Archive of Our Own

Controlled vents kept Deadlock calm as he walked through the base, damaged rifle slung over his shoulder. The mission had been successful, targets taken out with ease, the mech slipping in and out without notice. It was on his return trip home that he ran into an Autobot patrol, quite literally side swiping one of the bots before pandemonium broke out. A few blaster hits to his armor, a busted rifle, not to mention his low fuel warnings set his off sour mood.

Surprisingly the hangar was full of bots, clustered around various crates or supply pallets, voices low and helms close together. Optics flicked his way as he made his way through, glare ending any thought of trying to hold a conversation. Vortex was stationed at the back of the hangar, raising an optic ridge as Deadlock approached and tossed his rifle onto a supply crate.

A singed hole directly through its center, Vortex whistling low with the implication. “Another one? I thought this was your favorite rifle?”

“It was. Two gunners and some red and black speeder got the jump on me.”

“Well, you might be in luck, we might have one more of that type in the armory. After that you need to start considering an upgrade.”

A harsh sniff, Deadlock grimacing at the thought. He liked that particular beam rifle, it felt perfect in his grasp, not too long or short in his hold. It might be underpowered as a base unit but the upgrades Deadlock attached made it a lethal shot at any distance. Meticulously breaking the rifle down and removing the attachments, Vortex watched the crowd over his shoulder. “Something up V?”

“Had our own run in with the ‘Bots, took a few captive.” Held his servos up in frustration as he opened a crate, its contents haphazardly strewn about. “Idiots, all of them! Can’t even pack a munitions crate right. I spend more time fixing everyone else's mixups!”

Casting a glance over his shoulder, bots quickly looking away at the sight of his red optics. Whatever. He didn’t care, it wasn’t his job to babysit or listen to the inner politics of the Decepticons. He was assigned targets and sent out, either he returned victorious or started running for his life in failure. That was how Deadlock had chosen his current path in life. Subspacing the rifle pieces he nodded at Vortex, the mech dumping the crate onto the floor in anger.

Pacing through the halls, other mechs quickly changed course to avoid his path. He didn’t exactly have friends or comrades here, sent out on too many stake out missions to build any kind of rapport with the others. There were a few exceptions, mechs he routinely was forced to convene with for orders or ammunition. Entering the war room he was greeted with the typical show of Starscream and Megatron fighting, the jets shrill voice made Deadlock fold his finials flat. A few other bots were sitting around the table, amused at the theatrics. The green and purple of Scrapper caught his optic, the Constructicon lazily leaning against the table as he swirled a cube of pink energon.

The sight of fuel made his tanks clench, Deadlock biting the inside of his cheek to hold off the wave of nausea. He needed fuel, soon. A cold cube of coolant as well. Maybe a long soak in the washrack. Two visored helms tore him from his thoughts, Rumble standing behind Soundwave and the communications panel. Two mechs he could tolerate for any length of time, Soundwave even longer than the others. The mech was quiet when he needed to be, kept to himself. A blue servo was held out as Deadlock dug through his subspace, placing several data slugs in his palm. Claws tapped on Rumbles helm, the smaller bot following Deadlock as he stood near Soundwave. Finials flicking up he grinned, tossing an Autobot badge at the cassette. A cackle was his response, Rumble holding it up in the dim lighting of the war room.

“Deadlocks mission report?”

“All targets eliminated as assigned, no witnesses. Signal Jammers installed as requested in areas A-2, C-7, and Y-12.”

“Excellent. Any intelligence on the return?”

“If you mean the three ‘Bots that decided to not make a run for it, sure. Make those three mechs that will not be giving us any more grief. I pulled their datalogs for you.”

A cold laugh was his response, Deadlock giving Soundwave an odd look. He didn’t mind him, he just was a bit off compared to the others. Maybe that was why they got along so well. All three turned towards Starscream as his voice filled the room, the jet now screaming in Megatrons face. Wrong move.

Claws quickly swept Rumble aside as a data pad was flung in their direction, the pad clattering against the console. The cassette hid behind Soundwave, visor peaking out to keep watch. Another argument, another beating. It didn’t seem right to Deadlock, as cold and calculating as Megatron could be, he lost his temper quickly around his SIC. As for Starscream, he felt that the jet could be something greater if he learned not to rely on his ego so much. Starscream was cunning and intelligent, he had proven himself a competent leader on several occasions. But his constant need for more and more would ultimately lead him back into the abusive relationship he had with their leader.

Turning his helm away at the sound of the jet struggling, red optics flicking over the monitors. A red and yellow frame caught his attention, Deadlock schooling his features lest he expose himself. “Why are they fighting if we had a successful campaign? The rumor mill in the hangar is that we took a few prisoners.”

“Affirmative. Three Autobot captives. One has not proven of any value during interrogation. The current argument is over tactics needed to be used to glean more information.”

“They got names?”

“Brawn, Grapple and Hot Rod. Pinned and captured with little duress.” Slag, that idiot. Looking at the monitor again, watching the red mech pace in his cell. Well if he was moving then they hadn’t tried anything risky yet. Processors ran a few scenarios, every concept telling him it was a bad idea. Narrowing his optics he stepped closer to Soundwave, leaning his helm down.

“Hot Rod? That was the bot we picked for the Autobot base telemetry wasn’t it?”

“Correct.”

“And how was that little project going?”

“73% scanned, more data is required before we can plan a successful attack. There are several major junction points within the base that have not been computed.”

Taking a long invent, ready to risk it. “Such a shame. All that hard work being wasted.”

“Deadlocks assumption is correct.”

Claws tapped on the console, orange visor turning more towards him. A clatter of a chair falling, more sounds of the argument continuing behind them. “You send another tracker out that red bot, what is his designation, the paranoid one? Red Alert? Can’t tell me he wouldn’t detect it.”

Rumble squeezed in between them, looking up at the two. “Are we planning something?”

“Where is your partner in crime?”

“Sleeping. As usual.”

“Can I borrow the two helions Soundwave, need a distraction.” The blue bot stood silently for a few moments, watching Starscream squirm under Megatrons grip. Tapped the glass on his chest before a cassette ejected, Frenzy quickly transforming and joined next to Rumble. Another clatter followed by a shout, Starscream landing a solid punch to Megatrons face. The warlord fell in a heap at Starscreams pedes, the jet now gloating over him.

“I do not enjoy the current atmosphere. I will return in 30 kliks.” Promptly walked off, the two cassettes now grinning up at Deadlock.

“Deception or Chaos?”

Smiled down at them, flicking his claws as if he didn’t know what they were talking about. “Main hall from the brig to the hangar in 15 kliks. Make it look good.” Giggling, the two ran past him, Deadlock turning right to pick up a critical piece in his plan.

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

Hot Rod had spent the last joor pacing his cramped cell, scuffing his pedes off the rails that held up the metal slab that he supposed was his bed. They had roughed him up good, face stinging with one too many slaps and punches. He would live, for now, if he kept his mouth shut. And he meant it literally, Hot Rod had a tendency to say whatever came to mind, landing him in one too many scraps. Now was no exception, he had been warned on multiple occasions the Decepticons didn’t play around, they had no quarrels about using less than ethical means to gain information from their captives.

Pressing his forehelm against the bars he strained his audials, listening for any indication Brawn or Grapple were being held in the same wing. The silence only greeted him again, the mech sniffling. That was either a good thing or extremely bad, he didn’t hear any arguing or screaming, so perhaps they had decided to let them stew in their cells for the evening. Sniffling again, a trickle of energon making his nose itch. Idiot, just had to get that last quip in before the world went black, the crunch of his nasal ridge the last thing he heard before being knocked offline.

The echo of pede steps in the hallway had the mech step back, putting distance between himself and the bars. So much for a quiet evening, doubted they would be kind enough to bring him a cube of energon. Whoever it was knew how their footing sounded, the measured steps at a calculated pace. Pressing his cuffed servos against the wall he braced himself in the corner, making sure that whoever it was would need to come inside and get him.

