Chapter 38

Soundwave was counting, since the beginning of their walk, how many times Jazz had opened and then closed his mouth without speaking. That he'd reached three times already was remarkable for such an otherwise talkative mech, but just now he did it again for the fourth time and then subsided in silence. Amused, Soundwave gave no indication that he'd seen, and simply continued on his way. It took exactly 3.462 breems before Jazz finally broke.

"So?"

"Jazz?"

"I give up; I have to know. On a scale of one to a million, how much did I embarrass myself last night?"

"Question, not understood."

"Don't you play innocent with me! Last night I went out for a walk with the twins; next cycle I woke up alone in the berth with a raging headache. You left for work without making me get up, and you left fuel and cold compress packs by the berth. I can do math, Soundwave. Those anklebiting fiends laced my cube with something, and I am quite sure that I did not disappoint for results."

"Jazz, partially at fault," Soundwave pointed out, without denying any of it. "Took fuel from source other than your master's hand. Jazz knows my rules."

"What was I supposed to do?" Jazz bounced a little in agitation. "You left in such a rush, and you didn't feed me extra first. I was hungry! Rumble brought me a cube… it's not like I was going to say no."

"Then clearly, more training needed."

"Pervy control freak," Jazz remarked sourly, but without much force and followed by a tiny sigh. "Well, anyway, it happened. I drank the cube, and I'm sorry. Master. But please don't keep me in suspense; what did I do? Or should I say, what did we do?"

His gesticulations were getting more flustered, and Soundwave was now thoroughly enjoying his nervousness. "Jazz, remembers nothing?"

"Did I dance on the berth? I've been known to do that on a fair number of occasions, drunk or sober."

"Initially, yes. Jazz, very energetic."

"And after the dancing?"

"Jazz, also very creative."

Jazz gulped, and the light behind his visor paled a little. "Well? How… far did we get? Did you, as the humans say, steal a home run?"

"This phrase, not understood. But presumed meaning: did interface occur." Soundwave looked at Jazz's anxious face and decided to put him out of his misery. "Answer is negative."

"What? Really?" Jazz stopped in his tracks and stared at Soundwave, astonished. "We didn't?"

"Jazz, disappointed?"

"No!" Hastily Jazz started walking again. "Just assessing the scoreboard. Had you cheated, I'd have subtracted a point. You… really didn't take advantage of me last night?"

"Jazz knows lying, never practiced."

Jazz did know that, and Soundwave could see his armor plates relax and settle. He looked impressed in spite of himself. "Well I hate to admit it, but that's actually very decent of you, Soundwave. No Decepticon I know would have held back. Can think of a few Autobots that wouldn't have either. Classy." He snuck a half-smile in his direction, to which Soundwave nodded in acknowledgement. For a while they walked in companionable silence, until Soundwave broached a new question.

"At certain point during last night, Jazz alluded to public dancing earlier. Details recalled?"

Jazz's visor flickered rapidly from the effort of thinking, but eventually he shrugged. "I remember going into a nightspot, but it's right about then that things start getting hazy. You'd have to ask the twins. Speaking of the devils – don't go near the coolant dispenser for a while. It's no worse than they deserve."

Duly noted. Soundwave relayed the advice to his other three symbiotes, content to let Rumble and Frenzy learn their lesson. A temporary moratorium on video games was really not quite enough punishment, after all.

"Anyway, if you're worried, we could always go check it out right now. If I was on stage, trust me, someone will remember. And I could always be persuaded to give an encore…" Playfully he nudged Soundwave's arm and skipped a syncopated step, but Soundwave shook his head firmly.

"Negative. First reason, this discussion conducted once before. Public witness for such behavior not desired –"

"Nobody cares about what Shockwave thinks now anyway."

"Second reason, presence required elsewhere now."

"Huh?" For the first time, Jazz actually looked around and noticed their surroundings, and the path they'd been gradually following through downtown. "Hey, we're going into the factory district. Why are we going there? I hate the factory district; it's so depressing." He wrinkled his nasal plating in distaste at the increasingly shabby surroundings.

"Megatron, inspecting refinery plant. My attendance, necessary."

