Author: gatekat and starshield on LJ
Pairing: eventual Jazz/Prowl/Soundwave
Rating: NC-17 for mech/mech
Codes: Crossover, Slash, Tactile, Sticky, PnP, Memory-overload, First Time, Dub-con (prostitution and orders)
Summary: Everyone is used to Jazz as the former Con, but what if we go with IDW's origin for Megatron and the war and Prowl, a former low-ranked city planner/inspector angered by the glass ceiling sided with them? What if Jazz, a loyal Autobot, is ordered to bring this mech over to the Autobots, by any means necessary, including spark bonding with him. After all, for a former prostitute and someone who does morally questionably things every orn in the name of the Prime, is bonding really so terrible a fate? Jazz has no idea what he's getting himself into this time.
Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page ( gatekat-fics .livejournal .com/290 .html ) We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.
Notes: The crossover status is because we are taking much of the Bayverse looks and Allspark, but G1's actual history (Megatron was sparked a miner that lead a much-needed revolt over the treatment of working class mechs, Sentinel was assassinated by Megatron, Optimus began as the dock worker then grunt Orion). We begin before Megatron is all that insane. What I did to Soundwave ... I'll just apologize to everyone who liked him as a hard core Con.
klik = 1 minute; breem = 8.3 minutes; joor = 6.3 hours; orn = day/32 joor; metacycle = 6 (5.9285) years; vorn = 83 years/14 metacycles
PIM = Penetrative Interface Module ... AKA sticky interfacing equipment (spike and valve).
~text~ bond/hardline talk
::text:: comm chatter
The Praxian Tri-Wing frame was originally designed by ace_of_the_arts (LJ/FA), named by Gatekat and this Prowl illustration by the most wonderful alteride (DA) ( alteride .deviantart .com/art/Commission-Resonance-Prowl-254774764 )
At All Costs 01: Making Introductions
Despite having spent his entire functioning seducing bots for credits, at least when he wasn't slitting their throat cables or plugging in to ravage their processors for the Autobot cause, Jazz was shivering inside. These were the highest stakes he'd ever played for. While Prime had said that 'it had to be dealt with' his unit commander, Nightstalker, said in no uncertain terms that anything really meant anything this time, up to and including a spark bond to bring the Decepticon's new Chief Tactical Officer over to the Autobot side. Removing the mech wasn't enough. He had to be brought over.
Which lead Jazz to standing in front of this door, praying to Primus that he didn't have to go as far as a spark bond, or if he did, at least make the mech nice to look at. After a tense moment, he locked everything down, got his pleasurebot programming firmly in place and pinged for admittance.
It was the span of a few nanoseconds before the door slid open, accompanied by a stiff, short. "Enter."
The room that Jazz stepped into was standard size with standard issue furniture...and nothing else. There was nothing personal, no sign of individual or personality to mark it as an occupied room except for the fact that there was a black and white mech with crimson chest vents seated at the desk within.
Praxian. A Praxian mech.
Jazz's intakes didn't stutter by sheer force of will. Of all the ground-frames, Praxians were the most elegant, the most beautiful, at least as far as the silver minibot was concerned. Their multi-paneled sensor wings made them look like a flight-frame, and this one actually had a full set, all three panels held swept up in a foreboding, 'I am in charge' manner that was nearly hardwired into most ground mechs to be intimidated by.
Bright, piercing golden optics, a rarity even before the war.
Oh Primus, he was a beauty.
Said mech finished his work, locking the datapad with a few efficient keystrokes before setting it aside and finally focusing on the intruder. "Yes?"
It took Jazz a moment to gather himself from the shock of actually seeing his target for the first time.
"Well?" Prowl repeated in the same clipped, impatient and demanding tone.
"Umm, Soundwave sent me," Jazz managed.
Stern golden optics swept over the sleek silver frame from the elegantly backswept and branched sensory horns on his helm to the spread toes that took the weight instead of the wheel at his heel, though he could lift his toes and skate as long as he was moving at speed. Up and down the golden optics swept over him, judging, measuring and not quite finding wanting, though it was near thing.
"Purpose?" Prowl asked, sounding eerily like the communications expert with the query.
Jazz cycled his opalescent visor. Was there any other reason 'Jazz' was ever sent anywhere?
"To see to your needs," he phrased it carefully. "To ensure you relax and enjoy your evening."
"A working assistant would serve a more practical purpose." Prowl responded, bland and dismissive. "I have no need to relax."
He reached for another datapad.
"You're off duty," Jazz countered, not really needing to fake being confused. Though now that he thought about it, if Soundwave, the very definition of a workaholic taskmaster, thought this mech was overworking to the point he paid Jazz to intervene, it was a whole new level of bad. "You're to relax this evening. Soundwave's orders."
Prowl paused, the work of a moment to check the roster and discover that it was true, on both counts. He also took time to download the silver mech's file instead of a simple system ping to ensure the ID the silver mech broadcast had the clearance to be standing where he was.
The barest flicker of the golden optics as the datapad was locked, stacked with other, and locked away.
Designation: Jazz.
Holocapture - match
Faction: Decepticon Non-Combatant
Function: Pleasurebot
Rank: 5
A rank 5 pleasurebot? Prowl considered the mech just inside his door. Such a mech would have been beyond his means as a civilian, before the Decepticons. That was the rank that served the upper middle class and lower upper class. A mech who knew how to do more than ... lay there and take it ... he'd heard it described as. Rank 7 was a courtesan, a pleasurebot valued for their social graces as much as their skill in the berth. The kind the nobility used.
"Orders are to be obeyed," Prowl responded coolly, not relaxing in the least.
"It doesn't have to be bad," Jazz cooed, stepped close to him, cautiously putting a hand on Prowl's shoulder to gauge his reaction to touch.
Golden optics turned to study the hand, the mech underneath neither leaning into the touch nor pulling away from it. "An unnecessary waste of resources."
