Disclaimer: Don't own it.

Original publish date: 12/22/10

Prompt: "Think of all the fun I've missed/ Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed"
Verse: G1ish
Rating: M/R
Warnings: TF swearin'; angst and melodrama; mechs interfacing/smut; plug 'n' play!
Summary: Sometimes you can't always get what you want. Fortunately, Prowl and Jazz find a way.

Bittersweet Wishes

"Jazz, I do not want to attend the Christmas party," Prowl said sternly, not even sparing a glance from the terminal at his desk.

Jazz huffed. "Oh, c'mon Prowl. You've practically been a shut-in since winter rolled in! You need ta socialize, get yer pumps movin', and get yer aft outta this office."

Irritation rising, Prowl raised his optics to his lover's form in front of him. "There is too much work to be done. The weather has wreaked havoc with our supplies and deteriorating system performance. The necessary upkeep of our protoforms is astounding, due to the constant freezing temperatures and stress of the elements on our systems. And more parties — like the Christmas party — are a waste of those precious resources."

"That's exactly why we need a party! It's a distraction for the crew — for us all. Ya think any of us wanna consider what'll happen after a few years on Earth in these types of conditions? We can't possibly predict how things are gonna turn out, so we may as well make the best of it," the TIC reasoned, crossing his arms over his chassis.

Prowl absently rubbed the crest of his chevron. He cycled air through his intakes with a frustrated grunt. He was tired. All the time. Just slagging exhausted. Physically and emotionally. And this situation was not improving his sullen mood. It was becoming an all too common, and unwelcome, occurrence in their tempestuous relationship.

"Jazz, I do not have the luxury of time at the moment. This needs no further discussion. You know my feelings on the matter. Now please, let me get some work finished," the Datsun said firmly.

Feeling his fists beginning to curl tightly, the saboteur decided he had had enough. "Fine. Hide here in yer office with yer slaggin' datapads and work yerself into a heap of scrap. I don't care what ya do anymore, Prowl. You can go frag yerself."

He pivoted on his heel and began storming out of the office. Disturbed by the volatile, acerbic words, Prowl abruptly stood and reached his hand out in protest. "Jazz, wait —"

Barely glancing back with a narrowed gaze behind his glinting visor, Jazz scowled. "Go ta the Pit."

The metallic office door slid open, then shut. Its closing click seemed to echo in the still room. Prowl's hand dropped in disbelief from its outstretched position over his desk. Collapsing back into his chair, the SIC's doorwings trembled faintly. Well…that had gone quite horrendously.

"Slag. What have I done?" Prowl whispered forlornly. Only the sounds of the whirring terminal and his short intakes of air disturbed the stale silence.

Stomping down the corridor, Jazz seethed. His pleasant mouth was twisted into a vicious frown. Each mech he passed by skittered nervously past him in fear of invoking an unspoken rage. Jazz turned the corner sharply and finally arrived at his quarters. He forcefully punched in his code, willing the door to open more quickly. It whooshed open and slid shut with a firm clunk and automatically reset the lock. You never could be too careful when working in special ops.

Feeling utterly defeated, Jazz sat heavily upon his berth. He vaguely noted his hands were clenched once more in anger at his sides. The lithe black and white didn't understand how things had soured so quickly in his once fun, loving relationship with a certain Datsun.

Jazz had always respected the tactician, even before he directly worked with him under Prime. When they had begun collaborating on Cybertron as the war escalated, they spent more and more time in one another's company. Being the social creature that he was, Jazz eased some of his loneliness and chased away his fears in the warm berths of willing mechs and femmes. Some friends, some one-night stands. Even a few more serious relationships that just couldn't last.

His personal affection for Prowl grew as he found comfort and solace in his quiet company. The other black and white's musings were wry and stimulating — such a refreshing change from his normal playful flirting and banter with other mechs. It was a precious solitude he sought to protect and nurture. As Megatron's efforts and insidious plots with the Decepticons further intensified, Jazz's skill set was in high demand. He had less time for flings, and his only true joy was his brief periods of convalescence in which he attempted to spend every moment with Prowl.