"Megatron? Oh, suddenly I feel ill again. I'm dizzy, and my fuel tank hurts." Purposefully Jazz staggered, turning a neat one hundred and eighty degrees in the same motion. "We'd better get home, quick."

Soundwave snagged his elbow and pulled Jazz back in the right direction, before he could get away. "Jazz, come. This visit necessary, and your best behavior expected."

"Yeah, that really worked out the last time. Why do I get the feeling that was more about you than me, by the way?"

"Jazz, hush."

"What happened between you, while he was busy crushing your neck?"

"Quiet."

This time Jazz obeyed, but not happily. He scowled and walked the rest of the way in silence, reflecting the mood of the city around them. It was true; the factory district was never very appealing to look at. Massive industrial plants consumed whole blocks, ugly and smelling of old burnt fuel. The mecha that came here to work were the poorest in the city, shuffling about in the grime with the resigned air of those who know this will always be their lot in life. Watching them, Soundwave could not blame anyone for preferring to stake their livelihood on selling trinkets in the market instead.

Soundwave walked past several before arriving at the designated refinery, walking past the entrance guards without acknowledging their hasty bows. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were already here, circling overhead in wide loops, recording all that went on. Megatron had come to take a surprise tour of the plant, as one of his promised 'public appearances'. Now Soundwave could see him just ahead, covering the ground in his trademark long strides while the head overseer scurried alongside. A crowd of anxious shareholders trailed them, not that they had much say here. Soundwave knew that Shockwave had arranged, in his meticulous and ever-pervasive way, for no one civilian to hold a controlling interest in any of the refineries. Neutrals wealthy enough had paid him their investments, but by law the empire owned at least half. Since the end of the war the refineries had managed to provide enough for a healthy surplus in stored energon, but now that surplus was almost gone and new refinement distressingly slow-paced. Soundwave could already hear Megatron's displeased remarks about the level of production.

He may have come here to inspire greater output, but Soundwave had come to watch his audience. Though the aerials were recording all they could, the new price of energon had gone into effect this morning and Soundwave wanted to see the state of the crowds for himself. Hyperalert to any sign of a negative reaction to Megatron's presence, he scanned the staring workers. Megatron knew he was there, but did not summon him closer, and so Soundwave kept a discreet distance. This annoyed Jazz, of course, who was trying to catch Bluestreak's optic for a small wave.

"Yes yes," Megatron was saying impatiently, "I can see your new silos and the state of the art piping system. What I do not see is any kind of impressive output flowing from them. Are you unacquainted with the realities of Cybertron? Energon is scarce and my city is hungry. I supply unending fuel to your loading docks, don't I? Given you everything you need to process and refine energon, don't I?"

He paused, and the white-opticked manager waited in increasingly awkward silence. "Don't I?"

"Yes! Yes, my lord, you do all those things. We do work very hard -"

"Then is it incompetence holding you back? Because if it is not equipment and it is not effort, it must be competence that you lack."

"My lord, please have mercy. The rioting did some damage to our plant too, and we lost some workers -"

"Is excuses all you can produce in this plant?"

If Soundwave thought his optics were white before, he was surprised now at just how bleached they could get. "I- I do not mean to give excuses, my lord, only reasons. If you will allow us time to recover from them -"

Soundwave was calculating how many nanokliks were left before Megatron's patience ran out and the manager was thrown against the nearest wall, but the sharp squeal of high performance engines interrupted all of them. Everyone looked up just as three vehicle models came tearing around the massive silos, headed straight into the surprised cluster of mecha. All three of them yelped and braked hard, the two in the rear managing to turn and screech to a halt in time. The fastest of them had no chance at all, and flipped over his own bumper trying. He spun back end over front, transformed mid-air, and somehow managed to land on his pedes just short of crashing into Megatron. Sparks flew out from the metal scraping against the ground, and he gaped up at Megatron in pure dumb shock.

"Oh my -"

"You stupid, disrespectful, half-clocked twist on a glitch!" Furious and horrified, the apoplectic overseer swatted the mech hard on the head. "How could you be so careless? You're a disgrace to our factory!" Again and again he hit the mech, eliciting an "ow!" even as he tried to kneel before Megatron. For his part, Megatron peered down at the grounder with the curiosity of one trying to decide whether something is worth killing or not.

