Title: "Tactical Errors"

Author: Kyra Neko-Rei

Rating: R

Warnings: Spanking, dub-con, unfortunate lack of actual interface.

Word Count: 1,577

Summary: Springer decides to make a game of "Confess or Obey" more interesting. It quickly comes back to haunt him.

Prompt - - Transformers, Sideswipe/Sunstreaker/Springer/Hot Rod - competitiveness, forfeits of a sexual nature: "Hah, you got spanked!"

A/N: I took inspiration from Akisawana's works for the antagonistic relationship of Prowl and Springer; she's perceptive and that seems exactly how they would be with each other. Prowl is either slightly out of character or in a vengeful mood of his own. "Confess or Obey" is basically the Transformer version of "Truth or Dare."

With friends like these, who needs enemies?

-------------

"Ha haaaaah!" Sunstreaker crowed, pointing and laughing and splashing high-grade on himself in the process.

Grimlock made a show of brushing non-existent dust off himself and departed in a rather smug, self-satisfied fashion.

Sideswipe sat, legs askew, on the ground where Grimlock had unceremoniously dropped him, swaying slightly with intoxication and frowning. "Okayyyy, that one didn't go so well." He brightened up. "Ah, well, somebody else's turn now!"

The three mechs seated at the table all grinned and shook their heads. Springer leaned back, tipping the chair back on its rear legs, energon cube tilting back along with him and pouring onto his arm and then the floor, and said, "You didn't succeed. You get to do another one! And I dare you to---"

"Now just one minute," Sideswipe interrupted him. "You said I had to kiss Grimlock, and I did. Doesn't matter if he interfered after I started, I did so kiss him. And fragging pits, Springer, you are one nastily inventive 'bot. I succeeded in your dare, and now it's my turn to pick one."

Springer shook his head. "You didn't complete the kiss. You go again, or face the penalty for refusal."

Hot Rod cocked his head. "Penalty for refusal? We don't have a penalty for refusal."

"We do now. I just came up with it," Springer informed them, smiling in a merciless, darkly sadistic sort of fashion that had every mech assembled to watch the game leaning forward in anticipation.

Sideswipe glowered at the triplechanger. "And what," he ground out, "might that be?"

"Well," said Springer, "the 'bots who didn't break the rules---that'd be us---get to . . . play with the bot that did."

Sideswipe considered. "All right, what's your dare, Springer?" He smiled tightly at Springer's disappointed look. "Yeah, you gotta earn the right to "play" with me, you sadistic slagger!"

Springer shrugged his assent and scanned the room. "I dare you to . . . lemme see . . . " At this point he was interrupted by Whirl, who stood up from where he was watching the show with three other Wreckers and came up to the table to whisper in Springer's audial, gesturing towards the far end of the room, which had become increasingly littered with unconscious bodies due to three separate drinking games; most of their audiences had filtered over to watch the twins, Hot Rod and Springer in their more interesting game of "Confess or Obey." Springer grinned as his optics followed Whirls and he gestured to Sideswipe to come closer. "Your dare," he pointed, arm wavering drunkenly, "is to glue or weld or otherwise fasten Blades' aft to Slingshot's."

Sideswipe gaped for a moment at the sheer audacity of the idea, and then grinned. "Your wish is my command, Boss Bot!" He got three steps in that direction before something occurred to him. "Frag! Prowl is gonna fragging decapitate me if he finds out I did that!"

Springer grinned. "How's that my problem?"

"I hate you."

"Would you rather be punished by us?" Springer's tone was as sweet as energon candy and Hot Rod turned lustful, almost pleading optics onto Sideswipe.

Sideswipe shook his head defiantly. "I'll risk it. Prowl doesn't know it's my doing. I'm not the only prankster on the base. And it's too good a prank to pass up, anyway." He lowered his voice so that Springer wouldn't be able to hear him before continuing, "And if he asks, I can always say it was you."

As Slingshot and Blades were both passed out, and their respective team leaders had vanished early in the evening, no one interfered with Sideswipe's dare, and in short order they were connected aft to aft with a bonding agent that Sideswipe knew took a good two joors' soak in solvent to loosen. He returned to the table, looking around the assembled mechs for Prowl out of sheer habit.

"Oookay." Dare completed, the floor was Sideswipe's now, and Springer looked the slightest bit worried. It was time for him to pay for his bit of fun, and Wrecker or not, there were some situations he'd rather not be in. Vorns of intense battles and near-suicidal missions were no comparison to a teammate's creative revenge. The red warrior, meanwhile, was scanning the room again, considering, looking for the ultimate dare. For half an instant alarm coursed through him as his optics caught a red chevron, but no, it was Bluestreak; Prowl was probably back at his office trying to pretend Springer wasn't on base. Too bad, because Prowl catching Springer mid-prank would be very . . .