The bulky shadow that stepped in front of the bars had Hot Rod tense, red optics narrowed as they searched into the dark cell. Finials flicked as a smile graced the mechs face, claws coming to rest on the bars. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Deadlock.” A chill ran down his spinal strut, the name had haunted him in so many ways the last few deca-cycles. The dark mech that had fragged him out of his processors, that low voice that spoke to him as they sat together on the floor. That same mech was a spectral threat according to high command, he had stupidly looked up the case files of the Decepticon, his fuel pump hammering as he read page after page of his accomplishments. Killer. Sniper. Weapons expert. Decepticon Top Brass. The long list of his fellow Autobots that had fallen under Deadlock's actions. “It would be you.”

“Now, that is no way to treat someone that is here to help.”

“Help? The slag does that mean!”

“Shhhh, be a good mech and cooperate.” The loud clack as the locks disengaged on the cell door, pointed war frame easily stepping inside. Reaching into his subspace Hot Rod watched the mech pull out a thin red metal band, twirling it on a claw as he stepped closer. Pressing himself back harder against the wall, making sure to avoid the mechs gaze as the band was fitted around his neck. 

“Making me your pet? Cute.”

“Hmm, that sounds interesting. The problem is I’m not in the mood to train some puppy.”

“Sucks to be you then.”

A flash of fang as Deadlock smiled down, Hot Rod wincing as his spoiler dragged along the wall. A black claw traced the band softly, warm vents brushing his face as Deadlock leaned over him. “Still live in that dump?”

“I moved.”

“Shame, I wanted to sit and talk again.”

Oh? I bet he did. All the precious details Hot Rod knew about the Autobots and then some. “Got a couch now. Moving up in the world.”

“And chairs, or is that still out of the budget?”

“No, but I stole the table.” Grinned at Deadlock's laugh, the mech placing items into Hot Rods subspace. It felt strange, the invasion of personal space. A claw tapped on his badge before Deadlock took a step back, waving said claw in the air side to side.

“Repeat after me: Right Left Left Right Left Right.”

“What are you on about?!”

“I’ll only say it once more so listen closely: Right Left Left Right Left Right. Got it?”

“No! Maybe tell me what you are planning.”

“Tch, I tried. We don’t have time.” The mech went serious in a flash, frame tensing and expression going blank. A sharp pain in Hot Rod's neck had him stand up straight, denta grit in an attempt not to cry out in pain. Deadlock only paced backwards slowly, some force dragging Hot Rod along with him. Shuffling past the bars, Hot Rod tried to look around, noticing Deadlock had a small device in his right servo. “Behave and do as I say. Walk forward.”

“Frag you ‘Con!” The pain increased ten fold, Hot Rod stumbling and leaning over. The motion pulled on his arms, cuffs holding his wrists together tightly. What had he said about keeping his mouth shut? 

“Move Hot Rod. Wasting time.”

“Ugh….f-fine…!” Took a few tentative steps forward, the burning pain letting up. He could feel his vents coming hard and fast, his systems responding in fear to the pain. His pace was slow and unsteady, Deadlock walking slowly behind him. The dark hallways opened up to clean and smooth walls, the two passing several entrance ways, a passing mech cackling at Hot Rod as they passed. “Where are you taking me now? Think you can get something out of me?”

“Quiet. Almost there. And be ready.”

“Ready for what?!” A servo was covering his bound ones, Deadlock steering him left suddenly. The hallways were brightly lit now, Hot Rod scanning with his optics for any kind of information he could use. If they were going to torture him then maybe he could at least get something in return, assuming he left here alive. The pain was barely a pulse now, a light buzzing along the cables on his neck. Claws were tapping on his cuffs, a pattern. Right Left Left Right Left Right. Repeat. Right Left Left Right Left Right. 

“There is a stun gun in your subspace.”

“For wha…??” Two smaller bots stepped into the hallway ahead, visors gleaming above broad smiles. The grip on his servos squeezed hard for a moment, Hot Rod slowing down. The cuffs were suddenly gone, torn away roughly from his wrists. Wasting no time Hot Rod snarled and rounded on Deadlock, fist connecting solidly on his forehelm. Pain shot up his fist into his arm, Hot Rod recoiling from it. The darker mech collapsed from the hit, curling up on the floor with a pained groan. 

“Hey! Autobrat what was that for!”

Gripping his aching servo Hot Rod turned towards the two smaller bots, they were now running right for him. Meeting them halfway he shouldered into the purple one, their combined weight crashing into the wall. Another flare of pain in his shoulder, his entire right arm was now useless. Another frame leapt onto him, Hot Rod now wrestling on the floor with the two small mechs. “Get off you pests!”

“Fat chance!”

Rolling together Hot Rod picked up the black frame and slammed it against the floor a few times, the purple bot on his back landing a few dizzying hits to the back of his helm. Slag, he needed to get them separated. Rolled again while letting go of the black frame, slamming the purple bot into the floor. Reached into his subspace and shuffled items around, servo gripping a rectangular item. Pulling it out he crowed in joy, the loud static crackle as he squeezed the trigger on the stun gun. Servos were suddenly covering his optics, Hot Rod kicking his pedes as he managed to roll to his side. 

Reaching back blindly with the stun gun, he could feel the purple bot tearing digits against his spoiler, weight shifting to the side to avoid the gun. Snarling in frustration he got to his pedes and slammed his spoiler into the wall, grip suddenly gone from his optics. Spun on his pedes and jammed the gun against the purple chest, the smaller bot convulsing for a moment before Hot Rod stepped back, frame slumping to the floor.

Turning again, he looked at Deadlock getting up on all fours, helm quickly snapping to the smaller black bot sitting up. Their gazes met, the smaller bot panicked and tossed himself back down to the floor, rearranging his limbs as if he had fainted. What was happening???

An alarm startled him, the shriek of a claxon near his helm making him cower for a moment. Red lights strobed, Hot Rod recovering and running over towards Deadlock. Swung his leg out and kicked the mech in the abdomen several times, grunting in frustration with each kick. “That. Is. For. Not. Filling. Me. In!”

Satisfied with his work, Deadlock now curled up in pain and rolled around on the floor, spun on his pedes and nearly tripped. Jogging down the hallways, red lights and blaring alarms heightening his panic. He needed to escape, get out of the base and out into open land, confident his speed could get him to safety. His pedes clacked as he ran, optics flicking at any sudden movement. He tore through the maze of hallways, confusion growing with each turn. A bot rounded the corner, Hot Rod crashing into him and knocking him off his pedes. Doubling back the way he had just come, voices now blaring over a PA system.

What was the pattern? Right Right Left? No, it was Right Left Left. “Stupid ‘Cons why is your base so confusing!” Ran right past the smaller black bot, helm quickly dropping back down to the floor at the sight of Hot Rod speeding past. Quickly juking left at the next hallway, racking his processor for the pattern Deadlock had given him. Right Left Left Right Left Right Right Left Left Right Left Right Right Left Left Right Left Right. Got It! 

A frame lunged out of a doorway, Hot Rod smacking the helm as he jumped over it. He heard the clatter of plating hit the opposite wall, laughing at the stupidity and his dumb luck. Another turn, this time bowling right through two more mechs. This time he lost his momentum and tripped, chin hitting the floor painfully. Shaking his helm to clear out the pain he was up on all floors crawling, a servo grabbing his ankle and pulling him backwards. Rolling in the grip he kicked upwards, pede making direct contact into the face of the mech reaching for him. 

Laughing again Hot Rod got back to his pedes, the swipe of digits on his spoiler. This was too easy! How were the Decepticons kicking their afts so badly on the battlefield, they couldn’t even keep him contained. Back at a run he made the last series of turns, bursting through a double set of doors into an open hangar. Multiple pairs of optics turned his way with the noise, at least a dozen mechs now making a move towards him. Quickly side stepping, Hot Rod ran for the open hangar door, looking for open ground so he could transform. A large hulking frame stepped right into his path, Hot Rod angling his helm down into a spear maneuver, frame colliding with a solid mass. The impact was enough to knock the frame over, Hot Rod quickly recovering and shoving the stun gun into the exposed neck cables, a howl of pain filling his audials. Crawling over the twitching frame he got back on his pedes, leaping over a crate as another bot made a grab for him. 

Finally out in the open he transformed, rear end fish tailing as he sprayed gravel at his pursuers. Gunning his engine he sped off, mechs chasing him in his rear view mirror. Cackling with joy as they grew distant, frame now racing with ease over the terrain. He wasn’t a speeder for nothing, if it was the only good thing Hot Rod would ever be good at, it was escaping from bad situations.