"Tell me, is it a common habit to spend the work joors racing through these factory grounds?"

"No, my lord!" the manager hurried to answer.

"Yes," the worker answered matter of factly, at the same time, "my lord." His superior choked, and Megatron's optic ridges rose a fraction.

"Oh? Explain."

"In my work unit, we figured out that short sprints around the compound boosts our energy and we can work the refiners faster. Plus the loser has to come in early the next cycle to oil up the cogs. We don't break down half so often now." He answered the question promptly and plainly, with no trace of defensiveness in his tone. He fidgeted a little under everyone's stares, confused by the shocked looks. "We've, uh, been putting out another fifty cubes on top of quota every cycle, since we started them. I'm sorry I didn't ask permission. We didn't think it would be any harm. And I'm really, really, really sorry that we almost crashed into you. We didn't know there would be guests here today."

"An impertinence I can overlook, for the moment." Something in Megatron's posture shifted, a glint of approval in his optics, and he motioned the worker to stand. "Fifty cubes, you say, and all from a simple new idea. Aren't you clever? Now that is the kind of ingenuity I like to see. That's the kind of ingenuity that helped me win the war. Refreshing to find it in someone so young."

Young he obviously was, Soundwave observed, watching as comprehension and then awe filtered into the mech's face. The details of his vehicular model indicated he'd been built and sparked after the war had already begun, perhaps even after Iacon had been overtaken. Life under Decepticon rule was probably all he'd ever known. The blue light of his optics practically shimmered with amazement and worship, at such praise from his emperor.

"My lord Megatron, thank you! You honor me."

"Yes, I do." Megatron was eyeing the mech with more than a passing interest, which Soundwave did not miss. Though he may be just a grounder and a factory grunt, the mech was attractive. The most flamboyant paintjob Soundwave had ever seen, but his build was slim and streamlined and he flaunted a spoiler almost as jaunty as a Seeker's wings. He was very much Megatron's type.

Megatron took a moment longer to enjoy the view, but then he turned back to the clearly dismayed overseer. "You should take notes from this young worker, manager. Don't be afraid to be inventive. It is not the Decepticon way to mindlessly defend old traditions, but to try new things."

"Such as slavery," Jazz muttered, and Soundwave nudged him to be quiet.

"Propping up old and useless systems is for Autobots, after all!" Megatron gave a hearty laugh and clapped Bluestreak hard on the back, with so much force that the unprepared slave was knocked over and fell to his hands and knees. Megatron laughed again, and the rest of the group dutifully laughed along with him. Soundwave heard the soft growl in Jazz's chest, and put a hand on his shoulder just in time to keep him from moving forward. Looking humiliated, the little Praxian stared at the filthy ground and gulped back what could have almost been a sob, doorwings twitching faintly. Then something happened that nobody, Soundwave least of all, could have ever predicted. The young neutral bent forward and extended his hand to Blustreak.

Megatron's laughter subsided rather abruptly, as did everyone else's. Soundwave could hear the soft hiccup of surprise in Jazz's vocalizer, while Bluestreak stared at the hand as if he didn't quite understand what it was for. The neutral didn't seem aware of the astonished stares now fixed upon him, only smiled kindly and waited for a response. Eventually Bluestreak put his hand in the other's, face still blank with bewilderment, and allowed himself to be helped up to his pedes. That business accomplished, the young mech stepped back and returned his beaming gaze to Megatron.

"Well then." It took a few nanokliks, but Megatron regained his bearing. "You'd best get back to work. Dismissed." To the overseer he turned, motioning impatiently. "Carry on, I intend to examine the entire plant."

"Yes, my lord, of course." Nervously the manager's gaze flicked back to his employee, but since Megatron had said nothing then he hardly could either. He bowed his head and turned to start walking again, and Megatron and the others followed. The friends of the young neutral, and any other low-class worker near enough, promptly gravitated to surround him as he left in the opposite direction. Their conversation buzzed with giddy excitement over his personal encounter with the great Lord Megatron, full of teasing and laughter. Jazz took a step after them, his gaze fixed on the young mech.

"Jazz," Soundwave prompted, and got no response. His pedes took one step after another, his visor a pale blank blue as if in a trance. "Jazz!"

