Vorn a Cybertronian year, Orn a Cybertronian month, Jour a Cybertronian day,

Title: Couldn't think of one :(
Prompt: Lord Jazz, Slave Prowl
Universe: G1 AU
Rating: pg-13
Characters: Prowl, Jazz
Warnings: some angst and later some silliness or fluff
Summary: Kind of what the prompt suggest. Real life interfered. And I ran out of time so I couldn't get the darn fic to end right. Its crap. Read at your own risk.

It was two vorns ago this jour that Prowl's body had been pulled from the rubble on the outskirts of Praxus by scavengers. The fact that he was mostly alive proved to be more profitable for them so his life was spared. Staring at the scratched up armor on his servos and arms, a part of him wished he'd died with the countless others when Praxus was attacked. At least he would have died doing his job.

To protect and serve.

The desire was still in his spark so he did what he could to help those in the same predicament as him. On a number of occasions he saved another's life. And through various other actions had proved himself an honorable mech, earning the respect of the mechs he felt responsible for.

Such a shame he would never be rewarded for such actions.

Who knew that all his hard training to be one of the elite Enforcers of Praxus would have been a valuable commodity in part of today's Cybertron. Who would have believed that the skills he used to apprehend numerous criminals would be a form of entertainment for the many Lords that congregated to Kaon.

The gladiator games proved to be a most profitable business. From the lowliest worker mech to a Lord bets were won or lost on each match. The more entertaining and gruesome the match the more credits exchanged hands.

And in the death matches that took place deep within Southern Kaon's top gladiator ring, Prowl was the mech to bet on. It didn't matter the size or the quantity of the opponents. Only a fool would bet against his fighting prowess. For nearly two vorns the Praxian has been undefeated. His owner, a cruel and cunning mech named Swindle, used Prowl to whatever extent he could to make as much of a profit as possible. Whether it be pics with younglings or the fulfillment of a femme or mech's desires in the berth, Swindle made sure to cash in.

Prowl knew he had to comply for Swindle learned quickly how to keep his slave in line. Prowl could easily take the death threats and the beatings. He was prepared to face death when it claimed him. His sense of duty to defend the other slaves owned by Swindle made him vulnerable and the crime Lord capitalized on it. Prowl knew the mech wouldn't hesitate to kill one of the others if he disobeyed. So no matter how degrading the task Prowl obeyed his Lord.

One time one of the newer slaves asked him why he did that to himself when he could just end it all by dying in the ring. Prowl simply told him 'To Protect and Serve' and then walked away. Any mechanism that knew an Enforcer knew they took their oath to spark and would die to full fill it.

Besides, it wasn't like Prowl was blindly obedient. He was eternally patient, keenly observant, and highly intelligent. Biding his time was all he could do for now. He knew the jour would come when he could lead the others to freedom. It was simply a matter of time.

Or so he had to keep reminding himself.

Each passing jour it was getting more difficult.

The interfacing with various mechs for femmes that wanted some fantasy fulfilled didn't bother him as much as the deaths. So many died because of his actions. Their energon could never be washed entirely from his frame.

He knew long ago he would never be rescued by his friends. Most had perished in Praxus. Those outside of Praxus probably assumed he died with the other Praxians. Most civil Cybertronians probably didn't even know this world in Kaon existed. And something told Prowl his jours were numbered by something he overhead Swindle say to another Lord.

War was coming closer to Kaon.

Logically after the assault on Praxus war over all of Cybertron was inevitable.

Death was inevitable.

At times Prowl felt like his infinite patience was a curse.

The peds of two guards suddenly appeared just beyond his white servos, interrupting Prowl's somber musings.

"Come with us, slave. Lord Swindle wishes to speak with you."

Without a word, Prowl nodded and gracefully stood, keeping his head bowed and doorwings flat against his back to show submission as he followed. He learned the hard way during his first few deca-cycles in captivity that the guards would punish any Praxian slave by beating their doorwings. While exceedingly helpful in hand to hand combat at assisting in the anticipation of an opponent's attack, when struck the pain could be crippling depending on the intensity of the blow or the mech. Prowl's doorwings were among the most sensitive he ever encountered amongst many Praxians. As a result, he learned to endure the pain in order to survive.

"About fragging time! Get him cleaned up!" Swindle snapped. "And quickly!"

Hurriedly, several of Swindle's personal attendants - femme slaves - pulled Prowl into the wash racks used by the guards. Having gone through this ritual before the Praxian held a relaxed stance while the femmes bathed him in a not so gentle manner. After all he was merely a slave so why be gentle.