It only made logical sense for Jazz to want to combine his needs. His deep friendship with Prowl could also serve as the foundation for a relationship with the tactician. Why couldn't he have both with him? But Prowl was different from his previous lovers. Jazz knew from personal observation, and small admissions from the mech himself, that Prowl's relationships were far and few between. And he was no casual berth hopper. Jazz had reasoned it made Prowl special. He would be worth the persistence.

In a valiant effort, Jazz stopped his casual 'facings. He chatted amicably with everybot just as before, but limited his interactions to public settings. He reined in his freewheeling antics as well, making careful considerations of how his actions would be perceived. Not by just anybot, but by Prowl. How would Prowl see him? Would he notice?

Indeed, being the astutely observant mech that he was, Prowl immediately took note of the strange behavioral changes in his companion. The tactician had grown so concerned, he finally confronted Jazz about it, and even suggested therapy might be in order to reacquire his jovial countenance. The smaller mech had laughed and laughed at Prowl's serious 'intervention.' He finally decided to come clean and reveal his intentions. Prowl was dumbfounded, to say the least. The admission resulted in a total processor crash.

Once he had recovered, Prowl tentatively, or perhaps it had been simply shyness, returned his sentiments. And thus, their 'odd couple' relationship began. Despite the wariness of many mechs regarding the possibility of success for their relationship, Prowl and Jazz flourished together. Jazz pushed Prowl beyond his restrictive boundaries, and the SIC had obligingly allowed it, seeing it as a chance for personal growth. No one, not even themselves, seemed to be aware it was a one-sided give and take.

As blissful as a relationship may be, reality checks are often heavy and burdensome. The preparation of the Ark's launch into space and the selection of a crew was a harried process taking endless considerations and deca-cycles of work. The time constraints placed on them were pressing, despite Prime's attempts to lessen their workloads. A war was being fought, as they were too often reminded, and sacrifices were necessary. Constantly drawn apart by work and demands, Prowl and Jazz saw less and less of one another in private settings. When the Ark finally departed for territories unknown, Jazz felt like Prowl was almost a stranger all over again.

As always, the unthinkable happened and they ended up in stasis for millions of years. Yet, despite the persistent antics of the Decepticons on Earth, the crew of the Ark, including its officers, had more leisure time than they had experienced in vorns (discounting their time in stasis, of course). Thrilled, Jazz immediately set to rekindling his fractured relationship with Prowl. Things were fine at first…various outings, amorous surprises, soft excited whispers and caresses. But the lingering tension from the rift born between them on Cybertron remained. Their petty arguments grew more frequent. Their outbursts more hurtful. Their peaceful moments seemed to evaporate. Some sort of resent seemed to be held by both mechs. All Jazz was asking for was a return to normalcy. Whatever that was.

What had changed?

Jazz grit his denta in frustration. Hadn't he given Prowl everything he had? Hadn't he shown his commitment, his willingness to remain loyal and true to only him? Standing, he began to pace the floor of his quarters. Think of all the fun he'd missed over the millennia. Think of all the mechs he hadn't kissed! And for what?

For Prowl.

Pausing, the saboteur spark pulsed at the thought of that particular designation. The black and white Datsun's handsome face popped into his processor. His vibrant red chevron. His striking deep blue optics. His sleek, elegant doorwings. His quiet, gentle demeanor.

They always had so much fun together. And they had shared so many wonderful kisses…

Slowly sitting down once more on his berth and shaking his helm, Jazz's spark filled with regret. His harsh words had been uncalled for. And he'd give anything to take them back. Burying his faceplates in his hands, Jazz woefully shuttered his optics.

Beside himself with guilt, Prowl debated what to do as he sat idly in his office. Not doing any work at all. What a disaster.

The Praxian mech was loathe to ever disappoint Jazz, and he certainly never meant to imply he was simply brushing him off. In truth, Prowl wouldn't mind attending a social gathering once in a while. He enjoyed mingling and interacting with mechs, albeit in calmer settings than Jazz typically preferred. But he had always done his best to push aside any misgivings and attempt to share the experience happily. However, with his workload and all too recent reminders of the Thanksgiving debacle that had taken 3 days to clean up, Prowl was hesitant to let down his guard during this additional holiday humans traditionally celebrated.

