Title: You Know You Are Addicted to Cyberporn
Chapter 4 Author: Femme4jack
Pairing: Prowl/Jazz (allusions to Sunny/Sides) Rating: R for cussing and subject matter.
Warnings: Complete Utter Crack (like all other chapters), not a "sticky fic", but mentions fictional sticky, bondage, and xeno (fanfiction within fanfiction). Giant fake robot dildo warning. Mentions PnP and Spark interfacing
Words: approx 3300
Summary: Prowl and Jazz wake up in the brig, and a plan goes horribly wrong in the rec room (or right, depending on how you look at it).
Notes: A portion of this chapter was originally written for the tf_speedwriting Advent Calendar 2010. I can't believe it has been a year since I updated this! I'm so sorry! Hope that Prowl and Jazz's wake up along with the twin's antics make up for the long overdue update.

You Know You are Addicted to Cyberporn Ch. 4

"What do you think of this one?" the silver bladewarrior asked his twin as they hovered together over a display.

"At least it appears mechanical and not like some disgusting piece of meat-sac anatomy," Sunstreaker replied, turning to regard his brother with intense, nearly whitish-blue optics. "Why are we doing this again?"

"Because, bro," the silver mech gave an exasperated sigh. "There are fleshy femmes all over this base who read about interfacing with us because those evolutionarily deficient males of theirs are not up to the task. I just want to see the look on one of their faces when she is suddenly presented the actual opportunity to have what she wants. It will send her away shrieking when she sees that it is almost as big as she is."

"And you think that will get them to leave us alone and quit messing up my polish with their slimy little hands?" Suntreaker asked with a growl at the constant handprints for which he was permitted no retribution. Everyone was always touching him. A pat on his hood. A hand on his wheeled-pede. It was absolutely revolting, especially when he thought about where those hands had been.

"Of course bro. No doubt about it." Sideswipe clapped his twin on the shoulder to emphasis his point.

"All right. I think I can sculpt that easily enough. What color should it be?"

"Gold, bro. What other color would you make it?"

"Are you fragging nuts? I thought you were the one who was going to wear it!" Sunstreaker yelled , turning to roughly grab his brother by the complex sensor structure structure on his helm.

"Don't be such an aft, bro! I can't be the one who wears it. You are the attractive one. You know that you are the most attractive mech on base. No one would be interested in 'facing me when they could have you. Not to mention how much more frightening you are than me. We need to scare the lubricants out of them to get them to quit pawing at you."

Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge, then extended his right blade and transformed his other hand into a sharpener so he could preen and groom himself. "Well, you couldn't be more right about that. I guess it will have to be me. But if it doesn't work, you get to polish me every day for the next vorn," he threatened, using the blade for emphasis.

Sideswipe gave an innocent, eager smile. "'Course bro. You've got a deal, and I'll happily polish you daily even if it does work. You know that."

"Hey Sides, what's up?" came the friendly voice of Sam Witwicky, who had just sidled up between him and his brother's pedes. Sideswipe noticed the disgusted look on his twin's faceplates, and looked down; sure enough, Sam was leaning against Sunstreaker's skate.

Sunstreaker immediately palmed the display off, roughly removed his pede from underneath Sam, and skated off irritably without saying a word save through his twin bond.

~I'm out of here. I can't take being in their presence for another second. I'll be in my studio.~

~He was only leaning against you, bro. Not like he was pawing you.~

~He had his disgusting, soft, squishie aft on me!~

~Good incentive to scare the slag out of them later, right? I'll see you when I get off duty, ok? Special polish, just for you.~

A low growl was the only response as Sunstreaker left the room.

Sideswipe looked down with a grin at Sam, now sprawled out on the ground. "Thanks, Spike-my-man. I owe you one. That was perfect."

"Glad to be of service. So why have you been trying to get everyone to touch him lately?" Sam "Spike" Witwicky asked as Sideswipe casually lifted him up onto his shoulder and strapped a couple of cables around him to keep him from losing his balance and breaking himself on the floor.

"You'll see soon enough. I'll make sure you are around when it happens, kid." Sideswipe reached up to his shoulder and ruffled Sam's hair.

