Vassal State - Prologue
Much thanks to my Co-Author raisedbymoogles for infecting me with her Roddy-muse and allowing me to run rampant with him and for all of her input in this fic. *snuggles tight*
And thanks to wicked3659 for the title <3<3
Title: Vassal State - Prologue
Series: G1 AU
Rating: This chapter is pretty tame, later chapters will be rated R.
Pairings: Rodimus/Arcee/Springer (this chapter)
Summary: Hot Rod has been a thorn in the Enforcers' side for too long, and when he gets arrested for illegal racing, that's just the last straw as far as Prowl is concerned.
==============================================================================
Iacon’s lights gleamed down on the street, casting hues of red and green and blue onto the golden sheets of roadway, mingling with the colors of the racers’ present. Mechs lined up, jostling each other, sneering and growling, displaying their paint and mods and frames, dropping into alt mode just to turn a circuit around the crowd of fans, bystanders cheering and reaching to run their hands along hoods and canopies. Hot Rod grinned to himself as he dropped down, tires squealing as he ran a quick, sliding circuit around all of them, spinning tightly into his starting position. The other racers growled in annoyance.
“Hey Hot Rod!” His sensors flickered over the femme’s frame as she angled a cocky hip, optics narrowed playfully. “Quit showing off! We won’t get that fat winner’s purse if you get yourself slagged before the race even starts!”
“You worry too much, Arcee,” he purred, engine rumbling with his words, grinning broader at the little, barely-there shiver that ran through the femme’s form, and through the form of the green mech behind her.
He laid his hands on Arcee’s shoulders, grinning in friendly challenge towards Hot Rod, “If you lose, you’re just going to have to watch us tonight. You only get invited to play if you win.” Strong hands, possessive hands, raked over the femme’s curves, down her hips and up to cup her chestplates, teasing her headlights with the tips of his fingers. Arcee arched sensually in his grasp, offering a breathy sigh of pleasure. Rodimus’ engine rumbled louder, aroused despite himself, and his EM field gave a little flicker against theirs. “You’re such teases. When I win, I’m going to have to teach you two your place.”
“Big talk for such a little race car,” Springer shot back, sweeping the slender Arcee into his arms; Arcee promptly clonked him on the head and demanded to be put down. “You’d better focus on winning first before you start making any plans to teach us anything.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” he chortled, field tightening down in preparation for his race, “I’ll win.”
“Racers, get ready!” A gaudy orange femme with little plating to cover her protoform waved a flag for attention in front of them. The mechs hunkered down on their tires, engines revving in anticipation, scans flickering all over the crowd of opposition. Rodimus had run these streets his whole life, he knew this race circuit like he knew his own chassis, like he knew Arcee’s chassis or Springer’s chassis, carefully mapped out in his processors with time and experience. These streets were his lovers’ body, and he knew just how to get to that finish line.
“On my mark!” Engines roared, transformations clicked and chirped as final preparations were made. “Get set!” Racers rocked side to side, bumping each other in their tight formation. “Go!” The flag dropped and the femme launched into the air to avoid the stampede, hovering over them and waving her flag madly. Tires squealed, seeking traction, and Hot Rod grinned as he shot forward, engine roaring. Hover mods had advantages for the starters but they couldn’t handle the tight turns like wheels could, no traction for skidding around the corners, nothing to grip to. He darted past the first handful of hovers as they careened into an empty building, crashing through the wall. Only one out of that batch had made it around the curve, but he had slowed to take it and couldn’t catch up as Hot Rod shot past with the rest of the pack hot on his tailpipe.
