Shockin' Ya'll

Prowl x Jazz

Words: 2381

Rating: Mature

Summary: Ironhide and the Twins find out more than they ever wanted to about Prowl and Jazz's relationship.

"Prowl!" the saboteur moaned loudly as talented hands continued down his frame, heat radiating from fingertips along delicate wires and lines stretched taut with tension.

"Yes, Jazz?"

"Keep dat up an'-"

"I have never minded having a lap full of strutless Polyhexian."

"But it's yor office," he protested mildly, not really caring to move and dreading the end of the massage, though he felt obligated to make sure that their relationship did not become public knowledge since he knew how private the other could be about many things.

"And we both know it is highly improbable that anyone will stop in, especially as I am off-duty and everyone feels obligated to force me to leave my office as soon as possible afterward."

As Prowl reached his lower back, where all of his tension seemed to collect – a place out of character for Cybertronians – and build, the Third in Command slumped forward from his mostly upright position and laid his helm on the tactician's shoulder, kissing his neck cabling almost absentmindedly. A light kiss was placed on his audial as his relatively new lover continued his ministrations. To be able to call the mech that was one of the things he found himself ecstatic about and, surprisingly, that was causing him self-doubts. He was rarely one hundred percent sure of his actions off-duty any longer as the mech was so difficult to understand and he was attempting to not upset him in any way.

"You have some old stress built up here, probably from before your mission. Is there any help I can offer you to help soothe whatever is causing it?"

"Naw, Prowlah. Ah don' think ya can 'elp meh wit' dis."

One hand left his lower back abruptly, causing him to whine lowly, before settling on his helm and lightly caressing the base of one of his sensor horns. "I am always available if you change your mind. I do, however," he began as he pulled a drawer in his desk open with a pede before he had to relinquish his hold on Jazz's helm to pull a small box out before continuing, "have these for you."

His helm slowly slid from where it was buried against the tactician's neck cables to a position where he could look at what he was being presented with. "Energon goodies?"

A low, rumbling laugh shook both of their chassis. "Special ones."

"Where'd ya get them?" he exclaimed as his visor brightened and he straightened, reaching for the treats. As soon as Jazz got his hand on one, it was in his mouth, the delicate gold casing disintegrating to release a flood of what could only be from Red Alert's last batch of high grade. More surprising than that, there was a hard center of a Cybertonium and copper mixture that he took the time to suck on instead of biting into. He moaned at the taste of the sweet and tart mixture before realizing he had not been answered. "So, who's ya suppliah, Prowlah?"

"I... did not buy or bargain for them, Jazz. I made them last dark cycle."

"Frag, mech. Ya shoulda had ya own store."

"I, actually, uh... did. It was not a store front, but I did very well through orders and I was able to still work for the Enforcers that way."

"Don't tell meh... Confections, Etc?"

Prowl's faceplates heated and he looked away from Jazz, trying to hide his reaction.

"But wasn' it headquartered outta Vos?"

"Yes, it was. I was the only grounder employed full-time, all vorn long there at the precinct."

"But none'a dat showed up on ya recahds!" he protested, disregarding that he should not even have access to them, though Prowl had been sure that he had read them anyway. Absentmindedly, he brought another treat to his mouth, expecting it to be the exact same as the last, but was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a cadmium crusted, gelled mid-grade confection that had magnesium flakes in it that added a light burst of flavor.

"And how would that have looked when I enlisted?"

"Mmm, true," he conceded as he leaned forward to press their forehelms together intimately. "So why didn' ya keep makin' 'em?"

"I have. Ratchet, Perceptor, and Red Alert need the extra energy they can get from them and they enjoy them immensely. They are also aware of where I am from."

Glancing at the doorwinged mech, a devious thought surfaced in his processor, a tweak of a fantasy that had intrigued him long before. Thankfully the energon goodie he had grabbed would cooperate with him as he reached out and smushed the delicate creation on his lover's doorwing, watching delightedly as high grade ran in slow rivulets down the sensor panel in tracks that would be perfect to follow with his glossa. Prowl startled, trying to shake the feeling off, but hampered by his chair and his now quite amorous lover who was, by then, curled over his shoulder and molesting his doorwing with a warm and slick glossa that could reach into the miniscule gaps in the armor that gave him more surface area for sensors to operate in. There was definitely more than one way to enjoy energon goodies apparently, and he could not complain as his engine revved in appreciation.

A light nip on the edge of his doorwing had his hips twisting against his chair. Jazz took quick advantage of his gasp, plundering his mouth as if searching for treasure. This aggressive maneuver brought another moan from the, by now, pinned mech. Something that Jazz had learned early in the interfacing stage of their relationship was that the other black and white loved being dominated and was not shy about where Jazz chose to express his affections, though the saboteur made sure to only do so when they were close to one of their quarters so they could have a berth at their disposal. However, he was only too happy to share an overload with the mech under him in the Second's office since they were unlikely to be walked in on. He was sure that Prowl would not want to be caught or disturbed. For that matter, his lover could not be that comfortable sitting where and how he was.

Prowl felt himself lifted and sat on the edge of his desk, lips still locked to his. The brief thought that it was a good thing that he had cleared his work station of data pads crossed his processor as he was laid down across the surface. His doorwings were trapped, which only heightened his pleasure. Knees drawn up around black hips, he braced his pedes on the edge of his desk and the quiet 'snick' of the panel covering his valve opening echoed shortly around them.

