Archive of Our Own

Tiny pebbles of loose pavement trembled and were flung into the air by speeding tires, the result of an ongoing chase. The streets of Detroit echoed with the sound of revving engines and growled acceleration. The city, light-polluting and loud even during the darkest hours of the night, took no notice of the two aliens racing along its roads. Prowl was left to pursue his quarry uninhibited by the frequently too curious populace. A small thrill shot through the motorcycle's circuitry, white hot and electric as he closed in on his quarry.

Lockdown would not escape him. Not tonight.

Flames flared out the side of the muscle car's exposed engine, a showy display as if to say come and get me.

Prowl's red and blue lights began spinning in answer; I will.

No sound of sirens accompanied the light bar's activation, and no vocalizations had been shared between bounty hunter and Autobot before or during their chase. Prowl's refrain from creating additional noise was not done out of consideration for the likely sleeping local populace, but because he did not want attention drawn to his presence inside the city.

Outside of the Autobots' factory headquarters, filled with Autobots who did not know the ninja had snuck out of the base to investigate an alarming message he had received from Lockdown.

A mech whom Prowl had sworn off all contact with during their last calamitous cooperation.

As Prowl had learned soon after the disgraceful incident, deleting and blocking the bounty hunter's frequency did nothing to stop a mech who regularly used spoofs for business from contacting him. The ninja had never answered whenever an unknown frequency would comm him and, for a time, he had ignored any messages left after the pinging notifications in his HUD ceased.

For a time.

After the twelfth such occurrence, and due to no more undoing a reason than curiosity, Prowl had allowed the last message sent to be played. That had been his first mistake. No, not his first—approaching the bounty hunter and suggesting a partnership to capture Starscream had been his first true mistake when dealing with the neutral.

Listening to the lewd utterance of that word, partner, all but purred by thickly accented vocals, had been his second. Apparently very aware of his spurned messages—for what other reason would have provided Lockdown the security to say such filth—the neutral's offers of partnership had devolved into purient promises and wanton descriptions of all the ways their spark to spark could enfold, each more lascivious than the last.

Which was why the only motivation that had driven Prowl to accept the bounty hunter's comm, sent unexpectedly in the middle of the night, during its first ping, had been to reprimand the mech for such unwarranted harassment, and to warn him against sending such vulgar messages in future.

However, before he could speak even one word of admonishment, Lockdown had sent an encrypted image packet across their private line. And Prowl, because he was sure the image held more evidence of the neutral's depravity and thus would make his case (and there was a case) against the mech all the stronger, had accepted it.

The image packet contained nothing Prowl had been prepared to receive, much to his relief.

Behind the image's encryption was a picture of Lockdown holding a tiny, glowing blue crystal between his foredigit and thumb, clearly showing his prize off for the electro-optical imager. The purpose behind the picture had been immediately obvious; the bounty hunter had found a shard of the AllSpark and was taunting Prowl with it.

A single sentence had captioned the image: miss me, partner?

Prowl had, in fact, not missed a nonexistent partner, just as he had not missed a single detail contained within the photo. The neutral had done nothing to disguise his surroundings; there had been a corner of a street sign in its far left. No city structure in frame, but there were two streetlights visible in the far distance from where Lockdown had stood. And directly behind the bounty hunter had been a curved street that extended above even Lockdown's impressive height.

The picture had been taken in front of the Detroit undercity overpass.

Less than a klick later, Prowl had resolved to bring the bounty hunter to justice, retrieve the fragment, and return to base before its inhabitants awoke to discover the ninja had once more disappeared through the hole in his roof unnoticed.

A plan that was becoming less viable the longer he and Lockdown continued to speed down Detroit's empty streets.

Because after arriving at the suspected location, the Lockdown had caught sign of the ninja's approach, despite his employed stealth. How Prowl could only speculate. Lockdown had proceeded to transform and drive away without so much as a word passed between them. The currently ensuing chase was the result.

Ending their silent-save-engine clash, Lockdown drawled, "What are you even gonna do if ya catch me?"

Prowl's engine burned as he tried to increase his speed, but his efforts were futile. While the motorcycle possessed a greater capacity for acceleration, the muscle car could maintain a higher top speed. Prowl could catch up to the bounty hunter, but in a straight race, he could not catch him.

Frustration seeping through his vocals, Prowl responded, "You will be captured and brought to justice."

The neutral laughed, causing more flames to shoot from his engine. "Brought where? Yer ship ain't exactly space worthy."

"That is for Autobot high command to decide."

Prowl scanned their surroundings: they were nearing the outskirts of the city, where the population was less dense and buildings more sparse. There was nothing in the immediate vicinity he could use to turn the chase in his favor. Were he in root-mode, his derma would have pursed. Lockdown was clearly leading the ninja somewhere intentional, but where? And for what purpose?

Oil poured from the neutral's rear tailgate, forcing the motorcycle to lean hard left and swerve to dodge. He recovered quickly, only to see that the bounty hunter's trick had widened the gap between them. Seeing few options but to continue following, Prowl decided to attempt a tactic the bounty hunter was more familiar with, bartering.

"Relinquish the AllSpark fragment, and I will allow you off-world without incident. Continue this foolish race, and you will be taken into custody."

Lockdown's rear lights flashed red, the muscle car braking hard, leaving Prowl no choice but to slam his own brakes—if not for the use of his jump-jets to counter the velocity shift, the maneuver would have caused him to flip.

"See, that's where you're wrong, kid. This ain't no race; it's a hunt." The metallic shifts and clicking of a transformation sequence followed the declaration. Lockdown, now in mech form, swiped down at the motorcycle with his hook.

Prowl transformed and fell back against the pavement, the hook missing the top of his helm by a wisp. No sooner had wind created by the attack brushed past than Prowl was twisting to his pedes and backflipping out of range. He landed in a crouched stance and immediately reached down to equip the shuriken stored in his legs.

"Does that make you the prey?" He countered coolly.

Red optics looked the ninja up and down. "Could be. Nice dodge, by the way."

