The Most Unlikely of Events 10: Challenges with Dating
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The lead-up to the grand opening of Jazz's nightclub was an event that lasted a full decaorn with a different special every night, all of it culminating on the final night with energon delicacies, music from around the galaxy, and invitations sent out to just about every mecha on the planet. The higher cost of high grade deterred the ones who only wanted to get overcharged, and attracted those looking for a quieter atmosphere without the rowdy mess. It was lively without being over the top, entertaining without being deafening, and just the kind of place many of the former officers among them had been hoping for. Mirage and Optimus Prime in particular were frequent patrons, and gave every indication it wasn't just to support a new business or be polite.
Prowl frequented it as well, and not always to be around Jazz. He liked the smoother music, the better high grade and generally higher quality establishment to relax in, sitting in a corner and sipping on a single cube all evening as he simply watched. Tonight was not such a night. Prowl walked in with his sensor wings high and tense, a no-nonsense air about him that clearly said he was not here to relax. He headed right for the bar.
Jazz grinned at him. "Hey, officer," he purred seductively, leaning forward over the counter. "One on the house? Or maybe one in the back?" His visor flickered in a wink. "My treat..."
"I am on duty," Prowl informed him flatly. "I'm investigating a recent vandalism."
"So what brings you here?" Jazz asked innocently.
"I have my suspicions," Prowl told him. "I will need to ask you a few questions, when you have a moment."
"Hey, we agreed no assumptions," Jazz said. "You don't get to question based on personal suspicion."
Prowl simply looked at him. "It is not personal suspicion."
Jazz's visor brightened in surprise. "You found something?"
"Do you wish this conversation in public?" Prowl asked him, offering to take it somewhere less likely to cause problems for the new resident, even though most of the regular patrons knew about the lovers' prank war at this point.
"I knew it," Jazz said with a purr. "You are here to get me in the back." He hopped down off the counter, gesturing for Prowl to go around the end and follow him. The Praxian did so, his rigid stance not loosening when they were out of sight.
"There has been recent welding here, has there not?" Prowl began evenly.
Jazz cocked his head up at the taller mech. "Sure, during construction, and some modifications the last few orns."
"The individual who conducted the vandalism left welding dust behind. Since a chemical in it degrades within an orn when unbonded and uncontained, the individual responsible was in close contact with fresh welding," Prowl laid it out. "I have confirmed the location of each member of the work crew during night shift and you do not yet have any staff."
"I have Blaster," Jazz pointed out.
"He is an independently contracted DJ who was working at another club at the time of the vandalism," Prowl said.
Jazz thought for a few moments, rocking on his pedes. "So you think I did it."
"You are a logical suspect," Prowl said.
"Mhmm. What am I being accused of?"
"Vandalism of government property," Prowl said. "The designation markers of the senior officials were changed."
"Oh yeah?" Jazz purred. "What's yours, 'Prowlericious?'"
Prowl raised an optic ridge. "My designation is Prowl. It seems someone believes I am a ruling female composed of two hydrogen atoms bonded by an oxygen atom in a solid state."
Jazz twitched, and then broke down in giggles that he tried desperately to suppress, with no success. "That's-that's how you describe Ice Queen?" he gasped through his laugher, holding his sides as he doubled over.
"That is the definition of those terms," Prowl huffed, well aware that Jazz wasn't making fun of him.
Jazz had to take a few more kliks of giggling before he was finally in something resembling control over himself again and he cleared out his vocalizer. "So-um, you think-" A quickly stifled laugh. "You think I did it," Jazz said, and it took all of his effort to keep his face straight. "How do you know it was welding from my establishment, officer?"
"This is the only location where welding occurred in the past orn and a half," Prowl replied.
Jazz nodded slowly, mulling that over. "Do you have any way to connect the physical evidence to me personally, instead of someone who may have been in the area?"
"I have enough probable cause to insist on a search of your person for the residue and subject both to a degradation study," Prowl explained. "By your own admission, no one has been in the restaurant portion of this establishment since the work began other than the workers and yourself. The workers have all been accounted for during the time in question."
"Damn, mech," Jazz said, shaking his head and grinning. "You are impressive. And hot. Does that leave you with enough time for a quickie, then?"
"That depends on what you intend," Prowl rumbled and leaned in close. "I have not had your lips on my chamber in entirely too long."
"Been busy," Jazz purred, and stroked a finger down the center of Prowl's chest. "I'd say I have about five more kliks before the rush starts and Blaster comes looking. How about a trade, my lips on your chamber and you look the other way this time, mm?"
"The match is still mine, and you will fix the labels tonight," Prowl slid his hands along Jazz's sides and unlocked his chest as he knelt to bring his chamber on level with his lover's lips. "Do that and I will not file charges. I am not frigid."
"No," Jazz agreed with a deep, lustful purr as he dipped his head into Prowl's chest to x-vent against the chamber. "You're molten."
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Jazz was too busy to even look over to the door when he heard the entrance chime, working as fast as he could to get a round of a dozen fire rock shooters out to a table, and he had just finished putting the last one together when the large, silver frame sat down right in front of him. He looked up to see Sideswipe smirking.
"Nimbus," he called, and slid the tray over to the only staff he'd managed to hire so far. "Can you get that?"
"Yeah I got it," the former spy-turned-dancer said, with a knowing look at Sideswipe before heading over with the order.
"Don't usually see you around here," Jazz said casually, facing Sideswipe squarely.
Sideswipe grinned at him. "Yeah well, don't usually see you anywhere but here lately," he said. "Just wanted you to know I've got Prowl in good claws."
"Can I get you something?" Jazz asked.
"Nah, just waiting for Prowl," Sideswipe said, propping his chin up in one hand. "Meeting here soon as he's off duty. But we're not staying long. Got plans for that mech."
"I'm glad you both seem to enjoy each other so much," Jazz said, matching the silver mech's smirk.
"We have a lot of time for it," Sideswipe said. "Kinda like you're not on the same planet sometimes."
"True, my wildly successful club opening has kept me extremely busy," Jazz said, quietly noting Prowl walking in, but limiting his reaction so that Sideswipe wouldn't have any reason to look himself. "Funny though, he never seems too tired for me when I get home."
"I only send him back after he's had a good recharge," Sideswipe said.
"Sideswipe," Prowl greeted them smoothly before Jazz could give a return. "Jazz, it looks as if things are going very well."
