i try so hard to look cool
transformers ;; hotlock ;; wc: 543 ;; hot rod getting hit on unwarranted. this was originally longer, and also smut, but the smut was bad so i abandoned it.
back to writing! 
read it on tumblr!
It's moments like these, the moments of shore leave, where Hot Rod finds that he can actually relax. He can go on a drive, whatever. For a few days, he can pretend that there's no war, and that he's just living his life.
His life does include getting overcharged.
He made an effort to find a bar that was more out of the way. As much as he wanted to get hammered, he was distinctly more desperate to escape his team for a bit. The bar he ended up at was relatively small, with multiple mechs of varying alt modes surrounding it on all sides, none of whom he recognized.
Hot Rod was content to just sit at the counter and drink for three joors, but a brightly-coloured Autobot speedster was unfortunately bound to catch attention. The two to approach him were larger, both appearing to have some sort of labour-based alt. They looked like neutrals- if they were bots or cons, their brands were pretty well hidden.
"Say," one of them starts, on Hot Rod's left, "don't think I've seen you around before. You just roll in?"
Hot Rod, who at this point was minorly buzzed at best, smiled at the mech. "I did, actually."
The other, on Hot Rod's right, smirked. "Little bot like you probably hasn't gotten around much yet, huh?"
Hot Rod glanced down at his brand, taking another sip of his drink. That phrasing gets at him in a way he can't describe. "No, but I'm not staying long. Just on shore leave." He's being polite. Checks his comms. Nothing from the others.
"Shore leave!" The one on his left smiles, "ain't that somethin'." Hot Rod nods. Another sip. "Say, you probably just wanna relax, me and my buddy could help ya out-"
Hot Rod sets his drink down a bit faster than he intended to, and starts to rise from his seat. "That's a nice offer, but honestly I should probably be getting back-"
"What, so soon?" The one on Hot Rod's right reaches for him, but the one on his left looks nervous.
"Hey, Freight?"
The one on his right- Freight- ignores his friend. "You're only here for a few nights max, right?"
"Freight," the left repeats, as Hot Rod tries to back away, and then he backs into-
"Are they bothering you?"
Hot Rod snaps around, looking up at the mech, and feels his entire frame relax. He wasn't even aware he'd been tensed. "Deadlock."
The Decepticon glares down at the two mechs. "The fuck do you two think you're doing?"
The two- apparently Decepticons- look up at the assassin in fear. "I- I mean, it seemed obvious, sir," Freight starts, stumbling over his words. "I mean, y'know, little bot in a place like this, we just thought-"
"This is neutral territory," Deadlock hisses, cutting him off. "Both of you, beat it."
The cons, likely not wanting to deal with the wrath of a superior officer, did just that. Once they were off the premesis, Hot Rod exvented, sitting back down. "Thank you, I'm- sorry. Sorry about that."
Deadlock huffs. "No use apologizing. Or thanking me, for that matter. They shouldn't've been doing that."
Hot Rod shrugs, Deadlock taking a seat next to him. "Still."