Hello, readers!

This is actually one of the first stories that Tash and I wrote! So if you read us before because you adore crack... well, this is Lockdown/Prowl.

WHICH IS TO SAY, A VERY POPULAR PAIRING.

GASP.

It is still kind of cracky, I guess? I mean, there is a bonding ceremony for Ratchet and Arcee, and mentions of other pairings later on. ... more outright statements of other pairings, but whatever. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

Also, if you don't like Prowl and Lockdown mentioning being with other bots, I'd really advise you not to read this. I mean, you can, just don't yell at me because you are all, "They are in love, I do not like them the way you are doing this!" ... You don't have to read it. I will not be upset. Promise.

I will be kind of sad if you read it, liked it, and didn't leave a review or a story alert or something. I mean, if you don't, I kind of think I did something wrong! no one likes it when a writer you enjoyed thinks they did something wrong when they didn't!

I BET YOU DIDN'T READ ALL THAT NONSENSE. HAVE A STORY.

First Day

Lockdown had docked their ship with much grumbling and general fussiness, but he had yet to actually protest being made to come with Prowl to Ratchet and Arcee's bonding ceremony, so Prowl was relatively certain he didn't mind. There hadn't been an official bonding in vorns, and Prowl himself had never been to one, which meant he assumed Lockdown had never been either and was likely a bit curious, even if he had made thinly veiled comments about expecting payment for attending. He could guess exactly what sort of currency the larger mech had in mind.

Prowl takes care to pack the bonding gift he'd selected a half dozen organic plants obtained from a half dozen separate worlds, each contained in special glass cases that replicate the proper atmospheres. He hopes Ratchet and Arcee appreciate them, and frets for a moment, wondering if the instructions he has provided for their care are explicit enough.

Prowl puts a servo over the surface of one of the organic plants they're giving as a gift for the first solar cycle. The gift for each step of the ceremony is to fit a theme, and today's is something personal from the giver. There is nothing more personal of a gift than a plant to him. The plant unfurls slightly at the heat coming from his servo, and he smiles softly.

Lockdown stomps noisily, obviously protesting the fact that Prowl made him clean up for this, but the motorcyclebot can't help it when his fans kick on at the sight of him all polished and shiny. Giving the mech a kiss, and deftly avoiding the larger bot's grabby servos, he leads him out of the ship and to the reception area.

His spark jumps at the sight of his companions; it's been far too long since their last visit, and he can scarcely remember the last time all of them were in one place for more than a few cycles. Arcee and Ratchet look happy, if a bit nervous, and Optimus, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead are all standing nearby. It makes sense that they've all arrived before Prowl and Lockdown, seeing as the other bots all live on Cybertron, though Bulkhead spends nearly all of his time in distant parts of space, working on space bridges.

Lockdown thrusts one of the plants out at the couple, case held gingerly in his servos, as if he is afraid it is going to bite him. Prowl shakes his head. Bitten by one single organic plant and Lockdown was convinced they were all now after him.

Arcee smiles warmly at them as she takes the plants while Ratchet gives Lockdown a glare that is downright poisonous. Prowl clasps the medicbot's servo in his own as a greeting, and it changes from hateful to joyful. He's almost surprised at being pulled into a tight hug and told how wonderful it is to see him again.

He returns the embrace because it really has been too long long enough that Prowl had been surprised to learn that his friends were planning on a traditional bonding ceremony, and had in fact already scheduled it. Neither bot seemed old-fashioned enough to want it, but there was absolutely no way he was going to turn down the invitation they had extended. So here he was, freshly polished and waxed, with a partner whose very spikes were gleaming from an unexpected and thorough cleaning.

Prowl hopes that whatever room Arcee and Ratchet have them assigned to, it has polishing cloths, because it's going to be very difficult to explain away all the paint scuffs he's planning on giving Lockdown otherwise.

"I'm so glad you could make it, both of you," Arcee must be overflowing with happiness, Prowl decides, because few bots other than himself tend to be glad when Lockdown shows up for anything.

Prowl glances over as Lockdown shifts uncomfortably, and he gently pulls away from Ratchet. Putting a comforting servo on Lockdown's wheel, he says to Arcee, "We wouldn't miss it for anything."

They all ignore Lockdown's tiny snort, and Prowl excuses them, so Arcee and Ratchet can go back to greeting guests. "But we can catch up later, there will be plenty of time."

Wanting to secure good seats for the opening ceremony, Prowl greets the rest of his team quickly. Even with a restricted guest list Prowl knows that couple had received thousands of requests for an invitation there are hundreds of bots here in the reception hall. The first and final days of a bonding are open to any and all bots that want to witness them, or can witness them, and he knows that if they don't hurry, the thousands of bots vying for seats will have left them only with standing room.