"Isn't the ability to enjoy life, to have the opportunities others do, why you joined?" Jazz asked gently, sliding his fingers along the broad, strong shoulder as he came to stand behind the seated mech. He kept that hand in contact with Prowl's plating as he made his way to the sensor wings to brush the fingers of both hands along the first panel of each.
The barest twitch of the panels at the touch, reflected in subtle change in tone of the seated mech. "Opportunity to further my ability to serve, yes. Enjoyment has never been a part of my functioning."
Jazz's fingers stilled for a moment in shock before he focused on the sensor wings fully, intent on using every trick of his original function and his current one to drive this mech to overload and find the passion in him.
"Why not?" Jazz asked, his voice a low, harmonic hum just before he cycled on the magnetics in his palms.
"Unnecessary." Was the simple, and completely believed, reply. "Enjoyment of life served no purpose. It is a much more efficient use of time to recharge when not working."
Then the touch on his wings changed and the golden optics flared in surprise, a true reaction to something new and sensor shocking.
"Perhaps you never had something to enjoy," Jazz purred and repeated the pulse, his fingers expertly finding every sensor node and seam in reach of his nimble fingers. "Perhaps this evening you will learn something new," his rumble dropped a full octave as his EM field brushed against Prowl's, coaxing it to extend and accept being entwined with the pleasurebot's. "I am very good at what I do."
"Unnecessary." Prowl repeated. But his arguments were growing weaker, his field slowly blending with Jazz's. And there was something about the merging, not a conscious reluctance to participate, but a subconscious one, born of fear from not understanding what was going on, of loosing the iron control of self that was a constant comfort to the mech against everything else that was beyond his control.
With a gentle, understanding smile that Prowl couldn't see Jazz pushed as comfort and certainty that it would be good into his field for Prowl to feel. It would be too. He'd seduced and overloaded far more reluctant mechs.
"Why don't you come to the berth," Jazz suggested softly. "It will be better."
Stubborn pristine white hands gripped the desk, seeking an anchor against the assault on his senses as Prowl tried once more to convince himself and the mech one last time that this kind of treatment was..."Unnecessary."
One more touch on his wings though, and Prowl knew he was a lost cause.
"There is more to functioning than work and recharge," Jazz whispered in his audial. "The purpose to functioning, to working is to have the credits to enjoy the time you don't have to work. Please let me show you one such thing."
"What more?" A part of Prowl buried long ago surfaced, a part of him that existed to be curious without fear about something new. Especially something new that felt like this. Slowly the fingers uncurled from their death grip on the desk, wings pressing back into the hands on them.
"Pleasure," Jazz purred, gently kissing his way down the side of Prowl's neck. "Companionship." He sent another magnetic wave into the nearly trembling panels pressed against his palms. "Enjoyment."
Orders were orders. Or so the small part of Prowl's processor that was still concerned with such matters concluded as he stood, most of his attention focused on the mech behind him. "Berth?"
"Of course," Jazz purred, turning his attention to stroking the middle and lower panels now that they were at a convenient height. This angle also gave him a delicious view of the Praxian's white aft, and enough to be fairly sure that Prowl did not have any interfacing mods. That was okay. He could do a very good job with just his hands and glossa.
Despite the answer to his question Prowl stayed where he was, attention focused on the touch on his wings and the field still teasing at the edges of his own.
Those fingers, so incredibly distracting, gave a tiny bit more pressure, urging Prowl to move forward. It almost worked too, until Jazz kissed him on the sensor suite mount that was between the appendages. "Berth, lover," Jazz tried to urge him. "I want to show you how good a first time can be."
Prowl moaned, startling himself at his own reaction as he moved in the direction of the berth, allowing himself to be guided. It was unlike him, to give this much control to another mech without question.
But no other mech had ever done this to his doorwings either.
"Lay on your front," Jazz whispered against his back, still stroking the sensitive wings. His EM field encouraged compliance, promised pleasure in exchange.
The Praxian stretched out obediently on his front, doorwings quivering invitingly, begging for more without any conscious input, just a seeking of that promised something that was not yet understood.
"So lovely," Jazz murmured, mostly to himself, as he climbed on the berth and settled, straddling Prowl's hips to give him the best reach of the entire expanse. He dropped his vocalizations to a gentle hum and reached upwards to slide his hands, palms flat and fingers spread, along the entire length of the beautiful three-panel sensor appendages.
The first sweep earned him a surprised sounds from the Praxian, then whimpers and moans at the continuous motions across the sensitive wings.
Hints of shame and dismay still flickered through the touching EM fields, but they were drowned quickly enough that the mech experiencing them felt no real desire to fight the pleasure and the strange energy building in his systems.
"It will be best if you can relax and let it happen," Jazz crooned gently and turned on his palm-mags for the next sweep. "Your frame will lock up from the rush of energy. That's supposed to happen. It'll pass. Enjoy the pleasure, the heat, the overload I can offer."
A strangled cry as on the next pass as everything that the small silver bot had described happened. Forewarned, Prowl did not try to fight it, though as his frame went limp in the aftermath he was already trying to decide if he liked it.
"So lovely," Jazz murmured again, his hands continuing to stroke gently as Prowl eased down from the intensity that had frightened more than one mech away from interfacing for a while. "It becomes less disturbing in time, when it is no longer a new experience."
"If it is supposed to be good one would think that it wouldn't be disturbing." Prowl observed, falling back on analysis. Analysis was safe, something that he controlled, not that caused him to loose control.
From his initial experience, despite the reassurance of the mech seated on him, Prowl was not sure why anyone would allow that to be done to them on a regular basis. While the sensation on his doorwings had been amazing- he stifled a groan- was still amazing, the trade off was too high.
"The new and intense is often disturbing," Jazz reminded him, bringing his hands inward to stroke down the center of Prowl's backstrut. "I intend for you to be accustomed to overloading by the time I leave."