"Huh? Yes?" Visibly Jazz woke up, optical light flickering, and looked at Soundwave as if surprised to find himself three steps away.

"That mech, known to you?"

Jazz shook his head, but Soundwave didn't miss the twitch of reflexive hesitation that came first. "I- I don't know him."

"Jazz," Soundwave said, this time with an undercurrent of warning in his tone.

"I don't, really. But... maybe that'll change." A thoughtful little smile tugged at Jazz's lips as he watched the young mech and his friends disappear around a corner. "It's like I'm always saying: I love the factory district. It's so full of surprises."

The sixth breem was ticking past, just as silently and uneventfully as the five that came before it. Soundwave was a patient mech, but as he watched Jazz from across the hax set he could feel that patience starting to wither. Jazz hadn't even looked at the set, and though Soundwave knew he probably didn't need to, he didn't like the way Jazz's gaze had fixed so dreamily onto empty space. That was not a look of plotting hax strategies, that was a look of wandering attention and inappropriate thoughts. As breem seven marched closer, Soundwave was beginning to wonder if perhaps Jazz's mind was on something – or someone – else.

"Subject of Jazz's thoughts?" he asked abruptly, when the uncharacteristically short supply of patience had run out. Startled, Jazz shot him a look of blank incomprehension.

"My move, of course."

"Jazz, taking unusually long time."

"Maybe I'm at a critical point," Jazz said flippantly, and narrowed his gaze a fraction. "What's with you, anyway? You've been a little touchy ever since that field trip to the refinery yesterday. I don't know why. You know it wasn't my idea to go."

"Some attraction to its inhabitants apparently found regardless," Soundwave answered stiffly, and promptly hated that condescending smile.

"Ah. This is about those big blue optics and the flashy spoiler, isn't it? Oh Soundwave, your seething jealousy is cute, but you needn't waste energy on that trademark glare of disapproval. He's really not my type. I don't care for his taste in tacky flame decals, or dictators. Another klik, and he'd have been humping Megatron's leg in front of all of us."

Optical light rolled behind the visor, his grin easy and casual. There was no mention of Bluestreak and how the young neutral had helped him up, as if it had never happened. Soundwave didn't like that.

"Jazz, sure that mech unknown to you?"

"I told you before, I don't know him. You know that if it was a lie, I'd have done a better job of it. And if you still don't believe me and want to check for yourself, well -" He flicked the side of his head and pointed meaningfully at Soundwave's. "I'm ready to tango again whenever you are, my lovely."

Soundwave stared frigidly across the table, and Jazz shrugged. "Suit yourself. I don't know why you're so antsy about it, anyway. He's just some nobody kid from the ghettos. He's younger than Laserbeak, even. Probably didn't even get sparked until after I went into special ops. There's no way I could know him…"

There it was again, that reflexive flash of hesitation that nobody else but Soundwave could have noticed. He leaned closer. "But?"

"But… it's funny." An uncertain smile flickered across his face, full of doubt. "Even though I keep telling myself that, I've got this nagging feeling that I've met him somewhere before. Can't think how that would be, but maybe it'll come to me. Or perhaps you, avid student of my personal history, can figure it out and tell me." He chased away the doubt with a cheeky smile for Soundwave. "Promise to keep me posted, okay?"

Soundwave would not have deigned to reply to that, but even if he'd tried he would have been interrupted by the twins' noisy return home. Sulkily they clumped into the room and cast despairing looks at their entertainment console.

"Hey."

"We're home."

"Where we will not be playing any video games."

"Again."

"Can't we cut this punishment short, boss?"

"Our skills will get rusty!"

"One orn," Soundwave reminded them calmly. They scowled as they crossed the room, and Soundwave noted how they skirted rather widely around the coolant dispenser.

"Thanks for the bath, Jazz."

"Thanks for the drink," Jazz retorted.

"Rumble, Frenzy, earlier remark made by Jazz indicated possible dancing in public, during time under your supervision. Give full account and description, now."

"Yes, as full and detailed as possible, boys," Jazz drawled. "Don't hold back. Did I amaze and enthrall the watching crowds, utterly blowing all minds with my talent, or did I merely dazzle them?"

