Part 14

Amidst the oil sloshing over the side and hissing on the cold floor, Prowl's first thought was that Jazz's systems might be hurt by the heat. A nanoklik later, he realized that made no sense since Jazz had put his hands into the oil before. Then, as Jazz struggled to stabilize his gyros now soaked in lubricant, he wondered if Jazz's frame would spark—not all mechs were made to be immersed in oil.

Prowl sat straight, giving Jazz more room. The smaller mech finally got his balance, straddling Prowl's pedes, and Jazz leaned back with his hands on the side of the tub. Black oil streaked his visor, slowly running down his neck cables and plating.

"Um...you okay, bossmech?" Jazz said, blinking oil out of his optics. "Kinda landed on you there."

"I will survive," Prowl said, putting his hands on Jazz's shoulders. "I should ask you the same."

"A little hotter than I go for," Jazz chuckled ruefully, "and not as graceful as I usually go in, but I'm okay."

They stared at each other for a long klik, both of them venting in surprise...and then Jazz gave a small laugh, leaning back on his pedes. Prowl watched him long enough to tell if a logic circuit had been fried, then calculated how unlikely that was and smiled despite himself.

"If you wanted a bath as well," Prowl said, "you only had to wait."

Jazz gazed at him, his smile fading into lips pursed in contemplation. He raised a hand to Prowl's hood, running his fingers over the shape of his master's headlights, the curve of his protective spark shield's covering. He met Prowl's confused look.

"What if I didn't wanna wait?"

The question could have held multiple meanings. The deep revving of Jazz's engine could mean only one thing.

Prowl opened his mouth to speak and found he couldn't. He managed instead to open their internal communications.

Are you certain? You do not have to do this.

Kliks passed. Jazz at first felt his wings drop, heavy with the thought that Prowl didn't want this kind of contact, perhaps contemplating how to convey that to Jazz. But as the moment lengthened and Prowl didn't push him away, swallowing the tiny bit of oil that had slipped past his lips, Jazz realized that Prowl had no intention of stopping this...whatever this was.

I know, Jazz answered. S'part of why I want to.

Do not do it to spite them. Prowl frowned, almost scolding him. I will not interface if that's all this is.

Jazz shook his head once, touching Prowl's faceplate, running his thumb over the smooth steel. You're really well made, y'know that?

Prowl narrowed his optics. Suspicion? Confusion? Jazz didn't move, waiting for Prowl's next move.

Which was for his master unit to reach up behind Jazz's neck, holding firmly, to pull him close for a kiss. Jazz tightened his grip on the edge of the tub, putting one hand on Prowl's shoulder to steady himself, arching his back to better fit against Prowl, tilting as his master unit turned his helm for a better angle.

Prowl slid his hand up Jazz's pede, cupping the pelvic joint and guiding him to sit down straddling Prowl's lap. Jazz hesitated, trying to draw back and finding his chin seized, held as Prowl kept him locked in the kiss.

Do you really want to stop? Prowl asked.

Ain't that, Jazz replied, not fighting him. Just don't wanna hurt you. Sure you can take my weight?

Of course, Prowl said, a touch of relief coloring his thought. I was afraid you had changed your mind.

Jazz settled down completely, his pedes pressed wide against the edges of the tub. Prowl's hands explored his frame, finding the edges of his plating, running along the curve of his hood. His thumbs ran circles around Jazz's headlights, teasing the thin acrylic coverings as Jazz whimpered, turning away.

"I'm not the only well made bot here," Prowl said, taking advantage of Jazz's turned helm to lick at the soft cables exposed under his throat plating. "So shiny..."

"Y'know," Jazz murmured, tilting his helm back to give Prowl better access. "For awhile there, I almost didn't think you'd wanna interface."

"Too 'cold'?" Prowl said flatly. "Too 'serious'?"

Treading dangerous waters, that tone said to Jazz. Prowl had no doubt heard those insults before. And Jazz didn't think it wise to be overly truthful, not when he could give a different answer.

"You didn't do anything that first shift," Jazz said, hissing as Prowl tweaked the rim of his headlight. "After the ceremony—oh yeah, right there again..."

Prowl slipped his fingers under the access panel of Jazz's plating, toying with the interface ports hidden beneath. As expected, the data ports here were a little larger, designed for more intimate data sharing, and Jazz responded readily to having them touched, thrusting the bared metal sensors against Prowl's hand.

"The first few cycles were a shock," Prowl said, gently pinching steel and enjoying Jazz bucking against him. "I didn't even know if we could stand one another."

"Think we got that answered," Jazz said, leaning forward for another kiss as his cords grew hot, wordlessly asking for interface. His vocal processor warbled so that he replied on their internal comm line instead. Whoever called you cold was crazy...

I was built for maximum analysis and efficiency, Prowl said, smiling at Jazz's approval. And I think you'll be best served with no interface or overload for another half breem. Just...this.