"Ohhhhh." The look on Sideswipe's face was sheer evil delight as an idea occurred to him, and Springer swore silently.

"I dare you . . . Springer . . . I dare you . . . to ask Prowl to give you a spanking."

Dead silence as Springer's optics blazed, and it was several seconds before he managed to make his vocalizer work. "Pit, no."

"No?" Sideswipe managed to look ever-so-surprised, despite the fact that he'd no doubt known full well that Springer would sooner go up against Megatron and Menasor unarmed than humiliate himself, deliberately, at Prowl's hands.

"No, pit no, slag no, frag no, and---"

"Sideswipe to Prowl." Springer gaped.

"Yes?" The tactician's smooth tones came out of Sideswipe's comm unit and Springer growled.

"We have a . . . um . . . situation in the common room, which requires your assistance."

Springer said, "I hate you."

"On my way." Prowl's voice sounded surprised; Sideswipe was about the last 'bot anyone expected to call for Prowl about something happening.

Springer glared death at Sideswipe. Sideswipe smiled back. "What's the matter, Springer? You can't be afraid of Prowl, can you? He's half your size!"

Springer affected to ignore him, but the growl resonating from him very clearly told otherwise.

"Or maybe you just don't want a spanking? Come on, they don't hurt that badly. You're a seasoned warrior, you've taken shots from Megatron and a whole lot of other Decepticons, a spanking would probably be like a massage in comparison." Springer gaped at him.

"Or maybe you actually do want a spanking." The growl was back, in force. "I can imagine, a hot 'bot like Prowl, all disciplinarian? You're always fighting, always provoking him, I bet you've been aching for him to hold you down and punish you---"

Springer leaped across the table aiming for Sideswipe's throat, only to close on air as the red mech nimbly moved out of the way; Springer crashed into the ring of their audience instead.

"Springer!" Oh, frag, blast and damn.

"Ahh, Prowl. Good. Thanks for coming," Sideswipe said, managing to sound believably relieved. Springer froze, staring at the tactician with unreadable optics.

Prowl cocked his head. "If someone would explain what is going on?"

Sideswipe oh-so-sweetly said, "Springer has something to ask you."

Springer shook his head. "No."

"You sure, Springer? You'd rather we took care of it? With one extra audience member?" He gestured to Prowl.

"Springer?" Prowl turned to the triplechanger. "What is Sideswipe talking about?"

"Nothing."

"Try again." Prowl sounded unamused.

Springer turned to glare death at Sideswipe. "I hate you."

"Springer."

"FINE!" It was a snarl.

Prowl waited a few seconds.

"Prowl . . ."

". . . Well?"

"I . . . um . . ."

"Today, please, Springer, I'm a busy mech."

"Ineedyoutogivemeaspankingtoproveapoint."

Springer could hear the sudden whirr and grind of Prowl's logic processor choking on that one. Well, at least there was something good coming out of this mess. Then, "Excuse me?"

Springer vented air in a sigh. "You heard me."

"I . . . do not believe I heard you correctly."

His aft.

"Oh, I assure you you did---oh heyyyy, I asked! I'm done! Dare completed!" Turning his back on Prowl, Springer marched triumphantly back to the table. "Sideswipe, your turn in the hot seat again---" He was interrupted by Prowl's smooth, emotionless voice behind him. "Bend over."

The same noises he'd heard from Prowl's processors rang out loud and clear from inside his own head. Background noise had faded to an absolute hush, and in Springer's field of vision his fellow players were all looking as stunned as he felt, with the beginnings of slow, evil, jubilant smiles in the earliest stages of formation.

A shove to his aft propelled him forward; all three of his fellow players helped to press him facedown on the table.

"No way."

A smack to the aft was his answer, stinging and smarting and strangely arousing.

Oh, frag. Certain lovers were one thing, but no way, no way in the pit was he getting turned on by a spanking from Prowl.

Another slap, and he turned his head to lock optics with Prowl. The tactician looked too pleased with himself: perfectly innocent, with the beginnings of a smile not at all hidden on his faceplates. A shrug, and a third slap, and Springer tensed, and Prowl's expression grew. "You did ask," he reminded the triplechanger. "Let it not be said that I am entirely sparkless."

His hand slapped against Springer's aft once more, smarting and tingling, and Springer dropped his head to the table in frustration and attempted to distract himself with plotting revenge.

Prowl's hand impacted with his aft again.