He couldn't seem to pinpoint where their relationship had taken a left turn from wonderful, a u-turn at okay, a traffic jam at despondent, and a complete spinout into disaster. Directional and driving metaphors aside, the tactician weighed his options. His battle computer offered two of the most plausible scenarios to carry out. He could admit defeat and cut his losses, saving himself from critical emotional distress in the long run.Or…he could fight against logic and batter himself against Jazz's defenses until self-deactivation was imminent. Hmm. Neither seemed a pleasant experience, but such are the travesties of war — on and off an actual battlefield.

Determined to set things right, or at least try, Prowl signed off his terminal and exited his office. For the first time in orns, he headed to the rec room with a purpose unrelated to refueling. As he approached, holiday music joyfully sounded and reverberated right into his core. With one last nod to himself, Prowl stepped into the room. Green and red tinted lights flashed from the ceiling, casting the room into an interesting mishmash of mistletoe mayhem. Mechs littered the floor dancing happily to 'Jingle Bell Rock.' Venturing in a bit further, Prowl anxiously looked around for a twinkling blue visor amidst the crowd. Startled, he felt a buzz in his doorwings as a presence loomed behind him. It was his only warning before Sideswipe threw his arm around his shoulder.

"Prowl! To what do we owe the pleasure of your attendance at our fine festive feast?" the red mech laughed, waving around a cube of high grade.

Shrugging off the warrior's arm, he continued to look around. "Alliteration does not become you, Sideswipe."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind."

From Sideswipe's left, Mirage approached with a sad smile on his faceplates. "He's not here, Prowl."

"Who's not here?" Bluestreak asked, overhearing and approaching Prowl's right side.

"Jazz," Prowl murmured with a frown.

The gunner's doorwings fluttered in surprise. "Really? I hadn't noticed. Where is he?"

"I saw him stalking to his quarters a few joors ago. He's probably still there," Mirage offered.

Nodding, Prowl said, "Thank you."

Before heading to his destination, Prowl paused outside the rec room gathering his courage and discarding his pride. Should Jazz actually admit him to his quarters, he would attempt to make amends. The walk to the officers' quarters seemed endless; the floor mockingly stretched out before him. But Prowl's pedes carried him resolutely onward. He was absolutely determined to find a solution to their problems…Or. Well, there just couldn't be an or. It was unacceptable.

Jazz lifted his aching helm at the soft chime from his door. He had fallen into a fitful recharge during his descent into hopelessness. His words to Prowl haunted him, unable to retract them or change the past.

To say Jazz was surprised to see Prowl outside his door would be an unforgivable understatement. Disbelief etched across his features, Jazz just stared. "Er, may I come in?" Prowl asked, staring at his pedes.

Saying nothing, because he was currently unable to vocalize anything, Jazz stepped aside and allowed the tactician to enter the room. His door sealed itself shut once more. Prowl walked to the center of the room and felt his doorwings begin to shake again. Enough. Say what you have to say! He encouraged himself internally.

Turning to face Jazz, Prowl raised his helm and doorwings high in unison — ready to make his final stand. Looking straight at Jazz, his optics seemed to find the saboteur's azure optics even behind his glossy visor.

Jazz fidgeted nervously, wondering what words would possibly emit from Prowl's vocalizer. Was he here to 'officially' end things? Did he come to get the final word on the matter?

"I am sorry," Prowl simply began.

The smaller mech in the room felt his pumps fluttering. "Huh?"

"I apologize for making your concerns seem irrelevant. You know my excessive dedication to my work is unhealthy, as well as inappropriate," Prowl murmured. He cautiously stepped forward and took Jazz's hands within his own. "It creates a wall between us. And Jazz…I truly dislike it when something comes between us, especially when it is of my own creation."