Jazz's vents caught for a short moment at the sound, not having expected it to come that soon, but he was not about to turn down what was being offered. He grinned before kissing soft, pliable lips that opened easily under his, glossae playing between their mouths. Without even checking his lover's valve like most mechs did, he slid entirely into the doorwinger, fully seating his spike before he allowed their kiss to be broken, catching the scream that would have alerted everyone nearby to what they were doing and what it was causing in the mech before him.

"Jazz..." he moaned, doorwings vibrating lightly against his desk, hips lifting to force Jazz's spike in as far as possible. The sound was full of rich pleasure at the feel of his valve stretching around the girth of his lover, something he was still not used to calling the other mech even though they had been together for vorns.

The saboteur laughed lightly in delight as he held still to frustrate his lover slightly before he did finally take the mech the way he wanted to be. Another goodie from the small box, tested by the sensors in the tips of his claws, currently sheathed, broke easily as he smeared the contents down the tactician's other doorwing, from the far tip to the middle of the bottom of the doors. His spike was jostled lightly as he contorted his frame enough to reach the lowest point the high grade had reached so that he could trace his glossa up the black and white expanse, both actions dragging low moans from the mech pinned under him to the desk.

"Do ya wanna use ya cuffs dis time, Prowlah?" he purred, directly against a white audial he knew to be almost as sensitive as his own, and drew a light, panting mewl from the other mech. At the non-answer, he chuckled lowly, his breath whispering over the sensitive metal. "Ah'll take that as a 'no' an' dat we'll be usin' 'em at a latah time."

"Please, Jazz," Prowl whispered, voice hazy and husky in his pleasure. "Please."

"Please what, Prowlah?"

His faceplates heated slightly at being forced to say what he wanted, something that had his engine revving more than it already was. Pushing him to speak about what he wanted to have done to him just got him going in most instances, this was not an exception to that observation and was something that Jazz exploited whenever he could.

"Spike me?" he requested, voice low in embarrassment, but frame trying to rock up into the black and white one above him. "Hard?"

Jazz purred, rubbing the side of his helm agains his lover's, engine revving as the innocent appearing mech asked for something he was quite willing to give. "An' yor spike?"

He whimpered lowly. "Will stay in it's housing."

"Good mech," he praised, rewarding him with a slow, dragging pull out of his tight valve and a hard thrust back in. "Ah'll even let ya get off wit' it latah."

A low moan was his only answer. Sometimes Jazz wished that his lover was louder, though he definitely had a thing for the way the doorwinger's soft noises brought out the protective instincts coded into his core, literally in his spark casing.

"Ya gonna be willin' ta indulge meh dat, lovah?"

"Always, Jazz," he whispered, lifting his hands from the desk to the saboteur's back and caressing lightly over the red and blue lines of his racing stripes.

Catching him in a kiss, Jazz pulled from his lover again and thrust back in, grinding their housings together as he sheathed his spike fully in the tight heat of the other. He set a slow, almost languid pace as they kissed each other to distraction, hands wandering lightly over each other's frames and seeking out hot spots, though not focusing there long so that their charge did not climb too quickly. Neither was in a hurry to overload, but wanted to spend time with the other since the Third had just returned from his mission to one of the most highly guarded Decepticon bases. Prowl could also tell that this easy, rolling pace was grounding the other mech and releasing tension from the frame above him that would have taken him joors to soothe otherwise. That the wingless mech could tell he was also relieving stress that the other seemed to not even be conscious of was something he could appreciate since he knew for a fact, through medical records that he should not have been able to access, that his lover had not recharged voluntarily since he had left for his mission.

They were so caught up in each other, intent on loving the other mech into overload before the other, that neither registered the noise of mechs nearing Prowl's office and they would not have cared anyway since it was known that Prowl was off-duty. No one bothered him after his official shift was done, though they knew that he was still there, if for no other reason than that Red Alert would have raised an alarm if he had left within the amount of time that they had spent there together since it was common for him to stay much later.

Prowl finally capitulated, his valve tightening around Jazz's spike and rippling, pulsing hard. His overload and the way that he moaned, husky, right beside the saboteur's audial triggered the other black and white's overload, causing his valve to be bathed in transfluid. Sadly, Ironhide chose just that moment to slam the office door open and throw both of the twins in by their necks. Jazz, however, was not as quiet as Prowl and his engine red-lined as a roar was torn from his vocalizer. What shocked him about the event though was not that they were interrupted, but the tactician's reaction – a second overload, almost harder than the first that had his valve pulsing hard enough that Jazz's slightly depressurized spike hardened again, even past what it had been, and he also overloaded again, without any other stimulation – something that had never happened before.

Visor flickering, he looked at what had crashed and jerked upwards in such a way that Prowl glared at him and growled at the sight. What they were doing on the tactician's desk was something he wanted to keep private from the rest of the crew since he knew that his mech tended to be more secretive about their personal life, especially their relationship. Or, at least, it seemed that way to him. In reality, Prowl just enjoyed keeping everyone guessing and would have been open to more public displays of affection than he was currently getting from the saboteur. In fact, he would have been willing to interface in front of the entire faction if Jazz was willing, if not the entirety of the Cybertronian population.

"Well, Ah guess that's enough punishment for tha Twins," Ironhide muttered as he looked at the two horror-stricken mechs laying on the office floor. Directing his next comment at the two mechs on the desk, he added, "Maybeh next time give mechs some warnin' or lock tha door. Nobodeh wants ta see that."

Prowl tilted his helm back to look at the weapons master upside down. "Oh, you'd be surprised by the amount that would, Ironhide. Of course, I do believe that most of them joined the Decepticons because the Autobots are such prudes."