The more expensive mods were catching up to him, knocking smaller alts out of the way as they barreled through on boosters powered by flame and magnets and warp energy, one smaller mech screaming as he spun out and took another with him off the edge of the road, down to the next level of the city. The spiral bridge would take care of these jokers and Hot Rod let them pass, grinning as he dropped his speed just a couple degrees. Squealing tires and crunching metal up ahead confirmed his guesses and he weaved through the remnants of the racers in the entrance, transforming to root to jump over a batch blocking the way, and rolled back into alt mode, brakes shrieking as he glided down the bridge in a loose corkscrew slide. He yipped and weaved to the outermost edge, one wrecked booster having made it further than he had anticipated, grazing the downed mech and grunting at the scratch to his paint. As soon as his tires touched the next level of the city, he revved his engine hard and took off again. Lights flashed overhead, the enforcers blocked by the bridge’s wreck, and Hot Rod let out a laugh as he nudged the mech trying to gain on him, sending him off into an alley’s wall to scrape and roll with a sickening crunch. There were days when he felt bad for the other racers - the damage must be expensive to fix to those ritzy little mods, fancy Towers’ brats that think they’ll run better than him just because they’ve got the credits to throw around. This wasn’t one of those nights, he couldn’t let it be. His next meal was riding on that purse, on that finish line, on those beaming smiles and strong, green hands, slender pink digits stroking him and telling him they loved him…
A black form burst from an alley, nearly swiping him as he swerved to avoid it, the Enforcer’s white emblem a stark contrast on the sides and hood as the mech made a tight spin, taillights flashing at the startled racers behind him, sending them scattering like the robot-sheep they were. Other enforcers burst out from the surrounding alleyways, root mode mechs dropping down from the city’s upper level, rappelling down on long cords. Hot Rod revved his engine and ran for the finish, the black alt-mode Enforcer hot on his bumper. The mech was good, Hot Rod realized with a grimace, ducking and weaving through the maze of Iacon’s lower sectors. For every shortcut he took, for each misdirection he made, for every time he thought he’d lost the mech, he’d reappear with flashing lights and sweeping scans, his field tingling with displeasure as it nudged Hot Rod from behind. He swore aloud, so focused on the mech behind him that he didn’t see the other enforcer appear until it was too late. The white car knocked hard into his front from the side, sending him spiraling and struggling for traction. He righted himself before it was too late, his axel aching from the hit, and revved his engine harder. He could still escape; he could still make it to that finish line. He had to!
“This is the Iacon Enforcers, Department Beta, and you will halt and transform immediately!”
“I don’t think so, slaggers!” he crowed, tires screeching around a corner, canopy scraping as he ducked into a low tunnel, too low for them to follow, and barreled for the finish. He wasn’t too far off the track, and as long as he was the first to the line…! Victory was so close, he could taste the Energon for his next fueling tingling on his glossa and lips! Light was so close, just a few meters further…!
Hot Rod cried out in pain and surprise, his emergence met with that damned white Enforcer alt again, ramming into him from the other side. He never appreciated how powerful an Enforcer’s engine was until now, taking a full-impact hit from the mech right in the side. He rolled, careening out of control, wheels over canopy over wheels, and transformed in a futile attempt to gain traction, to grip the ground and get his equilibrium back, the ground falling away beneath his fingers as he tumbled into the ditch and lay, dazed and groaning. Matching headlights gleamed down on him, one hand weakly lifting to cover his optics, his head spinning.
“I’m Captain of the Enforcers, Streetstar, and this is my partner Prowl. You’re under arrest, Rodimus of Iacon, level seven. I suggest you come quietly as we will not hesitate to use necessary force to subdue you.”
“It’s… Hot Rod…oooh…” Rodimus lay his helm back in the ditch and succumbed to the protocols flashing warnings in his HUD, letting the darkness overtake his meta.
--
“Rodimus of Iacon, level seven, sector delta, quadrant three…”
“It’s Hot. Rod.”
“Rodimus,” Prowl repeated firmly, optics on the pad in front of him, “you are being charged with disturbing the peace; destruction of public property; destruction of private property; reckless driving; endangering sparklings; endangering residents; resisting arrest; and several counts of backtalk and sass.” The datapad fell to the desk with a soft clatter, dropped from bored fingers as they were laced together and tucked beneath the black and white mech’s chin, sensory panels drawn up and out in an irate pose. “Do you even have a defense?”
“Only young once, right?” He chortled in response, shifting his shoulders. The Enforcers behind him tightened their grips on either shoulder, holding him still; he settled for wiggling his wrists in the bindings behind him. “Don’t shut down the party just because the music’s too loud!”
Prowl leveled a flat, unamused stare towards the mech and lifted the pad again. “This is your… seventh arrest. This vorn. Not including your thirty-three previous arrests in the vorns before.” Slightly narrowed optics peered at him from above the pad. “One would think you’d have learned your lesson by now…”
“The only lesson you’re teaching is how to kill a good time.”
“Mm-hmm…” Prowl tapped lightly at the pad for a moment before setting it aside with a sigh. “Do you have anything else to say before you’re sentenced?”