"Extremely," Jazz purred, all of his attention immediately going to his lover with a field that turned deeply flirtatious in an instant. Prowl's caressed back, less flirtatious but still decidedly amorous. "Sideswipe was just commenting on how much time I've put into the place, I'm glad it's paying off."
"We don't want to keep you, of course," Sideswipe said as he stood and skated smoothly around them both to stroke Prowl's armored sensor wings, reveling in the way it made the mech's vents hitch. "Seeing as how busy you are all the time."
"Have a good evening, Jazz. I will see you when you have time," Prowl said, meaning it honestly even as he leaned into the touch from behind.
"Enjoy yourself in the meantime," Jazz said with a suggestive grin, meaning it just as much as Prowl had. "You know where to come if you need to break and refuel."
"I think we'll be fine," Sideswipe said, waving his claws back at Jazz before they left together.
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It was an orn when Sideswipe had the evening patrol, and instead of joining him Prowl had decided to spend time in Jazz's club, the Nightbird, watching and relaxing. Three joors past nicely, and now it was closing. The staff, Jazz, Blaster and Nimbus, had finally gotten the last mech to leave and begun cleaning. It was an unwritten but understood rule that as long as he didn't get in the way, Prowl was allowed to remain. So he remained, gracefully moving closer to Jazz as the mech finished clearing tables and settled behind the bar to put it to rights for the next orn.
Jazz's field was warm, even grateful for the company. "So finally I get to say, 'Hello, how was your day?'" he chuckled as he collected the empty cubes.
"Excessively dull. Much of it was taken up with overseeing the security measures for the Human ambassador's visit," Prowl answered easily, relaxed and feeling safe here.
"Ah, fleshies," Jazz said. "Man, and you lot being all giants I bet most of the risk is accidental squishage."
Prowl grimaced. "I'm more concerned with their ability to survive traffic. They wish to see the entire city. Including the entertainment."
"I hope you have designated drivers," Jazz said as he started loading cubes up onto a tray to head for the sterilizer. "Not sure how much you've interacted with Human drivers but they drive for scrap. Literally. Though if they're complaining about wanting to be in control over 'their' vehicles, it's easy to fake 'em out."
"Are you volunteering?" Prowl purred at him. "Human-friendly mechs are very few. Most stayed in their system when we left."
"Drive the fleshies around?" Jazz said with a laugh. "Yeah, man, sign me up. Always kinda liked the little guys."
"You have just made several mecha very happy and my next orn easier," Prowl chuckled. "Can your staff handle things for an orn and a half? That is all they are staying."
"Oh yeah," Jazz said, pulling out flavoring bottles to take into the back for refilling. "You'll have to find someone who can speak their current dialect at me for a bit, though. First Contact English has to be more than a little outdated by now."
"Significantly, though it is a derivative at least," Prowl agreed, then switched over. "Hello, Jazz. Are you ready to learn?"
Jazz cocked his head, playing the phrase over in his processor. The greeting was easy to pick out, and his designation, and the format and intonation of a question. "Hello, ready to learn," he repeated back in a guess, looking at Prowl expectantly for more. It wasn't unlike when he'd picked up Old English to read things in their original form. He'd quickly figured out that Old English had more in common with modern German than it did its modern namesake. This, like that, was not a language he could download. He'd had to read the studies on it, then original, then the translations to understand, but he'd done it.
"The racetrack will be popular, but also very dangerous." Prowl began diving into the practical terms Jazz would need to recognize. Jazz was a rapid study, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching the small mech listen, categorize, translate, and learn. They talked on for long after the other employees had left and closed down for the night, with Jazz perched on the counter in front of Prowl, visor bright with interest and enjoyment as they chatted together about everything and nothing in the pursuit of preparing Jazz for his duties with the humans.
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It took a little bit of convincing, but Sideswipe finally managed to drag Prowl out to the racetrack for some public races. It wasn't that Prowl didn't like racing, or being in public, but he'd never been tempted by the mix.
"Race ya," he purred, as soon as the next open race began to line up.
"I was under the impression you did not like to lose," Prowl said dryly even as he walked to the starting line.
"Ha!" Sideswipe said as he transformed and revved his engines up. "That'll be the orn."
"You have yet to escape me," Prowl replied calmly, earning a couple snickers from around them as Prowl settled on his tires and revved his engine with his full processor power dedicated to the race. "I was created to catch your type."
"Because you outsmart and outnumber, not outrace," Sideswipe shot back playfully.
Prowl's reply, if there was going to be one, was cut off by the starting lights counting down. Sideswipe spoke the truth, and while Prowl couldn't use numbers to win this time, he did have far more processor power than anyone else on the field. What was usually dedicated to running the government was now focused on optimizing his systems and movement on a very limited track with few variables as they took off.
No one else dedicated that kind of thought power to racing, even the most dedicated racers focused their attention on their speed and power, not measuring the exact curve of the ground and the optimum amount of power to put into a corner to optimize their overall speed.
No one racing had seen Prowl race on a track before, and they all assumed he wouldn't have any idea what he was doing.
So when he came in first, it stunned them all.
Everyone except Sideswipe, that was, and while he huffed and made much of Prowl being lucky, Prowl could easily teek that Sideswipe, while not surprised, was still very impressed.
"Best two out of three," the silver warrior insisted.
"Agreed," Prowl inclined his helm slightly and went to wait their turn on the starting line.
Two out of three turned into three out of five and would have turned into four out of seven if the other racers hadn't started teasing Sideswipe about setting himself up for a solid thrashing. The silver mech finally agreed to break for refueling.
"Thank you for convincing me to come. I have not enjoyed an evening out so much in centuries," Prowl said honestly as they sipped their energon and watched the next race. Neither mech was oblivious to the attention Prowl had garnered, and Sideswipe wasn't surprised when two of the pro racers, those who made their income with a share of the proceeds of each race they were in, came up to challenge them.
"Think you're up to race with us?" Hot Rod grinned, his bright red and orange coloring a dramatic statement about wanting to be the center of attention.
"I would enjoy that, if Sideswipe is agreeable," Prowl glanced at his date.
"Frag yes," Sideswipe told the racers with a grin. "I think we finally found someone who can outrace your afts. Next race?"
"You're on," Hot Rod said, leaving with his partner to watch the rest of the current round.