A shiver ran through the larger mech beneath him, the physical echoed in EM fields. Wanting more and denial of that want. The curiosity that had been reawakened and the attempt to bury it once more before it could interfere and cause pain. Lingering fear from the loss of control and the thought that he might be willing to let it happen again.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Jazz murmured, pushing as much reassurance into his own field, and thus into the mech below him, as he could. His hands ran back up the mech's backstrut. "Pleasure is a good thing."
Prowl was vibrating beneath him. It wasn't physical pain that he feared, still trying to work out how this pleasure was a good thing when it worked against so much that he knew and been taught.
His purpose in function was the efficient fulfillment of his duties to maximum capacity. He had no need of recreation or companionship. Anything that was not related to his duties was not worthy of his time or energy.
But this small silver mech, so very warm against his back, was causing him to question all of that.
Skillful fingers worked along his sensor wings once more, playing the sensitive expanse like an instrument of exquisite pleasure.
"You look amazing in pleasure," Jazz murmured as he stroked the three-panel wings he already adored. "You feel amazing. I want you to feel as amazing to yourself as you do to me."
Small moans escaped the mech stretched out on the berth and at his mercy. "Possible?" Prowl asked.
"Very possible," Jazz purred. "But you have to be willing, you have to want it." He leaned forward and ran his glossa along the center of the sensor suite housing between the elegant wings. "I bet you'd even work more efficiently if you completely relaxed tonight."
A whimper at the extra wave of good that rippled through him, and a crumbling of the resistance, cracks appearing in the wall that the Praxian had tried to maintain between them as his back arched, placing his wings on full display and allowing Jazz better access to everything.
It was a challenge. A question that Prowl wanted to know the answer to and currently only had one reliable source of data. Which logically meant that he should utilize it fully.
"Yes," Jazz shivered at the display. He had to hold himself back from ravaging the gorgeous mech so willingly under him now. Oh, he so desperately wished Prowl had the penetrative module. To be under this strong frame, his valve spread wide by the spike it would possess, driven against the berth until Prowl roared his overload and filled him with transfluid.
It was more than enough to make Jazz have to restrain a whimper at the desires he would likely never have fulfilled. A nanoklik later the building tension dissipated when his pleasurebot programming caught the errant thought and squelched it. It couldn't stop his valve from growing slick though. It was just a matter of time before the perceptive Praxian noticed the lubrication seeping from Jazz's PIM cover.
Instead he focused another program and his top of the line pleasurebot mods and scanned Prowl's frame more completely, looking for the less obvious spots that would bring this mech intense pleasure.
With his hands working those incredible wings, Jazz leaned forward to trail a line of licking kisses down the back of Prowl's neck.
An immediate reaction as Prowl gasped in surprise and the rest of the resistance fell apart, helm moving to give Jazz more access to his neck. The touches on his neck, the intense pleasure of his wings and the burning heat of the frame stretched over his own - Prowl felt the charge building again and this time welcomed it openly.
Jazz did his best to go slowly, to build the pleasure and the charge in a gradual rise to bring a more intense overload. His own arousal, the pleasure he was taking in causing pleasure, bled freely into his field, and from it into Prowl's.
Yet during none of it did he loose track of how strongly Prowl reacted to his neck. When the mech was moaning constantly he gave a gentle nip, testing if the illusion of violence did it for him.
Momentary distraction as Prowl tried to figure out how Jazz found being the one to cause pleasure, pleasure in and of itself. It was a distraction that was instantly forgotten at the nip, the sudden change in pressure and all of the possibility, all of the implication and potential and the charge it sent through him. He whimpered and shuddered, fear and the foreign concept of excitement racing through him.
Jazz laved the spot with his glossa, even though he hadn't actually bitten hard enough to cause real pain, much less damage.
Then he nipped a spot a little further down and revved his engine hard against Prowl's upper back, right between the wings.
The frame beneath him locked up, vocalizer cutting out at the rush of energy intense enough to carry over into the small silver mech.
This time as the energy dissipated the Praxian frame went limp, completely relaxed, possibly for the first time since he was brought online. Golden optics went dim, not offline but close, and the satisfaction resulted in another new action.
The slightest hum and vibration from the satiated mech as Prowl literally purred in contentment.
"Yes," Jazz breathed in near awe at how good it felt to his systems. Even if he hadn't been under orders he'd have fought Unicron himself to have this mech for his own. His spark was pulsing fast, his systems humming and nearly burning up. This never happened. It just didn't. He was a pleasurebot to his core, summoned from the Allspark to be exactly what he was. Pleasurebots didn't fall in love. They didn't become attached. They didn't even have personal needs other than to pleasure their clients while on duty. Hardware and software alike were designed to dissipate charge and heat fast and effectively as much as they were to accept any impute as pleasure if it was desirable to the client.
Yet Prowl had him more revved up already than most lovers did after a joor of teasing his frame and even his specialized systems couldn't handle it.
"Prowl?" he asked, code and need conflicting. "May I overload myself?"
He was prepared for a no. He had to be. He knew it would hurt to deny his body. He could though, if need be. He had before.
"May I watch?" Prowl asked, not even a break in the purr as he stretched his doorwings, processor working to sort through all of the data and input even as his conscious attention turned to the mech on his back.
"Of course," Jazz smiled down at him. "I'd like it if you watched."
"Yes." The permission granted with anticipation.
Jazz's engine gave a rev as he slid off Prowl's back to lie on his back next to the larger mech. He was careful to position himself so Prowl could see most of him, especially his pelvic span, without having to move much.
"I'll clean up," Jazz promised as he slid his hands sensuously down his chassis, from above his headlights down. He took his time, caressing his form and keenly aware he was putting on a show.
Sharp golden optics followed his hands, noting every motion, every movement, and filing it away as Prowl watched.