An engine roar from behind him had him faltering, a black speeder frame now closing the distance between them. Oh frag, not that one. Maybe he should have only kicked him once. Pushing his engine he tried to widen the gap, weaving between boulders and leaving a dust cloud behind him. Deadlock quickly caught up, easily swerving about as Hot Rod moved side to side. 

“Run Autobot Run!”

The speeder behind him was a serious threat, not just the fact that he was a Decepticon, but he clearly had a bigger engine and knew how to use it. A swipe along his rear bumper, Hot Rod counter steering against the attempt to spin him out. Gave it his all, red lining his engine to gain an advantage, black hood and red windshield filling his mirrors. Another swipe, this time a full shove as Deadlock pushed into his rear bumper and increased power, Hot Rod surging ahead without control. Faster and faster, his lines burning as his engine and transmission were pushed to their breaking point, Hot Rod crying out in pain. 

He didn’t dare brake, it would result in a painful death. At the rate Deadlock was pushing him a painful death was all he could ask for, the worst the mech could do was blow his engine and transmission only to leave him crippled out in the wilds. If Hot Rod called for backup or rescue Deadlock would pick them off one by one, Hot Rod powerless to assist. Real fear clenched his spark as his engine tacked 8000 RPM, the highest he had ever pushed himself. Deadlock obviously had more to give, shoving him forward again, engine not even strained with the extra weight. 

“Go home Autobot!”

“Deadlock! End it already!”

“I said go home!”

The presence behind him was gone suddenly, frame disappearing into the cloud of dust behind him. Sliding sideways the cloud billowed out more, Hot Rod letting off the throttle completely as he slid to a stop. His internals felt molten, engine burning and pistons hammering like he had never felt them before. Quickly scanned his surroundings, the cloud slowly disappearing in the wind. There was no black speeder stalking him, no engine roar echoing into the night. It was as if Deadlock had simply vanished, Hot Rod not risking a second encounter and slamming his transmission back into gear. 

—-----------------------

His frame was shivering as he walked through the empty streets, wisps of smoke coming from his vents. Hot Rod had pushed himself all the way back to Plurex, his engine giving a weak sputter as a reminder. He needed to see a medic, was sure he had blown some seals, possibly something even worse. His arm was still numb, the scrapes along his spoiler stinging in the cold night air. Cursing at himself for his stupidity, he should have just kept going straight to Iacon. 

Hot Rod had radioed into base before entering Plurex, notifying his superiors that Brawn and Grapple were still in the possession of the Decepticons. Refused to give any more information, closing his comms. He was sure Prowl or Optimus was spamming his line, Hot Rod was too embarrassed to admit he had messed up. This whole situation was his fault, he had exposed himself and caught the attention of a passing Decepticon patrol. 

Brawn could handle himself, Grapple….did he even really know Grapple? It didn’t matter, High Command knew where they were and would handle it. He just needed to lay low for a few cycles and rest up, build up his strength before he reported back in. Optimus would agree, right now the Decepticons were looking for him, his escape wouldn’t go without some kind of retaliation.

A rock pelted his side, Hot Rod immediately dropping into a defensive posture, reaching for a blaster he no longer owned. They had stripped him upon his capture, one of the bots laughing at the pathetic weapons he had been carrying. “Not in the mood! Piss off!”

The click of a gun in the darkness, red optics opening as a figure stepped out of the shadows. The pointed frame of Deadlock stepped into the light, Hot Rod's frame now trembling. He didn’t have the strength, there was no fight left in him. The gun pointed in his direction suddenly twirled, the handle now pointed in his direction and held out. Confused Hot Rod looked at Deadlock, not moving.

“You dumb aft, take it.”

“Why?”

“It’s your blaster, you know the one that you normally carry. The same one they stripped you of during intake.”

Yellow digits swiped outwards towards the gun, fumbling with it for a moment before pointing it back at Deadlock. “How are you here!”

“What? Did you take a detour of something? Been waiting for you.”

“I did, kind of. Went wide and doubled back in case anyone was following. Are you saying I’m slow?”

A snort, Deadlock pushing the gun down. “No, I’m just faster.” 

“Rude!”

“Oh I’m rude now? I helped you escape and I’m the rude one!”

“Yeah you are, besides did you have to use those little minions to help out? Scratched my spoiler!”

“Think that is the least of your worries. Still have that med kit?”

Sniffed and wiped at his nose, Hot Rod noticed the streak of energon on his digits. “No, I left it behind for the next poor bot that has to live there.”

“Well good thing I got another one.” Deadlock turned away from Hot Rod and walked back into the shadows, the slide of items on concrete causing him to narrow his optics. The mech stepped back into the light carrying a larger medkit in his left servo, a chair in his right. Cocked his helm to the side, Deadlock shrugging his shoulders. “Said you moved, I got you a chair for the table you stole.”

“You really are faster than me. That hurts.” Rubbed a servo across his chest, Hot Rod curling in on himself. “Really hurts Deadlock, I’m supposed to be Hot Rod the speedster and I get bested by some no name ‘con.”

“Shut up and start walking. I wish I really was some no name ‘con.” Deadlock rolled his optics at him, pushing him forward with the chair. Grimaced as Hot Rod limped ahead of him, their progress slow through the streets.

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

There was no attempt to hide either's identity this time, Hot Rod led Deadlock straight to the elevator. It was an immediate improvement over the last apartment, brightly lit entrance way and hallways. Deadlock kept quiet as Hot Rod made his way towards his door, fumbling with the keypad for a moment. Gave the yellow spoiler a narrowed look, Deadlock knew how easy it would be to hack that particular kind of lock. Movement as the door finally opened, Deadlock side stepping past the red speeder into the front room. 

Another improvement, now two rooms with a bigger kitchen and washrack. Gave Hot Rod a look with raised optic ridge, the mech ignoring him and draping himself over the couch with a pained groan. Following behind, placing the medical kit on the table, frowning as the tabletop wobbled. The chair didn’t match, but at that point it didn’t matter. It was still a chair, more than Hot Rod had. Setting it down, Deadlock gave the room a quick glance, flicking on a light next to the couch. Got a grunt from the speeder in response, noticing the smaller plastic crates and boxes of personal items. 

Obviously he hadn’t been there long, either that or he spent little time here. It was clean, barely lived in, Deadlock chuckling at the trash can in the kitchen. Opening the cooler he grabbed a can of fuel, claws pulling on the tab. It was cold and felt like a kick in the tanks as he chugged it down, old habits making him rush the fuel into his system. Finishing the can he groaned loudly and stared at the ceiling, crushing the can in his claws.

“That good huh?”

The cold fuel was hitting his lines, cooling off the burning sensation in his core that had been dragging him down the last few hours. “You have no idea.”

“Guess the rumors are true, I heard the Decepticons were facing some shortages.”

“Story of my life. Always been slim on fuel access. Just wear a fancy badge now.”

“You can have another you know.” Hot Rod turned on the couch, watching Deadlock toss the can in the trash and open the cooler again. Padding over with two cans he moved the chair over with a pede, offering a can to Hot Rod as he sat down.

“Mind if I call you Roddy again?”

“Mmmnn?” The cold fuel made him grimace, his engine sputtering again. He definitely needed to get that checked out. “Yeah I’m cool with it.”

Deadlock placed his own can on the table and opened up the medkit, sorting through several items before tossing a few at Hot Rod. The red mech held them up in confusion, watching Deadlock's leg bounce with anxiety. “I only know the basics, but your nose needs to be set first.”

“I think something is wrong with my right arm, been numb ever since I punched you.” Looked at Deadlocks forehelm, a smudge on the red lens. “How are you holding up?”

“Daily helm ache, what else is new there.” Rapped his knuckles against his abdomen, giving Hot Rod a small smile. “Good thing I have heavier plating.”

“About that! You could have let me in on your little plan!”

A white gauze pad was placed on his left knee, a bandage on the other. Deadlock shook his helm no, gently squeezing some clear fluid onto the pad. “Wouldn’t have worked as well. Bots don’t act the part correctly when they know the plan.” Wiped Hot Rods face down, paying close attention to his cheeks and nasal ridge.