"So how do you do that?" Sideswipe, turning to Prowl with amazement.
"I focus my full attention on the race," Prowl said with a faint smile.
"Yeah but so does everyone else," Sideswipe said, staring at him in awe.
"You have witnessed what a dozen processor upgrades and specialized software can do," Prowl pointed out mildly as the current race ended. "I have more free-use processor power than any ten mecha, short of the hosts. Only Onslaught comes close."
"It's ridiculously cool," Sideswipe decided as they rose together to make their way to the starting line.
"Thank you," Prowl said as he settled on the starting line. He absently listened to comm chatter as he always did, and couldn't help but be mildly surprised at how many mecha were betting on him to win, and then by how much. Personally, he did not approve of gambling, but the Prime insisted that it was important to allow so it could be regulated, and at least that reasoning Prowl agreed with. But to be the subject of hopes rather than the dispenser of bad tidings and the mecha no one never wanted to see or hear from ... it was a little distracting.
When the countdown began, however, Prowl shoved it all in the pending pile and once more dedicated himself fully to the race.
Somewhat to his relief, Hot Rod turned out to be a real challenge, as a driver who had dedicated his life to racing, he had learned over centuries to instinctively understand what Prowl's processor actively worked out in moments. The end result was competition that Prowl was forced to pay attention to, or risk losing. It was a thrill he hadn't felt in ages and Prowl didn't hide how elated and excited he was as he and Hot Rod exchanged the lead time and time again through the four-lap race, neither one gaining the lead for long or by more than half a length.
It was exhilarating and Prowl was hooked.
The end came and not even the racers were sure which one won until the recorder set above the finish line reported that Prowl had finished less than a finger's width ahead of his brightly colored opponent.
Sideswipe came skidding to a halt next to him as he transformed, pouncing him before the silver mech was even fully in root mode, tackling him to the ground, earning a squawk from Prowl. "That was amazing!" he cheered, reluctantly letting go and shifting so Prowl could get up.
"It really was," Hot Rod said a moment later with a chuckle as he held his hand out to help Prowl up. "You should be doin' this professionally, mech."
"I have a function," Prowl said before his processor caught up with the intent of the statement. "Thank you, though," he said as he accepted the hand up. "Perhaps we can race occasionally anyway? That was a very satisfying challenge."
"Oh yeah," Hot Rod said. "All my guys are wantin' to join, we'll set something up."
Sideswipe was against him again, hands on his chest. "You have no idea how charged that got me," he purred blatantly, though his field spoke clearly of it and Prowl's responded eagerly with a deceptively gentle surge into the taller silver mech.
"Comm me to set up the details," Prowl answered Hot Rod, then looked appraisingly at Sideswipe. "Tomorrow."
"Sure thing," Hot Rod said with a rumbling chuckle, before Sideswipe nudged Prowl to transform with a commed challenge to race back to his quarters, his intentions perfectly clear when he revved his engine suggestively.
"You will obey speed limits and traffic laws," Prowl yelled before transforming and racing after him, though his lights were off.
"Right, cop bot!" Sideswipe called back with a laugh, though to Prowl's surprise, he actually did obey all the laws, despite a few risky dodges through moving traffic that weren't technically illegal. When they reached Sideswipe's door he finally transformed and tapped it open with a flourish, bowing Prowl in.
With a low chuckle Prowl walked in, taking the opportunity to tease Sideswipe's slender doorwings while he was at it. "That really does rev you up."
"You have no idea," Sideswipe said with a rev, forcibly guiding Prowl to the berth and pushing him down onto it. The heavier and higher ranking mech went with it easily, enjoying the sense of power over him and the protection it offered. The power of this mech in particular had protected him most of the war and it wasn't lost on Prowl how much he liked being the smaller mech, the one being shielded.
Prowl's hands came up to stroke Sideswipe's arms, fingers teasing the sensors on the armor and deeper inside. "Let me feel it then," he brought one hand inward to circle Sideswipe's interface cover.
"Mm, hold on tight," Sideswipe rumbled as it spiraled open, tugging his cable out and circling the tip around Prowl's exposed port before clicking in with a hard rush of charge. "That's all you," he moaned, and his port opened with the next surge. "Plug on in so I can really show you."
Prowl didn't hesitate, sending a powerful surge into Sideswipe as he plugged in. "The final race, being challenged, it was incredible. Racing with you is fun. Racing against the pros made me feel more alive than I've felt in ages. Thank you."
The compliment, and gratitude, seemed to startle Sideswipe, but he quickly pushed it aside to rub their chests together with another roar of his engine to mark the burst of sensation it created. "Good," he rumbled, and the next charge was pushed over both lines with Sideswipe's full force behind it. Prowl replied in kind, nearly whiting out Sideswipe's awareness with the strength and absolute enjoyment of their date.
The pleasure spiraled quickly, neither one inclined to hold back and draw it out. It wasn't long before the revving and their cries took on a sharp edge, then the bliss of overload.
Anyone hanging out near the door would have heard round after round, and most would smile that the pair had finally gotten together. No one doubted that Sideswipe was immensely easier to be around now that his lifelong crush wasn't unrequited.
Inside the room, things finally quieted as the pair settled, exhausted and sated in a way neither were very used to feeling.
Sideswipe's engines rumbled contentedly in a relaxed idle as he draped an arm over Prowl, settling in next to him on the berth. "That was good," he said with a purr.
"Very good," Prowl purred in reply, relaxed and content with both the interface and the protective cuddle Sideswipe had draped himself into. It felt good. "I would like to go to the races with you again."
"Mm." Sideswipe powered his optics back on, and for a moment Prowl thought he could teek confusion before it was gone. "Yeah, yeah that'd be fun."
Prowl allowed the conversation to end there, but he could no longer completely ignore that recharge after the interface with no talking between, or after he woke, was beginning to make him miss Jazz. The overloads might not be as good, but the complete package was more enjoyable.
No matter what most mecha thought, Prowl enjoyed talking, and not just about work.
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It didn't happen often, but every once in a while Jazz's work schedule and Prowl's duties ran completely opposite each other, leaving them both without any free time to spend with the other. Cybertron had been playing host to a neighboring planet's dignitaries, and the popularity of The Nightbird among the officers giving the tours, combined with Prowl's security details, meant they hadn't seen each other in almost five orns.