"You know the drill. Do your job the others will be unharmed," Swindle said, flicking a speck of dust off his chest plating. "And do it well. This idiot was willing to pay a million credits to buy you. I told him to frag off. I could make a million from your fights alone in two orns. So he compromised. You're his slave for three jours. You will do whatever he asks, short of killing yourself. If the fragger wants a sparkling then you'd better give him one because he's willing to pay higher twenty percent higher than the normal interfaces you've provided. Only he's only paying half up front. He'll pay the remaining balance in full only if he's satisfied. So frag him senseless if you must. Understand, slave?"

"I understand," Prowl replied in his usual monotone voice.

"Make sure he shines like new and use the red cloak with black trim."

"Yes, my Lord," one of the femme servants replied.

"This Lord will be repeat business if you perform well," Swindle continued. "He's got a reputation for staying in one location and spending his wealth to no end. I plan on taking as much as he's willing to give."

Prowl's face was suddenly jerked up so he could see the intensity in Swindles green-yellow optics.

"If you fail me, I will kill the six Praxian slaves," the mech growled.

Prowl's optics flared and a small growl slipped from his vocal processor. At which, Swindle retaliated by grabbing and yanking down hard on one of Prowl's doorwings and twisting it, dropping the black and white mech to his knees.

"Know your place, slave! Do what I tell you and the others will be safe. Disobey me and you know I will make their deaths extremely painful and make you watch every agonizing moment of them!"

And like the Lord Swindle was released his hold and marched off.

"You have ten klicks to get him ready. I do not want this Lord waiting for his prize."

Nine klicks later Prowl found himself sparkling like he did for his graduation from the Enforcers' Academy in Iacon, kneeling on one knee with the cloak spread around him and waiting for this new Lord to collect him. He didn't have to wait long. Even with his doorwings covered he could still sense the vibrations in the floor of an approaching mech.

This mech had a particular bounce in his step almost as if to music. Nothing like the arrogant stomping of Lords like Swindle. This Lord was light on his peds but not so light that he was small like a minibot. Prowl could also detect the mech did have a bit of weight in his pedfalls.

Prowl lowered his head even more as the mech slowed down on his approach until he came to a stop behind Prowl.

For the longest of moments the Lord said nothing. The Praxian remained still as stone. It was not his place to question a Lord. And he would wait as long as possible for he would not risk the lives of his fellow Praxians. But that did not mean he was idle. His sensors continued to gather what information he could on the mech behind him.

"Do you have a name slave, or do you prefer to be called the Praxian?" a deep melodic voice resonated.

"I can go by whatever name you deem appropriate my Lord."

"The other slaves told me you were called Prowl."

"That was the name given to me up my birth."

"Then I will call you Prowl. Come with me."

"As you wish my Lord," Prowl replied and slowly rose.

Only when a lithe silver frame passed did Prowl begin to move forward. He discretely observed and confirmed what his doorwing sensors indicated. This mech was not a Lord like the others. Yet, he walked with the confidence, not arrogance, of a Lord as they made their way to the guest wing. As expected, Prowl was lead to the main berth room where this Lord's two personal servants were waiting.

"Out, I wish to be alone with the Praxian. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, see that we are not disturbed."

"Yes, my Lord," the yellow and red mechs said.

"I mean it."

"We understand."

"Remove your cloak and spread your doorwings," the silver Lord ordered as the door locked closed.

While keeping his head bowed, Prowl immediately did as he was told allowing the soft cloak to crumple at his peds. It took a few moments to flex his doorwings out fully. He was so used to keeping them tucked behind his back for protection. Only every so often would he flare them fully during a battle to gather information on his opponent's movements.

"So beautiful," the Lord whispered, stepping closer. One black servo caressed Prowl's chest affectionately. "As beautiful as Ah rememba."

Prowl's doorwing's twitched upon the Lord's change of tone and speech. His spark fluttered as it did long ago when he heard this particular speech pattern.

"Ya can look at me."

So, perhaps all his patience had finally paid off.

Prowl dared to hope as his lifted his gaze, taking in the silver frame until his optics locked onto a glowing blue visor. The visor lifted to reveal the mech's lovely face and deep rich cobalt optics he'd fallen in love with so long ago. The mech's frame was a different color and subtly different from the black and white frame his lover used to have.

"Jazz?"

"Oh Prowler," Jazz whispered, unable to hold back, throwing himself into the Praxian's arms. "Ah didn't want at believe ya had died when Praxus was destroyed. Ah looked for ya….all alone through my tears. Ah just didn't want to believe ya were killed so senselessly. Ah was found by the Autobots when Ah accepted the fact that ya were gone from my life forever. Ah joined them to take my revenge against those who destroyed Praxus. Ah couldn't sing anymore. My inspiration was gone."

