A Regrettable Act
by Toyz
Muffled amateur rhymes backed by Blaster's steady baseline leaked into the dank stillness of Inamorato's back alley. Parked at the end of the narrow corridor was a sinisterly angular ship, red light oozing from its open hatch.
Silhouetted sharply in that opening was the dramatic form of the captain, who ambled down the ramp pushing an empty hand truck in front of him. He wheeled it over to a collection of supply crates stacked neatly at the brothel's back door.
"What have we here?" Chromia shattered the morbid peace as she burst from the door, shimmering translucent streamers dangling wistfully from her clamped wings and blowing in the evening breeze. "The mighty bounty hunter has lowered himself to manual labor?"
Lockdown loaded some crates onto the hand truck without even so much as a flinch in Chromia's direction. She stared at him expectantly, hungry for any shred of a reaction but he kept on with his task. It wasn't until his back was turned and he was pushing a fully loaded cart back to the ship that he responded to her.
"Shouldn't you be on stage?"
"It's Open Mic Night." Chromia trotted behind him. "Not really my thing."
"Right." Lockdown drawled. "You'd be the star of Open Leg Night."
"Damn right, I would!" She skipped ahead of him and sprang up on the cart, mounting the stack of crates. She then leaned suggestively over the hand truck's handle, lowering her vocals to a sultry level. "I'd be heavyweight champ a'that business."
"Get off." Lockdown shoved her out of his line of sight, unimpressed. "Not my type."
Her aft hit the ground with a thud but she scrambled to her feet, attempting to restore her composure. "Silly me, how could I forget." She sassed him hard, dusting herself off. "I'd have to get a black and gold paint job and permanently lodge an iron rod up my aft to strike your fancy."
Lockdown shrugged, pushing the load up the Death's Head's ramp.
"It's not that I wouldn't frag ya," his voice echoed from the ship's cargo hold, mixing with the sounds of shifting crates. "I would if you really wanted it. Hell, most femmes do." He strolled back down the ramp with an empty cart, clearly pleased with himself. "I'd just never pay for it."
"Dream on, pistonbreath." Chromia gave his arm a hefty shove as he passed by her. "The only reason you wouldn't frag me is because it might spoil what little chance you have with the stiff of the century."
She pursued him back to the stack of supplies, even helped him load a crate. Lockdown went back into silent mode.
"It's a good thing our mission is covert." Chromia went on. "If Prowl caught wind of your association with Mega—"
Lockdown cut her off by slamming a crate down noisily.
"…tron?" Chromia chirped.
The bounty hunter grabbed her by the collar and pinned her to the wall, his ghostly face remaining expressionless. "If this is how it's gonna be on our voyages then expect your nosy little aft dumped off on a remote asteroid in the gaseous Blot Nebula."
"You wouldn't dare." Chromia spoke through strained vocals, still sporting that cursed smirk. She was supposed to be more frightened. "Strika would have your ugly head on a—"
"I'll say it was an accident," Lockdown interrupted. "And I'll bet those clones will back up everything I say."
Chromia opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out but frustrated noise. Lockdown released her, satisfied, quelling his temper with a roll of his shoulder. He turned back to his supply cart.
"Fraggitall, I hate those clones." She fussed with her wing streamers, smoothing them out one by one. "Would you believe, the other day, Sunstorm actually had the audacity to—"
"I don't care." Lockdown barked over his shoulder. "Look sister, the price for my company is to shut the frag up and help load the ship, emphasis on shut the frag up. If ya can't manage that, then go chatter the audios off another poor son-of-a-glitch. Hell, some overcharged idiot drownin' in bad judgment might even pay ya for it."
Chromia now made an offended noise and grabbed an empty glass bottle from the recycling bin, chucking it at Lockdown and nailing him square in the back.
"You're a real afthat!" She shouted after him. "Like, the genuine, original granddaddy of afthats that pathetic little apprentice afthats aspire to be one day. I don't know what Prowl sees in you."
That last comment stopped Lockdown in his tracks. He turned around, his painted face a picture of intrigue. "Did you say…'sees', as in…present tense?"