The younger mech grinned cheekily, hips cocking to the side, all ego and misplaced confidence. “There’s nothing you can do to me that’s not gonna make me party harder the next time.” What was the worst they could do for such small things? Community service? Been there. Time in the brig? Done it. Forcing him through boot camp for the Autobot Army? They couldn’t force mechs to enlist, it went against their very philosophy about freedom. Hot Rod sneered at the Enforcer, waiting for the next boring sentence to be brought down. Whatever it was, he’d ride it out, and he’d be back in the arms of his lovers soon. The race was botched on account of the enforcers, that fat purse was still up for grabs. If he could sneak away from his community service for a few joors…
Prowl glowered at the grinning mech. “Indeed. Well then, you’re sentenced to a loss of status - congratulations, Rodimus, you are now a pet.” A white hand lifted, fingers flicking a bored dismissal. “Take him away.”
“WAIT!” Hot Rod’s optics widened at that, his composure suddenly shattered, and he struggled against the mech hauling him by the arm. “You can’t do that! I have rights as a citizen!”
“And if you’re going to abuse those rights, they will be taken away from you.” He stood and turned his back on the struggling mech, filing the pad away. “Give him to Kup - he’ll be able to handle him.”
Hot Rod wrenched his shoulders free, lurching towards Prowl’s desk. “You can’t do this, you slagger! You’re just supposed to give me some stupid, menial task to complete, some boring repetitive service to kill some time, not... not… this!”
Prowl met his gaze squarely - it wasn’t hard, the cuffed mech was laying on his desk only centimeters from his olfactory sensor - and studied the frightened, desperate expression on the mech’s face for a long, silent moment. Hot Rod felt hope beginning to bloom in his spark - ah the compassion of soft-sparked Autobots… and then his spark sank as the slagger smirked, optics half-lidded in amusement. “When naughty sparklings don’t learn their lesson from the time-out corner, the only option left is to give them a spanking until they understand what they’ve done wrong; and Kup is a very stern caretaker with his sparklings.”
Hot Rod gaped in disbelief at the cold, humored quirk of the Enforcer’s lips even as that white hand lifted, fingers flicking again as though he were brushing the mech away. “Run along, now, Little One. It’s time for your lessons to begin.”
And thanks to wicked3659 for the title <3<3
Title: Vassal State - Prologue
Series: G1 AU
Rating: This chapter is pretty tame, later chapters will be rated R.
Pairings: Rodimus/Arcee/Springer (this chapter)
Summary: Hot Rod has been a thorn in the Enforcers' side for too long, and when he gets arrested for illegal racing, that's just the last straw as far as Prowl is concerned.
==============================================================================
Iacon’s lights gleamed down on the street, casting hues of red and green and blue onto the golden sheets of roadway, mingling with the colors of the racers’ present. Mechs lined up, jostling each other, sneering and growling, displaying their paint and mods and frames, dropping into alt mode just to turn a circuit around the crowd of fans, bystanders cheering and reaching to run their hands along hoods and canopies. Hot Rod grinned to himself as he dropped down, tires squealing as he ran a quick, sliding circuit around all of them, spinning tightly into his starting position. The other racers growled in annoyance.
“Hey Hot Rod!” His sensors flickered over the femme’s frame as she angled a cocky hip, optics narrowed playfully. “Quit showing off! We won’t get that fat winner’s purse if you get yourself slagged before the race even starts!”
“You worry too much, Arcee,” he purred, engine rumbling with his words, grinning broader at the little, barely-there shiver that ran through the femme’s form, and through the form of the green mech behind her.
He laid his hands on Arcee’s shoulders, grinning in friendly challenge towards Hot Rod, “If you lose, you’re just going to have to watch us tonight. You only get invited to play if you win.” Strong hands, possessive hands, raked over the femme’s curves, down her hips and up to cup her chestplates, teasing her headlights with the tips of his fingers. Arcee arched sensually in his grasp, offering a breathy sigh of pleasure. Rodimus’ engine rumbled louder, aroused despite himself, and his EM field gave a little flicker against theirs. “You’re such teases. When I win, I’m going to have to teach you two your place.”
“Big talk for such a little race car,” Springer shot back, sweeping the slender Arcee into his arms; Arcee promptly clonked him on the head and demanded to be put down. “You’d better focus on winning first before you start making any plans to teach us anything.”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” he chortled, field tightening down in preparation for his race, “I’ll win.”