The Praxian's cooling systems even kicked up a notch when it occurred to his processor that those same wonderful hands had been touching him not so very long ago, and the imagination of those motions on his frame causing a reaction.
The soft moans, sounds he recognized as similar to his own, made it that much more enticing as Jazz reached his hips and dug his fingers in deep.
Jazz's hips nearly arched off the berth with a strangled cry of growing need. His interface panel snapped open and slid into his armor to expose both spike and valve housing. Despite his efforts, Jazz's spike quickly pressurized to stand proud and hard above his groin.
Captivated, Prowl reached out, catching himself just before he touched the silver mech. Watching. He had only asked to watch.
"Oh Primus," Jazz's opalescent visor brightened at the motion and he moaned in anticipation. "Please, if you want to touch ... please touch."
Fingers ghosted lightly, barely touching. Prowl started at the hips, his fingers tracing up to touch that spike, something he heard of but not seen and certainly never experienced in any form.
Jazz's vents hitched, his vocalizer humming and buzzing as he struggled to keep himself from thrusting into the touch. "Ohhh Prowl," he moaned, his gaze fixated on Prowl's hand, his fingers.
A glance of the golden optics, evaluating, than the same light touches, curious and exploring as they took in everything. The feel, the texture, the heat and charge. Unlike what the medical texts described it as, this spike was fairly elaborate. Textured with four braided spirals from base to the slit at the tip; gold, bronze, brass and silver. Fine opalescent overlapping scales covered the rest, making the rod-shaped length with a lightly tapered head match the visor that was beginning to glow brightly.
A bit of movement drew Prowl's attention briefly to Jazz's hands as he lifted them above his head to grip the edge of the berth.
It did not seem like an act of discomfort, and the sounds still coming from the smaller mech indicated the opposite as well. Still, Prowl stopped, wondering.
"Please don't stop," Jazz cried through the static in his vocalizer. His hips arched up, seeking more contact even as his fingers tightened on the berth edge. "Please. Do anything ... please touch me," he begged shamelessly, more than willing to appeal to any kind of control nature or need of reassurance this beautiful mech wanted if he'd just keep touching him.
The touch returned, a light, squeezing pressure running the length of the spike, optics trained on the pleading mech to gauge the reaction, seeking some sort of input or instruction. Input was in plentiful supply. Jazz's voice was open and free with his moans. His EM field was thick with pleasure, desire ... need. Jazz's hips rolled into his stroke, shorting its time but taking a bit of control for the desperate mech.
Fingers tightened even more against the berth as electricity began to arc randomly along Jazz's frame. Each time one connected with his spike or valve he tensed and screamed, his EM field flaring hotly into Prowl's to share some of the charge and flood the larger mech with how good this felt.
"Just ... little ... more," Jazz panted, his hips rolling in a smooth tandem with Prowl's strokes.
In compliance with the request, pressure increased and the hold altering to add something in response, the shared charge tickling at Prowl and causing his systems to heat once more.
Even knowing it was coming, when Jazz's lithe frame bowed off the berth, then arched to drive his hips up with a scream that shorted Jazz's vocalizer it was startling. Even more startling was the explosive spurting of a viscous purple-tinged fluid from the tip of the spike with each drive of the hips upwards.
Recovering quickly, Prowl studied the fluid now coating his hand, managing to ignore the bits of energy teasing along his own frame for the moment. His attention drifted back to the silver mech on his berth, armor fully expanded, his fans and vents on full and his mouth still gasping for even more air to cool overheated systems.
Yet the field tangled with his own was one of an incredibly happy mech, worn out but content.
"So this is what you meant by clean up." Prowl reflected, not at all upset as he settled on the berth, clean hand reaching out to run over silver mechs armor lightly.
"Yes," Jazz managed as his systems cooled. While the process was quick relative to the average mech, it was a rare enough occurrence for him to overheat that it took a fair amount out of him. "I can overload the way I caused you to, but this is faster."
"One method is more effective than the other?" It was a question of honest curiosity.
Deep vents began to settle as silver armor pinged, cooling quickly. "If the goal is to overload quickly, then yes. Some methods take more skill or time to work. The absolute fastest is a spark merge. Hardline connection can be almost as fast. But of solo methods, spike stimulation definitely works best for me, and for most mechs."
"Interesting." Prowl murmured, still surprisingly relaxed and accepting. "That upgrade must be more common than I knew."
"I've only met a handful old enough to interface who didn't have it," Jazz answered truthfully as he pulled a rag out of subspace and began an efficient cleanup of his frame and the berth where his valve lubricant had began to pool under him.
"So now what?" Prowl asked, watching the cleanup with mild interest, more so when Jazz got his spike to depressurize and back inside its housing. It was a process that wasn't as smooth as he'd expected.
"Well, I can overload you until you drop into recharge," Jazz offered. "We can do a little mutual exploration, more like lovers would. If you're ready to recharge, I'll leave you be."
Prowl stretched on the berth, doorwings splaying wide before falling into a resting state, considering his options. Finally he reached a conclusion. "There is still a deficiency in my knowledge, and I am not yet to the point that my systems require I recharge. Therefore the first two are viable options."
He studied the silver mech. "There was not a time listed for your departure. There are others you are to tend to as well?"
"Next orn," Jazz agreed with a lazy, somewhat cheeky smile. "Or whenever I'm satisfied my instructions to get you to relax and recharge a full six joors are fulfilled, whichever comes second. What do you want me to do for you?"
The Praxian went still, unsure how to respond to the question. This was all new to him, experience he only had theory knowledge of before tonight. While he had heard stories he was the first one to always require truth, and many of the stories had sounded impossible.
"This is your assignment, is it not?" The answer was evasive, and far from his normal controlling habits, but fitting in his processor as well. "It is up to you to meet the requirements set as you deem most efficient."