“Still…..could have at least gotten me closer to the hangar.” Claws held his nose, Hot Rod taking a deep invent and holding it, Deadlock minutely applying pressure on his nose until it cracked again. Groaning inwardly, gritting his denta at the pain. Claws were smoothing the bandage over his nasal ridge with care, touch gentle.

“You remind me of Ratchet, he puts up one pit of a defense and rough on the outside. But also gentle.” Deadlock flinched at the name, Hot Rod cocking his helm at Deadlock. “You know him?”

“I met him once, long ago. How is he?”

“Still grumpy.”

“Good. You tell me if he is ever not grumpy.” Wiped a few more spots on Hot Rods frame, applying nanite gel to some small cuts. 

“Huh, I think I figured it out. He was the medic that got you hooked on rust sticks.”

“You remember that story?”

“Afraid to admit I remember a great deal from our last meeting.” That got a huff from Deadlock, the mech leaning even closer and raising his right arm. Rotated it a few times, feeling along the inner actuator and joint line. Made a face that had Hot Rod laughing, tip of Deadlocks glossa peaking out as he suddenly tugged hard on his arm. “....ow!”

“What you get for laughing at me. And punching me.”

Curled back up on the couch and away from Deadlock, Hot Rod stuck his own glossa out and blew a raspberry at the mech. Deadlock just waved his claws at him and shook his helm, collecting the pads and empty packages into a pile on the table. Leg was still bouncing, an air of anxiety surrounding Deadlock.

“Why did you rescue me?”

“Honestly I have no idea.”

“Gonna be in some serious trouble?”

“Of course. I’m not really known for messing up and letting bots get away. Figured I’ll toss myself off a cliff and make it look worthwhile, spin some story we both crashed chasing each other.”

“Could stay here and waste some time, use a smaller cliff.”

“Roddy…..” Narrowed red optics looked him over, Deadlock shutting the case.

“You look tired. And not in a good way. More like you've been pushing yourself.”

“It’s never going to end.”

“You mean the war?” A solemn nod from Deadlock, the mech slouching down in his chair. In actual light Hot Rod looked his frame over, the bulky pointed armor, the hollowness in his face. “Deadlock, are you okay? You didn’t drink the other can.”

“I just need a few more kliks, can’t get back into the habit of stuffing myself with fuel too quickly.”

“Yeah, been there. I get it.” Uncurled from the couch and leaned closer, placing a servo on Deadlocks knee armor to still the bouncing motion. The quiet of their vents filled the room, their optics meeting for a moment. “Thanks. For….taking the risk.”

“I was joking last time, about getting you a red collar.”

Yellow digits reached up and felt along his neck, the thin metal band still buzzing. He had completely forgotten about it during his escape, digits feeling along the edge for the clasp. “How does this even come off?”

“Don’t mess with it too much, it's a bomb.”

“WHAT!” A dark laugh from Deadlock, finials flicking in humor as the mech leaned forward and eased yellow digits away. Claws felt along the edge slowly, Hot Rod tensing with the sensation.

“I’m joking, it's a low power stasis device.” A dig at the back of the metal band, the clasp coming undone and easily removed by Deadlock. Snapping the band in half the mech tossed it onto the table, leaning back in the chair again. “The remote has an electrical tether, along with the various modes of shocks.”

“So basically an invisible leash?”

“Not one of my favorites but I didn’t have much time to work with.”

“Oh you have favorites? Do tell…” Hot Rod rubbed along the sides of neck, he swore he could still feel the buzzing sensation. His optics tracked over Deadlock's frame again, the mech spreading his legs wider with a smile.

“Third time Roddy.”

“Third time what?”

“That is the third time I have caught you staring at my spike cover.”

Busted. Guilty. “Yeah well……you are nice to look at.” A snort and a helm toss was his answer, Deadlock suddenly crossing his legs. “Something I said?”

“Your attempt at flattery is a bit dry.”

“You’re a bit dry! Besides I’m pretty sure you flattered and flattened me the last time we met! Took a few cycles before I could even walk straight.”

“I did warn you.”

“Look, it’s just, I didn’t really get to see you last time. The room was dark and now I can actually admire your frame.” 

“I liked your flame trick with the lantern though. Learn anything new?”

“Not really, been busy.”

With a heavy sigh Deadlock stood up, frame creaking with the movement. Hot Rod finally noticed how dusty he looked, small scratches and cuts along his right side. Standing up with him, red optics looking down in question. “What now?”

“You need to be patched up. I can help.”

“I’m fine Roddy. I appreciate the offer.” Strong servos pushed Deadlock back down into the chair,  frame moving and settling over his thighs. The position changed their heights, Hot Rod now looking down at Deadlock. With a smirk the red speeder settled himself against Deadlock's frame, the chair creaking in warning. 

“Don’t think the chair is rated for war frames.”

“Roddy, it’s dangerous. You know that. We didn’t exactly make any attempts to disguise ourselves on the way up.” Yellow servos caressed over the back of Deadlocks helm, the mech hissing quietly as thumbs pressed against the tips of his finials. 

“Are they looking for me?” Hushed words against Deadlock's lips, dry and chapped like last time. There was a softness to his face, but Hot Rod could tell it was being worn away by the elements, Deadlock spent a great deal of time exposed to the elements.

“Searching for you in Durax, I tipped them off.” Pulled the mech closer, servos running down his back as Hot Rod kissed him softly. Turned away at an insistent glossa, Deadlock fighting against himself.

A soft laugh, the warm rush of vents across his face as Hot Rod held his helm still. “You false flagged for me? How touching.”

“Really? I went through all that trouble to set you free and you think I would just let them catch you again?” Their lips met again, Deadlock relenting and pulling Hot Rod tighter against his chest. The cloying sweetness of energon, Hot Rod leading the kiss as he explored Deadlock's mouth, glossa’s battling for control. A servo passed over his hip onto his aft, taking on Hot Rod's weight.

“Guess you gotta spend the night again.”

“Your methods of persuasion need some work.”

“Oh, whose claws are digging into my valve cover?”

“Didn’t say I was the one who needed persuading.”  A sharp laugh from Hot Rod, the mech sitting back on Deadlock's thighs. Keeping himself tethered with clasped servos around the darker mechs neck, claws now wandering in appreciation over Hot Rod's frame. There had been some truth in his comments, there was more light than last time. Even more than what had been in the bar. Finials flicked as red optics watched his claws pick and tease through seams. Snorted a laugh against the yellow chest plate, the colors smearing in his vision as he buried his nose into Hot Rods neck cables. “We really do need to talk about this frame of yours.”

“S’matter? Don’t like it this time?”

“You gonna grow up one of these days? Get yourself some armor?”

“Been thinking about it.” The smile faded slightly from Hot Rod's face, resting his chin on top of Deadlock's helm. Servos were back to rubbing along his sides and back, leaving a path of warmed plating behind. “Some changes I want to make.”

“Better settle on a particular shade of red and buy the whole paint stock.” Nipped lightly at the cables, taking a deep invent. The mix of overheated coolant and the slight antiseptic smell was heady, Deadlock grunting softly at the pulse of arousal it sent through him. Pulled away slightly as Hot Rod tensed, looking up into blue optics. “Hm?”

“Um….look…..this is embarrassing…”

“Sorry, did I do something wrong? We can stop.”

“No! It’s me. I uh….frag….I really want you but I’m not really in the right state to handle…all of you…”

“Oh….” Pulled away even more, Hot Rod's expression falling. “I understand. There are other  things we can try.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Should have said something sooner.”

“Stupid….I’m so stupid!”

“Hey! Don’t say that!” Held Hot Rod's shoulders and shook him once, red helm rolling. “Not stupid to set boundaries!”

“I understand if you want to quit and get going. Kinda ruined it for you.”

“ Tch, didn’t ruin anything. Glad you finally had the courage to say something.” Nuzzling along Hot Rod's jaw, the speeder pulled him closer. 

“Is there such a thing as having experience but still being inexperienced?”

“Yes.”

“Guess that is me then.”

“Want an easy lesson?”

Kissed Deadlocks forehelm, the scuffed plating rough under his lips. He was being offered a way out while simultaneously a way in, Hot Rod was in control of the situation. Part of him wanted to say slag it and let Deadlock pound him into the couch, his valve clenching in both ecstasy and fear of the image conjured in his processor. “How easy are we talkin?”