"Just how dangerous is Sunbeam likely to become?" Sam asked, a worried look crossing his face.

"Well…you know how pissed Megatron was at you for turning his spark to slag? Probably a little more angry than that. But don't worry, it will be ok. Sunny never actually kills fleshies," Sideswipe chuckled, and made a mental note to make sure that he raided Ratchet's supplies for a remote delivery sedative.

"Wow…so…yeah. That sounds really…cool Sides. But hey, the reason I came by is that I have an idea for several episodes next season. You want to hear them?"

"Can't right now, kid. I volunteered for an extra duty shift. Starts in a couple kliks," the silver bladewarrior warrior explained with practiced nonchalance.

"You…volunteered? For extra work? You feeling ok? Should I comm Hatchet?" Sam regarded his creative collaborator with his eyebrows raised.

"You better believe I did, little Spike. I have brig duty, and our favorite wrench-wielder expects Prowl and Jazz to come out of their level-6 extended recharge sometime in the next joor. I wouldn't miss it for a shipload of vintage Vos highgrade."

Sam raised his eyebrows. That would be a sight. But then again, he wasn't sure that it was the best idea for Sideswipe to be the mech on duty considering the relationship he had with the rule-bound tactician on the best of days. But then again, without Prowl to schedule the duty shifts, such scheduling glitches were bound to happen.

"Say, Sides, who is doing scheduling with Prowl in the brig?"

"That's the best part, Spike. I am. I don't even think Prime looked at the data pad when he signed the order, he is so distracted with the aftermath of everything that has happened."

Sam just shook his head, feeling a bit sorry for Optimus, but not too sorry. The big lug really should have talked with some humans, like the human Prime for instance, before making a decision to have mandatory Smex Ed for the entire base.

"I'm coming with you," Sam decided, "I've got to see this."

Prowl's optics had not yet come online, though his primary processors had. His HUD informed him that had been in a level 6 medical recharge, one step above medical stasis, and his systems had slowly been coming online, one-by-one, for a joor.

Had he been injured? Had there been a battle? Was his memory core damaged?

Query: Reason recorded in log for medical recharge? he pinged his systems.

Response: No explanation recorded in log.

Prowl frowned in displeasure. It was not like Ratchet to put mecha into medical recharge without leaving a note in their log for when they came back online. It was disconcerting to have been in such a vulnerable state and not know why.

He decided to comm Ratchet. ::Chief Medical Officer Ratchet, please report condition that necessitated a full orn of level 6 medical recharge.::

His systems pinged him again with a message that was recorded in his log. Comms automatically disabled per regulation 481.5968. Comms may only be reinitialized with emergency override by superior officer pending disciplinary hearing for infraction 1049057783.385.

Prowl pondered the message. It surely was a glitch. The infraction code cited was one created specifically in response to their alliance with the humans. It indicated that he had put the organics at risk in a public setting outside of a battle engagement (in which sometimes, though there were subroutines and regulations to prevent such, collateral damage was permitted to occur if doing otherwise meant a greater loss of organic lives). But outside of a combat situation? Such a thing should not have been possible. He had 895,582 subroutines dedicated specifically to keeping the deceptively fragile humans safe in such settings. The only thing which could have caused him to put them at risk in a non-combat situation was a virus. But when could he have contracted a virus? His firewalls were some of the most intricate and insurmountable among the Autobots, by necessity. There was information contained in his memory core that even Prime erased from his own once missions and tactics were approved.

A virus would explain why he had been in a medically induced level 6 recharge.

He carefully scanned his systems and reviewed his logs. There was no sign of a virus...though his logs did indicate that he had interfaced...with...

"Oh Primus," he muttered, his optics instantly coming online as he sat up, only to bump into the silver plated, visored menace who had apparently been sitting above his helm where he lay and was leaning over him with his signature cheshire grin.

~Took you long enough to figure it out, Prowler,~ a voice purred in his spark.

Purred. In his spark! Where he was...not alone. He could feel Jazz, and, moreover, feel his spark lunging in anticipation of merging with its other half again...and again...and again.

