A/N: Yay, wind-down time! Thanks for reading, guys. Just thought I'd take time out to say that you're genuinely awesome~~

After the Storm

However long he had been shutting himself away and depriving them both of needed physical contact, Prowl was certain he and Lockdown more than made up for it from the moment he woke up from his doze.

After stretching within Lockdown's solid arms, he kissed the older man once, just to feel it, then simply couldn't stop. Within minutes, they were tearing at each other, hardly drawing breath to kiss for all the urgency under their skin. Prowl didn't even protest being carried to the bedroom like a bride, far too entangled in trying to relieve Lockdown of his shirt while being carried practically atop it.

A few hours later, the sun was long-gone and a single lamp illuminated the bedroom in humble yellows. Prowl's hair was tangled and mussed, mirroring the dark sheets lumped around them; every breath seemed to be a tiny sigh in the quiet. Lockdown had fallen asleep beside him, head close to his chest, and the simple contentment the younger man felt while drawing his fingers over the planes of the albino's chiseled body—tracing tattoos and porcelain muscles, encountering invisible scar after invisible scar—defied words. Too often he followed that touch with the relishing press of his cheek, which found Lockdown stirring and reaching for him like a drowsy lion with his huge white paws.

Soon enough, however, Prowl's dreamy smile faded. He continued drawing aimless patterns on his lover's back until he reached the line of the sheets, then stopped. At Lockdown's curious grumble, he sighed softly.

"This is not over."

"Yeah," Lockdown managed lazily after a minute, taking in a deep breath before scooting Prowl closer in the sheets, lecherous grin budding. "M'just gettin' started."

"No, I—" Prowl had to stop and smirk, shaking his head and rolling his eyes before sobering. He returned a hand to Lockdown's chest, touching him absently. "I meant my father."

As freeing as it was to decide upon something, to be sure and defined in one's path, he still had to clear the way for himself. His father would not leave him alone after this, and it would not be enough to simply refuse him—or rather, it would feel to Prowl as though he were hiding behind simple refusals. He was who he was. It wasn't so much an urge to trumpet it to the world as to simply stake his claim.

He had to make sure he never had to deceive anyone again, himself most of all… and that included informing his father.

Lockdown scowled immediately at the mere mention of the older man. He obviously didn't appreciate the reintroduction of the subject a mere four hours after they had just gotten over it. The urge to get up that very moment, put a pair of pants on and go kill the bastard was still mighty high on his priority list. The urge to do it without pants was even higher. Grumbling, he pulled Prowl yet closer, as if hoping to chase the idea out of him by sheer physical presence.

"Forget about him. He's nothin'."

"He will know I did not complete the meeting," Prowl explained, looking blankly at the shuttered window. "He will want to know why."

"Who cares? What does he matter?" When there was no answer, Lockdown propped himself on his elbow and briefly took the younger man by the cheek, forcing his eyes from the window and growling, "He's nothin' but trouble at this point, Prowl. Listen to me on this one."

"I need to tell him," Prowl responded, voice firm.

Lockdown grit his teeth and shook his head. To him, there was no point: he knew exactly how 'Mr. Atlas' would react to such a speech, especially if his sheer conservativeness was what caused Prowl to go insane while under his thumb. It was enough to accept the fact that your dad would hate you—but to have it shoved in your face? Lockdown's dark expression remained unchanged when Prowl's small hand slid over his ink-marred shoulder.

"And I need you to help me."

He snorted immediately, glaring down at the sheets. Prowl continued staring at him—imploring him with those pretty uncovered eyes, dark and just the slightest bit scared—until he exhaled and rubbed at the back of his head, suddenly radiating an exhaustion that had nothing to do with his lack of sleep.

"Not gonna be able to hold myself back, kid. I know that," he mumbled.

It was an uncommonly mature statement, implying that he knew that physically harming Prowl's father was extremely out of the question, but the firm, trusting grip on Lockdown's shoulder made it impossible for him to do anything but duck his head and growl an unhappy okay, fine.

He just shook his head when Prowl curled up next to him again with a certain desperate thankfulness, arm locked around his waist. The kid was already shaking from the sheer idea of confronting the bastard who spawned him, and Lockdown couldn't blame him. It felt like he himself was walking into a death trap, there was no question about it—but surprisingly, the threat of letting Prowl down was more motivating than anything a pissed-off Japanese father could dish out.

Well. Provided pissed-off Japanese father didn't bring his samurai sword. Couldn't say much to evisceration, but hopefully his reflexes were faster than the old man's. Then, at least, he'd have an excuse to deck him. Then crush his head in and throw him in the river behind the house and claim self-defense. Yep.

Prowl said his name softly. Caught in his thoughts, Lockdown made a sleepy sound to show he was listening, but when there was nothing more said, he looked down and found the kid watching him almost nervously. He wondered why until Prowl started speaking, then felt his gut lurch slightly.

"What you said, when—that night after I--"

The ugly scene that made him leave the house. Lockdown squeezed his shoulder to show he understood, tension spiking between them. Prowl wasn't the only one uncomfortable with the memory.

"You said I was going to blame you. For making me gay," Prowl said, throat tight. "Why would you… say that?"

Lockdown scowled and thought for a minute, rubbing his thumb across the young officer's shoulder, then cleared his throat.

"Had a few beaus before you. Always got to a point where they'd wanna leave. I could tell. Didn't care too much. But the way a good number of 'em did it was by prancin' in one day and tellin' me they weren't fa—"

He bit his tongue. Prowls fingers sliding over his collarbone was a quiet reward, his kiss a sincere thank you. Lockdown exhaled, if only to breathe in the other man's scent—comfort--when he inhaled again.

"That they weren't queer. 'Course they were. They were queer at birth and they're queer now, wherever they are. Thing is, some of 'em even blamed me for makin' em gay."

Prowl's skin went cold at the idea, the sheer cruelty of it. He watched the older man for anything more, for some kind of flicker of vulnerable emotion, but Lockdown was done. Anything else he had buried long ago, even if it was obvious that speaking of it wasn't pleasant.

It was the easiest out: in effect, it was the claim that you couldn't love someone instead of saying you didn't love them. These men, they assumed that Lockdown would react violently if they rejected him personally. They didn't know him, if so… but Prowl understood the fear, looking back on the way he couldn't even turn Lockdown away for fear of some kind of confrontation.

Now, Prowl had the clear feeling Lockdown would have respected any man who could leave him in an honest, straight-forward way, without any lies or histrionics. Having a partner lie about a sudden shift in sexuality must have been damaging—and to have it happen again and again? Lockdown must have guessed why it kept recurring. What was more, if people treat you like a monster, you tend to live up to their expectations. Or you just end up hating people.

"I apologize. That must have been painful," Prowl said huskily. Lockdown surprised him by huffing impatiently.

"I just shouldn't have thought you were tryin' to do it. You're way too smart for that." Lockdown leaned in and kissed him on his shoulder with a slight, sly grin. "F'you wanted me out, you'd pack my things and put 'em on the porch."

"But… it is your house," Prowl pointed out, one brow arched quizzically. Lockdown's grin widened and he kissed his lover on the mouth, ending with a teasing squeeze to his side.

"What can I say, you've got me by the balls."

Prowl stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, then he laughed, head falling back with the unexpected force of it. It was his first laugh in weeks and it felt wonderful. Lockdown's mouth suddenly pressing behind his ear, his hand tangling in his loose hair as the man himself rumbled in a timbre that could only be described as adoring… that was another level of wonderful, natural and giving and real.

Still, as Lockdown pressed him back against the pillows with a smug, thoroughly recovered smile, Prowl couldn't help but think about the other men. For the first time, they were more than just nebulous figures. They had names and actions, and he had to wonder what they had meant to Lockdown, be there three or four or eight of them, or even twenty.

It was egotistical to think he was the only one Lockdown had ever cared for. He didn't feel threatened—how could he, with everything that had happened?—but still. Was it always a string of one-night stands, or something more?

Had Lockdown slipped into a relationship with them the same way he had with Prowl, suddenly realizing that they were moved in with him and never asking for anything more official than sex? And what about the sex, for that matter? Was sex something universal—a general collection of physical stimuli that culminated in a singular physical reaction? Or was there a scale—if so, how did he compare?

"You got somethin' else on your mind, sweet thing?"

With a jolt, Prowl realized he had stopped moving—or at least stopped responding to the man above him—and shrank a little into the mattress, embarrassed that Lockdown had noticed. It was too soon yet to be losing interest in real sex over hypothetical sex… and yet the look the other man offered him was not accusing in the slightest, just flavored with a little a'course you would. After an expectant silence, Prowl took a breath, wondering how to phrase exactly what he wanted to know.

"You have had… encounters before. Sex for the sake of sex," Prowl began slowly, hand pressed to his lips. He looked ready to die from having to use the s-word twice in the same sentence, but still kept a steady gaze as he turned to Lockdown, expression almost concerned. "Is this anything like that?'

It was like Lockdown's chest was an aluminum can and someone had just crunched it inwards with a quick, naive swat. It wasn't as bad a sensation as it sounded, just a little strange and emotional, but it still left him with the urge to kiss Prowl until he couldn't feel his lips. He never quite forgot how he had been the only one Prowl had rolled with, if only because he was so goddamned gorgeous and it seemed impossible that no one else would have snatched the kid up before he did, but it hit him doubly hard at that moment and made him want to show Prowl why he should stay.

He settled for pawing through Prowl's tangled hair as he just breathed the other man in--all of his fragileness and alien doubts.

"No, darlin'. Ain't anything like this. It's a world apart," he murmured, still petting his hair.

Eyes closed, the older man surprised himself by actually thinking—genuinely puzzling—over what he was going to say next. It was true, sex was different with the passerby, but it was as though something more than red blood was rushing through him when Prowl was underneath him. He just couldn't find the proper words for it, or the certainty that he wanted to say it aloud. When the silence stretched on too long and he knew Prowl was waiting for him to say something, he drew back a little, kissing Prowl and thumbing his cheek.

"It's fun to knock boots. You… it's like I'm on a cat-walk a thousand miles up and you make me go cross-eyed. I don't even know what's up or down."

"You mean to say that I embody intense disorientation and a risk of death." Prowl's slight smirk gave way all-too-quickly under the other man's simple smile. He cleared his throat and ducked his head, suddenly floored with unexpected shyness. "I am flattered… I think."

"You'd better be," Lockdown growled suddenly, nipping his exposed neck and eliciting a bitten-back yelp. "Poetry like that ain't cheap in my book."

Prowl snorted slightly and lay back against the pillows, toying with a strand of his loose black hair—a new gesture birthed only by his utter comfort and regained happiness.

"Well, what do I owe you?"

"I can think of a few things," Lockdown began lazily, then rolled atop him and licked a ridiculously long stripe up his chest, grinning like a tiger. "But I'm takin' em in installments. So lay back and call in sick in advance tomorrow, 'cos this is gonna take a while."

It was then that Prowl had his second laugh in weeks, even if it was underscored with slight trepidation that the activities of the previous three hours had earned in full—and he knew that, no matter what happened with his father, he would still have Lockdown.