Transformers (Prowl/Red Alert)

[apathocles.livejournal.com]

Title: Uniformity
Author: Apathy
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: WTF kink, but no porn. Exceedingly silly premise.
Word count: 1225.
Prompt: Prowl/Red Alert: Mechs in uniform - "Got a license to kill/And you know I'm going straight for your heart"
Summary: The law is a harsh mistress.
A/N: Erm... started out somewhere around the original prompt, but ended up somewhere completely different. Um. Sorry? I take no responsibility for characters' weird kinks.




He watches the milliseconds tick by on the clock, their precise ranks marching ever onwards towards infinity.

Footsteps approach from outside the room, and he snaps his attention to the door, straightening his already-ramrod posture infinitesimally. He'd slacked off for almost half a second. Unacceptable.

A tottering pile of paperwork enters the room, followed by Red Alert. Humans and their antiquated methods of communication. Prowl has argued more than once with Optimus Prime on the logic of upgrading the humans' systems so that paper is no longer necessary and communication between the two species is more efficient, but Prime clings to the belief that the humans need to discover some things for themselves.

Prowl is of the opinion that idealism alone won't win a war, but he has yet to convince Prime of that.

Red Alert dumps the papers on the desk, slamming one hand down on top of the stack while steadying the rest with his arm. 'One moment, please.'

Prowl watches detachedly while Red Alert does his best to keep the paperwork together, nodding slightly in approval when the Security Officer separates the teetering tower into two separate, more stable piles.

The two of which promptly give in to gravity's demands and collapse onto the table, a good proportion of their contents sliding from there to the floor.

Red Alert swears inventively, staring at the colourful mess of human bureaucracy that has decided to take up residence in his office. After a moment, he throws his hands up in surrender and sits down, seemingly ignoring the paperwork already occupying the chair.

He pulls out a datapad and flicks through it, muttering to himself. Prowl notes that if he were almost anyone else, Red Alert would probably have him in cuffs by now. There are advantages to being logical and law-abiding, although none of the miscreants in this unit seem capable of processing this fact.

'So....' Red Alert looks up from the datapad, a slight frown marring his features. 'It says here that you rushed through some supplies from the routine shipment that came in this morning, without going through the proper security procedures.'

He nods sharply. 'Yes.'

'And what was your reason for doing so?'

'Wheeljack got himself blown up again, and Ratchet was almost out of hydraulic fluid. He needed it faster than we could get it through security.'

Red Alert consults the datapad again. 'And you checked it yourself while you took it to medbay?'

'Yes.'

'And the rest of the shipment went through security as usual?'

'Yes.'

'Well, then.' Red Alert stares thoughtfully at Prowl. 'I see no reason to keep you any further, or to press any charges. Given the circumstances, you made the right call.'

'Thank you.' Prowl makes absolutely no move to get up.

'Um... dismissed? Unless there's something else you wanted to talk about?'

Prowl holds out his arms. 'Arrest me.'

Red Alert's expression is exquisitely confused. 'Excuse me?'

'Arrest me.'

'But, I already told you. There are no charges. Your actions were excusable -- commendable, even.'

Prowl leans forwards earnestly. 'But I still broke the law. Security Article 49173.3457.158 specifically states that I must be detained, and then either charged, or excused by an officer ranked Level Two or higher.'

'But, but,' Red Alert sputters, 'those laws are antiquated! Nobody's paid any attention to them for millions of years!'

'But they're still on the books, aren't they? Therefore, I demand to be arrested and held in custody until one of the senior officers comes to a decision.'

'You're a senior officer! De-custify yourself!'

Prowl shakes his head sadly. 'It doesn't work that way, and you know it.'

Red Alert glares mutinously.

Prowl waits. Watches, with the patient stare that has broken down countless criminals, and not a few innocent mechs.

'No. No, absolutely not. I refuse to take part in this insanity.' The Security Officer crosses his arms, scowling.

New tactic. 'My logic centre will crash if I'm not dealt with in the proper fashion.'

Red Alert snorts, looking amused for the first time all day, albeit in a vaguely homicidal manner. 'You think that excuse will work on me, of all people?'

'Fine. I can wait here all day until you change your mind. I'll just help you clean up in the meantime, shall I?' A sweep of his arm sends the last of the paperwork fluttering to the floor, and then he kicks back, leaning his chair backwards, hands behind his head, feet on the desk.

You don't spend millennia disciplining the Lamborghini brothers without picking up a few tricks on how to be really fragging irritating, after all.

He almost feels bad for Red Alert. But rules are rules.

'Okay! Fine!' Red Alert jumps to his feet, throwing the datapad down onto his desk in frustration. 'I'll let Prime deal with you. Or, better yet, Jazz. I'm sure he'll get a good laugh out of this, and Primus knows someone should be, because I'm slagging well not.'

'Excellent.' He settles his chair back down onto all legs... and remains seated, immovable, when a supremely grouchy Red Alert grabs his arm.

'Oh, for the love of -- what now?'

'Cuffs.'

'What?'

'Cuff. Me.'

He can see Red Alert trying to work out whether he should just knock Prowl unconscious, and kick him in the head a few times for good measure. Prowl would accept that. Security Article 49173.3457.162 allows it, after all.

With a sigh, Red Alert fishes a pair of energon cuffs out of subspace, and leans over to fasten them around Prowl's wrists. Prowl feels his energon pump quicken as Red Alert's body moves in close. The sleek lines may be Lamborghini, but that paintjob is all authority.

And he can't say no to that.

'Happy now?'

'Yes, thank you.' Very happy.

'Anything else you want?'

'No, I do believe I'm quite all right.'

'You sure? I would hate to think that you weren't entirely happy with your treatment. You don't want a beating, or an interrogation -- '

That would do quite nicely, but he can't justify it under law.

'Or some leg shackles -- '

He perks up at that, but Red Alert is quicker than people give him credit for, and jerks him to his feet. Prowl quickly nudges his chair back into its proper position with his foot, before Red Alert drags him out the room and through the hallways, muttering the entire time.

'What I ever did to deserve getting stuck in this place, I will never....'

Passing Autobots stop and stare. Prowl nods smoothly at them.

'I was perfectly sane before all of this, I swear....'

Sideswipe walks right into Sunstreaker, the latter having stopped to witness the spectacle. Such is his astonishment that he doesn't even notice the damage to his paintwork. Prowl records the expression on his face, to replay for his own amusement later.

'Not getting paid enough for this....'

Red Alert shoves him into the cell with a strength that Prowl had never quite appreciated before. The lock whirrs shut with a series of beeps and a satisfying snap.

'Thank you.'

The Security Officer just gives him a disbelieving look, shaking his head. 'And they call me crazy.'

Left alone, Prowl settles in to wait.

He hopes Red Alert sends Prime. Jazz can't keep a straight face to save his life.