Prowl gave no acknowledgement or thanks for the compliment. Indulging Lockdown held a dangerous potential to induce the fallacious idea that any positive regard from the bounty hunter was wanted.

That included his vile comm messages.

"The AllSpark fragment, I will not ask you again," Prowl demanded, though he stayed in a combat stance; one shuriken raised over his helm, the other clutched in a servo just above his knee.

They had stopped in a secluded part of the city, and had they continued for only a few miles more, they would have left its bounds completely. There was little risk of a battle gaining the locals' attention, but that did not mean Prowl wanted to chance their notice. He was still being watched far too closely by mistrustful optics back at the Autobot base, ever since his last dealings with the bounty hunter. That it had occurred not too long after his duplicitous actions with the Dinobots had been brought to light—subsequently that light had been shined on the ninja at all times, removing him from the shadows he so coveted.

Optimus Prime no longer trusted Prowl to lock in step with the other Autobots or defer to his authority. If the Prime learned the ninja had left base without declaring his absence again, the rift of trust that had cratered between them would only be further expanded.

Bringing the AllSpark fragment back to base would allow Prowl to provide tangible proof to Optimus that the ninja's judgment could be trusted just as well as his own. There was no reason to watch Prowl so closely. Working with Lockdown had been his only mistake—the Dinobots had already proven their worth, their life. And after securing the glowing blue crystal, Prowl would once again have proven his.

"This thing?" Lockdown asked as he pulled out the shining blue fragment from subspace. Prowl tensed, prepared to take it from the bounty hunter by force should he (inevitably) need to. "Don't see what all the hype is, but ol' Megs has put a pretty price tag on these little curios."

A tall warehouse stood behind Lockdown, and to the mech's left was a street light. The collateral damage of their fight would be minimal.

"Course, if some other pretty thing were to make an offer, I might be willin' to listen," Lockdown continued. "I think we both already know you've got somethin' I want. And if I've got something you want? Think we both know that, too."

Prowl said nothing, because he had already said he would not ask again.

About the AllSpark fragment. Which Lockdown was referring to. Because there was nothing else from the bounty hunter that Prowl wanted. The warmth building within his frame, the energon simmering through his lines, and sparks of conduction that leapt between his wires had all been due to the high-speed race through the city. Imperceptible vapors rose from his shoulders and out of his vents, the outside air being several degrees cooler than the searing temperature of his protoform—all because of the chase, and now because of battle protocols keeping his internal systems on high alert.

There was nothing Prowl wanted but to secure the AllSpark fragment, and even if there had been something else he required of the bounty hunter, it certainly wasn't because of—

"Months of ignorin' my comms, and you answer on the first ring. It really gets an old mech thinkin', what was it in those older messages that sparked your interest?"

Prowl's glossa nearly tripped over his own glyphs; he started so quickly, "The AllSpark fragment—"

"That you didn't know I had," Lockdown interjected, pointing his hook at the smaller mech. "Were you listenin' to 'em when I called? Which part had you stayin' up just waitin' for my next message?"

None of them. Prowl had only listened to the numerous messages more than once, less than thrice each, to ensure he gathered an appropriate amount of evidence to prove the bounty hunter's persistent harassment. That repeat plays had been necessary at all was only because of Lockdown's abysmal accent and his inability to enunciate. And some of the promises made were anatomically impossible; he had needed to ensure his internal communications receptor had not been malfunctioning after recording them.

"This conversation is entirely inappropriate. You know exactly what I want—you used it to lure me," Prowl said, the ice in his vocals betraying none of the fire kindling within his frame. Typically averse to long conversations, Prowl would have no qualms with continuing their inane argument a few breems more. The longer they continued to speak without a physical altercation, the more time his internals would have to cool.

Lockdown nodded, "I do. I did." Then, he placed the AllSpark fragment into his subspace, raised both hook and servo in a gesture of surrender—and took a long step back, right into, right through the warehouse behind him. It wavered, glitching and giving Prowl a glimpse of what lay beyond it.

The Death's Head.

His visor widened. The warehouse they had stopped in front of was another ruse, a hologram meant to hide the bounty hunter's garish maroon ship. If Lockdown were allowed to board it, Prowl would not be able to follow. Better stated, he would not follow. Because the environmental disadvantage would be too great, and if the neutral were to achieve flight status, Prowl would be trapped within the ship of a mech who had made no secret of what he wanted from the ninja.

With little time to plan, Prowl leapt forward, jump-jets boosting his speed, and phased through the holographic building. Everything inside the faux building's interior was cast in a bright, white light. The pale concrete floor appeared to glitter under its harsh glow. There was nothing inside besides himself, the ship, and the bounty hunter.

Landing in a crouch, and upon seeing Lockdown running toward his ship, Prowl began sprinting after him.

Without slowing down, Lockdown turned to face the ninja, grinning as he opened his uneven mouth and—

Prowl launched himself forward, tackling the bounty hunter and sending them both crashing to the ground. Lockdown, whose weight more than tripled Prowl's own, went down worryingly easily. The larger mech didn't even try to fight or push the ninja off once they had landed. Instead, the neutral merely lay on his back, arms on either side of him, his smile relaxed and no less confident than when their chase had first started.

"Oh no, ya caught me," said the most deadpanned vocals Prowl had ever heard.

He scowled down at the bounty hunter, who was still making no move to extract himself from the much smaller mech. Suspicious was too simple a word to describe Lockdown's behavior. Not just after their chase had ended, but before it had even begun. Why would he have sent Prowl a message containing irrefutable proof of his illegal possession of an AllSpark fragment? Why would he lead the motorcycle to his own ship?

Because the bounty hunter had been right—it hadn't been a race, but a baited trap, and Prowl had fallen for it: hook, line, and sinker.

"I don't know what you're planning, Lockdown, but this is where it ends," he said. The ninja then raised a shuriken in warning to back up his claim, ready to stab into visible seams should Lockdown's act of docility curtain. Prowl's opposite servo was pressed against the mech's green and black chassis, shuriken still gripped as he used his fist to balance himself over the neutral. Though their position made any attempted movement, or threat, awkward.

