To Seduce a Porsche (Part 2)

Transformers (G1) Verse
Rating: PG…so far :)
Characters: Prowl, Jazz

A/N: In which Prowl attempts to be spontaneous while staying in his comfort zone.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Transformers, so nyah.

A/N 2.0: SUPER mega-huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, fav'd, alerted, etc. It feeds the bunnies that gnaw at my brain and I very much appreciate it! ^_^


Attempt #2 – Plan a romantic encounter—keep him guessing and be a little mysterious. Try a candlelit dinner at your home.


Yellow and red danced playfully alongside each other never ceasing in their movement, but never completely overwhelming or smothering the other. The two worked in such tandem on their singular goal that one might say they were created for one another.

If only that were the case with a pair of red and yellow Lamborghinis, the tactician mused to himself. He had been absently watching the play of light of the small flames as they flickered against the natural airflow in his room, waiting for the other to arrive. Once again he checked his chrono and once again it showed only a few minutes difference from the last and previous times that he had made the same gesture. Realizing that watching the time was logically not making it go by any faster, Prowl pushed his chair away from the small table to stand and stretch.

It was not as though the saboteur was late. Rather, the Second had been on-time for once in getting off-shift (Ratchet would surely freeze up over that knowledge) and since all of his preparation had been done prior to going on shift earlier that day, well… Suffice it to say, it had taken him little time to set up his room to his liking for what he had planned. That was also the main reason that he had been so punctual in leaving his office. The last hour of his regular duty cycle had been the pits as he tried to do his usual analytical work all the while being distracted by what was awaiting him that evening. Light blue optics once again scanned the sparse space of his state room, ensuring that nothing had been missed.

Table and two chairs placed in the middle of the room near a port window to enable proper 'bathing in moonlight'? Check.

Over-sized human candles (and he had had a pit of a time procuring them on such short notice) lit and centered on the table to create an aesthetically pleasing light and relaxed atmosphere? Check.

Vintage high grade hailing from Vos and a plate of freshly-made energon confections? Double-check.

With nothing better to do to pass the time until his date arrived, the tactician found his thoughts lingering on his previous attempt. His battle computer helpfully supplied a 35 percentile chance of a similarly disastrous evening occurring tonight, but thankfully that was lower than it had been. By choosing to conduct this date in the confines of his room, he had eliminated nearly 30 percent of the risk associated with the original plan he had proposed. Apparently there were a great many factors external to his room that could be deemed as 'unsafe' to conducting a date and seduction attempt with the Porsche.


After leaving Jazz at the Ark's entrance last night and trashing his well-thought-out plans for seduction, Prowl had retreated to his room to rinse the Dinobot-inflicted mud off of his person and pretty much sulk the remainder of the lovely evening away.

There was no point in denying that he had a private pity party for himself once he was safely within the confines of his private wash rack. The red clay had been a pain to rinse off and actually quite painful to remove from his joints and the space between armor plating. By the time he was satisfied that he no longer looked like Trailbreaker after one of his joyous romps in the woods, the tactician had worked through his anger, frustration and regret and could now solely focus on how utterly pathetic he felt. This was further more rammed into the forefront of his CPU when he stopped in front of the small sink in the wash chamber after his shower—the very same sink that had started this fiasco—and realized that all of Sunstreaker's work on him had been a complete waste. Not only was he liberally dinged up and scratched from removing the mud, he had not even had the chance to get any sort of reaction from Jazz.

Now thoroughly clean and utterly demoralized, Prowl trudged toward the recharge berth that sat braced against the far wall of his quarters. For a moment, he simply stood there staring at the gray mattress of the berth dully before he proceeded to fall face-first into the firm padding.

The woven metal mesh that made up the surface of the recharge pad was slightly rough against the softer dermal of his faceplates. Wearily he rolled to his side and contemplated the Ark's orange wall that lay opposite from his prone form. It took a great amount of energy (mostly willpower) to remove the datapad from his subspace and even more to online his optics, but the tactician managed. Frowning, he skipped reading the first few lines of his tactical seduction plan (no need to revisit that mess again) and moved onto the next option on his list.

"Plan a romantic dinner." Well that does not work particularly well for me. Prowl thought miserably.

Outright glaring at the handheld device, he tried to deduce some logical (and practical) way of accomplishing the suggestion. It was not as though Cybertronians had an extensive repertoire of sustenance that they partook in. Additionally, this was a military base and thus their energon was typically rationed and provided at the lowest grade required to keep soldiers running.