So when Jazz finally, finally caught his first glimpse of Prowl off duty at the same time as him in what felt like forever at this point, he pounced, and proceeded to drag him to their shared quarters for a complete and thorough 'facing-at least, as thorough as they could get.
When it was over, limp and tangled together, the pair was panting and mostly physically sated. "I've missed you too," Prowl chuckled.
"Primus I needed that," Jazz groaned, caressing the beloved field under him with his own for a few moments before lifting his head up to look at Prowl. "Let's petition Optimus to make a law saying that planetary visitors can't stay longer than half an orn. It is completely unacceptable that you be busy for so long."
"It is my function, Jazz," Prowl hummed, though he would dearly love such a law. "I would be much, much busier if our relations deteriorated enough that neighbors became hostile. Planetary defense is one of my duties." He stroked Jazz's wide, flat back, the roof of his alt mode that didn't break into a dozen pieces to fold more neatly. "Besides, they do not come often. One of the reasons we chose this world and this system was because of how distant everyone else was. The tradeoff is, the further they travel, the longer they stay."
"There is something to be said for an isolationist governing system, though," Jazz said, arching into the hand with a distracted purr. "Increased exposure is increased risk of grave misunderstandings and hostile sentiment."
"It also brings in a reduction of imports, cultural stagnation and increased likelihood that naturally aggressive races, such as the humans you are so fond of, will see us as machines to be used, rather than beings that have rights," Prowl countered, relaxed and content in talking to this mech. Despite the importance of the topic, it wasn't an important conversation. It was just conversation and they both enjoyed it.
"True," Jazz agreed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm the last mech who would want to limit exposure to other worlds. But I think it probably works better for some species. Not ours, but there have been some successful xenophobic planets."
"Absolutely," Prowl did not contest fact. "However it requires as careful balance of enough resources for that race to flourish, but not any resources that make the world attractive to others, and a territorial nature to make them capable of defending what they claim, but little desire to expand. Plus, well, we have a very poor intergalactic image we need to work on. There are races that wish to conquer us now that we are weak. We need the protection of the nearby governments. As our number decrease, it will become ever more important that we have allies enough to make aggressors question the value of attacking us."
"Basically you're saying isolationism would be a death knell and I should not try to convince Prime otherwise," Jazz chuckled, tucking his head under Prowl's chin. "Damn. What are the politics in this galaxy like?"
Prowl hummed. "Well, for the most part friendly, though some worlds are still running a bit cool towards us." He began to list and describe the political atmosphere in generalities, until Jazz began to question for nuance, and then he described in detail, thoroughly enjoying himself and the questions that Jazz asked. They were thoughtful, well-constructed, and intelligent.
When Prowl glanced at his chronometer right before they were finally too tired to keep from recharge, he was startled to find they had spent far more time talking than interfacing. He smiled. He wasn't one bit disappointed by it.
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With the craziness of visitors over for more than a metacycle and the next round not due until humans arrived again at the start of the next local solar cycle, Jazz and Prowl had finally gotten into something of a routine again. While it included plenty of passionate interfacing, it also included many evenings ... technically very early mornings ... like this one when they were both lounging on Prowl's couch, snuggled together. This time Prowl was sitting up and Jazz was laying down with his helm in Prowl's lap while they read.
"Did you know that someone left a custom chair in my office the other orn?" Prowl said randomly.
"Really now?" Jazz hummed, not looking up. "Dignitary or something?"
"No one claimed responsibility. Not even the mech who made it knows who placed the order," Prowl explained. "It's amazingly comfortable. Not just designed for a Praxian, my previous one was that, but designed for me to my exact dimensions and frame quirks. Someone went to a lot of trouble, and I'd like to thank them for it."
"And in attempting to seek out the origin you found nothing?" Jazz asked, voice mild.
"Nothing at all," Prowl confirmed.
Jazz's mouth turned up in a pleased smirk. "Well then," he said, and set his reading aside, sat up and slid over into Prowl's lap, straddling his legs. "I win that round," he purred, hands going up to caress his lover's chest.
"Yes, you did," Prowl purred as he leaned forward to kiss his lover. "It is amazingly comfortable. As a bit of a prize for your first victory, I brought a gift for you."
Jazz trilled curiously. "I like gifts," he said with a grin.
"I hope you like this one as much as I like the chair," Prowl said, just a bit nervously. He reached into his subspace and brought out a simple box to hand to Jazz. "It is a custom gift, so I didn't actually have much control over the timing, though I rather like how it turned out."
Jazz scooted back to accept the gift and slid the top of the box back and looked in. His visor brightened and he stared for a moment before his mouth widened into a grin. "Oh, hello," he said, and lifted what could really only be intended as an incredibly fun toy out. "This what I think it is?" he asked, examining the design that was definitely based on his own equipment.
"I believe so," Prowl smiled at the reaction. "It should be more enjoyable in your valve than my fingers."
"There's always something to be said for having it be your field," Jazz said, examining the shape and texture of the spike mimic. "But yes, very likely it will be. Please tell me we're trying this out," he purred.
"We are trying it out," Prowl chuckled as he reached down to tease Jazz's valve cover. "Wheeljack was muttering about an add-on that would allow it to temporarily attach to my frame and feed into my sensory net."
"That would be hot as Pit," Jazz said, spreading his legs open and leaning back. One of Prowl's arms wrapped around him for support, the other took the toy and continued to tease around the exposed valve until Jazz was moaning. A quick, smooth push in had Jazz crying out and bucking against the streamlined, textured shape. It had been so long since he'd felt anything like this, longer since he'd felt it with Prowl as the source of the pleasure, and it took almost nothing at all for him to overload with them combined.
Prowl felt the rush and crackle of the overload where they're frames contacted, feeding his charge, but he also felt the burst of electricity the interface toy discharged in response. All together, it made Prowl shiver with arousal, but he focused on continuing to work the toy in and out as he had with his fingers until Jazz settled, gasping and quivering as he came down from a second, smaller overload.
"I take it that felt quite good," Prowl deadpanned.
Jazz gasped out a curse in his native Cybertronian, the one that Prowl always heard when he deeply approved of whatever was happening, as his hips continued to push and rock in small, involuntary twitches. "I think your gift wins," he finally managed.
"Mmm, thank you," Prowl purred deeply. "More?" he slid the toy gently almost all the way out.