"Oh, Jazzy," Prowl murmured, holding the mech close, wiping away Jazz's tears. His arms trembled as his processor still tried to comprehend how this mech could be in his arms right here, right now.

"It was durin' an undercover mission Ah learned 'bout how neutrals were makin' credits sellin' frame parts from the ruins of Praxus. Ah nearly purged my tanks when Ah heard how they were desecratin' Praxians. Then Ah learned how they had actually pulled survivors out of the Praxus ruins an' sold them off to the highest bidder! Ah was so slagged off!"

"Ah enlisted the Prime's help to rescue any slave, especially the Praxian ones. At the time Optimus didn't want to risk it. Too many unknown variables. We didn't know how many or where any of the slaves were. So Ah told 'im Ah'd get all the information he needed."

"Ah went deep undercover. Ah learned of the gladiator games an' heard of this Praxian that couldn't be beaten. My spark stilled when Ah saw a video capture of one of yar fights. Ah begged, pleaded, an' even tried to bribe Prime to at least make an attempt to rescue ya. We even knew where ya were at…over a vorn ago! But still no mission was approved. No plan was feasible. It was too risky."

"So Ah went rogue. Used the fortune Ah made from my singin' career. Changed my frame but Ah couldn't give up ma name. It became a joke when Ah introduced myself as Lord Jazz. Just told 'em my carrier loved the singer an' named me after 'im. Since Ah didn't look or sound like the singer, Ah pulled it off, made a reputation for myself. Still, it wasn't easy. Ah did things Ah'm not proud of."

"Our predicament has made us all do things we're not proud of," Prowl sighed, nuzzling the side of Jazz's helm.

"Still, it took me a vorn to get to this close to ya. It was my intention to buy ya."

"Swindle won't sell me," Prowl frowned, taking in his lover's scent, knowing how short their time was together.

"Ah know but that won't matter," Jazz pulled back and smiled, caressing Prowl's faceplates. "Optimus had sent the twins to collect me an' bring me back. It took them a while to find me but they did. They're loyal to Prime but they don't like what's goin' on either. They're gonna help. Ah told Prime to go frag 'imself if he thought Ah was gonna leave this place without ya an' told 'im to give me one jour once Ah'm with ya and we could come up wit' a plan to rescue ya an' the others."

Prowl chuckled softly, imagining the look on Prime's face when Jazz told him to frag off. To any mechanism that didn't know Jazz, they would have thought he was hot head. For those that knew Jazz, knew he was a mech of his word.

"I take it because of your powers of persuasion he gave you the time?"

"Ya know he did," Jazz smirked. A moment later his smile faded, tears welled up in his optics. "Ah…Ah want to apologize…"

"Shh," Prowl cooed, placing a finger over Jazz's lips. "There is no need to apologize. That was another life. Plus, I was being unreasonable and you were being an aft. You of all mechs know how stubborn we both are."

"Still, Ah had no right to ask ya to leave yar job in Praxus, yar home to follow me around on my tour. It was immature an' selfish."

"Ah actually thank Primus we had that argument," Prowl fondly smiled.

"Uh?"

"Because you stormed out all slagged off and left for Iacon, a deca-cycle before your tour, three jours before Praxus was razed. I thank Primus because you were spared. I knew I could die knowing you had survived. And I honestly never, ever expected to see you again."

"Ah here now an' Ah'm never leavin' ya again," Jazz said, sealing his promise with a passionate kiss.

One orn later…

Prowl walked serenely down the corridor. Doorwings spread out fully, head held high with pride. Chest plate decorated with his recently earned Autobot insignia. Shoulders marked with his Special Enforcer's rank once again.

A picture of pristine regality.

"Prowl!"

Said mech paused and turned at the sound of a familiar youngling's voice. A small smile formed as the young Praxian, a survivor the Autobots rescued from Praxus, raced towards him.

"Did you do it?" the youngling excitedly asked bouncing on his grey peds, winglets fluttering endlessly.

"See for yourself," Prowl replied, leaning down a bit so the young mech could see.

"Oh, wow! Congratulations! You're a real Autobot now! I can't wait! I'm gonna be one just like you too!"

"Don't become an Autobot because of me, Bluestreak," Prowl seriously said but then smiled, patting the little mech's helm. "Do what your spark desires."

"But I want to be an Autobot. You're the only Praxian Autobot I've met. I'm Praxian. So that would make me like you, right?"

"I believe you're stretching logic a bit there but you are your own mech Bluestreak. You can be whatever kind of Autobot you want."

"Ok," Bluestreak smiled brightly.