Ominously, Lockdown responded, "Wrong again, darlin', this is where it starts."

As the mech spoke, Prowl tried to subtly shift his position into a more domineering pose but found movement…challenging. He was straddled over Lockdown's left leg, his pede on the outside of the larger mech's hips dangling above the ground, and the leg on the inside was bent at the knee on the floor, placing him in an uncomfortable half rise over the larger mech's pelvic plating.

Which was an inconsequential detail, only mattering in that it made his purchase over the larger mech difficult to maintain; it provided no leverage.

Lockdown abruptly shifted, raising to a half-prone position using his red arm's elbow to prop himself up. Prowl threw a shuriken at the mech's arm out of reflex, the weapon piercing into the concrete and blades raising over the bounty hunter's wrist in a cuff-like way. Unless Lockdown wanted to slice through the top layer of metal on his wrist to escape, the neutral would not be moving his arm until Prowl removed the weapon. Though that still left the issue of the hook.

"Do not move," he warned, but his words were met with deaf audials. Lockdown's optics were wide, glowing brighter than Prowl had ever seen them. He hadn't…it was impossible to be out of fear, but what else could have caused the bounty hunter's frozen state? The mech was unmoving, his vents too slow, too shallow, and his optics were unmistakably staring at…

Prowl's face heated so painfully fast that the energon in his lines turned his cheeks purple.

Lockdown's shift along the ground had resulted in Prowl going from hovering over the mech to sitting on him, directly over his pelvic span. However, the salacious nature of their position was not the cause of Lockdown's stare, but at what the position revealed.

There was heat emanating from behind Prowl's array panel. Seated right over Lockdown's pelvic span as he was, the neutral could no doubt feel the hot metal pressed intimately against him. It was centuries spent practicing self-discipline that kept Prowl from dropping his shuriken out of sheer mortification.

Like a sharkticon scenting spilt transmission fluid, Lockdown's optics darkened, and his smile turned razor sharp. "What's the matter, darlin'? That chase got you all hot and carboned?" The mech chuckled, the sound rumbling his chassis and vibrating against Prowl's pelvic plating in a way that went patently ignored. "S'alright, happens to the best of us…and the worst."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Prowl denied, his vocals calmer than the torrent of embarrassment swirling in his spark would suggest. The warmth behind his plating was only due to the intensity and length of the…pursuit.

Lockdown raised his hook and moved it close to Prowl's faceplate without directly touching him. "Want me to show you?" Then, with a leer, "How about a demonstration?"

"Alternatively, you will cease talking, and perhaps I will not add verbal harassment to your list of charges." Prowl thought of his meditation affirmations, of his tree, birds nesting—

"Can it be called harassment if you want it?"

He grit his denta and deliberately slowed his vents as he tried to recount the six fundamental mantras of Metallico and failed. One side of his visor twitched before he ground out, "You should do well to note that I. Do. Not."

Prowl pressed his remaining shuriken into Lockdown's overly long neck, nicking the metal just enough to inform the bounty hunter the blades had been recently sharpened.

Seemingly unconcerned, Lockdown continued his inappropriate line of questioning. "How long's it even been for you, ninjabot? It's gotta be before you took those Circuit-Su vows—fifty-sixty stellar cycles?"

Prowl refused to be goaded into a response and pressed his shuriken deeper into the bounty hunter's neck. The blade did not cut into vulnerable plating, but the threat that it could should have been enough to shut Lockdown's gap-dentaed mouth. It wasn't.

Red optics widened, and if anything, the mech's smile grew wider. "Don't tell me your warranty's still valid? A hot-wheeled thing like you?"

It was an old, crude way to describe a mecha who had never interfaced before, one that had long gone out of fashion, deemed inappropriate for decent society. But then, there had never been anything decent about Lockdown, had there?

That indecency, having slowly eroded Prowl's tolerance, coupled with the newly sparked interest in red optics staring more intently than before at his array paneling, were the only reasons he responded, "I have engaged in relations before, not that my past mistakes are any business of yours."

Lockdown's answering grin told Prowl he should have said nothing at all. With vocals more arrogant than the situation warranted, the old mech assured, "Course not, my business is about you making new ones."

Prowl's derma thinned, and he once again began reciting mantras in his helm. They sounded uncoordinated, their repetition not in his own tranquil vocals, but ones harmonizing indecency and layering invitation.

The old mech chuckled, "And don't think I didn't catch that, relations. That dojo really worked you over good, huh? Got those wires wound so tight ya can't even say interface."

With a scolding tut, Lockdown tapped his hook against Prowl's cheek. "Might wanna do somethin' about that, darlin'. I can hear your back-strut crackin' it's so stiff. And here I thought you ninjabots were all about flexibility." The bounty hunter tilted his helm to the side, blatantly roving his optics slowly over Prowl's frame. Lingering over the ninja's tan legs, his pelvic span, up to his helm. "I can help with that; know just the right way to stretch those kinks out."

The Autobot struggled for his expression to remain impassive at the obvious ogling.

Whatever Lockdown thought he was accomplishing, be it distraction or enticement, his boorish approach was failing. Because Lockdown was no temptation for the cyber-ninja. To call him such would mean the older mech (ancient even) was in any way desired.

Multi-colored and mismatched, there was nothing about the bounty hunter's appearance that could be understood as objectively handsome. For all his immense size, Lockdown was thin, helm too pale and barren. Though the intricate black lines painted over his faceplate did cut an…imposing shape into the neutral's faceplate. Lockdown's vocals were rough, and his touch even more so. Bawdy and crass, the mech was hideous in every sense of the word.

All traits Prowl had never desired in a partner. In either the traditional sense of the word, or Lockdown's more carnal meaning.

Directing the conversation back toward its original topic, he bypassed Lockdown's suggestive offer to assert, "The only mistake I could make here is allowing you to deliver a fragment of the AllSpark to Megatron."