"So much more," Jazz purred, struggling to push himself fully upright so he could press against Prowl, working fingers into his wires. In the back of his processor, the programs that had been dedicated to working out a translation code for their systems were immediately made that much more of a priority.
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Prowl's overload had barely faded from his systems and he could already feel Sideswipe gearing up for the next round when Metroplex's voice cut through everything else, going straight to his audials.
"Prowl, I am concerned about Jazz," the metrotitan said.
"Why?" Prowl's attention was immediately shifted away from Sideswipe and what their frames were doing.
Sideswipe stilled above him, frowning.
"He appears to be stuck in a recharge flashback loop," Metroplex said. "I have been unable to rouse him. I am concerned he will hurt himself, or do damage to his coding that we cannot repair."
"Call Ratchet. I'm on my way," Prowl pushed on Sideswipe so he could get up.
"Wait, can't someone else-" Sideswipe began in protest, grabbing Prowl's wrist.
"I am sorry," Prowl murmured as he lowered his forehelm to caress Sideswipe's. "Do not expect me back tonight."
The warrior nodded, reluctantly sinking back onto the berth, scowling, but accepting the need for Prowl to go.
Once he knew his lover was sufficiently settled so as to not become violent, Prowl moved as quickly as he could back to his quarters, palming them open and then proceeding with extreme caution. Any SpecOps agent, much less the commander, could be deadly when frightened and unaware of their surroundings, and he'd heard the terrified vocalizations from the hall.
"He is on the berth," Metroplex said. "Ratchet is coming."
Prowl nodded his understanding and moved carefully to look through the doorway. Jazz was much as Prowl had found him for every other flashback loop, on his back, fighting the unseen nightmare, protecting his chest.
Carefully Prowl extended his field, stopping as soon as he was close enough for Jazz to teek him. "Jazz?"
Jazz's vocalizer hitched, caught, the scream broke in the middle and his field surged towards Prowl's, grabbing and wrapping and pummeling into him.
Prowl took the assault and stepped cautiously closer, putting as much calm and safety into his field as he could. "Jazz. You are safe. I am here." It was cruel and he knew it. Jazz was looking for his Prowl, but he was here and he cared enough to lie.
Behind him, he heard the door opening and the sound of Ratchet's systems approaching. He held a hand up to tell the medic to stay where he was and Ratchet stopped immediately. He knew what was at risk with startling this mech.
With Ratchet settled, Prowl took one step forward, then another, and with each movement forward, Jazz settled more and more. When Prowl was close enough to touch he stopped, making sure to stay within plain view of the flickering visor.
"Jazz. You are safe now." Prowl said carefully, pushing all the reassurance he could through his field as he reached out, slowly and carefully, to touch a pede. Just enough to make a physical connection and as far away from what Jazz was protecting as he could manage. "Come to me. You are safe."
Jazz twitched, and shuddered, and then bolted upright, grabbing for Prowl, his hands finding the other mech's collar and gripping as his vents heaved and he shook, staring at the other mech.
Everything flicked off for a split moment in a startlingly fast reboot and then Jazz was pressing against him. "Wasn't for him," he gasped in his language, confused and disoriented, "It was for you."
Prowl had heard those phrases before, enough times to understand them. He wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him tightly. "I know," Prowl whispered, kissing Jazz's forehelm. "I know. He paid for taking what is mine."
"He..." Jazz mumbled, then stilled, his visor dimming. "I killed him," he said slowly, then shook his head and pushed away with a shuddering x-vent. "And now I'm here." His voice was clear. "Thank you. Weren't you with..."
"It's all right," Prowl assured him as he sat on the berth. "Are you completely here again?"
"Yeah," Jazz said. "At least, I think I am. I could use a thorough scan and defrag but..." He shrugged, then Ratchet's movement through the doorway caught his attention and he focused sharply before looking at Prowl. "Did I hurt you?"
"No. It was a precaution in case there was damage he could repair," Prowl looked over to Ratchet. "I believe we are fine. Thank you for coming."
Jazz relaxed as soon as he knew that Prowl was unharmed. Ratchet nodded and backed out of sight. After they heard the door opening and closing, Jazz was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned against Prowl. "Thank you for coming. It helps."
"I know," Prowl kissed his forehelm again. "You needed me. I will come when you need me."
"It's bound to be a less exciting evening for you now," Jazz said as he pressed into the touch with a soft, grateful sigh.
"I know, but it will be a more peaceful one for you," Prowl murmured, nudging Jazz to lie down. "Rest, Jazz."
"Yeah all right," Jazz agreed, his subconscious functions seeming to respond to that command almost immediately as his visor dimmed and he began to slump against Prowl. Prowl caught him easily and lowered the exhausted mech fully onto the berth before curling up next to him, one arm protectively around his waist, keeping the nightmares at bay with his field.
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Narali had very little in the way of luxury or businesses that weren't directly tied into the dominant labor force, and the restaurants were no exception. There were only two, and calling them restaurants would be generous. They were small places that operated around the shifts of the planet's workers, specializing in large portions, fast service, and owners who remembered everything about every one of their regulars.
Prowl sometimes liked to stop in the smaller of the two after his nightly patrol to refuel with something other than an unflavored cube ration, and this morning Sideswipe had hinted that he might stop by at the end of his shift to take Prowl back to his quarters. So he was waiting longer than he typically did, sipping at a heated cube until the silver warrior rolled in.
It was more than enough to garner the attention of the mech on duty, one who knew Prowl's preferences and habits nearly as well as Prowl did.
"Which one are you waiting for?" Softsheen asked warmly as he skated smoothly up to check on Prowl. With only the two of them present at the moment, that wasn't unusual either. Despite his reputation, Prowl liked to talk to citizens when they weren't in trouble.
"Sideswipe," Prowl told him, relaxed and willing to share a bit of gossip about himself in exchange for what the former neutral would often tell him about the state of the labor class. "Jazz is running a dance competition tonight. I doubt he'll be home before dawn."
"Ah. He's really doing quite well for himself, isn't he?" Softsheen happily chatted. "There was real concern when he first showed up, but he's been a great addition, even if I do see far fewer officers now."
"Yes, the Nightbird filled a need that has been there for quite some time. I expect your business will pick up again when the newness has worn off. Many mecha I see there are not the kind of I expect to be long-term clients," Prowl said. "Though I wouldn't have thought you would be in much competition."
"I don't think it's competition so much as limited credits and time, but you're right. It's not a place for everyone," Softsheen agreed.