"Bluestreak! There you are you little scraplet! Get back here for your exhaust flush!"

"Oh slag! It's the Hatchet!" Bluestreak yelped, hiding behind Prowl. "Please don't tell him I cursed. He's mean!"

"It stays between us Praxians," Prowl whispered. "Now hurry up, I'll delay him."

"Thank you, Prowl," Bluestreak said then took off running.

Prowl boldly turned to face the cankerous medic known as Ratchet, Prime's personal medic and the unofficial CMO at Decagon only because the medic was still a neutral. For a neutral, the mech was more feared than most Decepticons. Yet Prowl's time as a slave made him fearless of such mechs for he knew Ratchet was a good mech at spark. If he wasn't so passionate about his job then he wouldn't care so much whenever they lost a mech or femme.

"There is one thing I've learned about you Praxians is when you're up to no good your doorwings flick about once or twice," Ratchet remarked, coming to a stop beside Prowl.

"I have been told on numerous occasions during my lifetime from my superior officers and professors that I lack the mental capacity to either perform or comprehend mischief," Prowl flatly replied. "So, I suggest your do more research on doorwing lingo before jumping to such asinine conclusions."

Ratchet stared blankly at him for a long moment before bursting into hearty laughter.

"Jazz was right. You are a smart aft. Just make sure to bring Bluestreak to my medical bay by tomorrow morning for his flush. He's managed to get out of it once this deca-cycle already. And tell that sparkmate of yours to stay out of the medical bay. The paint supply is not for the practical jokes he and those diabolical pit spawned twins love to do. Its bad enough the slagger Sunstreaker is always stealing the yellow paint cans for his touchups."

"I shall convince Bluestreak it is in his best interest to come see you. And I will endeavor to pass your message along to Jazz. Whether he pays heed to it or not, I cannot guarantee it."

"Primus in a pit bucket, you're not even an Autobot for a full jour yet and already you sound as crazy as the others!" Ratchet muttered as he marched off.

Prowl chuckled and continued on to his and Jazz's shared quarters. Once inside, he came to a dead stop and gaped as the mech displayed on the berth.

"Jazz?"

"Ya know it's me lover," Jazz purred.

"Why did you paint yourself silver?"

"Ah was in the mood for a li'l role playin'. Only, Ah'll be yar slave an' will submit to yar every desire."

"I have a better idea," Prowl warmly smiled, holding a servo out for Jazz to take. "I get you cleaned up and we both do whatever our sparks desire."

"Ya don't like my look?" Jazz pouted.

"You do look very sleek and sexy in silver but my desire for you isn't base on your looks. It's the mech within here I fell in love with," Prowl murmured, resting a tender hand over Jazz's spark.

"Ya love me?"

"Very much so," the Praxian whispered, nuzzling Jazz's nose softly with his own. "Not even my creators or friends could persuade me differently when I first introduced you to them while I was still a student at the Enforcer Academy."

"They all said Ah was the wrong mech for ya because of where Ah was from."

"I didn't care where you were sparked. I knew what kind of mech you were. Plus, you were there in Iacon and that was all that mattered to me. And the fact that you transformed yourself into a criminal Lord and mingled with the filth of our society to find me speaks so much than words could ever describe about the mech that you are. I'm a slave to my spark's desire and it only wants you, my beautiful Jazz."

"Primus mech, ya make me wanna cry," Jazz mumbled, leaning against the strong frame of his lover. "Ah love ya so much. Ah couldn't bear the thought of losin' ya."

"I love you too. I'm yours forever and always," Prowl promised as he affectionately kissed Jazz's face and neck.

"Forever an' always…ya proposin' to me, Prowler?"

"I think we are beyond proposals."

Before Jazz could reply Prowl kissed him soundly on the lips.

"However, I would much prefer to bond with you in your true colors."

Jazz suddenly started giggling. Prowl was only mildly annoyed.

"I'm trying to be romantic here, Jazz."

"Ah know. But something ya said just struck me an' Ah couldn't help it."

"And what did I say that was so amusing?" Prowl asked, kissing Jazz.

"Ya said ya were a slave to yar spark's desire. Then ya said that Ah was yar spark's desire. So…that makes ya my slave."

Prowl made a face at Jazz that sent the young saboteur into a fit of giggles.

"Ah'm sorry, love. Ah can't help myself! Besides…" Jazz purred, revving his engine, snuggling within Prowl's embrace. "Ah'm as much yar slave as ya're mine. My spark only desires yars."

"We're both hopeless," Prowl laughed. "Which makes us perfect for each other."

"Ah agree. So…ya wanna be my slave first or want me to be the slave?"

"Let's get you cleaned up first and then we'll see what happens next."