Unable to keep from wistfully smiling, Jazz shook his helm. "Nah, Prowler…it's not just yer creation. The fault is mine, too. I said some awful things to ya earlier. I've been pushin' ya too hard, fer too long. I get that ya need time ta yerself. But at Christmas? Mech, it's time for a real break once in a while."

"I know."

With a slight hesitation, Jazz withdrew his hands from Prowl's grasp. He missed the flash of disappointment cross his partner's visage. "There's another thing I wanna talk about…"

Prowl said, "Anything you wish."

"Is this goin' anywhere, Prowl? I mean, I have loved spendin' almost every moment of this relationship with ya, 'cept for the fights, but who doesn't have those? But I gave up a lot ta be with ya. I stopped seein' other mechs 'cause I wanted to be exclusive with just you. I toned it down a few notches. And I appreciate what you've done in the past, tryin' to please me when we go out for a bit o' fun, but I just want you ta be you."

It was Prowl's turn to shake his helm. "I am still Prowl. That has never changed. You brought a new pulse to my life, Jazz. There's nothing wrong with trying to 'improve' my social skills. You've never deliberately tried to change my identity. But I wish you would stop trying to change yourself for me."

"What do ya mean?" Jazz questioned him, truly puzzled.

"I never asked you to 'tone it down'. Your vibrancy and resplendent outlook on life is what drew me to you. You made sacrifices about your personality and behavior that were never necessary. Though it would have been less than ideal, I would even be willing to allow you to stray from me if it allowed you to feel free and happy. You're wonderful…just the way you are," Prowl whispered as he stepped closer to Jazz. Slowly, he lifted his hands to caress the sides of his face and sweetly pressed a small kiss upon his forehelm.

Shuttering his optics, Jazz felt his spark buzz pleasantly in its casing. With all these shaking and fluttering components, you would think he was falling apart and due for a maintenance check with Ratchet! Raising a hand to stroke Prowl's helm, he said, "Yer wonderful, too. Perfect…"

Lost in the gentle caress, Prowl hummed happily as Jazz pressed his eager lips against his. A slick glossa swept across his mouth begging for entrance, which he readily granted. Their glossae hungrily pressed against each other as they relished the sweetness shared between them. Their energy fields crackled to life, an electric blue shock running through their systems.

Perhaps their argument had been too easily resolved. Perhaps they should discuss things further and examine how to prevent the issue from resurfacing. Definitely, there would be more fights and conflicts. But in this moment, they had discovered a pivotal cornerstone of their relationship. They accepted one another just as they were — finally, after so much time had already passed. And acceptance, given time and nurturing, could certainly grow into a fully fledged, spark-deep love.

Prowl began to gently rub the short horns protruding from his lover's helm. If they could move of their own accord, Jazz was sure they would lightly twitch in Prowl's tender grasp. He leaned into the caresses and pressed for more. Jazz's arms tightened around him pulling his warm form closer to his body. They never parted as Prowl slowly lowered the saboteur down to his nearby berth. Pausing momentarily, the tactician hovered above him.

To hold Jazz once more in his arms, Prowl knew it felt incredibly reassuring.

To share a heated kiss again with Prowl, Jazz was quite certain there was nothing better.

While neither mech could be sure as to why it felt so right, they did know they never wanted the feelings to end.

Jazz's arms tightened around the Datsun's neck, pulling his mouth closer. Persuasively, his glossa skimmed along pliable, cool lips, and Prowl yielded once more. The warmth of Prowl's welcoming cavern deeply pleased and comforted his lonely being on so many levels. This is what Jazz had needed…what he had been missing. Prowl's glossa playfully swatted at his, and the battle between their lips began anew.

Cooling fans furiously working to lower their core temperatures, they parted with ragged breaths drawn through their vents. Prowl noted Jazz's beautiful face was flushed from the heat passing between them. He rested his forehelm against his partner's, enjoying the quiet moment between them, save for the sound of their heavy pants.