"You've been inside?" Prowl glanced at in surprise.
"Once. Like everyone I wanted to see what the new club was like," he gave an easy grin. "Not really my thing, but I'm glad it's there for the mecha who really have missed the higher-end establishment."
"That's all Jazz is looking to do," Prowl rippled his armor in agreement. "It's a niche market, but one that wasn't being served."
They both spotted Sideswipe about the same time.
"Will he be having a cube?" Softsheen asked politely.
"Yes," Prowl said, sending Softsheen skating off to mix it while Sideswipe entered.
"Hey, lover," Sideswipe greeted, gliding into the seat next to Prowl. "Softsheen getting my cube?"
"Yes," Prowl reached out to caress Sideswipe's arm. "How was your shift?"
"More exciting than it usually is," Sideswipe said with a grin. "There was a false alarm on a potential breach then it was just space junk making the radar spazz. How about you?"
"I got that comm sequence," Prowl nodded. "Patrol was nice. I did not have to stop anyone."
"Good," Sideswipe purred as Softsheen returned with his cube. "Means you'll have plenty of energy."
"As if I have ever lacked enough energy for you," Prowl teased as he sipped in time with Sideswipe, calculating how much for each drink so they would finish together.
Softsheen left them politely alone, going into the back to start on cleaning up for the orn. Sideswipe was about halfway through his cube, chattering away about a new tread style, when the quiet background music suddenly had Prowl's complete focus.
It was slow but intended to be danced to, and it held a very special place in Prowl's processors. This was the music that Jazz had used in the painful but ultimately rewarding effort to first teach him to dance. His optics dimmed, awareness of Sideswipe fading to almost nothing as he lost himself in those memories. At this point, even the embarrassing efforts were sweet moments full of Jazz's affection for him and patience.
Eventually Sideswipe noticed the shift in mood and quieted. "Hey, um, you all right?" he asked uncertainly. When no answer came his armor ruffled uneasily enough to draw Softsheen's attention, but not yet his presence. "Prowl?" Sideswipe tried again, reaching out to touch Prowl's hand.
That was enough to startle Prowl back to the present, his optics lighting to full power with a flash and rapidly focused. "Sideswipe ... my apologies. The music. I never anticipated it had survived."
"Oh," Sideswipe said, confused by that answer. "What's it from?"
"An old, very old, dance ballad from Crystal City," Prowl said softly. "It predated Jazz, even. A classic that was still popular when the war began, at least among those who still danced the waltz. Jazz taught me to dance to it."
"...Oh," Sideswipe said, and Softsheen was now paying rapt attention. "I'm, um, it reminds you of him?"
"Yes," Prowl murmured with a faint nod and twitch of his armored sensor wings. "It was the first time I truly grasped that he had the patience and dedication when he wanted to accomplish something. Dancing was not something that I learned easily. I am still not good at it. Not even that simple, highly structured kind." His fingers curled around the nearly empty cube. "It took vorns before I was willing to be seen in public for even such simple dances."
Unsaid, but oh so painfully clear, was just how much Prowl missed his mate with the reminder.
Sideswipe patted his arm a little. "Hey, though, you'll always have those good memories right?"
Prowl made the effort for pull his wondering thoughts and emotions together. It hurt, it was hard, but this wasn't Sideswipe's burden. "Yes. They are good memories," he agreed as his field settled and smoothed a bit. "Many good memories. Some like those I intend to make with you tonight."
Sideswipe grinned, very clearly pleased with his apparently success in lifting Prowl's mood, and took the cue to down the rest of his cube and stand, holding his hand out for Prowl. It was taken without hesitation and the pair left, all under the watchful and gauging gaze of Softsheen.
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When Sideswipe finally sank fully into recharge, Prowl stared at the ceiling for several long kliks, then gently maneuvered his way out of the berth. A quick comm message set to show up when the warrior booted, and Prowl was gone. He walked back to his quarters, deep in thought and uncertain if he was hoping for Jazz to be there or not. Normally when he sank this deep into his grief he retreated and meditated until he felt functional again.
Right now ... Jazz might actually understand. Or he may simply 'face Prowl into forgetting, and Prowl would lock himself in his office for a few orns to settle and process all that had been brought up by the music.
He palmed the door open and entered, seeing light coming from the berthroom. "Jazz?" he asked quietly as he came around the corner, finding the former SpecOps mech stretching on the floor.
As soon as he saw Prowl, Jazz was up on his pedes, visor brightening above his pleasantly surprised grin. "Thought you were gonna be out," he said, walking over for a more affectionate greeting, then stopped when he was in teeking range, the smile fading. "What's wrong?"
"Only memories that do not settle easily," Prowl assured him, though he did nothing hot hide the pain of loss associated with the memories of happier times. "Earlier this evening I heard the song that Jazz taught me to dance to."
Comprehension came immediately to Jazz's face and field. He held his hand out for Prowl, leading him back to the berth. Prowl quelled the moment of disappointment-Jazz was helping, as best he could, as best he knew how-and obediently lay down with his lover.
But Jazz's teek wasn't aroused, or even trying to arouse, or even comfort. It was loss, and pain, the same as Prowl's, deep understanding and empathy that Prowl knew he wouldn't find anywhere else.
Vents hitched with a mixture of grief and relief as Prowl pulled the smaller mech close and buried his face against smooth plating. Soon he was shaking, soft clicking keens of grief escaping his vocalizer as he let go for the first time since he'd learned his mate had deactivated. He'd grieved before, but always in private. Not even the Prime could touch him when he felt loss, but this mech who'd seen nothing of his life or his war and yet knew it all entirely too well could.
Jazz wrapped his arms around Prowl's neck and held tightly. "I miss Prowl," he whispered, and his own vocalizer fritzed with static from the pain. "Every moment of every orn. They left too soon."
"Yes, before us, before we could bond," Prowl agreed, relieved in the embrace, in the mutual pain. He knew on an intellectual level that many mecha had suffered his loss, but none had even made the connection that this one did. "Before we could go with them."
Jazz shuddered. "We should've been able to follow," he said, voice quiet. "And instead we're here without them."
"Yes," Prowl agreed to all of it, his voice full of static even as his frame began to relax. "Programming, war programming, wouldn't let either of us go. Not even now."