However…they were now on a planet rich with energy resources. Energy resources which, with the combined efforts of Wheeljack and Perceptor, they had managed to unobtrusively harvest producing a variety of energon grades. This meant that not only did the Ark Autobots have decent energon to drink, the surplus was there to occasionally create military-grade energon goodies as a treat and reward for the mechs.

Facial expression inadvertently softening, the tactician's memories drifted to a much earlier and simpler time in his life when one of his creators would patiently let him help to make energon goodies. As a sparkling, he truly was no good at the creation and baking of them, but afterwards they always enjoyed the sweet treats together. Even now, the thought of those times long past brought warmth to his spark.

Perhaps…Prowl frowned slightly as he turned the idea that was forming in his CPU on its axis and examined it. It was not exactly what the web site meant that he had come across in his research. However, it was a feasible approach—the recipes and techniques that his creator had painstakingly taught him were still safely stored in his memory banks. A more personal approach definitely appealed to the tactician as one of the original outcomes that he hoped to achieve from his seduction was to make the saboteur feel special and appreciated.

The fact that some energon goodies were rumored to be aphrodisiacs was a nice side bonus.


Later that week...

A flash of black and white in his peripheral had Jazz carefully tilting his head to better take in the other mech who had just entered the rec room. Prowl's graceful form quietly made its way toward the energon dispenser—door wings held high and primly on his back. As the tactician turned to leave the room just as quickly as he had arrived—ration in-hand—he caught optics...er...visor with the saboteur sitting on one of the couches. A soft smile was directed towards the seated mech.

Spark fluttering softly in his chassis, Jazz returned the smile with his own more than likely sappy one. Exchange done, the other black and white was out the door before Jazz could blink more than likely on his way back to his office. He couldn't help, but shake his helm at the other mech's obsession with routine. But now he had the strange joy of being considered a part of that routine.

Settling back into the plump couch cushions, the saboteur had a moment to relax before he felt more than saw the bright yellow mech who seemed materialize out of nowhere into his personal space. Tilting his black helm back, the saboteur took in the sunshine mech now leaning casually against his end of the couch. Too casually.

"Hey Sunny, what's up?"

Smirking, Sunstreaker responded. "Oh, not much. Sooooo...how was last night?"

"Last night, wha'?" The smaller mech cocked his helm to the side, but did not return the smirk that the frontliner was sending him.

"Oh, you know. Did you and Prowl do anything fun?" Grin now outright wicked, Jazz could only look more confused.

"I have no clue what you're goin' on about, Sunstreaker, but Prowl was busy. He had to clean off all the muck that the Dinobots got on him when they were runnin' around last night and my shift had just ended."

The yellow and black mech's faceplates fell and then suddenly turned very dark, entirely different from the teasing attitude he had held just a few seconds ago. Wondering what he had said wrong, as well as if he was about to suffer the frontliner's legendary wrath, Jazz subtly leaned away from the mech.

Light blue optics suddenly focused upon him at the movement and the saboteur knew what it felt like to be an insect under a microscope. Wanting to avoid having his plating forcefully rearranged, the saboteur held up his servos in a placating gesture. "Did I say somethin' wrong?"

There was an inarticulate growl and an engine rev from the tall, yellow mech as he absolutely seethed before clenching his fists, turning smartly around and storming out of the room. Any unfortunate mech in his path to the exit was mowed down.

Shaking his head while letting out a small sigh of relief as he watched the other go, Jazz attempted to settle back and clear his now very confused CPU.

Being the day for interruptions, he only had gotten an hour or so of television in before an internal chirp sounded in his audios making the black and white jump as if he had received a shock from a cattle prod. Thankfully, the other mechs in the room were not interested in what he was doing, or at least did not act that way. Frowning, he pressed a black digit to the side of is audio horn, initiating a one-on-one connection.

"Jazz here."

"Hello Jazz." A low, smooth voice echoed in his audios. "I am not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Oh, hey Prowler! Nah, I am still chilling in the rec room. What can I do for ya?"

"I was just...curious if you are busy later?" Was it just his imagination, or did Prowl sound nervous?

"Nope! My evening's all free." The saboteur replied cheerily.

"Would you be up for joining me at my quarters later?" Unadulterated, many less than G-rated thoughts flew through the saboteur's processor at the invite. Bad Jazz!

Instead, he replied (in what he felt was a reasonably level voice), "Well, sure! I'd love to come by."