The twins took one look at Jazz's smug anticipation, then exchanged a fairly smug look of their own. "Actually, that would be a 'neither'."

"We took Jazz to a nightspot hoping that he would put on a good show."

"Since he's always braggin' about it."

"But don't get too mad at us, boss."

"Because even after he got good and fizzed, he refused to dance."

"He said he couldn't it without you there to watch."

From across the hax table, Soundwave could hear Jazz's vents stutter and choke. "I d-did not!"

"We were," Rumble went on to say, maliciously gleeful, "of course, recording."

"It was so sweet."

"So devoted."

"Touching, really."

The blue glow behind Jazz's visor was overbright, flushing deeper by the nanoklik. On a very few occasions in the past, Soundwave had sometimes thought he glimpsed Jazz blushing, but never gotten a good enough look to be sure. Now Jazz had no chance of hiding it, staring dumbstruck at the wickedly grinning twins.

"Enough," Soundwave spoke up. "Twins, due for upload of reports, dismissed to office. Upload will begin momentarily."

"Yes, boss," they sang cheerfully, throwing identical triumphant smirks at Jazz before sailing on into the next room. Soundwave could almost feel sorry for his slave. Not even when he was wearing a dead glitchmouse across his chest had he looked so flabbergasted. To borrow a word that Jazz had used against him earlier, it was 'cute'. Soundwave stood, and paused by his mortified slave so that he might briefly caress Jazz's face with his hand.

"Your distress, unnecessary," he consoled. "Soundwave, willing to play past ten points." He gave Jazz a final pat on the cheek, and followed the twins.

Processing the new surveillance report took him well past the day shift's end. By the time he emerged from his office, the common room was empty and his berthroom dark. Jazz was curled up on the far side of the berth, back to the door, utterly still. Soundwave was not fooled. His highly sensitive audial receptors could hear Jazz's systems still running at a pitch that indicated consciousness.

"Jazz, query."

Jazz hunched a little further into himself. "Can't you see I'm pretending to sleep?"

"Jazz will look at me." Soundwave sat on his own side of the berth and tugged on Jazz's shoulder, rolling him over to make optical contact. Jazz didn't resist, though his expression was set into a hard sulk. "Answer inquiry: why Jazz so compelled to dance?"

The sulk vanished in a puff of bewilderment. "What?"

"Logical assumption, its associated memories unpleasant," Soundwave pointed out, and Jazz propped himself up on one elbow.

"No, the slavery was unpleasant. The dancing I loved. Never stopped loving it."

"Consideration, Jazz designed for dance. Your enjoyment, only the result of core programming?"

He shrugged. "I stopped asking myself that question a thousand vorns ago. What does it matter? Programmed, not programmed, doesn't make me any less good at it. Doesn't make it any less fun when I'm on the floor. You've got your own basic protocols, put in there without your say-so. But would you ever stop protecting and sheltering those kids?"

His argument had merit. "This dancing, important to you."

"More than nearly anything," Jazz sighed. Pale blue against the dark, his visor shone with wistfulness. "It's the one thing that's always been mine. When I'm dancing, it's the closest that I can feel to being free."

Yet he would do it for no one but Soundwave, a fascinating contradiction in itself. Soundwave considered that, and made his decision. Without warning, he scooped Jazz into his arms and rolled off the berth, provoking a startled yelp.

"Hey! What the- drag me onto the berth, drag me off the berth… why don't you ever make up your mind?"

Soundwave gave no answer and marched through the common room, kicking on his thrusters once he'd reached the balcony. Cybertron fell away from beneath them, cool air flowing over them both as Soundwave flew through the night. It was a different landscape underneath than the usual; with the onset of the night cycle the destinations of Iacon's dwellers changed. Mecha migrated from the factory districts and relatively wholesome day markets into the leisure districts, where intoxication and prostitution thrived. Here nightspots lined the streets, blaring with as many lights as they could afford. Through his cameras and his roaming symbiotes, some of them more frequent visitors than others, Soundwave was well acquainted enough with the district layout but had almost no personal experience here. Almost. It was in this district that he'd come to consume one single drink of high-grade, and wound up winning Jazz in a card game instead.

"What's going on?" Jazz demanded, tumbling out of his arms as soon as Soundwave touched down. "Did you get lost? Forget what time it is? Did you forget who you are?"