Chromia wasn't around to answer the question. There was only Inamorato's back door slamming behind her.
Lockdown stood, contemplatively, allowing himself a moment of hopeful thought. When he turned back to the supply cart, he nearly jumped out of his chassis as Swindle had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
"Whoa, hey there," the dealer sang out." Getting a little jumpy in our old age are we?"
"Fraggin' pit, Swindle."
"Are you still hung up on that scrawny little ninja?" Swindle shook his head, pityingly.
"Never mind that." The hunter exvented then pushed his cart up the ramp, motioning for Swindle to follow him. "You're early."
"I'm punctual," Swindle corrected, "something you should be too now that you're working for the Big Gun." He took in the sights of the ship's interior instead of offering Lockdown a hand at unloading crates. "Yanno, it wouldn't hurt to upgrade your storage compartments with, oh I don't know, something that doesn't announce OG Smuggler to any interested law enforcement bot?"
Lockdown groaned, the kind of groan an old bot does when doesn't have an argument.
"I know just the place that'll give you the best deal too, little free trade zone called McColama, nestled between the planet of Junk and the Nebbie border."
"I know where Mac's is."
"Terrific! Make sure to tell him I sent you. Hopefully by sending a little business his way, he'll overlook that little scam I—"
"So which organic planet the big guy assigned you to?" Lockdown cut in, uninterested in the long-winded 'cons entire dealing history.
"Organic?" Swindle chortled. "I'm not going to an organic planet. The Tin Tyrant's put me in charge of The Scavenger Hunt."
"The what now?" Lockdown propped an elbow on the cart, both annoyed and interested by this new information.
"I call it The Scavenger Hunt." Swindle boasted, pulling a datapad from his subspace. "He gave me this list of rare machine parts that he knew only me, with my universally renowned reputation, would be able to track down and procure, for a bargain, naturally."
"Gimme that." Lockdown swiped the datapad from Swindle's grasp and read over it with a series of nods and wordless noises.
"It's actually uh…" Swindle fidgeted nervously, checking down the ramp to make sure no one was around. He lowered his vocals to a whisper. "It's classified information."
Lockdown tossed the pad back to the dealer, who caught it clumsily. "I shoulda known by all the organic slag he's asked me to fetch that he's building another converter." This new information made Lockdown uneasy.
Swindle stowed the now precious list back in his supspace. "Don't you dare go blabbing any of this to that ninja crush of yours."
Lockdown pushed past the dealer with an empty cart. "Ain't sayin' a word to anybot."
"You better not," Swindle warned, following behind Lockdown. "Megatron will skewer us first and ask questions lat—"
Both mechs froze as they heard Inamorato's back door creak open. "Scram!" Lockdown ordered a gravelly whisper, not waiting to see who it was.
Swindle leapt down from the ramp, whirled into alt-mode and disappeared into the urban blackness. Lockdown continued pushing his cart along, playing it cool, until the mystery intruder came into view. He then slowed his pace at the sight, his circuits flaring and his joints tightening. He took a deep invent.
"Who was that?" Prowl inquired, looking down the alley as he approached.
"Cyberweasel," Lockdown blurted awkwardly. "Escaped from the zoo." Realizing the ridiculousness of his statement he attempted to recover by bee-lining his cart for the supply stack. "What're you doing out here?"
Prowl thankfully overlooked the weasel comment but unfortunately began assisting the hunter with loading the cart. Of all times for Prowl to offer his company, why did it have to be now? "Chromia informed me that you might need some help."
"Did she now." Gaze cast anywhere but on the ninja, Lockdown responded defensively. "Find that hard to believe." Prowl signed, but continued to load crates. "Don't worry about it. I got it."
"Don't be silly." Prowl argued coolly. "Your loading time will be cut in half with my help."
"Trying to get rid of me quicker then?" Lockdown played his most stubborn cards which, wasn't too much of a stretch from normal circumstances. "Probably better that way."