“Open your panels and I’ll give you a nice lecture.”

“Sorry, I normally tune lectures out.” Snickered as both his panels clicked open, settling back down on Deadlock's lap as his spike pressurized. Holding onto black shoulders as Deadlock rearranged himself on the chair, another ominous creak making him pause. Gave Hot Rod a look with raised optic ridge, lips finally breaking into a smile. Right palm slowly stroked his spike against red  and orange abdominal plating, yellow spoiler tweaking at the sensation. 

Shifting to look down at himself, watching as black claws stroked along his spike slowly. They teased in between the plates, briefly flicking over the biolights and nodes there. Deadlock's thumb traced along the fuel line on the bottom, palm cupping the spike head on the upward stroke. “You have a very nice spike here.”

“Unnnhuh…”

“Don’t get any MODs, you don’t need them.”

“Says you….I’ll do what I want.”

“And I’m telling you that you don’t need them, nice and thick where you need to be.” A claw traced around the node just below the spike head, briefly digging in the small space just above it. “But if you must prove how grown up you are going to be, a nice piercing right here would suit you just fine.”

Shivered with the sensation, processor conjuring up images of metal rings or bars pierced through his spike. Whimpered at the thought, not sure if it was something he wanted. “Bots pierce their spikes?”

“Do all kinds of naughty things with their arrays.” Pumped the spike from base to tip a few times, Hot Rod shallowly thrusting his hips upwards. “But you don’t need any of that. Put the Rod in Roddy all on your own.”

Both laughed at the awful joke, the tension breaking in Hot Rod. Slid his servos from Deadlocks shoulders to his neck again, digits playing with the cables there. The view of his spike being stroked was nice, felt even better. The prickling sensation as claws grazed up and down, the firm squeeze on the upward strokes. Huffed out a vent when a thumb smeared the fluid gathered at the tip, a hard slide of a digit against the slit. Biting his bottom lip Hot Rod leaned down slightly, whispering in Deadlocks audial. 

“Is that so?”

“Please?”

“Can’t deny you when it is asked so nicely.” Deadlock reached up to pull one of Hot Rods servos away from his neck, maintaining optic contact with the movement. Rubbed the yellow servo over his cod piece, the metal shifting aside as his spike pressurized. Softly kissed Deadlock as he stroked the hardening spike in his digits, warm and firm in his grip. Repeated the motions Deadlock had performed on his own spike, the slight hitch of vents across his lips as Deadlock smiled. 

“And what MODs do you have?” Stroked downwards, grip firm at the base. It felt different than his own, wider and firmer to the touch. Open mouthed kissed again, Hot Rod chewing on Deadlocks bottom lip.

“Sorry, au natural. Not sure what Primus was thinking when he forged my sorry aft.”

“You feel different. Besides being bigger than average.” Snorted softly before looking down, he could feel Deadlock nibbling across his crest. The scene was hot, taking a quick capture to study further later on. Large black claws stroking his red and grey spike, yellow biolights pulsing. In contrast was his smaller yellow servo against a large dark grey spike, gold plating lines and red node.

“Staring again. Am I going to have to spank you four times?”

“N-noooo……it’s hot.”

“Hmmm?” Shifted his helm down, both staring down at their laps. Hot Rod tightened his grip on Deadlock's neck as he squeezed both their spikes in unison, purposely pressing their nodes together. “First lesson, you can stroke a spike all you want, but if you really want to get off focus on the head or node. Not as much feeling at the base.”

“Why is yours different?”

“Oh, that's for knotting. A lesson for some other time when you have been broken in properly.” Snickered at Hot Rod's groaned reply, at least the mech knew that aspect of interfacing. Worked both their spikes together, the red speeder giving shallow rolls of his hips. The hard grind of their nodes, small sparks of charge passing through. Hot Rod worked up a charge much faster than Deadlock, face flushed with coolant. Slid his pedes outwards and pressed his back against the chair, sliding down against it.

The new position allowed Hot Rod to grind down against him, pedes bracing against the back of Deadlock's shins. A tiny whimper, another shock of higher charge passed between them. Having to balance himself, Hot Rod was gripping Deadlock helm, panting against his forehelm. This freed up his left servo, pads of his digits and claws rubbing the outside of his valve. The sudden touch was electric, Hot Rod jerking against him.

“Hunnnnnh! Right there!”

“Needy already?” Hot Rod tried to grind downwards, forcing the digits deeper into his valve. The move ground his spike against Deadlocks, the hooks on the bottom of his spike plating dragging against his own. 

“Don’t be mean!”

“I would never…” A smack had Hot Rod mewling, open palm aiming more for his aft that time. Dragged his claws through moist valve lips, lubricant dripping down onto Deadlock's thighs. “Ready for lesson two?”

“As long as you touch me I don’t care if it’s thirty…”

“Ha!” Claws tips circled Hot Rods entrance, the nodes there lighting up with the touch. “There is a cluster at the second and third set of calipers. If you stroke them just right you will relax faster. Great for when you are self servicing and can’t get the right angle.”

“Can I….can I get a demonstration?”

A digit roughly entered, Hot Rod open mouth groaning with the intrusion. It wasn’t painful, he could feel his calipers squeezing down on the long digit, holding still while he adjusted. Denta nibbled along his jaw, distracting him for a moment. Hiking one of his knees up, shifting Hot Rod in his lap, allowing him to use both his servos now. As Deadlock stretched his valve the other dug into his inner thigh joint, rocking Hot Rod against his frame. The slow friction against their spikes, a claw now prodding against his calipers. Searching, pressing, stroking until Hot Rod shuddered and clung tight. Pedes slipped for a moment, a choked sound escaping him as Deadlock pressed against the node cluster several times, white hot charge surging up Hot Rods lines. 

“Slag!”

“Yup.” A second digit had worked its way in while Hot Rod worked through the processor fog, easily working in and out of his valve. He was going to overload, vents coming fast, spike pulsing with need. A strange sound escaped his vocalizer, back bowing as the digits curled and stroked in long sweeps against several clusters. Deadlock was giving him a lazy smile, red optics half lidded as he watched Hot Rod come undone, yellow digits gripping the back of his neck as he ground down against Deadlock. Fucked himself against those digits, a few hard grinds before his charge crested and fell, taking Hot Rod with it. 

Shouted a curse into the room, hot transfluid spilling onto Deadlocks abdominal plating. Burying his face into Deadlocks neck, frame shuddering as the digits in his valve kept moving, stretching his overload out over several kliks. Whimpering with the aftershocks, the sticky feel of fluids dripping down his plating.  Finally collapsing onto Deadlock, digits pulling themselves free. The chair squeaked as he slid down onto the floor, sated and strutless between Deadlock's knees. 

A servo was slowly rubbing his crest, Hot Rods fans clicking down to a slower speed as his frame cooled off. He hadn’t overloaded that intensely since the last time they had met up, Hot Rod nearly blue screening with the intensity of it. “Starting to think you are simultaneously good and bad for my health.”

A low chuckle, Deadlock still watching him with a small smile. Mustering a sliver of strength he rearranged himself on his knees and pressed his frame upwards, nuzzling along the underside of Deadlock's spike. It was hot to the touch, the hard pulse of his lines easily felt. Lazily smiled and kissed it, stroking it with both servos as he licked at the node. 

“Roddy….”

“I want to, let me try.”

“If you insist.” Petted the top of Hot Rod's helm, the mech giving long laps of his glossa against the node and the slit. It felt nice, taking the pressure off. Slouched further in the chair with Hot Rod resting his elbows alongside his hips, knee armor underneath his shoulders. It would take awhile, if he could shut his mind off and Hot Rod could keep going he might just be able to overload like this. “Got your work cut out for you.”

“Hmm?” Hummed as he sucked on the tip, glossa pressing into the slit. He remembered Deadlock making the same move on him, the way his frame had trembled with the sensation. It must be good, violet thighs shivering beneath him. Hot Rod had wanted to try it, return the favor to Deadlock, except he was realizing that he was in trouble. It wasn’t just his valve that struggled to take his size, he could barely fit the spike head into his mouth. The graze of denta had Deadlock muttering as his helm dropped back, claws gripping the sides of the chair tight. Deadlock was holding himself back for Hot Rod's benefit, something he rarely was given by previous lovers.