In an instant, a section of his memory core defragmented. He remembered everything, and let out a groan that was half despair and half desire.

There was another set of subroutines that overrode all others, including those that protected fragile organics. These subroutines were written by a mechas' own sparks in the crystals lining the walls of their spark chambers, and they demanded mecha protect their sparkmates above all else. As soon as he and Jazz had interfaced, they had known. They were sparkmates. It was more than simply being bonded. Many mechs and femmes in a cohort might form bonds and merge regularly to strengthen those bonds, bringing their sparks into closer resonance. But he and Jazz had a unique kind of bond that was so improbable that the records of such were more legend than fact. Jazz's spark was in complete, perfect resonance with his own. One merge, and the bond was more solid and perfect than any bondmates could achieve after an entire functioning of interfacing and merging. His own system had initiated a level 6 recharge to allow his processors to settle and make the edits needed to adequately respond to the unfathomable discovery that he was sparkbonded.

~Prrroowwwlerrrrr~ Jazz's spark sang into his own again

"My designation is Prowl," the SIC growled even as he grabbed his sparkmate, cables snaking out toward Jazz's ports and chest plates parting as fast as their hydraulics would allow.

"I don't know whether to be totally turned on or ill," Sam said quietly from Sideswipe's shoulder where they were watching the pyrotechnics coming from inside the holding cell.

Sideswipe only gave an engine rev in response. He was far too consumed with the show, along with recording it and broadcasting it (with commentary) to the rest of the base through the systems he had hacked.

"You ready?"

"Yeah, ready. Which one?"

"The one with the frizz on her head the color of the water that goes down the drain after Hound's been in the racks."

"That one?"

"Yeah, her."

"Why her?"

"I don't know. She is a squishy. She smiles all the time and it is creepy. She touched my hood with her greasy, skin-shedding crushable little fingers last week."

"So you want to scare the organic fluids out of her because she smiles all the time? You are one cruel and sadistic bastard."

"And this is supposed to be news? Do I need to remind you this was your idea?"

"Not at all ... I just thought you'd pick someone who actually writes the slag. You know, like Mikaela, Sarah, or even Maggie."

"She could write it. She probably reads it. You can see it in her eyes. They have that doe-eyed worshipful look."

"But you like being worshipped."

"That is beside the point. She is there, she is a squishy, she is the target."

"Alright, bro. I'll go get her."

Sunstreaker crossed his arms, glaring at his brother as he approached the fleshy sitting at the other end of the rec-room with a couple of other insignificant representatives of her kind. Just the thought of what they had been reading and thinking about sent a shiver of disgust up his spinal struts. When he'd first heard about the phenomena of fanfiction, he had found it not worthy of any notice, other than a quick glance to make sure the squishies were accurate about his incomparable ferocity in battle and perfection in form.

But then he'd stumbled on it. The first one he found almost made him purge his tanks, and Sideswipe was only just able to prevent him from doing something that would have led to his longest stint in the brig to date.

The squishy had written about him stasis cuffed in Prowl's office. Prowl! And the SIC had been ... licking him. With his glossa? And what the frag was a glossa, anyhow? Why in Primus name would beings with vocal modulators and chem sensors need a wiggly organic-style tongue? If that wasn't bad enough, the horrid characterization of him was begging Prowl to spike him. At first the frontliner thought it was a request for some sort of masochistic torture not unlike what he enjoyed doing with his blades in battle. (Not masochistically, of course. In battle it was pure sadism, though he did appreciate a good injury now and then to further ignite his rage.)

But then he'd realized what the squishy really meant. It was the most humiliating, disgusting, slagged-up idea he'd ever heard an organic come up with: that he would ... interface ... like a squishy, complete with some form of disgusting fluid...and that he would do so with Prowl

From there it only got worse. He couldn't help himself. Like optics drawn to a disaster scene, he kept looking for of the slag. He and his brother going at it like Sam and Mikaela (Primus, did they have any idea how LOUD they were and what nauseating noises they made?). Not that he didn't enjoy a good interface with his twin. There really wasn't anything better, other than sticking his blade through a Decepticon's spark. But squishy style? He'd found stories and artwork of him paired with Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Bluestreak, and (shudder), even Starscream. There were threesomes with him and his brother with Optimus (that he would not admit he found frighteningly appealing. That voice ... ).

