't, nor would ever have the lack of pride to seek out for himself. Packaged along with it was a nice lack of guilt, as he may still get his wires in a knot at being subjected to such things, but he didn't technically agree to them, and therefore wasn't guilty in the slightest for enjoying it.
Yes, one's processor went down strange roads after three centuries with a mech like his partner. It was basic survival and damage control with a mech who would otherwise, if let free, would run wild. Prowl always made sure to huff and storm about afterwards, but Lockdown had even learned to read the level of huffing and storming to gauge his actual chances of trying such a perversion again and living to tell of it. The Russian roulette of 'facing only made his partner all the more enjoyable for a mech so addicted to danger.
But no matter what Lockdown did, there was something so distinctly his partner about it—Lockdown's lack of charm, his blunt yet devious nature, his utter chasm of shame—that it never failed to get his fans running. It was true, no 'bot could have even hoped to hold the ninjabot's interest this long, much less have him jumping for interfacing and abiding perversions if just to please his mate and spend more time with him.
Jerked away from what he was not-quite processing about, Prowl grit his dentals and twitched when Lockdown vented air into his retracted port paneling, sending a staggeringly unpleasant feeling through his tightly-wound insides.
"Ain't gonna 'face you till you say it." Prowl's only response was a deeply disapproving and absolutely uncooperative hiss of his motor, bordering on vengeful. Lockdown only grinned, thankfully releasing his servos, but only to grip his hips tightly. "Maybe y'need a little help warmin' up your vocals."
And with that, he bent and took the new serpentine mod and dragged it over Prowl's port, threatening simply by the pressure to continue what he'd started. Shock and outrage warred in a very conservative processor and produced one result: Prowl flipping over with less than a ninjabot's grace and attempting to scramble away again.
"Stop that this instant!"
He hissed when Lockdown caught him by the legs and dragged him back, grabbing his hips again, forcing his aft up and—Prowl gasped, then bit his own servo as the sinewy length pushed inside him again. It made his Spark skip a pulse, then flare in his chamber, matching the flare in his neural net. He fell down to his chassis, legs spread; he trembled and finally cried out as Lockdown pumped it in and out a few times, then swirled it until it nearly touched the back of his port.
The torture went on, lubricant dripping down the insides of the bike's legs as the mod slithered in and out of him. It was a little more than brutally amazing, but it also wasn't a plug, and so the pleasure only roared high enough to make him whimper and claw at the berth and wish he would offline. His attempts to escape decayed into little twitches and bucks of his hips, entire neural net sucked into the texture and the pace of Lockdown's toy.
The little bike was nearly laying in a puddle of fluids—only half of it condensation—when he couldn't take it anymore. He groped underneath himself for the front of his chassis; the click of his chamber plating was more effective than any plea to stop.
Lockdown, though his grip on the little bike's hips didn't soften, froze. Engine suddenly growling in hunger, as though he could sense the sudden heat from the other's center come one metal-layer closer, he flipped the bike over, only to find him with his servo already rubbing frantically over his exposed chamber plating. First, the musclecar reached down and rubbed around his partner's tight port—Prowl keened, other servo clutching his servo and holding it there, hard—and leaned over until he could rub against the bike's chamber plating. Half-drunk off of the vibration of the other's Spark, he nuzzled the hot, delicate casing until Prowl's helm rocked back with a whimper, sealing the deal that hadn't quite formed in Lockdown's processor.
He didn't even know if he could pull this off, but his raging old Spark wasn't about to let him back down without trying.
The two digits, wet with lubricant and positioned on either side of Prowl's chamber seam, seemed to stop everything. Prowl froze, looking down with a wide, flickering visor. The steady glow of his partner's red optics seemed to assure him of, at least, his sanity. It was enough to give him an inch and that was all he needed.
Prowl's Spark flared out from the crack, pulsing a rapturous blue-white that almost made the bounty hunter's optics shutter. The heat and the signal, fast and frenzied, made Lockdown's own star rage at its confines, filling him with a deadly pressure that would only be relieved by crushing himself into that clean, young Spark and swallowing its signal.
He wondered, for just a klik, how it would feel to do it right. To have Prowl howling for him, instead of whimpering in fear. He forced the thought out so quickly it was if it never existed.
Feeling his neural net fritz at the proximity, the bounty hunter brushed his mouth over the gap then braced his swooning processor before unfurling the mod again and, very carefully, slipping it into the white-blue light.
The effect was immediate. Prowl spasmed and choked out a bit of static as his sensory field quailed, vocal functions recovering into a soft, needy whine when Lockdown stroked his center. On his end, it was like having every sensor in his mod overloaded and he could hardly move for the stress of it. Still, he kept it gentle and careful, and made certain that he could handle doing two things at once before he reached down again.
Finding the other's slick port with his servo, he pumped his digits in and out of Prowl. It was a poor substitute for being buried in the bike himself, but it brought the small mech out of his rapture lock. It made Prowl grunt softly and clutch at his arms, pushing into the intrusion with helpless little noises as his Spark flared brighter and brighter at the bounty hunter's slick ministrations.
Lockdown was as lost in the act as he could be, feeling overload humming dangerously high under his plating, when he was yanked out of that connection—out of that beautiful pure icy energy roaring up his mod and under his processor and into his system, straight to his red Spark—by two hard servos on his shoulders, forcing him backwards. He sheathed the mod instinctively and onlined his optics to see Prowl covered in condensation, chamber plating still cracked—and that was all he saw when the bike's servo fastened over his electricity-swollen plug, making his world white out. He barely even heard the weak whisper.
"Need you."
The other servo led his shaking one to his wet port, pressing it there, hard.
"No tricks. You."
He grabbed the bike up and came down with a screech of metal felt rather than heard. Prowl's fumbled with his own hips as his legs wrapped around Lockdown's waist, the urgent need to connect roaring in them both. The feeling of the kid's Spark steaming away against his own chassis was enough to turn Lockdown's pins to slag, but it was all off once he was inside his partner and anything but getting deeper wasn't an option.
He growled and groaned, pushing not only into the tight, vibrating port but the 'bot in his arms, trying to get closer to the center of the shaking bike who had his face buried in his spiked neck, whimpering with every thrust. The feeling of Prowl's servos digging into his plating-seams was heaven, his vocals cracking in his audios more so. Overload crested too soon with the brutal, scraping rhythm and when the electricity crashed, Lockdown roared so loudly he became nothing but a disembodied black-plated vibration, lit only by a singular blue-white flare before darkness.
-.-.-.-.-
When Prowl rebooted, he was curled against the bigger mech, every plating and pin sore. Sensory feed came back to him in bits and pieces, knocked out of sync by that last energy surge. Woozy, the crumpled ninjabot drew in some fresh air and nudged closer to the angular musclecar, then suddenly stopped and glared up at his partner, who was very ready with a slimy grin he'd been preparing for the past half-megacycle.
"You are sick," Prowl informed him blandly, not even bothering to cross his arms or look offended. Lockdown just snickered and nosed into the side of his gold-lined helm, engine puttering sleepily. The vibration alone made Prowl shiver slightly.
"I'll try for revoltin' next time, promise."
Prowl made a mildly annoyed (but far more hopeless) noise and rolled his optics, and no more was necessary. Lockdown knew the bike had no choice but to love him unconditionally, after all this time. Coming closer with a little scraping, the two mechs shared a quick stasis-nap on Lockdown's scorch-marked berth, the larger's arm wrapped around his tiny partner.
- 1
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Toys and Tricks