The answer, the outcome, would also allow Prowl more insight into the mech. A chance to see if he was worthy of the time and processor power Prowl was delegating to study him.
Jazz regarded him seriously, not even his optic band hiding the fact that there was a serious internal debate going on inside that silver helm.
"Do you wish to learn more?" Jazz asked softly, reached out to brush the back of his fingers lightly along Prowl's cheek plates. He kept his EM field painfully neutral; this was his function he reminded himself sternly. It was about what his client wanted, not his own desires.
"Of course." Knowledge was fuel and power, and seeking and utilizing knowledge was a key component of Prowl's functioning. Already he was evaluating the state of the EM field brushing his own, comparing it to the touch on his face and weighing it against the current visible tension in the silver mech.
"Then let's start with a kiss," Jazz murmured, relaxing his grip on his field to allow the arousal and desire there to flow freely once more. He leaned forward, shifting his hand to stroke the back of Prowl's neck and helm, and lightly brushed their lips together. "At its best kissing can be nearly as good as interfacing."
A low hum of thought as Prowl followed his guide through the motion, than reached up to touch Jazz, copying the kiss perfectly. The light touch was intriguing, the feeling pushing Prowl to repeat it for reasons he could not yet define.
Jazz offered a hum of approval in return for the kiss, encouraging Prowl to be forward. Another brush of lip plates and he ghosted his glossa over Prowl's lips.
A momentary pause as the deviation was noted and evaluated before Prowl's lips parted to discover what it was like to be on the giving end of that same motion. Jazz's lips were smooth, warm, pliant ... and they opened, offering access to his oral cavity. Access was read as invitation, glossa sliding in to explore.
Without actual consideration of the matter Prowl's entire frame shifted to a more upright position, allowing him better access to the small silver mech. He noted that Jazz shifted to, offering a little more of his frame to the new angle.
Jazz's hands found new places to move, to caress. One settled on Prowl's gleaming red chevron, stroking the sensitive metal, while the other reached back to stroke the leading edge of a sensor wing.
The touch to his chevron like this was new, demanding his attention, while the sensation on his wings was more familiar and welcome save that both of them seemed to suddenly demand his entire attention and Prowl felt stretched between them, tensing. The hand on his wing moved back to his neck and Jazz's glossa slid along his own, encouraging him to continue exploring.
With no resistance the exploration continued, Prowl's glossa sweeping over Jazz's and loosing that edge of focus after a klik as one of the larger mechs hands rose to hold and touch Jazz's helm, sliding over the silver mech looking for any sort of changes the variation would cause. When he brushed against the base of the elegantly swept sensory horns he felt and heard the hitch in the mech's intakes right along with the eager moan that rolled over his glossa and into his mouth.
Jazz's chassis curled forward, pressing against Prowl's eagerly, the heat beginning to rise in the silver frame once more.
Surprised by the intensity of the response Prowl repeated the motion, paying more attention to the sensory horns as an arm wrapped around Jazz to balance them.
Jazz moaned again, his chassis shivered in pleasure as his glossa finally became active, stroking against Prowl's. He was still submissive, still only guiding as much as the larger mech needed, but there was no masking the pleasure and desire in his field as it thrust into Prowl, setting the Praxian's chest circuits ablaze with energy.
The moan that escaped Prowl at the energy was sincere, the pleasure overruling even the returning concern at the lack of total control over his own responses. Caught between the pleasure and the desire, Prowl responded. Another wave of energy pushed into him, this one stronger, reaching all the way to his spark casing and making the delicate structure tingle, almost burn with pleasure.
The silver mech pressed his entire chassis against him again with a third wave of glorious pleasure and Jazz's glossa pressed into Prowl's mouth, sliding across the Praxian's glossa and mapping the space it called home.
He did not fight it, the pleasure and the loss of control, having already learned that lesson well. Instead he let them roll over him, processor divided as one part stored the initial analysis for later review, and another part of him simply felt.
It wasn't passion, not yet. But it was an allowance that he was willing to try something new, and that maybe, maybe, he was willing to actually let go.
It was more than enough to cause Jazz to tremble, to push his pleasurebot programming to its limit to control his reactions. With a moaning whimper of growing need he pushed his field into Prowl again and held it there at full extension, allowing everything he felt to spill into the larger mech as his hands reached forward, seeking those exquisite wings once more.
Prowl quivered at the still new sensations pushing at him, at the overwhelming needs of another so close to him, inside of him, and made an allowance. Wings swept forward into seeking hands with a sense of permission. Jazz's kiss became more needy, more intense, as his arousal spiraled largely out of his control. Yet despite the need, the thrust of his field and the seeking hands, he never crossed the line to an actual demand. He desired, intensely so, but never demanded. Core programming saw to that much. A pleasurebot could not become demanding while working without specific instructions to do so.
The touches to his wings, skillful and passionate, drained at the control Prowl was maintaining. His resistance was fading more quickly with each encounter with the small silver bot, and this realization was flagged to be evaluated later, since it did not cause as much concern as it should.
Instead of devoting more attention to the question Prowl's hand came up, teasing at the sensory horns of the smaller mech to see if that would fill some of the intense need he felt but knew was not his own.
A low, trembling moan escaped from Jazz's mouth and into Prowl's. The lithe silver frame trembled with need, burning hot and pressed against Prowl's frame with shameless abandon.
::Oh Primus, Prowl,:: Jazz opened a ultra short range comm. ::Need ya pleasure so much.::
::Need mine?:: The Praxian questioned, not understanding what was being asked of him as he continued to stroke at the silver mechs helm, finding he liked the way the smaller frame pressed against his own, welcoming contact he normally avoided. The bright, charged EM field that flared into him with every stroke of the horns felt intoxicating, the same feeling he had read about from high grade. It was good too.
::Pleasurebot,:: Jazz whimpered, shaking. ::Can't overload without my client or permission.::
::Which would you prefer?:: Prowl asked, trying to gauge the feeling he was starting to recognize as the charge that led up to overload compared to that of the mech in his arms.