“Racers, get ready!” A gaudy orange femme with little plating to cover her protoform waved a flag for attention in front of them. The mechs hunkered down on their tires, engines revving in anticipation, scans flickering all over the crowd of opposition. Rodimus had run these streets his whole life, he knew this race circuit like he knew his own chassis, like he knew Arcee’s chassis or Springer’s chassis, carefully mapped out in his processors with time and experience. These streets were his lovers’ body, and he knew just how to get to that finish line.
“On my mark!” Engines roared, transformations clicked and chirped as final preparations were made. “Get set!” Racers rocked side to side, bumping each other in their tight formation. “Go!” The flag dropped and the femme launched into the air to avoid the stampede, hovering over them and waving her flag madly. Tires squealed, seeking traction, and Hot Rod grinned as he shot forward, engine roaring. Hover mods had advantages for the starters but they couldn’t handle the tight turns like wheels could, no traction for skidding around the corners, nothing to grip to. He darted past the first handful of hovers as they careened into an empty building, crashing through the wall. Only one out of that batch had made it around the curve, but he had slowed to take it and couldn’t catch up as Hot Rod shot past with the rest of the pack hot on his tailpipe.
The more expensive mods were catching up to him, knocking smaller alts out of the way as they barreled through on boosters powered by flame and magnets and warp energy, one smaller mech screaming as he spun out and took another with him off the edge of the road, down to the next level of the city. The spiral bridge would take care of these jokers and Hot Rod let them pass, grinning as he dropped his speed just a couple degrees. Squealing tires and crunching metal up ahead confirmed his guesses and he weaved through the remnants of the racers in the entrance, transforming to root to jump over a batch blocking the way, and rolled back into alt mode, brakes shrieking as he glided down the bridge in a loose corkscrew slide. He yipped and weaved to the outermost edge, one wrecked booster having made it further than he had anticipated, grazing the downed mech and grunting at the scratch to his paint. As soon as his tires touched the next level of the city, he revved his engine hard and took off again. Lights flashed overhead, the enforcers blocked by the bridge’s wreck, and Hot Rod let out a laugh as he nudged the mech trying to gain on him, sending him off into an alley’s wall to scrape and roll with a sickening crunch. There were days when he felt bad for the other racers - the damage must be expensive to fix to those ritzy little mods, fancy Towers’ brats that think they’ll run better than him just because they’ve got the credits to throw around. This wasn’t one of those nights, he couldn’t let it be. His next meal was riding on that purse, on that finish line, on those beaming smiles and strong, green hands, slender pink digits stroking him and telling him they loved him…
A black form burst from an alley, nearly swiping him as he swerved to avoid it, the Enforcer’s white emblem a stark contrast on the sides and hood as the mech made a tight spin, taillights flashing at the startled racers behind him, sending them scattering like the robot-sheep they were. Other enforcers burst out from the surrounding alleyways, root mode mechs dropping down from the city’s upper level, rappelling down on long cords. Hot Rod revved his engine and ran for the finish, the black alt-mode Enforcer hot on his bumper. The mech was good, Hot Rod realized with a grimace, ducking and weaving through the maze of Iacon’s lower sectors. For every shortcut he took, for each misdirection he made, for every time he thought he’d lost the mech, he’d reappear with flashing lights and sweeping scans, his field tingling with displeasure as it nudged Hot Rod from behind. He swore aloud, so focused on the mech behind him that he didn’t see the other enforcer appear until it was too late. The white car knocked hard into his front from the side, sending him spiraling and struggling for traction. He righted himself before it was too late, his axel aching from the hit, and revved his engine harder. He could still escape; he could still make it to that finish line. He had to!
“This is the Iacon Enforcers, Department Beta, and you will halt and transform immediately!”
“I don’t think so, slaggers!” he crowed, tires screeching around a corner, canopy scraping as he ducked into a low tunnel, too low for them to follow, and barreled for the finish. He wasn’t too far off the track, and as long as he was the first to the line…! Victory was so close, he could taste the Energon for his next fueling tingling on his glossa and lips! Light was so close, just a few meters further…!