Oh, but if only it were just those. The most horrifying moment came when he discovered the ones where he ... pleasured ... a squishy. Where he took one as a sort of pet, and touched it. Frag, there was even one where he bonded with one.

From that point on he could hardly stand to look at them. They had, of course, long been below his notice, but now he did notice them, and loathsome images crossed his processors as he considered just what they might be thinking about.

It had even distracted him in battle. One of them had touched him and he'd quickly moved himself away, right into Laserbeak's line of fire, and she had scratched his finish! It was humiliating.

He was out of options. He was either going to completely lose his temper and start flattening the fleshies, or he was going to have to get off the pit-spawned planet.

Then Sideswipe had presented him with an alternative.

Sunstreaker watched as his brother made nice with the pus-colored-water-filled organic femme with hair the color of swamp-muck. He watched as her annoying smile got even wider before she, thankfully, covered her slimy mouth with her hand and tittered. While she followed Sideswipe over to him, Sunstreaker deliberately turned away, just as planned, taking the object he had he had sculpted out of subspace, magnetizing it, and attaching it to his pelvic plate. He could feel every eye and optic in the rec-room on him. Plenty of the females were there. Word would spread fast, and then they would never touch him or think of him that way again.

His chem sensors read her pheromones as she approached. Oh yes, she was a perfect candidate. Definitely one of the females who were deluding themselves by reading the stories.

Then he turned around, and watched her eyes go wide in shock as she was presented with what she thought she desired. An enormous, phallic metal cable standing erect and proud, jutting out of the perfectly polished armor of his pelvic plate.

"I know you want it, human," he growled in a voice heard by every being in the room. "It is as large as you are. You should be careful what you wish for, because you might just find them coming true."

Fighting back his reflex to purge, he picked her up and placed her on his false mod. She gave a satisfying little squeal of terror as she straddled it, holding on for dear life so she wouldn't plummet to the ground from its considerable height.

"I'm going to take you to my quarters now and give you what you thought you wanted. Are you ready for it?" he growled again in a slightly less convincing tone. The fleshy was not screaming for help. She wasn't begging him to let her go. There were fear pheromones from her, to be sure, but the ones that signaled her arousal were even stronger than before.

Her death cling turned to clinging of another sort, and he watched with growing horror as she began kissing the mod, rubbing herself on it, making little whimpering noises that had nothing to do with the terror he was supposed to be inspiring in her.

"I always knew it was true," kiss. "I never believed it was fiction," lick, kiss. "Please, Sunny, take me back to your quarters and you can do anything you want to me." She nuzzled the golden mod like she might nuzzle a soft kitten.

He stood frozen, his optics cycling in shock as she continued to pour out her devotion on that new mod which was, thank Primus, not actually connected to any of his systems. He wanted to grab her and turn her the consistency of squished banana, but he could not move.

He finally found his vocalizer, and to his dismay the sound that came out was not a roar of rage, but a high piched keen. "GET IT OFF OF ME! Get it off, get it off. For the love of Primus Get! It! Off! Of! Me!"

No one moved to help him. Sideswipe was standing at the edge of the room, obviously recording the entire incident. He finally managed to pull the magnetized cable off of him and throw it. The fleshy lost her grip and she rushed to meet the wall at velocity that was sure to kill her - or would have if Mirage had not suddenly shed his cloak and caught her, kneeling to put her gently on the floor with a look of haughty distaste.

"That was exceedingly base, Sunstreaker. Why in Primus name would you encourage them in their delusions? If I didn't know better, I'd be convinced that you want them to keep on rubbing their hands on your finish. "

Sunstreaker looked around at the various expressions of horror, amusement, and, Primus help him, arousal. Several of the females had made their way over to the phallic cable on the floor and were arguing about who should get it and where it should be kept.

One turned toward him with a those tooth-filled, bacteria-laden smiles and said. "OH MY GOD. I have a friend who would just LOVE that. How much do you charge for the show?"