The bounty hunter raised an optic ridge. "Why does it matter to you where these things go? From one crook to another, I can't figure out someone with your past is puttin' that perky aft of yours over the smelter for a bunch of bots."

Offended, Prowl retorted, "I am no crook, do not compare my one-time cooperation with you to—"

"Petty theft, illegal street racin', resistin' arrest, draft evasion," Lockdown's smile turned into the worst kind; the kind belonging to a mech who knew something he shouldn't. "You're not even a real bot. Ya didn't even take the oath."

Prowl's spark chilled in his chassis, all thoughts of inner peace and the AllSpark leaving his processor. Very few mecha living knew of the ninja's past, and the one who knew it best was no longer counted among them. Vocals an angry hiss, he asked, "How do you know that information? My records were sealed."

"Was gonna ask if your Prime knew about that fake badge, but you just gave me my answer," bantered the neutral.

At Lockdown's vocalization, the slow realization of what was happening began to cool any interest (there had been none) Prowl previously had in discussing a potential partnership with the bounty hunter.

With vocals devoid of any inflection, he accused, "Are you threatening me?"

Lockdown's hook scratched against Prowl's cheek as the mech said, "Naw, just remindin' you we're not so different s'all. You got some rebel in ya, I like that."

Prowl's frown deepened; he did not care what Lockdown liked. However, his ire at the older mech was still not great enough for the ninja to risk his position above by pushing the hook away. Rather, he questioned, "That still does not explain how you learned of my cleared charges, or why you sought the information in the first place."

The bounty hunter whistled, "Must have been some plea deal."

His blue visor narrowed to little more than a thin azure line in response to Lockdown's non-answer.

The mech rolled his optics and huffed, though his amused grin remained. "Got curious what a cyber-ninja was doin' with a bunch of repair bots and looked you up. Seein' that record sealed only got me more curious."

"Curiosity is no excuse to hack into the Autobot enforcer database."

"Actually, I paid someone to do it for me," Lockdown admitted.

There was more Lockdown wasn't telling Prowl. Both about why he went so far as to pay someone to hack into a secure Autobot system, and where that initial interest had stemmed from. After Prowl had refused his offer of partnership, or before? Did the bounty hunter expect Prowl to believe it was an impulse born out of simple curiosity? More important than how or why Lockdown had obtained the information was whether he would keep it to himself.

Aware of the boldness of his demand, Prowl still made it. "If you do not intend to threaten me, then I will ask you not tell the Autobots what you have learned. They would not understand."

He did not say what his compatriots would fail to understand. His initial reasonings for rejecting the Autobots and venturing out on his own, rebelling against Cybertron's structured society, were ones that mechs who had lived their entire function in its service, or dreaming of it, would not understand. Neither would they understand his reasons for continuing to avoid taking the Autobot oath.

In answer to Prowl's request, Lockdown guffawed, "You think I'd give somethin' I paid for away for free? Darlin', those facin' directives must really be laggin' your processor. Maybe we should do somethin' about that, get 'em out of your system…"

Red optics shaded darker, the muscle car's engine starting to idle, sending soft vibrations through Prowl's armor, into his protoform. And Lockdown's field, usually as restrained as the ninja's own, for proprietary reasons, began buzzing around the smaller mech, enveloping him in a haze full of unfiltered desire.

He overrode his ventilation protocols and initiated a manual seam closure to prevent them from widening in order to expel the heat building underneath. Then, undeterred, because he was uninterested, the ninja repeated the mantra processor over frame in the back of his helm, and probed, "You intentionally revealed your location and possession of an AllSpark fragment. For what purpose? Why are you here? It cannot be simply because you want to have relations with me."

"If I say it was?"

His visor narrowed, and he leaned forward, causing the hook to press ever so slightly harder against his cheek. "Then I would call your bluff. You're planning something. If a mech of your reputation was so easily controlled by his base programming, your infamy would have never lasted."

"You're givin' me the vapors, darlin'. Infamous, ya really think so?" The mech chuckled, then, with slightly, very slightly, more serious vocals, continued, "My plan was to use the shard to bargain for your time, finally have that spark to spark."

Then, something completely incongruent to the ongoing conversation happened. The sound of a panel sliding open, followed by the metal hiss of pressurization. Something long and mechanical and hot had risen closely behind the ninja. A radiating heat that hadn't been there before stroked against Prowl's back, preventing his armor from cooling. As it had been.

Prowl's protoform had finally begun to cool, and then Lockdown had—poise leaving him, he stammered, "You didn't…it cannot be…that is entirely inappropriate!"

Lockdown leaned his helm back and groaned, baring his throat for Prowl's shuriken's ease of access. He slipped its blade into an open seam, fatally close to slicing the wires beneath. "Put it back," he growled, vocals low.

The bounty hunter tilted his helm forward, his smile lazy and inordinately pleased. "Sorry, darlin', it's just that havin' a sleek model like yourself bouncin' on my lowers was startin' to put me in a tight spot. You can always turn around and see how tight, see if any of those messages were a lie."

It was a reference to some of the more descriptive communications the neutral had left behind. Lockdown had spent a breem's length explaining the exact length and diameter of his currently exposed equipment. An unessential detail, Prowl was utterly unimpressed by. That it was purportedly bigger than any equipment Prowl had worked with in the past was inconsequential to the indecent exposure charge that was currently being added to Lockdown's long list of transgressions.

"Put it away and give me the AllSpark fragment, and perhaps I will consider listening to your proposal for a chaste partnership." His vocals were firm and demanding. He swallowed, throat bobbing as he felt the heat behind him throb.

…

….

…... Even if Lockdown's pornographic messages did serve as a temptation for the ninja, an Eurythman's harmonizing song that tuned perfectly with the energy of his spark, he would not yield. His last physical partner was a mech whose faceplate and designation Prowl did not remember. Youthful transgressions, encouraged by high-grade and bad influences, were part of a dark past never to be recapitulated. No matter how long ago the last of those transgressions had been.

Lockdown's idling turned into an even-paced rumble. "How's this for a proposal: let me show you a good time, and I'll throw the sparkler in as a berth warmin' gift."