"Soundwave, unfamiliar with individual establishments," he answered calmly. "Jazz, therefore, must choose."

His slave gaped at him. "Choose?"

"For dancing venue."

"Are- are you serious?"

"Always."

"You… would let me dance? In a nightspot, with real music, no hiding?" He clapped hands over his bare wrists, disbelieving. "I'm not even wearing my chains!"

"Jazz, convinced proper dancing not possible with them."

Jazz looked like he might fall over. Soundwave watched a giddy grin spread across Jazz's face, savoring the image. "What made you change your mind?"

"Changed political climate leaves risk of undesirable witnesses diminished," Soundwave said practically, then went a little further. "And, Jazz requires dancing to be happy. Happiness for Jazz, much desired." Gently he cupped Jazz's face with one hand, one thumb stroking softly against his plating. "Refusal to dance without my presence, made explicit. Therefore, for Jazz's happiness, this venture made necessary."

"For a mech that everyone calls the most boring Decepticon in the army, you keep managing to surprise me." Jazz trembled slightly under Soundwave's touch, but it wasn't in fear. More like he was quivering with excitement. Had Soundwave just offered him the world, he could not possibly have looked any happier. "I don't know how to say thank you."

"Jazz, wasting the time left before curfew."

"You're right - the night is not young, and the music is waiting. Let's do this!" Jazz covered Soundwave's hand with his own, squeezing it briefly before using the grip to tug Soundwave to the closest nightspot. Once within range of its music, however, Jazz flinched, made a face, and backed away.

"Or we could just douse our audios in hot acid and get it over with quicker. Let me see, let me see... Ah, here we go! I know this place, the deejay knows his business." Eagerly Jazz towed him to another nightspot two doors down. Obligingly Soundwave allowed himself to be led inside, ignoring the wide-opticked stares of those neutrals loitering in the entrance. "Skywarp used to bring me here sometimes. If only he'd known he had a much better dancer sitting by his chair than those kids fumbling around on stage. Not that I would have danced for him anyway."

"Jazz, more inclined to such activities as tripping server drones to splash fuel on master."

Jazz nearly tripped on his own pedes and spun around to face Soundwave, even as he continued to tug him deeper inside. "You saw that?"

"Affirmative."

His visor flushed again, just a little, but Jazz was laughing. "How embarrassing. I admit it, that was the most lowbrow of my humor, but in my defense it was a bad night. Skywarp hadn't fed me for most of two cycles, I was hungry and dizzy. Tripping a drone was the best I had in me."

"Jazz, lucky not to be caught."

"Oh, I never get caught," Jazz said breezily. "One of the charms of being me."

He laughed again, and something about the way he said that triggered an odd feeling in Soundwave. Something was not quite right, but a large and exceptionally drunk mech nearly lunged right into Jazz just then, and Soundwave had to shove him away. They'd entered the nightspot proper, and Soundwave was already taking an immediate dislike to its atmosphere. It was dark, lit mostly by lasers and random patterns of electric squares in the floor, and so thick with ambient noise that he was forced to dial down his audios to less than half their usual input. The crowds were nearly intolerable. Mecha surrounded him, wildly gyrating to the music instead of scurrying out of his way. It was either too dark for them to see he was a Decepticon, or they were too drunk to care. He braced a hand against some shoulders to push them aside, clearing a path for himself and Jazz.

"Some rules, necessary," he informed his slave, who was already starting to sway to the beat. Jazz smiled in a resigned, completely unsurprised sort of way.

"Of course, master. Tell me, what are the rules?"

"Jazz, not permitted to touch anyone. Other mecha, not permitted to touch Jazz."

"Are you planning on telling them that?"

"Jazz will avoid contact to best of ability."

"You haven't been in many dance clubs, have you?"

"Jazz will also remain in my sight at all times."

"Now what would be the point if you couldn't see me?"

"Also," Soundwave added, " Jazz should refrain from attracting too much attention."

"What's that?" Jazz shouted, over the din.

"Jazz should refrain from -"

"What? The music is too loud - can't hear you!"