::Your overload,:: Jazz answered honestly. Oh, how very much he wanted the mech next to him to overload, to feel Prowl go over the edge just before him. ::You're so beautiful.::
A moments hesitation, unsure, before the doorwings pressed harder into his touch, mouth against his, and the sense of Prowl simply letting go of everything that was holding him back, of analyzing and evaluating, as he traded thinking for feeling.
It was all Jazz needed to give in to his own baser desires to draw the larger mech on top of him. His fingers still working those gorgeous wings, his field deep, hot and highly charged wove around Prowl's internals. He knew Prowl didn't have the understanding yet to grasp the signals. He didn't have the equipment to pound into Jazz the way the minibot wanted it the most. But he was larger and heavier than Jazz, and that was enough for the pleasurebot to fantasize as he pressed his skills into use.
Jazz didn't want a fast overload ... not completely. He wanted an intense one for Prowl. He wanted to show the virgin mech something new with every encounter.
::So lovely, so wonderful,:: Jazz murmured as Prowl plundered his mouth and press his wings into Jazz's hands. ::Ohhh, you feel so good.::
Prowl's field reached out, flooding more than feeling or weaving into the smaller mech's as Prowl responded to the encouragement, to the words and sentiments never directed to him before and so new as to be almost baffling.
::Tell me what to do.::
::You're kissing good,:: Jazz began with what was perfect, at least for a first real kiss. Instead of words he sent a small file on the basics of field manipulation and focused on guiding Prowl's field through the simple but intimate process of meshing with another mech's. For his own indulgence he shifted his hips to bring a leg up, sliding it along Prowl's.
The movement of the leg was noticed and promptly dismissed in favor of more immediate and intimate subjects. The file was opened, analyzed, and matched with action as he followed Jazz through the merging, suddenly aware of how much more he could feel and suddenly wanting to try it out.
Reaching, he ran a hand lightly over a sensor horn, glossa invading to explore instead of dominate as he attempted to feed just the sensations the smaller mechs hands caused on his doorwings, the building energy between them, into the Jazz.
Jazz moaned and writhed under him, completely caught up in the sensations, in feeding them across the meshed fields, and using his new connection to make his hands on those delectable sensor wings even better.
So caught up was he in the sharing that Prowl didn't notice the level of charge until the overload struck, racing through him and blinding him to everything but the intense pleasure tearing through him and spilling over through every connection cultivated with the mech pinned beneath him. Then the pleasure redoubled as it slammed into him from the minibot's long-delayed overload, sending him from whiteout to blissful blackout.
He began to boot to the sensations of contentment, satiation, warmth ... and the presence of another very content mech at the periphery of his awareness.
Momentary alertness jolted through Prowl, easing just as quickly as memory, including the reason for his blacking out, returned. He studied the feelings of his companion, noting how they matched up with his own, and allowed himself to feel them, despite how frivolous the logical part of him considered his indulgence.
A fleeting thought that his weight might be uncomfortable, even damaging, and he found the coordination to pull back, lifting his frame with more effort than should have been required for such a simple task.
"Shu, you're good where you were," Jazz assured him with a contented purr underlying his words and his hands resting on Prowl's shoulders. "I like your weight."
"Heavy." Prowl countered as he allowed himself to be guided back down, strangely content with the proximity of the silver mech and also aware through the still meshed EM fields. Satisfied with the reassurance and the idea that he would know if conditions changed later on, the purr of his own systems started, the only sound in the small quarters for the moment.
"Warm," Jazz murmured with a kiss, then trailed them down Prowl's jaw to his throat. "You feel very good."
"Feel good?" Prowl repeated, trying to work through that. He certainly felt good, but was rather sure that was not what the small mech was implying.
"The echo through your field, your weight on me," Jazz murmured between kisses down the left side of Prowl's throat. "You fit so perfectly against me."
Prowl hummed as he processed that, approval for how good the attention to his neck was rising easily, and with it the knowledge that his systems were up to one more of those strangely wonderful overloads that Jazz pulled from him, but no more.
"Some energon will let you go another couple rounds, if you'd like," Jazz purred, his glossa slipping around one of the larger cables to draw it gently into his mouth and hummed around it. "I know a couple other methods we haven't tried that we can ... though you'd have to trust me with a hardline."
Prowl firmly ignored the sensations on his neck for the few moments it took him to check his defenses. They were all current and running at full capacity, giving him no reason to reject the hardline on that count. Nothing the smaller mech had done to him so far had brought him anything but pleasure, yes- he would admit to it as that- and contentment.
Head tilting to the side and optics flickering he rumbled softly. "I am willing."
The smaller mech shivered in anticipation and slid a panel on his lower collar open, revealing both port and cable. "The connection's just like for data sharing. The input is just run through different protocols," Jazz explained. "Pull up the ones labeled 'hardline interfacing' and stick them as primary. Then just plug in."
Ever thorough, Prowl followed the instructions to the letter, bracing himself as he completed the connection. Instead of the rush the protocols implied, Jazz was barely more than a light brush against his firewalls when the pleasurebot's jack seated firmly in his port.
Jazz sighed in pleasure, his firewalls very limited in his upper processor, only strengthening lower down, where the important data and protocols were. Only when Prowl relaxed a bit did Jazz send a gentle pulse across the hardline, directly stimulating Prowl's pleasure protocols.
The adjustment to having someone connected to him like this again was not terribly difficult to make. The idea and then the confirmation of that first touch that this connection served no other purpose than to make him feel good took an extra sort of adjustment, implementing protocols that had never been touched since he had first started functioning vorns ago.
He curbed his initial reaction- to stop the energy in its place and thoroughly inspect it- and instead just sort of glanced at is as spread out along unblocked paths and accepted the warmth it left behind before offering a similar pulse of energy in return.