"Optimus, Bumblebee, Bulkhead," he smiles warmly, it always warms his spark to see them. "We should hurry if we want to be able to see Ratchet and Arcee making their vows."

"Yeah," Bee drawls, "I can't believe there are so many bots here! It's just a bonding thing. I mean, c'mon, if it wasn't Ratchet, I wouldn't even be here."

All the rest of the group nod in agreement, and step through the doors to the ceremony room. Prowl barely has time to look for an open space when a medium size femme shows up to escort them all to the front. He shakes his head in amusement; Of course Arcee and Ratchet would make certain they got good seats.

He was almost afraid that there wouldn't be enough room for Lockdown, since Ratchet would have taken a space away if he could get away with it. But, to his surprise, there is actually one extra seat. He glances at Optimus, who he just realized has come alone, and winces. He'll be sure to ask the mech when they catch up.

Prowl makes sure that empty seat is placed at the end of their group, and sits on one side of Optimus after seeing Bumblebee take the other side. Bulkhead can sit at the end; Prowl's sure he'll appreciate the extra room, and he's not letting Optimus spend the entire ceremony thinking about the empty space.

He places one servo over Lockdown's, more to stop any potential groping than anything else, though he does love the simple comfort of touching this way. Arcee and Ratchet have finished greeting their guests and are standing at the front of the room, between two crystal pillars. The entire hall falls silent, and Prowl's servos clench in reflex against Lockdown's.

Most of the ritual is conducted in ancient Cybertronian, and Prowl can only catch and translate half of it, but the bits he can catch are simply fascinating. Love, prosperity, something that sounds like a shortened version of the creation of their people; Prowl wonders why it's all included, and whether Ratchet and Arcee are truly listening, or simply lost in each other's optics.

He glances over, and just barely stops a snort. Lockdown is staring ahead blankly, and thinking about something. It obviously isn't thinking about Prowl, or the bot's fans would have started. And, if the mech had turned off his fans, he would have been able to tell anyway. Lockdown has never been subtle, and he is holding servos with him.

To reward his relatively good behavior, Prowl strokes one of Lockdown's servos with his own, drawing a startled look from the larger mech. Prowl just smiles, and squeezes, and turns his attention back to the ceremony. Ratchet and Arcee are speaking now, offering vows and saying what they value in the other bot, what they love, and Prowl's spark aches in his chest.

He's been with Lockdown for thirty stellar cycles now, and the mech has never once told Prowl that he loved him not seriously. And Prowl will go to the Pit before he says it first.

He knows the larger mech does love him, it is in every step he takes, and the way he runs a servo over over Prowl's back when he's not feeling well. He sighs, semi-morosely, and leans his head on Lockdown's arm, avoiding the spikes without even thinking about it. The larger mech rubs a servo on the top of Prowl's, and the motorcyclebot cheers up instantly, if not visibly to anyone that isn't Lockdown or his teammates.

There are more words said by the ministerbot, consisting of what Prowl assumes is an overview of the next few solar cycles, though by this point, he has it tuned out nearly as much as Lockdown does. Warmth seeps from the larger mech's armor into his own, and it feels so intimate and comfortable to be like this with him. Sometimes, they will spend most of an entire solar cycle in the berth, and Prowl will soak up the greater heat of Lockdown's frame like an organic Earth cat soaked up the sun's rays.

It isn't until everyone gets up that Prowl realizes he should too. He shakes himself mentally, while physically getting up as gracefully as ever. Lockdown sneers down at all the bots staring at them, and Prowl taps him lightly on the leg to remind him to remain on good behavior.

They manage to get out of there with as little fuss as they can, heading out to the reception area which is now filled with various cubes of energon. Somehow, they end up being talked to by Arcee and Ratchet, off to the side of everyone, and Lockdown standing in the way to hide their conversations from the vast amount of reporterbots and eavesdropping bots just wanting to be next to someone famous.

Arcee keeps telling them how amazing it is to be going through the bonding process, giving them very blatant looks. "It's a little nerve-wracking, but bonding is one of the best things a committed pair of bots can do, I think," and her optics shift between them both, clearly asking why they were not bonded yet.

Prowl smiles congenially, there's no way he's going to enter a bond. "We're both very happy for you."

Beside them, Ratchet grumbles, "You know, Prowl, I heard that Jazz is available again. Just broke up with that other bot he'd been seeing." The medic stares at him for a long moment.

"Thank you, Ratchet." The motorcyclebot takes the opportunity to link his servo with Lockdown's again. "I'll make sure to visit him the next time we're in the area."