"Lockdown," Prowl pleaded with a hint of annoyance. "Please don't be like this."
Lockdown plopped the last crate on top of the rest then rolled his shoulder back to pop an ever-tightening connector cable. "How'm I supposed to be, Prowl?" He turned the cart and headed for the ship, not sticking around for answer.
Prowl bit back a noise of frustration then pursued. "I did not come out here to argue."
"Then why're ya here." It was hardly a question.
"I merely…," it was a battle for Prowl to keep his tone free of his rapidly growing irritation. "I just want you to know that I think what you're doing...is honorable."
The words stabbed right into Lockdown's gut.
"Well, despite the fact that…" Prowl continued a little nervously, "you'll be subjecting alien customers to the likes of Chromia in the name of interplanetary diplomacy…"
The humor in that comment, and Prowl's damnably cute awkwardness made the situation that much harder.
"All I am saying," Prowl wrapped it up, "is I think it is commendable, honest work."
Lockdown stopped at the base of the ramp, taking a deep invent, regrettably resorting to pull from his unhealed sparkarche in order to maintain the façade. He had to do whatever it took to hide his true mission from Prowl. And if that meant using their last encounter, that...infuriating rejection as an excuse, so be it.
Lockdown turned a cold glower to the beaming ninja. "Thank you for your stamp of approval. Now I can finally get some proper recharge, knowing my career choices meet your standards."
"That is not what I meant." Prowl's tone dropped to angry depth.
"Then what did ya mean, kid?" Lockdown stepped closer, blocking the smaller bot's view of the ship's cargo bay. His processor raced for the right words to keep the ninja off of the ramp and hopefully fleeing back inside soon. "Bein' the madams little errand bot suits me better than hunting? That you feel better associating with a chauffeur then a mercenary?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth." Prowl stood his ground despite Lockdown's intimidating proximity. "I meant only to say that…well that I'm…" Prowl lifted his chin assuredly, "I'm glad we are still working for the same employer."
Lockdown stood silently, attempting to read that unreadable blue optic visor.
"Have you nothing to say on the matter?" Prowl spoke confidently.
"What's to say?" Lockdown parried.
Prowl started to crack. "Why must you be so difficult? I am trying to have a proper conversation with you."
"Fine, let's converse." Lockdown, taking the path least difficult, decided to make a game of the situation. "Whattya think of that there open mic night? Nice little break from the routine?"
"It is highly obnoxious." Prowl was quick to play along, but clearly not pleased about it. "Routine does not bother me. Why did you take this job?"
"Pay was too good to pass up."
"I know for a fact that is false." Prowl shot back answers faster than Lockdown could conjure up responses.
"You ain't seen my contract. You don't know." Lockdown was faltering.
"I don't have to. It is common knowledge that madams pay minimum. Only a fool would take a position that didn't allow tips."
"Here's a tip for ya," Lockdown warned, "stay outta my business."
"I believe," Prowl wouldn't' back down, "you accepted the position with ulterior motives."
Lockdown froze, his processor scrambling for a defensive response. He could feel his white flag threatening to rise and was already working out strategies of avoiding Megatron's wrath. And Prowl's wrath. Damn this clever little ninja. "If ya already know the answer, why'd ya ask?"
"Because I want to hear you say it." Prowl took a step closer, close enough that his exvents were felt on the musclecar's abdominal plating. Lockdown took a sharp intake, and Prowl continued with a softer tone. "I would really…like to hear you say it. Like you had said a while back, when you applied for the bouncer position."
A wave of realization washed over Lockdown's rigid chassis. Prowl didn't know about the mission at all. He wasn't out here as an Autobot interrogating a criminal. He was out here as the Cyber-Ninja that this old bounty hunter had shared so many moments of kinship with, and he was recognizing them, openly. Lockdown's gut twisted into excitable knots. But he also grew frustrated. Fragging kid was a solar late and credit short. Just his luck.
Lockdown's spark now ached and it reverted the twist in his gut back to the unpleasant one. He had no choice but to be a traitor to his own feelings...to use the one pure thing in his functioning as a tool of deception.