Under him Jazz moaned, encouraging him, and responded with another pulse as he became generally aware of the systems now periphery to his own. ~So beautiful, inside and out.~ he moaned across the hardline. ~Primus you are beautiful.~
Prowl's systems stuttered for a moment at the compliment, the repeated insistence that he was something he had never seen himself as, nor could he ever recall being referred to as such. ~Thank you.~ He finally responded, though of out proper manners more than any acknowledgment that the idea might well be truth.
Instead he felt his way deeper in the smaller mech, not pushing hard but still systematically working his way through the presence. Feeling, wondering at what made the small mech act as he did, a function Prowl had not explored on any level before tonight, and all the while testing out different pulses of energy, recording the feedbacks and flagging the ones that earned the best responses for later use.
He also paid close attention to the curious fact that Jazz was letting him in quite deeply. Not so far that he could do much damage, but far, far deeper than he allowed Jazz. Much of the mech's history, Jazz's feelings on it, his thoughts ... so much of the mech was laid bare for Prowl's perusal.
It was offered, so he looked, pausing here and there and still mindful what he was doing, watching to see if he came across anything sensitive or reactive that the mech might have forgotten to lock up. As he learned he reevaluated his own blocks, loosening some and dropping others all together.
His functioning before he had joined the Decepticons was opened, his purpose and his initial satisfaction as a low level city organizer, turning his processor to whatever task was his that orn and satisfaction at completing those tasks. So often working alone and being content with that, the truth behind earlier statement about the need or desire for pleasure as part of his functioning resurfacing.
Truth and half truth- fulfillment of his programming had brought him all the satisfaction he had needed, and so he had never gone in search of anything beyond it. Now the fleeting half formed thought that he if had known about this he might have expended the energy, but nothing solid.
~Glad you didn't,~ Jazz moaned into the connection, gently drawing Prowl's attention to the programming laws Jazz functioned under as a pleasurebot.
Forbidden to overload on duty unless his client did or specifically permitted it.
Forbidden to interface or self-pleasure on duty unless with a client.
Bound to accept any desires his client expressed as his own.
Bound to accept any client, any act, his master agreed to, for any price his master agreed to.
~For the right price, I can be ordered to overload as my spark is crushed,~ Jazz admitted softly, the tone of his processors one of trust, of offering up a guarded piece of information.
An initial cold, factual analysis of those laws, of sorting them and categorizing to understand the how and why.
Then a gentle acknowledgment of that trust, surprising the one offering it as much as the one it was being offered too. An awkward desire to offer comfort, and a sort of promise of safety for as long as he was in Prowl's presence.
And questions, ever more questions, brought to the surface at the new understanding of what it meant to experience functioning as a pleasurebot, of an edge of that functioning still beyond Prowl's current ability to comprehend.
Instead of all the questions only one was offered in form. ~This is your reason for seeking freedom?~
~Yes,~ Jazz murmured, shivering internally as a memory drifted up unbidden.
Another pleasurebot, a soft blue and green femme a bit larger than himself. Her expression ... fear, resignation, grief, relief ... as she left their owner's office and walked towards the lifts to the rooms of the upper stories. A glance at Jazz and a quick comm burst, the most she was allowed.
::Snuffer.::
It and a designation were all she said, all she needed to say.
It was a word in their dialect that was as desired as it was feared.
She was going to that room to be extinguished for another's pleasure, yet her last moments would be of bliss.
Jazz had bowed his head in acknowledgement and began to pass the news around. Just two words, two designations. Hers and her snuffer. She would be gone but never forgotten. Not as long as anyone who had served by her side existed.
Her designation had been Brightlight.
Anger, grief, raging denial ... emotions that the Praxian kept under strict control, rarely acknowledging himself and never allowing others to see him feel flooded from Prowl before being locked up again, as quickly as they had come.
Shame at his slip in expressing them, though for once not at actually feeling them. Distraction as other emotions, no less strong but less intense and easier to manage filled the gap left by the others.
Thankfulness that the mech with him had escaped that fate. Sorrow, as part of his own programming, pushed aside in favor of his other talents, rose. Conviction that he was doing the right thing, wanting to free those who had suffered as he had suffered, and those who had suffered so much more, from the senselessly strict laws that governed their kind and did so much harm.
~You still serve this master?~
~No,~ Jazz said with open relief as he pulled up another memory.
His master, a convoy class mech with the finish and polish of very successful business owner. Having to look up and up, even as he presented a credit chit to the shocked giant.
The sputtering, cursing and outrage expressed.
The private smugness when Jazz had called in an enforcer, a mech with Protihex city markings, to force his master to accept the credits and hand over Jazz's ownership codes to Jazz.
~I am good. Very good. I worked hard. Worked smart. Saved every credit I could and spent only what was smart to,~ Jazz's defiance and pride blazed through them both. ~I bought myself. It's complex, sometimes distracting, but I am my own master now.~
A faint impression of amusement at Jazz's justified smugness, and a very strong sense of approval at what the small mech had done, how he had won despite the system he had found himself dropped into. A fading of the aggressive desire to protect that had risen in Prowl, irrelevant since the mech against him was in no danger.
A pulse of energy along the connection as Prowl's helm dropped to rest lightly on Jazz's. ~A fact of which I find myself surprising thankful, on all counts.~
~You barely know me,~ Jazz murmured, openly surprised and very, very pleased at the reaction. Before Prowl could respond, he found his attention drawn to a bit of Jazz that was more carefully shielded than the upper levels.
The intensity and truth behind what Jazz had called him left the Praxian reeling.
Beautiful. Desire. Want. Approval.
So much desire.
Beauty that had stunned Jazz into his silence at the door.
Not a single string of it linked to pleasurebot coding.
A tiny trickle of knowledge that Jazz had done far more than bought himself. He'd broken some of his core coding.