Prowl twisted his hips in an attempt to alleviate the pressure against his array panel, only to succeed in scraping it against the top of Lockdown's pelvic span, creating unnecessary friction. The bounty hunter groaned, and Prowl clenched his jaw to stop himself from doing the same. Out of annoyance.

The willing surrender of the AllSpark shard was one worth considering, if nothing else. If only the relinquishment had not accompanied another, less appealing offer.

"We're not on a berth, nor are we going to one," he declared, his vents coming out faster than intended.

"Next time," insinuated Lockdown.

"Neither will there be a next time."

"So, there's a this time?"

Prowl's engine growled as he leaned down further, putting more pressure on the bounty hunter's neck; a slow trickle of energon began to trail pink over and along the edge of his shuriken. "You are the most insufferable mech I have ever had the displeasure of knowing."

A mere vent away, "And that turns you on somethin' fierce, don't it?"

Prowl growled and shoved the mech back, which had the unfortunate effect of rocking him backwards and his armor coming into contact with the source of his contention. He threw his remaining shuriken at Lockdown's shoulder, striking true and piercing the armor. If anything, the length pressing against his back grew, and the mech it belonged to grunted in a way that did not sound the least bit pained.

Unapologetic for his provoked attack, Prowl's visor brightened in shock, his real thoughts slipping past his glossa. "It will not fit."

Listening to a mech describe what hid beneath his array panel, conceptualizing it in his helm, and feeling physical evidence of its accuracy were all very different things. All of which were of no real consideration because he was not considering Lockdown's ridiculous offer.

The hook pressed into his cheek—deep enough to leave a cut, and Prowl had not noticed—slid down his long faceplate, to his neck, and over the bump of his chassis, taking flecks of paint with it.

"Had to take a look at your specs when fitting you with those sidehack mods." The back edge of Lockdown's hook scraped up and down Prowl's tan abdominal plating, smearing pink. "It'll fit…most of it."

Energon used to power the complex mechanisms within his frame rushed from delicate cerebral circuitry, down the insulated rubber of his neck, descended around his spark, before finally pooling within his fuel pump; it thumped heavily within his protoform, just over his pelvic span.

Prowl's mouth ran dry, and he swallowed nothing. "Accepting your proposal is inadvisable at best, treason at worst."

Circuit-Su spoke of the over reliance of frame over processor, how worldly desires prevented practitioners from ever achieving processor over matter. Greed, envy, desire, they were all trials of temptation meant to be overcome through taught and tested tribulations. His curiosity did not qualify as such, and what he felt toward the bounty hunter could be called nothing else. It was not desire. It could not be lust.

"I won't tell if you won't." Lockdown raised his servo out from under Prowl's shuriken, cutting himself in the process, ignoring the injury as he pushed himself to a fully upright position. He then used his freed servo to soothe over the smaller mech's chassis. Brazenly rubbing his red servo over the ninja's Autobot badge, up to one of his jets, tweaking the tip.

Prowl, having not been touched in such a way for centuries, was unprepared for his frame's reaction to Lockdown's sensual caress. His previous sordid encounters were barely remembered affairs, and resisting a shameless bounty hunter had not been part of his cyber-ninja training.

"I should not," he vented, while making no attempt to stop Lockdown's brazen touch. "It is against my…" He shuddered as a large digit slipped down his side, pressing against seams before settling at his waist. "…my philosophy to concede against temptation."

The servo at his waist curled around it, thick red digits nearly long enough for their tips to touch. Lockdown leaned forward until his white derma were pressed against a black audial, his vocals wet with heat as he whispered, "How can ya know you're bein' tempted if you've never tasted it."

Prowl tilted his helm away from Lockdown's mouth, which only allowed the mech to nip and kiss along his neck that much easier. The ninja's field stayed wrapped around himself, but with their frames pressed so intimately together, it was impossible for the neutral not to feel how impure the emotions humming within had become.

"Slide up, darlin'," Lockdown murmured into the crook of Prowl's neck. For what reason, Prowl did not know, because the mech did not wait for the ninja to slide up. The neutral slipped his servo from Prowl's waist to palm at the underside of his aft. Then, as though the motorcycle weighed nothing (and to Lockdown, he likely did), Prowl was lifted up from Lockdown's lap to the collar of his chassis.

"What are you doing?" His vents hitched as his closed array panel was brought before Lockdown's open mouth.

"Gotta open you up, with your size, digits or glossa don't make a difference."

Prowl bit his bottom derma, ruminative as he considered the spiritual dilemma before him. Temptation was not to be avoided but conquered. Lockdown was proving to be, if not a temptation, an unequivocal want in the most physical, worldly way—Prowl's spark did not yearn for connection, only his frame. Though the bounty hunter had not been incorrect in his assessment that the strongest temptations were known.

How tempted by engex could a mech be if he had only heard its name, seen its color, but never felt its liquid energy fill his tanks? He would be resisting a curiosity, not a truly held desire. And Prowl was the same. He had listened to Lockdown's coaxing messages, felt his touch, scented his ozone, but he had never tasted. Had not even considered the possibility until this very moment.

Prowl would sate his thirst, and perhaps no temptation would grow from learning its taste. Or maybe the ninja's appetite would grow, and he would discipline himself to resist such temptation in the future. Overcoming a stronger trial than mere corporeal attraction. And he would be a better cyber-ninja for it.

Lockdown's glossa, long and slick, slid along the closed seams of Prowl's array. The warm, wet slide sent shivers up the ninja's back-strut, and his valve pulsed against nothing as calipers rippled to grip emptiness. His helm shot back, and he stared up at the white ceiling. It was nothing, a hologram. There was no roof, and anything, anyone, could step through its false walls and expose them.

His panel snapped open, revealing black, insulted rubber drenched in clear lubricant, and a pulsing mauve exterior node.

Lockdown wasted no time burying his unseen olfactorate against Prowl's valve, causing the younger mech to yelp. Pulling back after a loud invent and releasing it with an audible ah, the neutral's optics brightened to an almost pink hue. "Burnt rubber and clean lube; no better smell in the universe."