He ignores Lockdown's look of delight at Ratchet, and gently pulls him away. It is getting sufficiently late enough that they can just head to the room they were given without anyone protesting. He's thankful he had already made arrangements to catch up with his team in the morning, since it was getting increasingly hard not to run a servo along Lockdown's chest and pulling him into a kiss as he scuffs and dents the larger mech's shiny spikes and paint.

Upon opening the door to their room, however, Prowl's processor completely blanks. There is. What the. Lockdown is standing frozen in shock beside him.

Their room is . . . hideous, in ways that Prowl has never even imagined. The berth is large, which Prowl appreciates, as Lockdown is a very large mech, but it's glowing blue. Spark blue, to be precise, and the color is pulsating in a way that Prowl just cannot bring himself to trust. It's nauseating, and he feels as if staring directly at it for too long might make him purge his tanks.

Nearly every surface in the room is mirrored, and while a single mirror or two near the berth might prove to be erotic, hundreds of mirrors give the room an aura of menace as if it were some monstrous nightmarish trap of countless reflections.

He forces himself inside, and vaguely considers asking Arcee if they can have a different room. He's fairly certain Ratchet choose this one for them for the sheer terror of it. But there's a tiny part of his processor reminding him that she has been pressing them into bonding, and this is so clearly a newlywed's room.

Shuddering, he pulls Lockdown in with him, and the mech shuts the door firmly as he says, "What the frag is this, kid? I'm not sleeping in that Pit damned glowing bed."

"It's," he's at an utter loss for words, "It can be turned off, I'm positive." But one long, fruitless search later, he's found no way to shut the glow off.

"If that thing doesn't stop, we're going back to the ship and recharging there," Lockdown growls.

That would break so many traditions that it hurts Prowl's processor just to think about it. So he lets his optics offline and he proceeds to use his processor over matter ability for possibly the most frivolous thing he has ever used it for. But his humming has successfully disrupted the blue light, leaving the berth harmless, so he feels absolutely no regret for abusing his abilities this way.

He glares at the mirrors lining the walls, but can't figure out a way to remove them without damage. So when Lockdown steps behind him and starts to lick the back of his neck, he just offlines his optics to feel only that.

Several of his fans click on in response to the sudden surge of heat from his engine Lockdown knows every one of his hotspots by now, and is making a deliberate effort to tease them all with his wicked, wicked servos. His glossa is far from idle, licking up one of his fairings, and for a moment Prowl can feel dente on the very tip of it, applying just enough pressure to make his engine roar.

Then, Lockdown's voice in his audio, "I want your optics online for this, Prowl."

So he turns in his arms, puts his servos on Lockdown's chest before onlining his optics, because if he stays close enough, he won't see too much of the nightmarish mirror walls.

He shudders gently, just barely stopping himself from popping open his spark chamber too early. The larger mech is almost insufferable when he does that, and Prowl isn't going to give him the satisfaction. Lifting his head, his blue optics meet Lockdown's red ones, and he opens his mouth. The large mech complies with the unspoken request, glossa intermingling.

To reach the sensitive spikes on Lockdown's neck, Prowl normally has to stand on his toes and stretch, but when he's close like this, kissing him, it's easy to play with them. He drags the tips of his servos around each spike, until he hears Lockdown's panel click open, the sound distinct and sharp over the mech's groans.

"Think we should move this to the berth," Lockdown mutters, voice hitching when Prowl lets his servos tease around the edge of his spark chamber.

Prowl licks a spike before murmuring, "If you're sure you want to."

"Kid," Lockdown grits out, clearly fighting back a moan, "I'd 'face you against the nearest flat surface in an instant. But I'm gonna knock you offline and you might wanna being laying down for that."

Prowl chuckles, amused with his partner's promises. "Berth, then."

When Lockdown onlines his optics, Prowl is laying on him as he traces the larger bot's edging with a single servo.

"You knocked the wrong bot offline, Lockdown," he purrs, and Lockdown's fans kick on underneath him. They lay there, systems gradually cooling down, fans quieting in slow increments.

"Kid?" Lockdown's voice is hardly louder than a whisper. "I've got something important to say to you."

Prowl's spark surges in his chest, and everything becomes sharper as he focuses all his systems on this moment. Is Lockdown about to confess oh, Primus, please.

"So, Ratchet mentioned Jazz was free . . . Want a threesome?"

His expression goes from quietly hopeful to hard and blank. Rolling off down Lockdown's side, he throws him off the berth and into the wall. Ignoring the mech's call of, "Kid?" Prowl turns over to his side, facing away, and goes to sleep.

Please Review

Yeah, this could be the end. But it isn't.

There will be an update next Monday.

And as you can most likely tell, I cut out porn there, go check it out on my livejournal. That's linked on my homepage on my profile. If you are reading this not on Monday, it is linked in the masterlist on the top of it. Because I love you, reader. I. Love. You. ._.