Pleasurebots did not know love, attachment, desire to keep ... such things were not for their caste. They were defects.
Jazz had been shocked to feel them in response to Prowl. Shocked and greedy to embrace them as a further mark of his freedom.
Above him Prowl trembled, confronted with things that he had never felt towards anyone and still didn't understand being directed towards him.
Panic that could not be completely contained by his self control slipped out. Discomfort, pain, frustration linked to old memories carefully buried rose again, parts of him he had been ordered to ignore, to forget, so that he might function better, more efficiently.
All of this directed at himself.
~Ordered?~ Jazz locked onto a tiny fragment, traced it and tugged until the memory attached to it was pulled up. All the while wrapping Prowl in as much support/protection/desire as he could.
Hesitation. Reluctance. Core programming bound hand in hand with ingrained conditioning to obey.
Then openness as the blocks were pushed forcefully aside and Jazz was allowed to see and feel as Prowl had once seen and felt.
The first awareness of self, followed by a spark deep sense of curiosity at everything. A need to know and to analyze that was very happy when presented with an initial orientation of this new existence.
Then the testing, the evaluation, the first exposure to displeasure directed at him. Initial satisfaction at his planning skills, his ability to organize data and crunch numbers. Good. He was good.
Then displeasure as other bits of code registered as stronger than initially anticipated. His desire to protect and preserve far stronger than was suited for their purpose. His need for balance projected as a hindrance to his intended function. Bad. He was a failure.
Talk of reprogramming. Of selling him off and making another attempt. The decision to move forward anyway, and Prowl was introduced to his job. Initially he had performed as expected, better than expected. Then problems as he was given more complex assignments, his plans returned for not meeting the guidelines.
Prowl's protests - too many unnecessary risks, too many cut corners.
And every time instructed to meet the bottom line.
Then the accident. An accident that resulted in the ceased functioning of so many. From one of his altered plans. The next time he had refused to make the alterations, to invent conforming alternatives.
And then the new orders. To forget that need to preserve. To ignore his need for balance and slant everything in favor of his masters. Pain as he did as ordered, going against his own core programming, rewriting what he could and burying as ordered what he could not, and then frustration as he obeyed and never fully accepted.
Becoming cold, working alone. Forcing himself to be satisfied and settling into a functioning that was tolerable and shutting himself away from the outside world for the sake of his own survival, seeing what was going on but not allowing himself to feel about it. To feel anything worthwhile.
Until Megatron came.
Jazz nuzzled him, physically and mentally.
~All that and it is still not safe for you to feel,~ the minibot murmured sadly.
A muted sound of stressed agreement, and internally a tremble that he would not, could not express where others could see. If all he was going to feel was pain and suffering than surely it was better to not feel at all.
~It is worth the pain,~ Jazz said firmly. ~It takes work, hard work to find them, but the joys are worth the pain. Friends, laughter, music, love ... I'm still learning that last one. By all rights I shouldn't know it, shouldn't be capable of it, but I am. The good outweighs the bad, if you want it to.~
~Don't know any of those.~ The quiet confession, the feeling that he wasn't sure if he could learn them anymore, after functioning as he had for so long. And yet reaching out, and the unformed question of what they felt like.
With a smile Jazz opened up more memories, their age ranging from his early functioning to very resent. The time-stopping pleasure/glory/processor-expanding nature of loosing himself in music. Laughing at jokes over a cube of energon with friends. A friendly race with different friends. The pleasant nature of cycling up for the orn with a warm chassis against his own, one that hadn't paid for his services.
Prowl touched each of them in turn, trying to understand, daring to feel by proxy. And finding himself envious, coveting what Jazz had, wanting it for himself and fearing getting it at the same time.
The music was curious, something he had never considered as a possible source of enjoyment. Jokes...were foreign to him, but the joy of being with friends struck him. And he returned to the last one several times, curious.
In response, Jazz brought up more memories of the like. Different mechs, different times, and one memory for contrast of cycling up with a mech who had paid him to be there. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was a very different emotional sensation when Jazz was only there for the credits.
Prowl wandered through them all, offering thanks when he reached the end for he had nothing to offer in return but that, and for the night, himself, if Jazz wanted.
~I want,~ Jazz admitted shakily, the very thought going against core programming. Pleasurebots wanted nothing but what they were told to want. Yet Jazz did, and he wanted very badly. ~You don't owe me, Prowl. I'm here for you.~
Prowl nuzzled against him, using the same motion of comfort that Jazz had used on him not so long ago. Maybe it was Jazz that did not understand...everything that he had reminded Prowl that he had once been, and feeding the small flicker of hope that Prowl guarded closely, hope that he had not let anyone see until now.
Holding Jazz a little closer he vented softly. ~If you must, then consider it satisfaction for my sense of balance.~
With a gentle brush against Prowl's processors, Jazz smiled and kissed him. ~That you will enjoy having me here when you cycle up for the orn is enough to silence the code,~ he purred and sent an intentional burst of energy across the hardline. ~I will enjoy bringing you out of recharge as a lover would.~
The energy rippled through Prowl and was reciprocated with anticipation, quickly escalating until it wiped out all other thought. Only the pleasure existed in the pulsing energy between them. Physical cries, physical sensation became secondary to the purity of ecstasy that came from direct pleasure protocol stimulation and energy pumped from another system into circuits primed to enjoy it.
The energy gained strength an intensity as it was passed back and forth between two beings who wanted to feel and were willing to give and receive, acting without consciously thinking. Selfish sense of me was lost in the joint pleasure that finally plunged Prowl into overload darkness and Jazz into a nanoklik long whiteout.
With a low, gentle hum of content code at a job well done and personal pleasure at his evening so far and the prospect of recharging, then cycling up with this beautiful mech, Jazz disconnected them and expertly coiled cables back in their place before settling into a light recharge cycle until Prowl came around again.