Prowl's cheeks flushed, and he squirmed in the servo holding him up, smearing the wetness soaking his valve across Lockdown's lower jaw.

"Been wantin' to do this since the first time you rode my face," Lockdown husked, the vents gusting against Prowl's exposed valve.

Prowl, still trying to find his balance, did not know what the bounty was referring to. "What are you…" Until he did. His visor spread wide, and his expression turned from partially aroused to aghast. "That was an expertly timed stealth attack, not some debauched attempt to seduce you!"

The depraved mech chuckled, "I know."

Then, his glossa was sliding along Prowl's slit, wet and thicker than the ninja thought possible. Its thin tip flicked and curled around his exterior node, causing him to gasp and hunch forward, clutching at Lockdown's helm. After placing a kiss against his node, the bounty hunter's hook rose parallel to the smaller mech's chassis—Lockdown only needed one servo to hold him—and the mech said, "Hold on."

Prowl's grip went from Lockdown's helm to his hook, his grasp over it tightening to the point of pain as the glossa pressing against his valve swirled, spreading rubber folds and teasing his entrance with its tip. Its nonstandard, pointed tip. The neutral pushed it into Prowl's opening, the glossa's width widening the further it pressed in.

Then it was out, and in, and out, and in, moving arrhythmically and pushing in deeper with each thrust. More and more of it entered him, and Prowl gasped as he was filled. It wasn't proportional. Lockdown's glossa was too long, too oddly shaped, its maneuverability too extended.

Slurping sounds followed each thrust, and Prowl shuddered at the realization Lockdown was drinking the gush of liquid that followed his glossa's outward pulls.

Twisting his helm, his gaze landed on the extended piece behind him; he quickly snapped his helm forward, spark thrumming with what couldn't be anticipation.

He panted harshly, unable to keep air in his filters long enough for it to cool. Prowl gasped at a particularly deep thrust; powerless to stop his knees from tightening around Lockdown's helm, drawing an appreciative grunt from the mech holding him. It had been so long, and he felt so full. Charge built within his valve, and Lockdown's thrusts slowed as calipers' grips tightened. Between gulped vents, Prowl warned, "I'm nearing, Lockdown, I—"

His valve was abruptly left empty as Lockdown's glossa slid out. Prowl caught a glimpse of it before the component disappeared inside the bounty hunter's mouth: pink, long, and uncannily organic-looking.

"Don't have time for a round two, and I know how you two-wheelers are after an overload—can't have you wastin' it here," explained the older mech.

Prowl was going to correct Lockdown on the stereotype of two-wheeled mecha knocking offline after a single overload, was just that, a gross stereotype. What came out instead was a scathing, "Is there any part of you that has not been modded?"

How was Prowl to overcome a personal tribulation if Lockdown stopped before it could be completed?

"Guess you'll be findin' out," Lockdown said, followed by the most disgusting swipe of his glossa over his derma, using it to lick away the lubricant that had coated his mouth.

Prowl did his best to forget how that thing had been inside him only moments before, and said, "I saw the barbs, I know your…member is not standard issue."

"Oh, know what those are, do ya?"

His faceplate could not burn any hotter without the metal melting off his cheeks. But before Prowl could defend his very much still intact honor, the bounty hunter was lowering the ninja once more while leaning back to his previous propped-up position.

"What is this?" He asked, one side of his visor rising higher than the other. The ninja's charge had not lessened after Lockdown had removed his glossa, and lubricant dripped from his widened opening and down his thighs. If the older mech did not continue within the next few astro-seconds, Prowl was going to forgo the entire test and stab—

Interrupting Prowl's reasonable countermeasure consideration, Lockdown gestured to his lower half in a broad sweep. "Go ahead, darlin', all yours for the takin'. However much you think ya can."

Were Prowl a less reserved mech, he would have gaped at the bounty hunter for his answer. As he was, all he did was calmly inquire, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talkin' about this pretty little cycle goin' for another sort of ride," the bounty hunter said, as though it were a perfectly reasonable thing to say.

Prowl opened his mouth to argue against the insinuation that he should ride the muscle car, for what else could such a filthy mech be referring to, only to close it.

Being the one to facilitate their coupling would give Prowl more control over the situation. He would retain full view of a dangerous criminal while choosing the proceeding's pace, leaving him less vulnerable to attack should the entire scenario reveal itself to be an elaborate plot to capture or kill him. Which had yet to be ruled out, Prowl's core processes were broiling, not fried.

His protests ended before they could begin, and to such a presumptuous request, "Very well," was all he replied.

Lockdown snorted, "Careful with all that enthusiasm, might hurt yourself."

Prowl, while keeping constant track of the bounty hunter's movements, also paid him no heed. Instead, he focused on planning his approach to the mounting problem. He had no choice but to hunch forward, using one servo to grip Lockdown between the prongs on his shoulders and neck to balance himself as he rose to a standing position. Lockdown's member was so large, he would not be able to sit himself over it were he still on his knees. In a move that would have been mortifying were Prow not already well past the point, he arched his back, raising his pelvic span over the bounty hunter's unnaturally large member. Steadying himself with a vent, Prowl looked between his legs to give the equipment he was working with a proper appraisal.

Light green with grey ridges, and a line of widely spaced grey barbs that trailed from tip to base. Intimidating was not the right word to describe it, nor was it arousing. Disconcerting was a more accurate descriptor. How much internally stored energon must the bounty hunter possess to pressurize such a large array without running his other systems dry?

Reaching down, he took hold of it right below its pointed head; Prowl could barely wrap his servo around it.

Carefully, and after holding back a smirk at Lockdown's sudden jolt, Prowl guided the spike—he could no longer maneuver around the word—under his leaking entrance. Rushing would no doubt cause injury in a place he would not allow another to repair, but taking too long would increase his chances of discovery upon returning to the Autobot base.

As with all things in life, he would need to find balance.