Hot Rod cried out in pain and surprise, his emergence met with that damned white Enforcer alt again, ramming into him from the other side. He never appreciated how powerful an Enforcer’s engine was until now, taking a full-impact hit from the mech right in the side. He rolled, careening out of control, wheels over canopy over wheels, and transformed in a futile attempt to gain traction, to grip the ground and get his equilibrium back, the ground falling away beneath his fingers as he tumbled into the ditch and lay, dazed and groaning. Matching headlights gleamed down on him, one hand weakly lifting to cover his optics, his head spinning.
“I’m Captain of the Enforcers, Streetstar, and this is my partner Prowl. You’re under arrest, Rodimus of Iacon, level seven. I suggest you come quietly as we will not hesitate to use necessary force to subdue you.”
“It’s… Hot Rod…oooh…” Rodimus lay his helm back in the ditch and succumbed to the protocols flashing warnings in his HUD, letting the darkness overtake his meta.
--
“Rodimus of Iacon, level seven, sector delta, quadrant three…”
“It’s Hot. Rod.”
“Rodimus,” Prowl repeated firmly, optics on the pad in front of him, “you are being charged with disturbing the peace; destruction of public property; destruction of private property; reckless driving; endangering sparklings; endangering residents; resisting arrest; and several counts of backtalk and sass.” The datapad fell to the desk with a soft clatter, dropped from bored fingers as they were laced together and tucked beneath the black and white mech’s chin, sensory panels drawn up and out in an irate pose. “Do you even have a defense?”
“Only young once, right?” He chortled in response, shifting his shoulders. The Enforcers behind him tightened their grips on either shoulder, holding him still; he settled for wiggling his wrists in the bindings behind him. “Don’t shut down the party just because the music’s too loud!”
Prowl leveled a flat, unamused stare towards the mech and lifted the pad again. “This is your… seventh arrest. This vorn. Not including your thirty-three previous arrests in the vorns before.” Slightly narrowed optics peered at him from above the pad. “One would think you’d have learned your lesson by now…”
“The only lesson you’re teaching is how to kill a good time.”
“Mm-hmm…” Prowl tapped lightly at the pad for a moment before setting it aside with a sigh. “Do you have anything else to say before you’re sentenced?”
The younger mech grinned cheekily, hips cocking to the side, all ego and misplaced confidence. “There’s nothing you can do to me that’s not gonna make me party harder the next time.” What was the worst they could do for such small things? Community service? Been there. Time in the brig? Done it. Forcing him through boot camp for the Autobot Army? They couldn’t force mechs to enlist, it went against their very philosophy about freedom. Hot Rod sneered at the Enforcer, waiting for the next boring sentence to be brought down. Whatever it was, he’d ride it out, and he’d be back in the arms of his lovers soon. The race was botched on account of the enforcers, that fat purse was still up for grabs. If he could sneak away from his community service for a few joors…
Prowl glowered at the grinning mech. “Indeed. Well then, you’re sentenced to a loss of status - congratulations, Rodimus, you are now a pet.” A white hand lifted, fingers flicking a bored dismissal. “Take him away.”
“WAIT!” Hot Rod’s optics widened at that, his composure suddenly shattered, and he struggled against the mech hauling him by the arm. “You can’t do that! I have rights as a citizen!”
“And if you’re going to abuse those rights, they will be taken away from you.” He stood and turned his back on the struggling mech, filing the pad away. “Give him to Kup - he’ll be able to handle him.”
Hot Rod wrenched his shoulders free, lurching towards Prowl’s desk. “You can’t do this, you slagger! You’re just supposed to give me some stupid, menial task to complete, some boring repetitive service to kill some time, not... not… this!”
Prowl met his gaze squarely - it wasn’t hard, the cuffed mech was laying on his desk only centimeters from his olfactory sensor - and studied the frightened, desperate expression on the mech’s face for a long, silent moment. Hot Rod felt hope beginning to bloom in his spark - ah the compassion of soft-sparked Autobots… and then his spark sank as the slagger smirked, optics half-lidded in amusement. “When naughty sparklings don’t learn their lesson from the time-out corner, the only option left is to give them a spanking until they understand what they’ve done wrong; and Kup is a very stern caretaker with his sparklings.”
Hot Rod gaped in disbelief at the cold, humored quirk of the Enforcer’s lips even as that white hand lifted, fingers flicking again as though he were brushing the mech away. “Run along, now, Little One. It’s time for your lessons to begin.”