He had been throat fucked before, several times if his memory served him right, accepting the pain in an attempt for something reciprocal in return. Hot Rod knew how to suck spike, a normal spike at least. One last dig with his glossa, spike head pulling free from his lips with a loud wet smack.

Sucked with increased gusto on the node, Deadlock releasing his hold on the chair and petting his helm again, helm raised up as he vented heavily. Conceding defeat he let up, turning his helm away as he stroked Deadlocks spike with both servos. “Frag, that was not what I intended.”

“It’s fine Roddy…..felt good…..” Claws stroked the edge of the yellow spoiler, pinching the ends.

“Guess I need a few more lessons.” A huffed laugh from Deadlock, the mech leaning down to haul Hot Rod back into his lap. Kissed him deeply, the minerally taste of transfluid on Hot Rods glossa. It didn’t bother Deadlock, stroking his own glossa against it. Servos cupped his aft before sliding his thighs up against Deadlocks hips, the mech suddenly standing up with ease. Breaking the kiss they panted against each other's lips, Deadlock padding into the berthroom. Red and yellow LEDs turned on at his entrance, the low light just enough to illuminate the room and their frames. 

Gently laid Hot Rod down onto the berth, the mech crawling backwards as Deadlock followed, stealing kisses from each other. The larger war frame covered his, heated spike lining up with his valve as Hot Rod crossed his ankles behind Deadlock. He could do it, take that fat spike again, already planned to lay low for a few cycles. Calipers rippled down in his empty valve, Hot Rod moaning with the feeling of emptiness. Fangs toyed with his neck cables again, digits teasing in his shoulder joints. 

“Must get lonely in a big place like this. How does a mech keep himself entertained all by himself.”

“I have a vivid imagination. Or so I have been accused of.” Arched up against Deadlock as hips ground down against his, the slightest friction against his valve and spike. A bite to his collar faring, Hot Rod mouthing at a finial. “I keep myself busy.”

“Got yourself some toys hm? Where are they?”

Rising up to look down at Hot Rod, the full flush of coolant across his cheeks. A yellow servo slid across the sheets, pointing to a table next to the berth. The mech turned his helm and tried to hide in his shoulder armor as Deadlock moved over him, reaching out and opening the drawer. Pulling out a few items and setting them on the tabletop, an amused sniff as he located a false spike. Holding it in front of Hot Rod's face, the speeder tried to hide even further.

“Why is it yellow?” Deadlock stared at the false spike, optics seemingly going cross. The smile grew on his face before he couldn't contain his laughter anymore, tapping the silicone head against Hot Rods nose. "Correction, why is it neon yellow?"

“It was supposed to be my colors!”

“It is most certainly a color. Does it glow in the dark?”

“...yes….”

“That’s hot. I like the sound of that. Can see you in here all tangled up in the sheets, servicing yourself with a glowing spike, all that lubricant spilling down over your aft.”

“Deadlock!”

“Yeah, I’ll be thinking about that one later.”

“Lewd! Such a pervert!”

“Thought I was a serial killer?”

“A perverted serial killer!” Hot Rod went quiet as the head of the spike pressed against his lips, Deadlock looking at him with hooded optics. Yellow digits reached up and toggled a touchpad on the wall, red and yellow light shifting to a purple. Red optics shone in the darkened room, widening as the silicone started to glow a fluorescent green. 

“Suck it. Get it nice and wet for your valve.”

Parting his lips slowly, licking the firm silicone before kissing the tip, wrapping his lips around it. It rocked against his lips slowly, pressing a little deeper each time before pulling back. Deadlock watched with rapt attention, optics narrowing when the head slipped past closed lips. He could feel the tug on the material as Hot Rod stroked it with his glossa, the squelch of suction as he pulled it out then pushed it back in. Blue optics were watching him, Hot Rod moaning softly. A servo touched Deadlock's elbow, encouraging to push the toy deeper, silicone spike now halfway in his mouth. 

Deadlock's vents were deep and measured, moving the spike in and out of Hot Rod's mouth. It was gentle, the toy the right size for the mech. He wanted to watch him take it down his intake, the bulge that would form in his throat. Fluttering his optics, Deadlock pulled the toy free, a string of oral lubricant connecting the two for a moment. Panting softly Hot Rod remained still, optics still watching Deadlocks every move. Giving a gentle squeeze with his knees against his sides, encouraging Deadlock to keep going.

Snapping out of whatever fantasy he had sunk into, gathering Hot Rod's legs together and holding them upwards at the inner knee joint, exposing his valve to the open air of the room. His spike twitched at the sight, taking a deep invent to calm himself, the need to bury himself in that tight heat. Not tonight, Roddy had asked him for something else. A pervert was he now? Yeah, he could be perverted. 

Lined the spike toy up against the outside of Hot Rods valve, stroking it up and down through the swollen folds, coating it in lubricant. Yellow digits tucked under his knees, freeing Deadlock's servo to stroke along his inner thighs as he pressed the toy into his entrance. Green glow disappearing downwards before being pulled back up, pink lubricant marring its sides.

“More, give me more Deadlock. It feels good!”

“Take it very well Roddy, I think you should get a bigger one soon.”

A breathy moan was his answer, Deadlock working the spike deeper and deeper, valve easily stretching and accommodating the toy. Pressed down with two digits and held it, allowing the final stretch to happen at Hot Rod's pace. The base came to an abrupt flare, meaning that when Hot Rod was worked up enough he could press it flat against his entrance. Rubbed at the swollen yellow anterior node with his thumb in circles, Hot Rod, twitching beneath him.

Pedes tapped his shoulder, Deadlock looking over Hot Rod's legs to search his face, barely open blue optics still watching him. Pulled back on the toy slightly, working it in and out slowly for several kliks. When the resistance was gone and the slide was easy he pulled it nearly all the way out, slamming it back in suddenly. Hot Rod jerked with the movement, legs twitching in his grip. Repeated the movement several times, the mech panting and making low sounds.

Reaching around with his free servo to palm Hot Rods spike, sliding his helm under his shins so that his pedes hung over his back. Deadlock nibbled and kissed the back of Hot Rod's thighs as he worked his spike and moved the toy, the slick sound of lubricant and fluids filling the room. The smell was heavy, Deadlock licking around his valve and anterior node. Hot Rods fans had clicked back on, spooling up as he panted. When Deadlock licked or sucked his node, or changed the rhythm of the toy he would cry out, noise of pleasure as his charge rose again. The three combined sensations worked him up quickly, the mech murmuring Deadlocks name with the warning. Just as his frame began to tighten up, spoiler digging in the berth as his legs curled around Deadlocks helm, it all stopped. Crying in frustration, frame trembling and twitching as if it had achieved overload. The charge was still there, the coiled spring in his array ready to let loose. 

Deadlock had pulled away entirely, watching as Hot Rod squirmed on the berth. Legs held together and twisting, trying to push the spike toy deeper against a cluster, his own spike twitching and bobbing against his thigh.

“Deadloooockk!”

“Shhh, let the charge cool for a moment then I’ll give you more.”

“Annh! I want it now! Please!”

“Nope. Do as I say or I’ll punish you.” A frustrated huff as Hot Rod twisted on the berth, servos twisting in the sheets. Clamping down his calipers and pulling his legs up, pedes almost touching his aft. He was so close! Just a little more!

A rush of cooler air, his legs held up in the air again, the sting of a slap against his valve had him mewling again. Hot Rod tried to twist away from the pain, the firm grip on his knees holding him in place. Another smack, the motion shoving the toy spike deep into his valve for a precious second. The hard press against a cluster of nodes mixing with the pain on his outer valve mesh. Hot Rod was teetering on the edge again, overload just out of his reach. A final smack sent him flying over the edge, leaping over the precipice and howling out in ecstasy. 

Deadlock watched the base of the toy move as the calipers rippled against it, the toy moving in and out minutely, Hot Rod's frame trembling in pleasure. The mech was groaning gibberish, the sound of his heavy pants and fans all Deadlock could hear. Still holding his legs up Deadlock pulled the toy free, ropes of lubricant breaking as he held it up. Even more lubricant gushed out of the gaping valve, Deadlock licking his lips.