"It's," the words were impossible, but they still came. "It's another way to stay connected to ya."
There was most certainly a special place in the pit for mechs like Lockdown.
Prowl stood frozen. It felt like a vorn before he spoke. "Then you're not angry..." He stepped in close and lifted his long slender fingers to rest upon Lockdown's hollow brand, just above his spark chamber. "About the other night?"
Lockdown shuddered. Suddenly the anger he wanted to feel about being rejected was melting away with one simple touch, one innocent point of contact. Prowl deserved so much more than a bitter spark and this damned act of deception. "Nah, kid. I get it. You're needed here on Cybertron. Autobots need you. Dojo needs you." His one good hand came up to rest on Prowl's before he could tell it not to.
The blue optic visor dimmed to a less icy glow, and the slender fingers easily entwined with the thicker purple ones. "Do you…need me?"
Prowl's words resonated strangely with Lockdown. They were unexpectedly forward, and desperate. He didn't know how to answer. Didn't know what the kid wanted him to say. Perhaps he was over thinking it. Perhaps the situation was much simpler than his paranoid old processor was leading him to believe. Perhaps he was ruining a perfectly good moment by overanalyzing it.
That simply wouldn't do.
Without anymore thought, Lockdown dipped down to connect his mouth to the smoky grey one. He didn't need words to answer the questions. His lips alone would manage just fine.
Prowl jolted in surprise but it wasn't long before his lithe body relaxed and his mouth parted to accept the kiss. He wrapped his arms around the thick studded neck and deepened the kiss to grinding state of long-suppressed want.
Their mouths danced combatively, fighting for the best angle that allowed the deepest possible penetration and complete indulgence in the others forbidden fruit. They alternated their moans and pulled each other closer with every sharp intake. Lockdown desperately relished every warm point of contact where black and gold plating met black and green. He never thought he would get to feel this again.
Prowl kept one arm wrapped tightly around Lockdown's neck while his opposite hand traced over tribal tattoos. He had never, in all his functioning, met a mech like Lockdown, and probably never would. He gasped hotly when Lockdown's hook guided his lower back flusher against the toxic green alloy. Logic be damned at moments like these when his spark completely disregarded his better judgment.
This was not part of the act.
A chill ran down Prowl's back struts. He broke the kiss and loosened his hold on Lockdown's neck, pedes lowering from their tip-toed reach, his head bowing. Lockdown withdrew as well, seeming to also sense that only the moment should be put to bed, and nothing else.
"I should," Prowl spoke meekly, taking a step back, cool air filling the gap forming between their contact, "get back inside." His arms slid regretfully down the armored shoulders, hands resting momentarily on the heated, thrumming chest before they withdrew to his cooling sides.
"Yeah." Lockdown spoke softly, almost a whisper, his hook retreating to his own side, but his hand still lingering at Prowl's cheek, fingers carefully caressing it. "You probably should."
When Lockdown withdrew his touch, Prowl took that as his cue to leave, taking in the sight of his...lover? before turning and walking away, knowing the studded silhouette would be burned on his processor for solars to come.
As would the quick glance he stole of the ship's suspicious cargo, not to mention the use of Lockdown's ridiculously outdated smuggling compartments. Did the old mech think he was stupid? It was without a doubt a disheartening, sparking sinking sight that confirmed everything Kup has suspected about the mobile escort service.
Prowl's thoughts were now swimming, drowning even, unwilling to accept that a kiss like that could follow such blatant deception, on both sides. He couldn't even manage a farewell. Just drifted back inside, down the brothel's employee-only corridor, and through the door leading into the musical main room, where he knew Kup was waiting for his return.
He took a seat across from the old veteran, whose crinkled mouth chewed expectantly on that Cy-gar. Slipping back into his most dutiful role, Prowl straightened in his chair and took a deep intake.
"Your suspicions are confirmed, Sergeant." Prowl's vocals were uneven. "There is more than meets the optic to this mobile escort service."
"How can you be sure?" Kup asked.
"Because I know when I am being played."