"Wonderful. I will see you at 2100 then." The tactician almost sounded excited in his sign off.

Shaking his helm, then promptly stopping as Jazz realized he was making a habit of it, the saboteur leant back and let his imagination mull over more pleasant thoughts. With a small frown, he realized that Prowl had never said exactly why he was coming over. Strange...


Later that night...

Door wings twitching intermittently now, the tactician could not help, but pace around his living space. The saboteur should be there at any moment and for once in his very long life, Prowl was nervous. If this night went according to plan, his relationship to Jazz would be forever changed and he anticipated it being for the better.

The door charmed once and a cheery knock followed letting the Datsun know exactly who was waiting to be let in. Half consciously smoothing down his front, he let the Porsche in, stepping aside to let him get a full view of the room. Jazz smiled kindly to him before passing by and stopped mid-step.

A low whistle came out of the saboteur's vocal processor as he took in the setup.

"Wow. Nice Prowler." He turned back towards the tactician. The gentle glow of candlelight along his frame was an utterly captivating sight to Prowl and the tactician was hard-pressed to not sigh out loud.

Smiling shyly, he extended his servo towards the small table that the saboteur had initially missed in his once-over. "I am glad that you like it. Please, sit down."

"Don't mind if I do." Sitting promptly in the seat across from the doorwinged mech, he took in the room again. For some reason, the natural lighting made the place feel more...organic if that were possible.

Clearing his vocals (and subsequently gaining the other black and white's attention) Prowl poured some of the high grade first into Jazz's cube, and then into his own. The saboteur smiled in thanks before carefully sipping at it. Visor flickering, a small shudder went through his frame before he vented long and low.

"Very nice, Prowler. This is some good stuff. Mirage's?"

Sampling a little of his own, Prowl savored the rush of warmth to his systems before responding. "Actually, no. I forgot that I had this bottled lying around in my personal store. I was saving it for a special occasion."

"Oh? And what would that 'special occasion' be, hmm?" The Porsche leaned his elbow joints on the edge of the table and delicately placed his chin on clasped ebony servos.

Ducking his helm slightly, the Datsun looked up at him from beneath his crimson chevron. "I would think that would be obvious." Saying that, he nodded his head in his guest's direction. If the saboteur could have blushed, he would definitely be doing so then. As it was, his optics averted slightly, falling upon the array of energon goodies that lay on a plate between them.

Smiling, the door-winged mech took this his cue to bridge on to his next plot piece.

"They are from recipes that my creator taught me as a youngling. Some of my fondest memories are from when they used to help me make energon confections."

Nodding, the saboteur reached to take one before hesitating. Glancing back up at his friend (well, boyfriend if he wanted to be technical) he asked, "May I?"

"Please do."

The first bite of the treat was a hesitant thing. Prowl imagined that the intensity in which he was watching the saboteur sample the confection that he had spent hours creating by hand was more than likely causing some discomfort to the other mech. He could not help it, though. His field was in flux as he waited with bated breath to see if Jazz would enjoy what he had created, or if this would be another colossal failure.

The smile that immediately blossomed across the other black and white's faceplates could not have been contrived.

"Wow. These are great, Prowler. Where'd ya find the time for all this?" Jazz asked as he practically swallowed the remaining two-thirds of the treat in his eagerness.

Smiling softly, the Datsun replied, "Between shifts. I managed to find the right ingredients and proper heating and cooling units that I could make use of, so..." he gestured towards the heaping plate of energon treats.

"Wow. I would have never figured you for a baker." Jazz teased the doorwinged mech lightly, still clearly impressed.

One white servo delicately plucked an electric green energon goodie from the platter and brought it to the tactician's lip plates. Sensors lining his mouth quickly provided the analysis that, although it did not taste as good as he remembered his creator's being, it was still adequately enjoyable none-the-less. He realized that part of that judgment could be just remaining perceptions from when he was a sparkling. Turning his attention back to his companion, the black and white watched as the Porsche retrieved another goodie from the dish, optics flickering off as he savored the morsel. Heat rushed through the tactician's circuits as he watched those black digits slowly disappear into Jazz's mouth one by one as he cleaned the sweet crystals leftover off of his servo.

Lips parting, Prowl found himself mesmerized by the sight. He had not even realized that he had been staring until the other mech abruptly looked up, meeting his entranced gaze. This close, he could make out the vague outline of the other's optics through the blue-hued visor as they widened, then turned upwards slightly in the corners, complementing the shy smile adorning the other's faceplates.