With the grace of a ninja who had his aft in the air and torso arched over a considerably larger mech, he began to lower himself onto the spike. Its grey tip slid into double-lined rubber, eased by the generous amounts of lubrication coating caliper-lined walls.

He lowered himself further and felt his opening begin to stretch around the intrusion. He stopped after the spike's tip brushed against an interior node, his vents coming out uneven as he tried to maintain his composure. The ninja was meant to experience temptation, not lose himself to it.

Lockdown, however, had a very different idea of what their truss was meant to entail. The older mech spoke through clenched denta, "Don't be a tease."

Some deep, never-to-be-explored part of Prowl was pleased to see the bounty hunter struggling to maintain his aura of nonchalance. Lockdown's hook was dug into the concrete below, and his red servo was clenched. Prowl twisted his hips around the spike without lowering himself further, purely to test its stretch.

Lockdown's engine growling in response and field razing with impatience was purely coincidental.

"I am not a tease," he calmly said. "This is a test."

"Only think you're testin' is my patience."

Surprising himself, and coming out little more than a soft vent, he laughed, "Good."

Red optics widened at the sound, and Lockdown's self-assured smirk returned. "Well, if that's what cranks your case, test away."

With both servos on Lockdown's shoulders for balance, and his helm cradled in the nook of Lockdown's neck, he bent at the waist and began riding over the spike in earnest, going from the tips of his pedes to flat on his heels. Stopping and rising just as the first barb pushed against his entrance.

Prowl set a deliberately slow pace, one that allowed him to feel every ridge of the spike against his interior nodes, learn its shape, and carefully memorize the feel of his calipers rippling against it. It was a pleasurable sensation, satisfying his base processes without overwhelming his sensory net.

Nothing he would miss or be overtly tempted by once their session ended. Lockown's absurdly oversized spike gave the ninja no pleasure greater than what he could provide himself. He would pass this self-assigned test with perfect marks and a perfect record after he returned to base with a fragment of the AllSpark.

Klicks, then a breed passed, his pace increasing as charge steadily built inside him. Reaching nowhere close to the frantic intensity Lockdown's glossa had elicited. He nipped at Lockdown's neck, venting hotly against and creating puffs of condensation against black metal.

"That's it, darlin'," Lockdown panted, his optics burning a deep crimson. "Take what you want, s'all yours."

Through heavy pants, Prowl demurred, "I do not…want you."

A chuckle descended into heady groans as Lockdown mocked, "The way you're ridin' my spike? I'd believe it."

The ninja snapped his mouth shut and focused on controlling his vents, steady, deep—he shuddered a gasp as, without warning, Lockdown canted his hips forward, thrusting upwards and sinking Prowl a ring deeper on his spike, a barb popping through. It hurt, it burned, he did not tear and had to bite his bottom derma hard enough to draw energon to stop an obscene moan from escaping.

Lockdown, using Prowl's momentary distraction, curled forward into a sitting position, then wrapped his arms around the ninja's back, immobilizing him.

Startled by the sudden change of position, he tried to push the larger mech away, only to find his arms trapped between their chassis. Instead of acknowledging the ninja's struggle, Lockdown rocked forward onto his knees, his arms still constricted around the smaller mech.

The shifts and jostling caused the spike buried within him to rub and press at untouched interior nodes, stretching his already strained valve and sending the most painful shocks of pleasure down his legs, numbing his pedes.

If Lockdown were to release him, it was highly likely that Prowl would be unable to walk. Using what strength he did have, he locked his legs around Lockdown's waist, hooking his pedes together. It drew the bounty hunter in deeper, causing him to squirm, then gasp; willing his lower half still, and with static in his vocals, he asked, "What is the meaning of this?"

Was stopping just as Prowl was on the precipice of overload an unspoken preference of the bounty hunter's? If so, it was one Prowl did not share. How could he overcome this trial of desire if it never ended? It had to end. It must. For timeliness sake. "Lockdown, if you do not move—"

The bounty hunter hushed him, "Darlin', don't think I won't give you what's yours. I'm on a short schedule is all. Gonna hafta speed up this robot-rodeo."

Then, while keeping Prowl pressed against his chassis, Lockdown began thrusting, faster and harder than the tepid pace Prowl had set before. The barbs pricked and pulled inside him, stretching him and driving the tiniest pricks of pain against calipers that gripped them.

His blunt digits dug into Lockdown's chassis, his mouth hanging open as he panted overheated vents. Zips of charge and bursts of electricity shorted out his processor, leaving his systems unable to interpret anything but the pleasure overcharging them.

The spike pressed even deeper, and Prowl felt metal bend.

"Lock..Lock…" Static broke through his vocals; he could not say the full name. The smaller mech's abdominal plating had distended; the metal warping outward where Lockdown's spike had pressed in too deep.

"It'll fix," Lockdown promised, then groaned. "M'close, darlin'."

Prowl almost didn't hear the bounty hunter over the sound of his own moans, of their armor scraping, sparking, and transferring paint. When the words arranged themselves in his pleasure-addled processor, he shook his helm, protesting, "Not…not inside. Lockd—ah-ah."

He shook his helm again; Prowl's internals were already too full. His valve stretched to the point of strain around Lockdown's spike; not even lubricant could seep past the tight ring of rubber and sensor clusters. His hips could accommodate no more.

Squeezing his legs tighter around the larger mech's waist, he rolled his hips to try and lift himself off the spike, to elevate some of the burning stretch that had his background processes warning about capacity limits.

It earned him a surprised moan from the mech holding him, who fell forward, catching himself with a servo before he could crush the smaller mech. Lockdown then twisted and, barely giving the ninja enough time to unwrap his legs, dropped onto his back, taking Prowl with him. Spike remaining the entire way down.

Lockdown's legs, bent upward at the knee, trembled as he continued to thrust from his supine position. Fast then slow, Prowl could only lie with his helm against the other's black and green chassis and accept. Tingles of pleasure circled his valve, the visual feed from his visor fuzzed, and he—they overloaded.

