A/N: To all those who read Deadlocked (thank you!), I'm sure you're just as curious as I was about the unspoken possibility: what if Prowl had said yes to Lockdown?
Hmmmm. Lots of sex, that's what XD No, rilly. I LOVE how these two play off each other. Too much, even?
This is a collection of short stories and impressions of what Prowl and Lockdown's bounty-hunting-super-happy-extravaganza-team existence would entail, ranging from oddly sentimental to even MOAR-ODDISH domestic to dark-dark-dark. So… enjoy the subject-hopping and I sincerely hope that Lockdown is still… Lockdown. Because I would hurt myself if I did anything bad to so glorious a character.
Prowl, stop disapproving: Lockdown could be my sugar-mech-daddy any day :D
(And I'm so flattered by the interest in my TFA Dystopia! I promise you, there will be more on that: my mind is munching on it as we speak. I can't give you an epic story, but I can give memoirs and sucker-punching fragments!)
These go in… general chronological order, with a few exceptions. SO JUST READ.
Warnings: Sexual conduct/references and some gore.
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Foil
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It was a partnership in every sense.
There was give and take, compromise, cooperation and simple coexistence. Considering their standards and motivations, it was surprising how well the two mechs meshed, but both were chiefly concerned with a single concept: success. If Lockdown expected Prowl's flashy, vicious side to bloom when given the proper skuzzy habitat and a stimulating lack of morals, he was only half appeased. The former Autobot was Lockdown's partner in most senses, but remained his foil in every other sense.
Lockdown enjoyed the sound of his own vocals. Prowl was silent, only speaking when necessary.
When he did speak, it still pleased the other mech on a girder-deep level (even after so many stellar-cycles of it) that Prowl booted up his fluid vocals in the middle of a hostage situation just to verbally peg him in the ankle, or the knee. The comments were nothing spiteful: it was playful, to rile his partner up.
Prowl played, when that wicked, prideful Spark of his got a little out of control. His sharp little grins were an event in and of themselves, even if they vanished too soon after. Lockdown enjoyed the flare-ups: he liked to see the pretty gaps in Prowl's shell and self-command, and the result of it. The motion to rile him up. It was… satisfying.
The ninjabot was a practical but connection-motivated creature. He only spoke to those he business with, or some emotional connection to: in sum, Lockdown, or Hits that had truly made him angry. Otherwise, contrary to the hunter's hopes, the motivation for exhibitionist banter simply wasn't there, and their missions were conducted with one-sided banter and stern looks. Perhaps had the circumstances been more relaxed, he might speak more, but there was an internal tension in him that refused to leave. His partner knew nothing of tension.
Lockdown had an unlimited comfort-zone. He did what he wanted, where he wanted.
Prowl was of the same cast. He just didn't… want so much.
Prowl was still unbearably reserved, but stellar-cycles together made personal distance impossible: Lockdown knew the kid, and he never got bored of Prowl. He became irritated, impatient and confused upon the odd occasion, but never bored. There was too much to look for; too much to look at. Even if Prowl had been as hideous as, say, himself—by so-pristine Cybertronian standards that simply didn't matter in lawless, culture-neutral deep space where 'society' devolved into blind worship of powerful, ruthless and well-connected people, no matter how ugly—Lockdown's interest would have remained untouched due to all the well-greased machinations going on behind that blank visor of his, colored with different levels of pride, biting wit, observation and, best of all, viciousness.
It was a viciousness as quiet as Lockdown's was loud.
Prowl had a penchant for the quieter tasks on the ship. Especially during dry spells, he ran diagnostics and simply explored the space as it went by, zooming in on this rock here, or that final-stage red dwarf star there. He was a computer whiz for tracking and flexible programming, much like how he recalibrated Lockdown's ship to seek the Allspark shard signal on Starscream so, so long ago. Lockdown was more than glad to leave the position of monitor duty to someone else (running the entire insentient ship himself was a chore, and he would much rather be sorting through possible Hits or customizing mods), but seeing Prowl motionless for megacycles, simply looking, made him shake his head and want to go hammer something until it cracked.
Prowl observed. Lockdown effected. Unyielding measure; relished excess.
Though missions were a thrilling, stimulant-riddled thing to enjoy, there were times in the beginning that Lockdown doubted Prowl's ability to be controlled. Surely, as he'd seen (and felt and paid for and installed himself in the form of a new vocal processor), the self-sufficient ninjabot didn't take orders well, and traditional 'control' wasn't an option. Besides, Lockdown was not a leader: he was an individual with power and advantage who demanded submission, but wasn't possessed of any selfless, guiding urges. He only dealt with equals who could take care of themselves, because he wasn't going to soften blows or go back for bodies. Still, he wanted Prowl to… follow his lead, at the least.
Despite the opportunity for rebellion, however, there had been little to no problem. The tactics Lockdown chose for nearly every mission—all based on individual attacks and a natural flow of conflict with a basic (and loose) goal—were Prowl's own tactics. They trusted each other's skills, and the fights played out cleanly, blow to instinctual blow, because of that respect and Prowl's own respect for the bounty hunter's innate dominance. Their attack styles complimented each other, worked together but always remained separate.
It wasn't control so much as a steady flow of opportune concurrences… but either way, Prowl was still his partner after seventeen stellar-cycles of it. More than that, the kid seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself.
Lockdown certainly was.