Glossa half-consciously wetting his own lip plates, Prowl reached for the next brightly-hued goodie—this one light fuschia-and held it gently aloft towards the saboteur.

"These ones have a little rust mixed in to give them some bite. You should try one." He was surprised at how rough his vocals sounded to his audios. Almost...husky? Feeling a sudden bought of uncertainty at his own actions, the tactician started to pull his hand away. It did not get far. A slightly larger black servo quickly encompassed his own paler one, stopping its retreat mid-air.

Smile now broadening to the more confident, cocky grin that Prowl was familiar with seeing on the saboteur, Jazz carefully took the bite-sized piece from the tips of suddenly slack fingertips...with his mouth. Wondering how his control of the situation was so quickly fleeting, the tactician tried to clear his fuzzy processors—he needed to regain the upper hand if things were to go according to his plan.

The visored mech released the servo he had been cradling and predictability (at least by his battle computer's assessment) retrieved the next goodie for him. Staring at the faintly glowing blue cube that was being offered, a very devious idea struck the normally stoic and conservative mech. Being careful to maintain optic contact with his date, Prowl made as if to take a bite of the treat, but instead slightly overshot the edge wrapping his lip plates around warm, black digits.

The confident expression fell from the saboteur's face around the same time as he took to imitating a statue. From the fingertips that he now held, the Datsun could feel a minute tremble travel through the Porsche's frame, as well as a low gasp of ventilators. Very slowly, he drug his mouth away from the outstretched fingers, tongue curling lazily around them, sliding along joints and delicate wiring as he sucked the energon goodie right out of Jazz's grasp.

There was a sharp crackle as the brilliant cerulean light of the other mech's visor flashed and surged with energy. Emboldened, the tactician uncharacteristically smirked and grabbed the limp, dark servo...and proceeded to thoroughly clean each individual digit with great gusto. The Porsche seemed to lose all cognitive capabilities at that point—at least his speech seemed to be impaired.

Once he was satisified with the gooeyness of the saboteur's processes, Prowl neatly released his hand. "Your digits were still covered in dust. It would ruin the flavor of the other treats if you were to touch them. We would not want that now, would we?" He fairly purred the last statement out. Jazz's head quickly shook from side to side in agreement.

Perhaps this whole "seduction" thing was not as difficult as he had originally concluded. He certainly seemed to be doing the trick this time as the Porsche seemed unable to focus on anything, but him. A difficult feat for one as...easily distracteable as the saboteur had a habit of being.

Deciding that "the mood" had been effectively achieved, Prowl pressed his advantage—right into Jazz's personal space. Leaning over the small table, his silver lip plates hovered scant inches from the other's, their venting mingling pleasantly for one still moment. Then Jazz was meeting him in the middle and the delicious slide of smooth dermal metal on metal greeted his sensors. Seemingly effortlessly, they fell into an easy rhythm exchanging different turns and curves of lips and the pulse of glossae.

The door-winged mech's optics shuttered of their own accord as he relished the sensation of the saboteur's mouth. There was a warm silkiness to the inside metal that was altogether foreign to him and yet oh so sinfully moist. He felt more than heard the other mech moan deeply into their liplock, muted vibrations tingling along his audio receptors.

Plate of goodies forgotten, he made as if to pull the other mech closer...only to have a loud rumble abruptly break the sound of sultry purring that had been building in the room from their two engines. Both mechs jumped and pulled back, twin looks of confusion aimed at the other. The chugging, misaligned sound rumbled up again from the mech across the table. Looking slightly guilty, Jazz rubbed the back of his helm sheepishly at the perplexed look that Prowl knew he was shooting him. That lopsided grin vanished alarmingly quick as Jazz suddenly hunched over with a groan, arms wrapping tightly around his midsection.

The tactician shot up out of his chair in haste, knocking it over carelessly as he reached for the other mech in concern. That concern quickly turned to gritted denta as he too was forced to bow over as some unknown, sharp pain originating in his middle shot through him. Barely getting a breath in, the doorwinged mech hailed the CMO over the emergency line. A cranky "WHAT?" greeted him and he barely had enough time to gasp out the medics name before keeling over, colliding with the table on his way down . Semi-soft, gooey treats rained down around and upon him in a bright rainbow of color before the floor rushed up to greet him.

Belatedly, before his systems forced the blackness of stasis onto him, Prowl realized two things; One, the plate of energon goodies he had worked so hard on was shattered, the treats wasted on the metal flooring; and two, he was not alone on the ground.