Lockdown vented a gasp that turned into a chassis rumbling groan, his hook scraping down the Prowl's side and creating sparks. He keened, choking on it as his valve clenched around the spike pumping copious amounts of transfluid into him. Were his gestation chamber not bolted closed, it would be overflowing.

Arcs of electricity snapped out from between open seams, and their fields spent energy combined, allowing Prowl to feel just how pleased the bounty hunter was. Lockdown's knees dropped, jostling them both and causing Prowl's spent valve to flex around the spike still inside him. It had yet to depressurize.

The ninja held a whine in the back of his throat, forcing it down, but something in his field must have alluded to his pain as overly sensitive nodes were rubbed. Lockdown's hook brushed over the top of Prowl's helm while his servo gently smoothed over the smaller mech's back.

"Easy, easy," Lockdown soothed as he began slowly pulling out, ensuring Prowl felt every pop of a barb springing out of his valve. Prowl gasped, choking on a vent, weakly beating a fist against the neutral's chassis as the spike was removed entirely.

Lockdown's spike sprang free, immediately shooting thick ropes of transfluid over the smaller mech's back. He vented heavily as he felt them land, but could do nothing but clench his fists against the bounty hunter's chassis. Hot liquid was gushing out of his valve and onto the backs of his thighs, oozing onto the ground between Lockdown's legs.

His frame trembled from the aftershocks of overload, but he was in no danger of emergency stasis, as rumors suggested two-wheelers would after an intense session.

They lay for klicks together on the ground, steam pouring out of their vents and into the cool night air. Lockdown's servo continued to gently stroke along Prowl's back, going from full palm to a digit or two twirling over the arch of his back-strut.

"This…" Prowl paused, giving himself time to think of his next complicated series of glyphs. "Will not happen again." He finished, an undercut of static still playing low in his vocals.

Lockdown dragged the ninja up his chassis and craned his neck down to place a kiss on the top of Prowl's helm. The bounty hunter hummed his agreement, "Next time we'll get you stretched good and proper. Might even downsize…"

"There is no next time," he said. "This was an individual test of curiosity, and now begins my trial with temptation."

The neutral softly chuckled, "The knots you spiritual types tie yourselves into." Then, his servo went from idly roving over Prowl's back to gripping the ninja's thin neck, forcing his helm up and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry, we'll get those kinks worked out."

"We will not," he countered, his vocals coming out more tired than firm. His HUD was inquiring about recharge sequencing. He manually closed the inquiry. Recharging next to Lockdown was a more dangerous action than coupling with him had been.

Lockdown's engine rumbled in thought, then the servo gently massaging his neck lifted, and the bounty hunter murdered, "Gonna have to head out here soon, but next time I promise we'll take our time with it. Make good on all those promises that got your coppers turning red."

Prowl's visor narrowed, and the sudden withdrawal of Lockdown's field fueled his growing suspicions. "What are you—"

"Sorry about this, darlin'."

A chop to the back of his neck—well executed, he would reflect later—and Prowl's world faded.

He onlined slowly to a dull throb pulsing within his processor; the pain of it temporarily distracted Prowl from the full-framed ache that permeated his protoform.

His visor flickered from black to blue. The first thing that greeted Prowl to full wakefulness was a dark sky empty of stars. That meant it was still night, no early morning, his chronometer corrected. At least a joor before the other Autobots typically awoke. That left him with little time to cleanse his frame of evidence, but just enough to reflect on his mistakes.

A general proximity sweep with his booting up sensors told him The Death's Head was no longer in the empty lot, and gone with it, the AllSpark fragment, and the lying, scheming bounty hunter who had stolen it. Who had fooled Prowl with his messages, faked sincerity, and sweet calls of darlin'. With a growl, he slammed his fist onto the ground; the test had failed. It had been rigged from the start.

Shame burned hotter than any desire ever could; a variety he would do well to remember.

Pushing himself to his knees, Prowl began checking over his frame to assess the damage, visor widening when he saw none.

His frame had been cleaned and buffed. There were no traces of another's paint across his plating, no stains or dents, even his abdominal plating had been popped back into place. All that remained was a long scratch up his right side, a memento of Lockdown's hook and the throes of passion.

A minor injury that could be explained by a bad fall or recharging incident should he choose not to buff the evidence out. Which he would. Of course, he would remove Lockdown's mark from his frame. To leave any trace of the bounty hunter on his armor would be foolish.

Especially after the mech had proven himself to be no better than any common con-mech.

The pulsing emptiness within his valve was already enough; his sore hip joints and shaking thighs were excessive. That Lockdown had taken the time to cleanse Prowl's frame in no way absolved the mech of his deceit. The Prowl's dalliance with curiosity had not ended the way he expected, but the result had been the same.

There would never be a repeat.

All that was left for the ninja to do was to slink back to the Autobot base and spend the next orn in admonishing meditation. Curiosity had been an excuse—Prowl had fooled himself into believing himself above his old, self-destructive habits. Just as he had fooled himself into thinking there was anything inside Lockdown worth—

Something bright tugged at his gaze, halting his thoughts and drawing his attention. He looked toward the source of the light; on the ground next to him was a tiny, glowing blue shard. Written above it, scratched into the concrete by the tip of something sharp, were the words, next time.

Prowl reached out and, holding the fragment between foredigit and thumb, lifted it to his visor. The shard was real. AllSpark energy hummed from within its blue crystal; it reached out and into his frame, brushing against his spark. He clutched it to his chassis, his own spark energy reaching out to connect with the holy relic.

Terrible, selfish, untrustworthy, Lockdown had kept his word.

The shame that had been gutting Prowl's tanks melted away, and a warm, unnamed emotion swirled within his spark. An emotion that would forever go unnamed, even as the AllSpark fragment's energy spun with his spark's in approval, swelling its energy and threatening to overflow outside of its casing. He subspaced the shard and pushed himself to stand on shaky legs, looking up at the empty sky as understanding calmed his pulsating spark.

Prowl's test had not failed. His trial was only just beginning.

Prowlock Commission by @limesareyellow on tumblr