Feeling rather playful, Jazz rubbed his nose against Prowl's and then began to nuzzle his face into the cables lining his neck. Unseen, the tactician allowed a small, content smile to grace his normally stoic features. Eager to return to their frantic, earlier pace, Jazz set to rekindling the flames of desire. With an arduous resolve, the visored mech firmly stroked the doorwings displayed above him. The response was immediate with a wanton groan from the mech settled over his frame. His enthusiastic touches continued as he traced delicate paths across Prowl's tremulous doorwings. The smooth metal quickly grew hot beneath his fingers, and their energy fields teased and tickled as they pressed together.

Far from idle, Prowl rained light kisses upon his brow, optics, cheeks, nose, lips, and chin. His path continued downward upon his body. The movements, though most welcome, forced Jazz to relinquish his hold on the doorwings. Trailing his glossa across the saboteur's headlights, zigzagging across his abdomen, and sliding across the seam between his codpiece and thigh, Jazz release a high pitched, keen cry in response.

"Prowl…ohh, more!" Jazz moaned.

The taller mech found it unbelievably fulfilling to hear his name fall from Jazz's succulent lips. He extracted more moans and whimpers digging his fingers into the seams lining the special ops mech's body finding delicate cables and wires to stroke and tug. In return, Prowl whispered his name reverently. "Jazz..."

Prowl let his hands loosen their hold and moved to grasp Jazz's wrists to pin them above his helm. A blue visor flashed as he licked his lips, but Jazz quickly recovered from his surprise offering a sultry smile. The tactician's circuits buzzed at the sight of his suggestive smile.

With a slight growl, Prowl grinded his lower body against the one below him. Jazz gasped in delight and threw his head back in pleasure. In a flurry of movements and passing moments, their energy fields flared unhindered by restraint and self-control. Hands desperately groped for any surface they could reach, glossae wildly entangling. In this moment and race toward such gratifying pleasure, just the sight of one another was enough to make them wish never to be apart again. Here — together — they would attempt to banish all their fears and dark thoughts.

"Nnh, Prowl!" Jazz groaned, as their lips parted for a brief moment. "End it, please! I need ya."

Prowl shook with need at his lover's words. "Primus, Jazz!"

Coming undone, he pawed at Jazz's frame, sliding his hands in down to his closed panel. With a swift touch, it clicked open. Releasing his own panel, the Datsun felt Jazz squeeze his frame more tightly. Feeling for Jazz's cable, without hesitation, he inserted it into his own port. To complete the connection, he plugged his cable into Jazz's port.

The stream of data exhilarated them as it pulsed through their systems. They immediately began melding their frames in a sensual dance of intertwining limbs. Their caresses from earlier picked up, as they pleaded for more. Frenzied hands searched for one another to grasp as a rhythm of electricity raced across the cables. The inferno of heat rose ever higher. Internal fans had long ago shut down in the futile attempt to bring temperatures within normal limits.

Emotions and thoughts, belonging to them both, flashed in their processors. Delicious, delectable, divine, oh so perfect. Above all, an endearing affection…so pure, so real. Could this be love?

They were engrossed in a wet and coppery kiss, as Jazz arched his back struts off the berth. It was all becoming too much to handle. With a breathy moan, Jazz felt his overload scorch and tear its way through his systems, leaving everything burning and frazzled. The feedback looped through their connection and sent Prowl into shattering bliss. Just before falling into the blackness of stasis, they both felt a pulse from their sparks—unsure as to what triggered it.

With a groan, Prowl felt his systems sluggishly come online. Shakily, he lifted himself from Jazz's stirring form and lay on his side tucked close to the saboteur. Throwing his arms over his visor, Jazz stretched languidly with a satisfied smile. "If there was ever such a thing as processor-blowing interfacin', that was it."

Prowl chuckled warmly. "It was one of our better rounds, wasn't it?"

"I'll say," Jazz purred as he turned to nuzzle under Prowl's chin.

Growing serious, the tactician said, "I can't promise we'll never fight again…"

Sobering a bit, Jazz nodded into Prowl's chassis. "'Cause we will. I know."

"But I can promise that I'll fight to make this relationship work, while we're both willing, of course."

"Same here. Ya know, Prowler…I think I might love ya."

"I think I may love you, too. Merry Christmas, Jazz."

"Merry Christmas, my mech. Now get over here and give me another kiss."