Jazz nodded. He'd tried so hard, so hard to end it, even now he didn't know what he would do if he was offered the choice, but at least...
"If ... I had to survive him, if I was forced to live," he murmured, curled tightly against Prowl, "At least I found my way here."
"I'm glad you were sent here as well," Prowl murmured, his caress light and comforting along Jazz's back. "He will always be my sparkmate, my one, but you are a comfort I never anticipated and I thank Primus for your presence."
"Primus or a random multidimensionality flux that hit the jackpot," Jazz said, sighing against Prowl's helm and stroking back down along his neck. "What was the song?"
Instead of answering, Prowl cued it up on the audio system in the room and played the soft, slow dance music. It had been created for the dance and embodied in every note the slow, intimate slide of frame against frame with a simple pattern of steps and movements that repeated endlessly until the music ended or the couple left the floor.
"I like it," Jazz decided after listening for a few kliks. "Different from all the other music I've heard here."
"It belongs to a culture that had no place in war," Prowl sighed softly. "Polite society. Honestly most of those who might have listened or danced to such music are among the few the Nightbird carters to."
Jazz hummed thoughtfully. "I can see that." He nuzzled Prowl. "I'm happy to listen for as long as you'd like to leave it playing."
A flicker of gratitude caressed Jazz across their fields as Prowl settled to turn inward. He knew he'd mumble, he'd never managed to completely disconnect his vocalizer from his deep processing protocols, and for once he didn't bother muting it. Whatever Jazz might learn, he could know.
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It was one of the strange quiet evenings when Jazz closed the Nightbird early, had everything cleaned up, and was back to Prowl's quarters-his quarters, he silently corrected himself-before his normal closing time. He palmed the door open, wondering if Prowl was inside or at Sideswipe's or called to work, and then paused when the air felt different.
He wasn't sure if his entrance had been noticed, but if it hadn't been, whoever else was in here wouldn't find him now as he crept to the only direction light was coming from, in the berthroom. The moans were deep, resonant, full of pleasure and he immediately recognized one of them. Prowl was with someone, and enjoying himself.
Looking carefully around the corner, he immediately relaxed and even smiled slightly. Sideswipe was over, no danger. Jazz settled in to watch. He'd watched a couple of their pornos, just for educational purposes, and while there were elements that were undeniably erotic to him, most of it just wasn't. They just didn't interface in ways that he was intrinsically drawn to.
This though, this went right to his spike. Prowl was on his back, helm flung back, lit optics bright but unseeing, mouth open and face claimed by the ecstasy of whatever the hardline connection to Sideswipe offered. Neither frame was moving much at this point, but Jazz could see the arousal building in the way electricity zapped between them where their frames contacted. He could tell from the lines in Prowl's frame that the mech liked being the smaller of the pair and pinned down with his hands palm to palm with another, fingers interlaced and raised just a bit. Jazz had already figured out that this Prowl liked to be on his back, which was weird to him since his Prowl had hated it for the way it strained his doorwing joints. Right now, though, there was a certain tilt to Prowl's armor and backstrut that looked different than anything Jazz had ever been able to elicit from him.
Suddenly Jazz wanted to be the one making him tilt like that, and the frustration of being trapped in the smaller frame made his engines growl. Low enough to be inaudible, but a growl.
The longer he watched, the more aroused, and the more frustrated, and the more-disliking he became, and finally he had to tear himself away to sit and stare at something that was not Prowl getting fragged by Sideswipe.
He wasn't jealous. He couldn't be jealous. He didn't get jealous. Pit, he had even tried to coax his Prowl into taking a second lover more than once. He was responsible for this Prowl and Sideswipe getting together in the first place. He'd been okay watching them touch, caress, knowing they were interfacing.
But this...
This made his engine run hot, and not in a good way.
He wanted Sideswipe out, and as vehemently as he wanted it, he knew that it wasn't his place to make that demand.
The keen of Prowl's overload echoed through the apartment, swiftly followed by Sideswipe's higher pitched pleasure, then the straining of systems to cool, the ping of armor popping as it cooled, the humming rumble of two high-performance engines with very different designs overlaying it all as the pair gradually calmed down and relaxed.
Jazz struggled against a moan as he imagined the visual over the overload, but by the time he turned around again, he'd missed it, and he couldn't tell if he was relieved or frustrated. The charge in the air was still licking at him and his hand found his spike as he slid back down against the wall, helm back, wrist working rapidly up and down as he listened to the renewed sounds of pleasure.
He wanted to make Prowl sound like that.
He wasn't jealous.
He wasn't jealous.
He wasn't-
-Prowl on his back keening for him and arching and spread-legged and rutting and all for him-
The overload came fast and hard and Jazz had to grab his own throat and squeeze to silence the moan. His hand on his spike never stopped and the second time he overloaded he'd had enough warning to mute his vocalizer first, not that the lovers in the room so nearby would have noticed him. He was sure of that much. Prowl was utterly lost in a way that tactile just couldn't accomplish.
Then he heard chest plates unlock and slide open, and the moans intensified sharply.
Just to torture himself, he turned to look, and the sight made his spark ache. To see that spark, that perfect, beloved, pale blue spark, so bright it was almost looked pure white in its brilliance, merging with another's...
...he was jealous. And his engines wouldn't stop growling, low and deep in his chassis.
The lovers were oblivious, too lost in the merge to hear such a quiet sound over their own systems and the cries of bliss. Even with his helm turned away Jazz could see the flash of light that marked the overload, and felt relief when he heard armor closing. He very quickly set himself to rights-armor settled, wiped down, everything closed up and field cooled off-before either of them could move from the berth. He was still riled on the inside, but there was nothing to be seen or teeked to give it away.
"That was amazing," Sideswipe mumbled with the sounds of two frames reluctant to move.
"Yes," Prowl purred, deeply sated and relaxed. "I wish you could stay."
"It's your quarters," Sideswipe pointed out. "You can invite me."
"They are Jazz's quarters too," Prowl said firmly. "I shouldn't have given in. He and I share this berth. You and I share yours. It works."
Sideswipe huffed, shifted, held still for a long moment, then Jazz heard the sound of his wheeled pedes touching the floor. "Recharge well, Prowl."
"Recharge well, Sideswipe," Prowl replied before settling in and beginning to shut down.
Jazz debated for a moment, trying to decide whether to hide and let Sideswipe get out without realizing they'd been overheard, and then shrugged and stepped into obvious sight, leaning casually against the wall.
The silver warrior gave him a glance with a startled ripple of armor, then grinned. "Enjoy the show? That's what a real interface is like."
"Who's there?" Prowl's barely-online voice called out.
"Just Jazz," Sideswipe called back.
"Got home early," Jazz added before focusing on Sideswipe. "You sound threatened, why is that?" he asked in a low voice.
Sideswipe cocked his helm, confusion flickering across his armor and field before he shrugged it off. "Keep telling yourself that," he said before heading for the door.
Jazz waited a beat, watching, and then, "Is it because you know that 'real' interfacing is the only one-up you have on me?"
"I have a lifetime with Prowl, and I care about him," Sideswipe shot back. "All you are is a reminder of the deactivated."
"You might care about him but I understand him," Jazz said with a clear warning snarl. "Stay out of my quarters."
"They're his quarters," Sideswipe growled. "I can come in if he invites me."
"They're also mine and he'll respect my wishes that you keep out of them," Jazz growled back. "Even he just said he shouldn't have let you in."
Sideswipe paused and regarded the small, boxy and smooth mech for a long moment as he slowly skated in a circle around him. "Can't take the competition anymore, Jazz? Just a few orns ago you were encouraging me to spend time with Prowl. Why change your mind so suddenly?"
Jazz's armor clicked and flicked defensively as he kept his gaze carefully on the warrior. "I didn't," he snapped, then gathered himself, field and frame both smoothing out. "I don't care what you do with Prowl," he said. "I just don't want it to be in my quarters where I have to come back and watch when I'd rather be resting."
Sideswipe chuckled, but didn't reply before leaving.
Jazz hissed softly in frustration that he'd been rattled that easily. Him. "Stupid," he muttered to himself in his language. "Stupid, fragging, glitch-" He walked into the berthroom, quieting as he looked at Prowl's recharging form, x-vented in resignation, and climbed up to curl up next to him and bask in his field. It was soothing when that field reached out to embrace him, even when the owner was deep in recharge.
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Jazz pushed down thoughts of exactly why he'd made this appointment with Ratchet and Wheeljack and hoped that neither one would press him too much on the why, only the what. The what he was willing and ready to go in depth on. The way he was still avoiding himself.
Jazz did not do jealous.
He just didn't.
Yet there was no other way to describe his reaction to watching and listening to Prowl being with Sideswipe. Deep down Jazz even knew that it wasn't Sideswipe that was the issue. Jazz wanted Prowl all to himself.
It just wasn't natural. He believed, very strongly, in free love, and the right of every being to enjoy themselves with any other consenting being, or beings. He'd interfaced with other mecha during his millennia-long romance with Prowl, he'd encouraged his lover to do the same, and he'd been more than a little responsible for the relationship between this Prowl and Sideswipe. To back out of that, to want otherwise, was hypocritical and just not who he was and what he believed in.
It didn't stop him from wanting it.
"Hey, bot-doc," he greeted cheerfully as he walked into medbay.
"Jazz," the predominately white mech nodded and motioned him inside, then back to his office. "Wheeljack's going over your schematics."
"Yeah, thanks," Jazz said, following him. "So how much work would it take to get me completely upgraded to your systems, once we have the translation written?"
"Have you ever had a complete frame rebuild?" Ratchet asked, his tone serious as Wheeljack looked up and greeted Jazz with a flash of his helm fins.
Jazz cocked his head and raised an optic ridge as he gestured at himself in a silent, Really, mech?
"I'll take that as a yes," the medic huffed. "It'll be at least twice the work. Every system that can't be replaced will have to have a buffer installed that translates from our coding and energy to your native one and back again. At a minimum that'll be your processors and spark chamber. I'm fairly sure there will be more, but we won't know until we get in there and start working. I would slot no less than seven vorns and three dozen surgeries to do so safely."
Jazz let out a low whistle. "Wow, okay," he said, and nodded. "And you can work on cosmetics at the same time, yeah? So I can look as weird as the rest of you?"
"Cosmetics are easy," Wheeljack spoke up.
Ratchet nodded agreement. "That could be done in a couple orns."
"Great," Jazz said, grinning. "Let's do those with the last of the internal updates, and as much as possible, I don't want anyone other than you two knowing the extent of the upgrades. What about compatibility with your interface systems, will that be possible as soon as the rest of it is?"
"Interfacing for data should be simple once the software is written. Interfacing for pleasure will be much more difficult," Ratchet warned him. "We'll be able to short it out eventually, but it won't be soon, or without failed efforts."
"Good of a prognosis as I've ever heard," Jazz said with another shrug. He looked between them. "What about my interface systems, they can stay, right?"
"If you want them to," Wheeljack nodded. "There's nothing I can find that indicates they would be a danger to you or anyone else, except possibly out of frustration. How is that toy Prowl asked me to build been working?"
"Excellently," Jazz purred unashamedly. "You get rave reviews from this 'Bot. I'd say you should go into the toy business if there was any kind of market for it."
Wheeljack lit up at the praise. "Thank you. I had a few new ideas, including one that would allow you to thrust into a lover, so long as they agreed to wear it. It's not quite as effective as the fake spike is since you'd have to lube yourself up first, but I think it might be enjoyable for you. It would likely make Prowl squirm less too, since he could make you clean it up later," the inventor chuckled. "He does hate a mess."
"I've noticed," Jazz grinned. "You're all a lot more ... mechanical. Which sounds weird to say when I'm a biomechanoid, but you mechs, you mechs are kinda crazy."
"You said it. We are mechanoids and you are a biomechanoid," Ratchet huffed. "It's the primary reason I'm estimating so much work will be required to bring you up to spec. Do you know how much additional mass your spark can support without straining?"
"Um," Jazz said, and played the question over several times in his processor, trying it with synonyms, different phrasing, and it still didn't make sense. "I guess the answer is no ... sparks don't have anything to do with mass," he explained. "Once they've fully matured. It's protoform that determines mass."
"That makes your updates much easier to plan," Wheeljack actually relaxed. "Will it bother you to have an additional ten to twenty percent mass?"
"Nah," Jazz said, shaking his head. "I can handle that easily. I'm on the smallish side right now." He cocked his head. "So tell me more about this thing Prowl can wear."
Wheeljack chuckled, his helm-fins flashing in good humor as Ratchet groaned.