At the flutter of fingertips on his interface port, Jazz groaned and lay heavily on Prowl, fumbling blindly for an access panel on his master's own plating. The hot oil seemed to grow steadily hotter and he panted desperately, trying and failing to cool his overheated frame. The room blurred as his cortex shunted all priority energy away from other sensors to focus only on the same bits of his frame that Prowl had deigned to focus on.

You bonding with me, Jazz sighed, must've broken the sparks of lotsa hopeful Enforcers.

Hardly, Prowl said, although he understood Jazz's underlying meaning. I had a few offers while I was still living in the tower, lower status mechs trying to move up. They vanished after...

Even through their internal communication, Prowl's voice became fainter. Painful memories he wanted no part in remembering, and Jazz was not so lost in desire that he couldn't tell when to change the tune.

More for me, Jazz smiled as he deepened the kiss. C'mon, Prowler, give it to me, huh?

Prowl's hands stilled. Prowler?

As he froze, Jazz took the opportunity to lean forward, arching his back so he could loom over his master. Prowl wasn't so big that Jazz couldn't climb up, pressing their hoods together, enjoying the feel of metal rolling against metal. When Prowl began moving again, lightly running up his sides to trace the shape of his doorwings, Jazz whimpered as Prowl accessed his most delicate sensors.

"Please, Prowl..."

Wordlessly, Prowl opened his plating, revealing the matching plug to Jazz's interface port. He had to stop Jazz before the smaller mech could join their cables too quickly, instead forcing him to gently ease down on the connectors. Jazz squirmed as he recognized that Prowl's interface prongs were too large for him, giving his adaptive slots time to adjust and expand.

It would have been painful if not for the hot oil slicking metal against metal and easing the slide of their components. Jazz bit his lip, reaching down to try to feel the prongs. He was already at maximum—if Prowl had been a millimeter larger, they would've had to resort to adapter cords. Pressure built up, increased by the oil trapped inside his plating, driving on Jazz's insistent subroutines until they finally connected and locked together.

The satisfying fullness of those prongs clicking home, filling him as if they'd been designed for his data slots alone, rocked his processor. A cry escaped Jazz, startling him, and he flushed coolant across his heating faceplate. It did little to help. A warning flashed across his visor—frame core abnormally hot—and he absently flicked off his status updates.

Unfolding inside them, dormant interfacing protocols came online, triggered by their activated hardware. Data rushed by, and Prowl saw new sides of Jazz—the deep sense of betrayal against his creators, the even deeper need to create new melodies and rhythms, and the confining walls of this trap that had been closed around him, boxing him in until he thought he'd scream. Jazz gave voice to his frustration, murmuring snatches of songs that Prowl recognized from before, "coming home" and "you're my home" between deep vents.

And what did Jazz see, Prowl wondered. A mech hiding inside Enforcer regulations, too stupidly obedient to his creators to deny them anything? Prowl couldn't begrudge Jazz the firewall blocking off some of his cortex. Prowl had his own firewall guarding his own more vulnerable feelings.

The overload came, their internal sensors stressing and shutting down protectively, and Jazz finally fell silent, his mouth open in a silent cry. Prowl grit his denta, not used to the numbness in his frame, and slowly gave himself over to the sense of his frame tensing, then relaxing utterly with a deep sigh.

Left venting and shaky, Prowl took a long klik to let his inner processes reset and come back to full capacity. He turned his helm to gaze at Jazz who'd collapsed beside him, resting on Prowl's shoulder.

The smaller mech lay still, but his engines struggled to cool down in what had to be oppressive heat. Without jostling him, Prowl reached over the tub side to the control panel and lowered the temperature a few degrees. Jazz said he was all right, but there was no need to take risks.

He looked back at his peripheral. Smaller, quiet now, Jazz looked like he was on the verge of recharge. Prowl frowned, then ran his fingertip over Jazz's visor, feeling the edge of the shaped crystal. Jazz was not the only bot he knew with such a distinct visor, a similar frame...

"You wouldn't lie to me," he mused, thinking back on the marriage ceremony, how Jazz was not completely opened to him.

Even during this, a part of Jazz's cortex had not been shared. Neither had Prowl, keeping his own cortex neatly partitioned.

"Mm," Jazz mumbled, not moving but aware. "Relax, Prowl. I meant it...I wanted to interface. And Primus, what an interface..."

Prowl didn't correct him. Instead he made a note to take Jazz into the station on the next shift. The scare with the smaller mech tumbling into hot oil had made him aware that he did not have Jazz's precise technical specifications on file. Ratchet could examine Jazz and assuage Prowl's worries.

And if that examination turned up anything else...

Prowl held Jazz close, petting his helm and listening to his engine hum contentedly.

Prowl would deal with any revelations if they came.

TBC...

Next Chapter: Medibot revelations...