"Jazz -"

His slave shrugged and blew him a kiss, visor sparkling merrily, and skipped out onto the dance floor. Soundwave cycled a vent in exasperation, but did not chase after him. Instead he circled around the edge of the floor, never taking his optics off Jazz, and found a comfortable lounge seat that would give him a good view. It was occupied, but it was the work of an astrosec to haul the overcharged neutral out of it and throw him aside. The mech opened his mouth to yell, saw the sigil on Soundwave's chest, and went to go find a new chair. Jazz, meanwhile, was just getting warmed up. He caught Soundwave's gaze and grinned at him, his movements getting faster and more complicated. This was a different performance than the one he'd put on in the quiet warehouse, presumably because this was a different style of music. His body undulated to the patterns of music, struts rippling in that way that only Jazz could manage. He was graceful and attractive, which caught the attention of some other dancers, who then tried to entice him into a more personal sort of dancing. Soundwave was pleased to watch Jazz evade their clumsy attempts, his pedes moving in fast and complex patterns that no one could keep up with. He made sure to always keep a clear view between himself and Soundwave.

The music shifted and changed to other beats, and Jazz never missed a one of them. His dancing became even more acrobatic, and he threw himself into tricks he could have never managed while in his chains. He leapt and rolled, and spun about on his hands, every flashy move blended seamlessly into the dance. Now the mecha backed off to give him a wider space, which in turn caught the attention of more in the crowd. Much to the consternation of the dancers on stage, struggling to entice tips from their audience, now almost everyone's attention was turning to Jazz. They clapped and cheered for him, roaring with delight whenever he pulled off yet another impossible combination. It was the spotlight, and Jazz relished it. But even with cries of enthusiasm and praise falling all around him, that blue visor stayed fixed on Soundwave. He was performing for no one else.

The owner of this place appeared at his elbow, bearing a tray with sparkling high-grade. "Compliments of the house, sir," he murmured. "Your patronage is greatly appreciated; it is always an honor to host a Decepticon in our humble establishment. Though it is, ah, unusual to bring one's own entertainment." He laughed nervously. "He is exceptionally talented. It would be my honor to display him on stage, and he would please my customers -"

"My slave, dancing for my pleasure," Soundwave informed him curtly. "His location, satisfactory." He glanced at the tray by his elbow. "Have coolant sent. My slave will require refreshment."

"Of course, sir." Abashed, the owner bowed and scuttled away. Soundwave doubted Jazz could have heard any of that, but perhaps he had guessed, because he was looking decidedly amused when Soundwave made optical contact again. A breem later, a pink and white femme who'd earlier been dancing on stage stomped up to Soundwave's table, plunked a vial of coolant down, shot a dirty look at Jazz and stomped away again. Unfazed, Jazz met the look with one of his insolent grins.

"Jazz." Soundwave beckoned him closer, and Jazz promptly bounced to his side. Disappointed, the crowd groaned. "Thirsty?"

"A little, yes." Vents wheezing, Jazz tumbled onto his lap and opened his mouth in expectation. Carefully Soundwave held the vial to his lips and tipped it back, allowing Jazz to gulp down the cooling liquid.

"Having fun?"

"So much so! I almost wish you could join me." He laughed at the expression that must have shown on Soundwave's face. "Well, we know that can't happen. Even if you would, you couldn't. Your model's just not built for it. I used to give Blaster no end of grief over that."

Soundwave couldn't help it; reflexively he tensed at the sound of Blaster's name. The night had been mostly pleasant, he was enjoying watching Jazz dance, but now a shadow fell on his good mood. Why did Jazz have to say that?

Jazz probably felt the new tension in Soundwave's posture, and knew exactly what had caused it. His visor dimmed, and he plucked up an apologetic smile. "You know, I think I've got one more in me."

He pushed aside the drink in Soundwave's hand and rolled off his lap, but to Soundwave's surprise he did not return to the main floor. He kept his dancing right in front of Soundwave, but it was a different kind of dancing now. The motions were slower and more deliberate, and apparently designed to draw Soundwave's attention to the seams and gaps on Jazz's body. He was more than a little startled when Jazz straddled his lap, chest armor gliding smoothly against his. With expert grace he slid away to the side, whipping around to embrace Soundwave from behind, hands exploring the edges of his chest compartment.