“Bad mech, I told you to wait.”

“...unnhhh…..’Lock….”

Blue optics widened as he watched Deadlock lick the spike, the glowing toy disappearing behind lips and down his intake in one smooth motion. Bobbed the toy a few times, Hot Rod's intake going dry as he watched Deadlock work the toy in and out of his mouth. Pulling it free and licking his lips with a salacious look at Hot Rod, shrugging his shoulders before tossing the toy somewhere in the room. “You taste and feel better.”

Legs pinned against his chest again Hot Rod wailed as Deadlock bent down and sucked on his entrance, glossa lapping up the excess lubricant. “Ah! Tooooo muuuch too much!”

“Says who?”

“Meeee!” The overstimulation was too much, Hot Rods optics rolling back. His frame bowed, vocalizer spitting static. The touch was suddenly gone, his frame rolled almost to his front. He was panting heavily again, almost gasping, unable to draw in enough cool air. His frame was burning, it was all too much. Sensing the situation Deadlock merely placed a servo on the middle of his spoiler, allowing Hot Rod to calm down slowly. What was happening? Was he dying?

“Sensory net overload. Feels like a panic attack.”

He hated it. He wanted more. It was like he was stuck on that crest, trapped between denial of release but also just within reach of achieving it. Dug his digits into the sheets squirmed against Deadlock's hold, trying to find any kind of extra stimulation that would ease the burning heat in his array. The mech behind him shifted Hot Rod's frame more, pressing more weight against his spoiler as he twisted his legs and held them. Trembling he could only vent and listen to Deadlock talk to him in hushed tones, not bothering to decipher the words.

After a few clicks his vents had slowed, his array still pulsed but his spark no longer felt like it would burst from his chest. A thumb was stroking his upper thigh, red optics looking down and watching him closely. “Hnnnnh….”

“Overstim. It happens.”

“How….how are you so calm…?”

“Something is wrong with me. But you don’t need to worry about that.”

“No….I am worried….big spike and you don’t overload….”

“Must be a package deal. Always had that issue. I told you Primus was laughing his aft off when I was made.”

“S’not funny to me.” Rolled slightly, Hot Rod reaching back to make contact with Deadlock. Digits tracing down his chest, across abdominal plating and lower, he could feel how hot his plating was. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Spike me.” Red optics opened wide at the request, helm shaking no. “It’s okay, I’ll be alright.”

“No, not tonight. I already pushed you.”

“So push me some more then. You have my permission.” Vent caught in his intake as he was gathered up and pressed back down into the berth, Deadlock rearranging his legs so that they were trapped between knee armor. Claws gripped under his spoiler as Deadlock nuzzled the back of his helm, hot spike trapped between Hot Rod's thighs. A gentle roll of hips, the warm slide against his outer valve mesh.

“And I said there were other ways to do things. So you just relax and let me teach you another lesson.”

Settled down into the berth, pulling the pillow closer and partially buried his face, Hot Rod finally relaxed as Deadlock settled his weight onto him. The slide of Deadlocks spike against his valve felt nice, teasing the outer nodes that rarely got any attention. Kisses and nips along his neck and rear collar faring, claws teasing the joint between his back and spoiler had Hot Rod moaning again, the downward rolls from Deadlock's hips grinding his own hips into the berth. It was soft and slow, a far cry from the usual frantic interfacing he normally seeked out.

A graze against his anterior node had him shivering, trying to raise his hips up for a better angle. Hot Rod was still overstimulated, hips and inner thighs felt swollen and numb, as if charge had settled there and was desperate to be released. As good as it felt it wasn’t enough, the desire to crash after one more processor overload made Hot Rod whine, Deadlock smiling through his kisses.

“Nnnaah, Deadlock frag me already!”

“I said no.”

“Pleeease!”

“ ‘Tch I said I don’t like training puppies. So needy.”

“I want to overload. Please let me overload!” Hot Rod bucked his hips backwards, pressing his thighs together. Got a grunt in response from Deadlock, a few steadier hip rolls pressing him back down into the berth. Whined louder, squirming under Deadlock's weight. Changed tactics and started to grind against the berth, rubbing his spike against the sheets. 

“Oh Roddy, how you test me!” A sharp bite on his neck, Hot Rod jerking with the pain. The servos on his spoiler slid down and held his hips, rolling him partially to the side. Pinning Hot Rod's legs with his knees he started thrusting between his thighs with vigor, spike now working through his valve lips and over his anterior node. 

Trying to find purchase between the pillow and sheets, yellow digits digging into the berth pad as his frame was twisted, pants coming fast at the sudden rush of stimulation. Murmured Deadlock's name and other glyphs, begging for more and to go faster and harder, another slight angle change and every thrust was now grinding against his entrance and over his nodes. “Right there, right there oh right there!”

The rush in his lines was back, edges of his vision going white as his charge was cresting once more, heat flushing up his belly ready to be released. A few more thrusts, just a few more strokes and he would be free, open mouth moaning at the buzz in his audials. There were always a few seconds of almost what he could describe as pain right before overload, the charge burning so hard and hot it seared his array and lines to the point it was painful. The final push he needed to overcome that crest, the release of pleasure. A hard brush against his entrance and node and he trembled, Deadlock pinning his arms and legs as he stilled, denying him once more.

“Frag! Frag you! I hate you! Stupid glitch of a mech!” A litany of curses followed, Hot Rod howling loudly in frustration. His frame was tense and still on that brink, coolant pouring over his frame as he started to overheat.

“Open your vents you aft.”

“No! Maybe I’ll finally get some release if I die!”

“Stubborn. Throwing a fit when you don’t get what you want.”

“You bet I’m throwing a fit! You tease yourself to overload a few times and just go cold and see how you feel!” Twisted against Deadlock's hold, pressing his thighs together as tight as he could. Hot Rod heard the hiss from Deadlock, the hot throbbing of his spike against his valve. Stupid mech, why did he allow Deadlock in his berth again!?

Reached a point where his frame disobeyed him and opened his vent slats wide, dumping excess heat and steam into the room. The fight left Hot Rod, frame losing all its tension. Panting heavily into the pillow, the heavy smell of coolant and lubricant coming to him. Never, ever, not even since he had broken his own seals had he ever felt this charged up. But that had always been the goal, how fast can he burn off his charge and overload, sometimes multiple times in one session. Always built back up in another cycle or so, frame never satisfied.

“...please…”

“Please what?”

“Puhleeeaaassseeee let me overload!” Sobbed the glyphs into the pillow, a soothing stroke of a servo against his side. Hot Rod hated how cool and collected Deadlock seemed, always in control. There is something wrong with me. The words rang in his processor, Hot Rod's own words echoing back. Oh Primus he was an aft. Here he was begging for release after already been given one and yet Deadlock hadn’t even found his own. “I’m an aft, I’m sorry.”

“See, feel better now?”

“Not really.” Sniffled, servo still calmly stroking his side. Hot Rod was shivering, overheating frame cooling too rapidly. He felt weak, his mind full of random thoughts. That burning numbness was back, stronger than ever. Swallowing against a dry intake, leaning back against Deadlock. A gentle kiss against his right cheek, Deadlock leaning over him and nuzzled his helm for a moment, touch soft as ever. It relaxed Hot Rod, frame going completely limp. It was the signal Deadlock had been waiting for, the relinquishment of control, gently rolling him onto his back.

“I’m done teasing. Ready to overload for real this time?”

“Uh huh”

“Good.” Situated himself between Hot Rod's legs, positioning his knees and opening Hot Rod up wide. Rubbed his abdominal plating a few times, Hot Rod fluttering his optics at the pleasant sensation. Reached down for his left servo and wrapped it around his own spike, Hot Rod grunting softly as he stroked himself slowly. 

“Deadlock?”

“Yes Roddy?”

“What about you?”

“I’m right here.” Opening blue optics Hot Rod looked down, frame shivering harder as Deadlock purposely rubbed the node on his spike against his yellow anterior node, static immediately passing between them. It made his thighs tremble, hips bucking upwards to meet Deadlock's strokes. Taking deep invents through his nose, free yellow digits dragging across his upper thigh as the intensity of charge passed between them increased. It felt like Deadlock was draining it out of him, that shared contact point blazing hot. 

It was that soft and steady slide again, neither hurried but their frames knew what to do. A few squeezed strokes along his spike and Hot Rod was cumming, gritting his denta as he groaned. Continued to stroke himself through it, transfluid collecting on his digits and chest plating. The slow grind on his anterior node was delicious, frame jerking several times as Deadlock continued to work over him. It went on for several kliks, Hot Rod stilling as he sunk into the afterglow, the warm static spreading through his entire frame.

Barely opening his optics he caught Deadlock grimace with a snarl and tossed his helm, a burst of charge from his frame crossing over into Hot Rod’s system as he finally reached his own climax. Thick ropes of transfluid felt molten against his plating, coating the base of his spike and outer valve mesh. Heavy panting filled the silence, a slight hitch to Deadlocks invents. Hot Rod was sinking into the soft berth mat, processors sinking into a zone he had never entered, a quiet place that no one could reach him. 

Blue optics opened to the feeling of something warm and moist moving over his frame, touch precise and with purpose. His arms and legs felt leaden, neither responding to his commands. There was a black shadow moving in his blurry vision, Hot Rod felt safe in its presence. The cool feel of sheets wrapping him up and rolling him over, rubbing his face into the pillow before slipping away again. Hot Rod could hear the rush of solvent running somewhere in the background, optics closing again as he went back into recharge.

A noise woke him, a metallic click and the sound of metal sliding and metal. Opening his optics and stared at the wall, LED lights turned off. There was a dim glow illuminating the room from the open doorway, another series of clicks confusing him. Licking his lips, Hot Rod stretched on the berth, sheet curled around his frame limiting his movement. He felt well and truly exhausted, but in the best way. His mind and processors were clear, a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. His array still had the slightest numb feeling, but that was typical after a night of interfacing.

Another series of clicks, Hot Rod lifting his helm and looking over at the open door. Confused for a moment, not sure what would be making the kind of sound in his hab. Rolling over and sitting up, shaking his helm to wake himself up fully. Deadlock had been here right? Looked about the room, a white pile of sheets in the corner by the washrack. Getting to his pedes he was unsteady for a moment, pulling the sheet closer around his frame. 

Padded slowly to the door, at least he could walk this time, it didn’t feel like he had been split in two. Blinking against the light in the living room, taking in the scene of Deadlock on the floor surrounded by various gun parts. Red optics looked up as he approached, finials folding flat.

“Hey.”

“Hey. Did I wake you?”

“Maybe. Either that or the glaring orange warning for coolant on my HUD did.”

“Sorry. Just a habit of mine. Helps me relax.” Hot Rod shuffled to the cooler and held out a can, Deadlock shaking his helm no in response. Switching it out for coolant he closed the door with his hip, shuffling back towards Deadlock and the couch. Curled up on the corner and sipped at the can, watching Deadlock meticulously clean and reassemble the parts. It was methodic, the mech working in silence, processors focused on the task.

“Did you get any rest Deadlock?” Another stiff helm shake was his answer, Hot Rod frowning. No wonder the mech looked exhausted, any other bot would have passed out after a session like that. “Listen, I’m fine, by the way.”

A slight stutter in the precision, finials flicking. “I shouldn’t have pushed you that far.”

“I asked for it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You say I’m stubborn.” Sighed and finished off the can, placing it on the floor. Sank down onto the couch and pulled the sheet up, resting his helm on the padded arm. “I’m sorry for what I said. Not a glitch.”

“Don’t blame you for calling me that.”

“What now?”

“I’ll need to leave in another joor or so, maybe sideswipe some bot on the way out. You will need to lay low for a few cycles, or get an escort.”

“Yeah. I get it.” Watching Deadlock work some more, it was fascinating. Sorted the items back into his subspace and collected the trash, piling it up to the side near the empty can. Tucked his knees under his frame and leaned against the couch, helm resting against the cushion. Reaching out through the sheet, Hot Rod gently stroked a finial, red optics barely open with the touch. “You can take more fuel with you.”

“Hn. You sure?”

“Yeah. I know where to get more.”

“I don’t know what is going to happen from here.”

“Nature of war and all that ‘Lock.” Red optics closed as vents evened out, Hot Rod still petting his helm. The dark mech looked peaceful for once, his frame still and relaxed, expression neutral. Thoughts of the serial killer jokes came to him, Hot Rod realizing that they were true. Deadlock was a killer, taking the lives of so many innocent bots, yet somehow under all the violence and gore was an innocent mech. Tainted by the senate and war. He really did find the worst kind of mechs in bars.

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

Bright light was filtering in through the blinds the next time he woke, Hot Rod realizing it was mid-afternoon after checking his chronometer. Shifting slighting he realized his position on the couch had changed, his helm now resting on a pillow. That aft, always making sure he was comfortable while he took a power nap on the floor. Surprisingly he still didn’t feel sore, frame and mind still in that relaxed state. Rubbing at his face he thought over the last cycle, his imprisonment and escape, Deadlock and all his mysterious ways. Frowning something nagged at him, how had the speeder managed to beat him?

Sitting up suddenly he stared at the table, chair now tucked underneath it. The table top was clear except for a white piece of paper, the metal band was gone. It was a stasis device he had said, maybe it had a tracking device?  That still didn’t make sense, he would've tracked Hot Rod going wide around the city during his attempt at a diversion. Untangling himself from the sheet he walked to the table, snatching up the paper. The glyphs were written neat and tight, a thank you note for the fuel. Hot Rod looked the note over, expecting something more, looking closer at the glyphs. Deadlock had nice writing, something that surprised him.

Rubbing at his neck as his cheeks flushed, setting the note back down. The table didn’t wobble, yellow digits pressing firmly against its surface. “You really are a glitch Deadlock, stole a chair and fixed my table!”

—-------------------------------

Finials were folded down as Deadlock limped into the hangar, getting a low whistle from a passing mech. His entire right side was scratched and tore up, gritting his denta in pain as he ignored the others and kept moving. He had found no reasonable sized mech to hit upon his departure, and the buildings on the outskirts belonged to the working class, Deadlock couldn’t bring himself to cause them any more hardships. Went wide around Ultrix into the canyons and decided to let his steering loose, full throttled along a rock wall. 

From the reactions of the others the picture was clear, Deadlock didn’t have a fun time during his recovery of the prisoner. From the radio chatter they had lost any supposed trail of the red speeder in Durax, returning that morning ahead of him. Entering the war room he expected the usual fight, optics pointed at the floor as he steeled himself for the verbal lashing he was about to receive. Deadlock didn’t fail, it wasn’t something he was known for.

It was quiet and nearly empty, Starscream was reclined in Megatron's chair, picking at his claws. He gave Deadlock a brief look before waving his digits, dismissing the mech. Bowing slightly in respect and giving a quiet grunt of pain, turning to leave. Starscream only clucked his glossa, attention returning to his servos.

Moving further into the base with purpose, he knew the usual haunts of a few Decepticons. Down a series of hallways, rooms far away from the usual gathering places or traffic. Knocking on the door in a series, waiting until it slid open. Stepping into the open room he was greeted by Soundwave sitting at a table, an assortment of small devices and radio equipment spread out. Ravage looked up and studied him, Soundwave ejecting Frenzy and Rumble. The two cassettes transformed and surrounded him, Deadlock giving them a tired sigh.

They looked fine, paint undamaged and all smiles as usual. Reaching into his subspace he pulled out three cans of fuel, the two mini bots whooping in joy as Deadlock placed the third on the table. “For the trouble we caused.”

“Target is secured?”

“Yes, and still unaware of the tracking device.” Pulled the can away from Rumble, the minibot kicking his shin.

“That’s mine!”

“And if you two drink it that fast it will come back up even faster!” Handed the can back, the purple bot frowning before taking a tentative sip. 

“Fuel supplies are critical.”

“Yeah. The Autobots have some kind of lead, you can buy cans in the corner shops in Plurex.”

“I will send Laserbeak out to investigate. Deadlock needs to rest.”

“You have no idea Soundwave. I need a stasis nap to catch up.” Three sets of laughter made him wince, his right finial felt out of place.