Prowl stared miserably up at the pumpkin-orange ceiling above him, willing himself to be anywhere, but in this position.

His misery did not stem from the steady ache that still filled his fuel tanks—a feeling somewhere between having too much in them and too little to run on. No, the dark cloud hanging above him was a result of the predicament that he had somehow managed to land both himself and Jazz in.

Daring a glance at the only other occupant of the med bay, he could see the black and white plating of the saboteur, as well as the gentle curve of his hood on a berth several rows down. He suspected that the placement of their forms had less to do with chance and more to do with a certain medic. Thankfully, Jazz was still under the heavy hand of Ratchet's sedation and would hopefully remain that way until the pains of a fully pumped and flushed tank no longer were of an issue. He was half-tempted to ask the CMO to make sure that Jazz was able to 'sleep' through it anyways as a sort of silent apology.

That, however was unlikely. As thick with the sedatives as the boxy red and white mech could be when he was concerned, he could be equally stingy when the injury was the result of carelessness or sheer stupidity. The tactician latently wondered which category this would fall into. Perhaps both? It was his fault after all that the two of them had gotten a rather nasty case of tank posioning. He had failed to check the half-life on one of the minerals that he had used when creating the energon goodies and as a result had not realized that it had turned.

Venting a sigh, he nearly jumped when a shadow fell over him. Still morose, he stared blankly at the visage above him.

Optic ridge raising as the opposite optic narrowed, Ratchet glared down at the prone tactician. "Don't look like that, Prowl. It could have been much worse."

"I find that difficult to believe, Ratchet."

"Ha! You do now, but believe me that having your tanks pumped is getting off lightly." The medic stopped his too close inspection of the Datsun, straightening up to look at the monitors set above his medical berth.

"If you say so." Prowl grumbled.

"I do and you had better slagging well listen to me." Task done, the red and white mech directed his attention fully toward his patient. The tactician physically seemed to be doing fine. When he had first received Prowl's urgent comm. the medic had nearly flown out of his bay to the location of the other bot's beacon. The sight that greeted him upon entering the great room of the Datsun's quarters caused him to stumble to a halt momentarily.

There were candles literally everywhere in varying stages of burning out. On the floor next to an overturned table and chair he found both their second and third-in-command stasis-locked. Fearing Decepticon infiltration, he was halfway to comm'ing Ironhide and Red Alert when his processor caught up with him and helpfully supplied the other half of the equation.

Oh. So THAT is what they were doing.

Now a little less stressed, he calmly requested Wheeljack's presence while running primary scans over the two black and white forms. By the time that the engineer had made it from his lab to Prowl's room, Ratchet had deduced that they were both suffering from some form of energon poisoning. Having a few suspicions, he had snagged a couple of the goodies scattered/splattered upon the cool, metal floor and subspaced them, before picking up the tactician as his friend did the same with the saboteur.

Thankfully, the source of the poisioning had been easy to identify and mild, just painful and a complete clearing of their tanks had righted the problem.

"Look, there's no harm done, right? I doubt if Jazz will hold any grudge, so you should just let it go, Prowl." He wasn't any good at these kinds of reassurances, but considering that the doorwinged mech looked to be on the verge of a deep depression, Ratchet felt slightly obligated to do something.

"Let it go? Hmm. Yes, I suppose that would be the right thing to do." The black and white had a far away look on his features as he mellowly responded.

Realizing how the second had interpreted what he had just said, the CMO was quick to correct him. "What? No! That is completely not what I meant so get your head out of your aft. Just...try to do something a little more in your comfort zone next time, hmm? It really shouldn't take much to convince Jazz to jump your circuits." The last part of had a heavy dose of sarcasm applied to it. It was no secret how fixated the saboteur was on the tactician, made even stronger now that the two were officially and "item."

"Go back to recharge, Prowl. I will bring you two online tomorrow morning." One red servo reached for the controls above the berth as the formerly prone mech struggled to sit up and stop him.

"But!"

"Good night, Prowl." And with a flip of a switch, the tactician's systems slowed to a relaxed state and the black and white drifted off. Hopefully, things would look better for him in the morning.


A/N – Okay, so that was a wee bit longer than expected, but hopefully satisfactory. Just a quickie other disclaimer—I did not invent 'energon goodies/confections', nor do I know who did, but kudos to them. Hope that you enjoyed! :D