"You like this, lover?" Jazz murmured into one audio. "It's called a 'private dance'. Nobody's gotten this from me in thousands of vorns."

"This dance, unusual," Soundwave acknowledged, his spark spinning faster in his chest. "Enjoyed very much."

"Good. I would hate to think I've gotten rusty." Jazz oozed around to his front again, sliding back onto his lap. Arching his back, he tipped so far backward that his helm was nearly brushing the floor, displaying some impressive balance as well as flexibility. Though it wasn't as flashy as his earlier dancing on the floor, Soundwave knew this new personal dance was attracting some attention too. He saw pointed fingers and heard soft murmurs, optics in the dark turning to gaze on Jazz and his erotic display. Jazz didn't care and neither did Soundwave, who hadn't touched the high-grade but was starting to feel quite drunk with power. This gorgeous slave had so much to offer, everyone in this room coveted him, but he belonged to Soundwave alone. For Soundwave, he would dance. For Soundwave, he would do this, no orders necessary. What a prize it was that he kept in the palm of his hand.

The music shifted into something else, ending Jazz's personal dance. He sank back onto Soundwave's lap, vents panting, clearly spent by the effort of all his careful balancing. "Well?"

"Your performance, flawless," Soundwave praised. "Jazz, most beautiful when dancing."

"Do you want to know what it's like?"

What? Soundwave stared uncomprehendingly at Jazz, who didn't look the least little bit like he was joking. Optics locked with Soundwave's, he took one of Soundwave's hands and cupped it to his own head. He couldn't possibly be asking -

"It's okay," Jazz breathed. "I want you to. Everybody should know this feeling."

Soundwave's fingers flexed, gently firming his grasp on Jazz while he mentally reeled with shock. Nobody had ever invited him into their mind before, nobody had asked. His slave was slouched in his lap, tired and helpless, but his visor held the steady glow of trust. Jazz had invited, and Soundwave would oblige. His sensors shut down and he dove in.

JUST DANCE, GONNA BE OKAY! JUST DANCE, SPIN THAT RECORD BABE - DON'T STOP MAKE IT POP, DJ, BLOW MY SPEAKERS UP. TONIGHT I'M A FIGHT TIL WE SEE THE SUNLIGHT. TICK TOCK ON THE CLOCK, BUT THE PARTY DON'T STOP, NO - WORK IT MAKE IT DO IT, MAKES US HARDER BETTER FASTER STRONGER. NOW THAT THAT DON'T KILL ME, CAN ONLY MAKE ME STRONGER. NEED YOU TO HURRY UP NOW -

One right on top of another, hundreds of songs about dancing streamed around him. There could never be just one, how could there be with so many memories to call upon? Jazz took him right back to the beginning, when he was young and scared and struggling to please his masters while on the stage. Vorns flew past and his steps became surer, his leaping and tumbling more daring, his posing done with more flair. The audiences changed, faces disappearing while new ones took their place. Jazz never stopped, his body whirling and bending to the music in perfect time. Through him, Soundwave tasted the thrill of the spotlight, and the sheer pride of a perfect performance. He felt the adrenaline flow through him like it did for Jazz, every part of his body moving in time to the beat. Faster, harder, sharper, better. The audience's awe was intoxicating. This was a pleasure like none other in the universe.

AND YOU KNOW ME NOW LIKE A MOTHER KNOWS A CHILD. AND YOU KNOW ME NOW LIKE I CAME FROM YOUR OWN BODY. I CAN FEEL YOUR PULSE LIKE A MOTH INSIDE A JAR, AND EVEN THIS IS STILL TOO FAR. The heady rush of memories dwindled away, and dimly Soundwave recognized that this last piece of human music pertained to nothing in the past, but was meant for here and now. It faded when he withdrew from Jazz's mind, his body overheated and venting hard. He could hear Jazz's body venting just as hard, and felt the hot touch of his plating as Jazz collapsed against him. He wanted to concentrate on the words to that song, try to puzzle out if there was any connection to the exploration of Jazz's willingly open mind, but there was no time for that now. Jazz was on him, kissing him, eagerly invading his mouth as if he starved for Soundwave's taste. And Soundwave kissed him back, unsurprised, and not caring for anything else in the world.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters