Cuddling, kissing, and affection between two "male-type" robots. Prowl and Jazz in this case. Don't like, don't read. You have been warned.

-/"See there's this place in me where your fingerprints still rest, your kisses still linger, and your whispers softly echo. It's the place where a part of you will forever be a part of me." --Gretchen Kemp/-

--Hymne a l'Amour--

"For Cybertron's sake, Jazz, be careful."

Prowl's words were a hiss of warning as they came over Jazz's internal frequency, scrambled to avoid any Decepticon interference, but his saboteur companion did not reply with the same urgency. He instead sounded rather amused. "Hey... when am I not, Prowl?"

The Datsun grumbled, not amused as he flicked his doors, resting on his stomach on a ridge about two miles from Jazz's position, optics on long-range, scanning the Decepticons' most recent endeavor with a frown. "I'm being serious, Jazz. They're going to be expecting you. I predict a 65 chance that--..."

"Prowl, please. 65? Pshaw. I've played poker with the twins with worse odds."

"The twins cheat."

"So do the Decepticons."

The link went quiet for some time, then, and Prowl felt himself growing edgy. It was not a logical reaction, of course, but where Jazz was involved, logic took a backseat to the Datsun's concern for his lover's safety. So as he sat there, waiting, he tried instead running the mission specs through his head for the umpteenth time that day.

This mission was crucial. That much the tactician was very aware of. Jazz was inside the base right now, planting an explosive designed by Wheeljack (and finally okayed by Perceptor). Once the explosive was set, Jazz was to make his way out, and as soon as he was out, it was Prowl's duty to activate the detonator, causing a chain reaction that would destroy the base.

Now that he really thought about it, the mission was far more complicated when he explained it than when Jazz did. Jazz had simply told him it was "get in, set the explosive, get out, send 'em sky-high."

He let a smile slip past his normally calm visage, but as he did, a sound exploded over his comm, causing him to let out a rather uncharacteristic curse before he realized just what the sound had been.

Laserfire.

Jazz had been found.

"Jazz! Report!"

"Nngh!" There was a pause. "I'm hit pretty bad... they had the damn place booby-trapped, but... nngh... Prowl..."

Prowl felt his optics grow wide and he fought hard to regain some control of himself, retaining a semblance of calm in the sudden turmoil. "Jazz, report... what is your status?"

Another pause followed before Jazz's voice, heavy with pain and thick with static, returned, "Prowl... ain't gonna make it... set off the detonator... please..." A grunt of pain and another peppering of laserfire. "...love you..."

A few more blasts of laserfire followed, and suddenly, Prowl felt nothing.

The lifesign he had been receiving over his sensors stopped flowing entirely. And his end of the bond, normally so full with Jazz's presence, was empty... the Porsche was no longer filling it.

Primus.

Oh sweet Primus.

Jazz was... dead.

He forced down a horrible, sick feeling rising in his energy converter. He had to finish the mission.

Oh, how his spark ached now... he didn't get to see Jazz's face, even one more time...

Shuttering his optics tightly, he whispered a weak "I'm sorry" before pressing the ignition switch...

No one spoke to the silent tactician when he returned to the Ark, doors backswept and optics downcast. He was exuding a presence of calm, but those that knew him well knew that beneath it, he was just barely holding back grief.

He paused when a boxy figure slipped out of the medbay, standing in front of him with folded arms and a frown. "Get into medical, Prowl. You've had your briefing with Prime. You need rest."

"I don't need rest, Ratchet," Prowl replied, his tone cool. "I need to get back to work."

Ratchet's optics narrowed briefly before his expression went soft, shaking his head as he lifted one hand to rest on Prowl's shoulder. "Prowl... as much as we all hate to say it, Jazz is dead. You can't keep working at this pace and hope you'll get over in a day the fact that your bondmate died out there."

Almost immediately, Prowl tensed, his doors sweeping back sharply as his optics fell cold and emotionless on Ratchet.

For the first time in his life, the medic backed down from the tactician, jerking his hand back as if it had been burned.

Letting out a sharply indrawn breath of air, Prowl let his doors settle to a neutral, if not stiff, position. "I have work to do, Ratchet," he bit sharply. "If you'll excuse me."

As he brushed past the white and red medtech, Ratchet heaved a sigh of his own, glancing at the other mechs in the hall that had stopped to watch. "...this is out of my jurisdiction. He's not talking... and it isn't safe to try to make him."

No one else bothered Prowl as he moved through the halls, and to be perfectly honest, he wanted it that way.

His steps quickened as he approached his quarters, door all but slamming shut behind him as he fought to regain his composure... but he just couldn't.

A choked sob slipped past his lips as he leaned back against the door, one hand covering his optics, trembling as he slid to sit on the floor, curling into himself. Jazz was gone. His beautiful Jazz.

Every last bit of what he was feeling defied all logic, but in his pain and grief, he had ceased caring.

All he wanted was Jazz... and that was something he would never have again.

"...love you..."

The way he was forced to say that caused a bitter taste to rise in Jazz's mouth. Even as the laserfire passed overhead - it had knocked him down and badly damaged his legs and one arm before, he had tried to remain optimistic. He hadn't want to hurt Prowl, but...

The lasers wouldn't stop firing unless they no longer detected a lifesign... or any spark trace.

In effect, Jazz had very few choices in the matter. He opted to play dead, blanketing any lifesign, and - painfully - blocking his sparkbond with Prowl.

He could feel just a brief moment of anguish at the separation coming from his mate before he felt no more from the other black and white, a feeling which was almost as agonizing as feeling Prowl in pain. However, just as he had suspected, the laserfire stopped as soon as the lasers detected no further lifesign.

Somewhere inside the base, Jazz felt the rumble of the explosion and knew what that meant. Somewhere outside, Prowl had set the detonator, and if he knew Prowl, the Datsun had left so he wouldn't have to watch the base explode, incinerating the body of his beloved with everything else inside.

So the saboteur scrambled to his feet, painful as the movement was, dashing from the compound and dodging motion sensors, shouting as he exited just in time to have the explosion fling him forward at least fifty yards, nearly tearing off one door as he tumbled.

"Well," the Porsche grumped with a pained grimmace, sitting up to gently shift the injured door, "that could've gone better."

With a sigh and a grunt, the wounded special ops officer pushed to his feet once more, staggering in the direction of the Ark. Even at a swift pace, the walk would take at least three days, and he had to keep his lifesign masked so the Decepticons wouldn't give chase when they came to find their new "secret" base already destroyed.

He was looking forward to seeing Prowl when he returned. He only hoped the feeling would be reciprocated.

True to his original speculations, it took Jazz nearly three days to return to the Ark, and even when he did, he kept lifesign masked and bond temporarily blocked. He didn't need fifty mechs at once swamping him with questions about his location.

Instead, he slunk through the halls with great expertise until he at last arrived at his desired location.

"Ratch... hey, Ratchet...!"

Though his words were quiet, he knew he could get the attention of the medic, who was going over inventory lists in the empty medbay.

Startled to the point of actually jumping, data pad all but leaping from his hands as he spun, the frightened Ratchet flung a suddenly procured medkit at the offender. "How the flying frag are you standing there right now!" he demanded, voice raising a couple of pitches in alarm. "You're dead!"

Jazz flashed a dazzling grin, raising his hands slightly. "Hey, hey, easy. Pipe down. I don't want anyone knowing I'm back yet."

"Jazz," Ratchet hissed, still bristling visibly, "we've fragging prepared a memorial in your honor and you don't want anyone to know you're back yet!"

The Porsche just shook his head. As much as his spark ached, even yearned, for the feeling it had missed for three days, he couldn't yet reveal to Prowl that he was back... not while he looked like this. "Get Prime and Ironhide down here and I'll brief 'em. Everyone else... well... they'll find out once I'm well enough to walk around without creakin' every step. Got enough on my mind from this without worryin' that people will start blamin' Prowl for incompetence."

The medic raised his brow. "Prowl? Incompetent? This I have to hear..."

Motioning with one hand towards the "private" area he had set up, Ratchet set about repairing Jazz in relative secret as the saboteur recounted the events leading up to the moment he stepped through the doors to a flying medkit...

As for Prowl, the last three days had been excruciating. Being separated from Jazz, he felt as he had before him... and only now did he realize how much he'd hated that feeling of pure emptiness.

It was horrible. He felt like only part of himself. He couldn't think, he'd hardly recharged or taken in any energon...

Primus, it felt like he was going to die.

But that would be a poor, illogical choice. As much as he hurt, as much as he missed Jazz, the mechs here still needed him as a tactician. And that duty, despite his pain, he could still perform with deadly accuracy.

He had spoken to Smokescreen on Ratchet's suggestion on numerous occasions so far, but none of them had heeded what the racecar painted Datsun had wanted. Prowl refused to admit weakness to anyone... even to a friend.

It had gone so far by the second day that even the twins were avoiding him, and Prowl could see the unease, apprehension, and even concern the pair gazed towards him with. Sideswipe stood just behind his brother, gazing over the golden shoulder as Sunstreaker drew back his shoulders, optics narrowed and lips pulled down at the corners. It was as if he was daring Prowl to yell at him for something. It was what he wanted... he wanted to see the black and white's ire directed at him.

But Prowl did nothing. He simply brushed past the twins and went on his way, leaving red and yellow with bewildered expressions as he passed.

The third day, an unexpected pang of longing struck Prowl, but he brushed it off as nothing. Such urges, he assumed, would only come natural for the next while. He would want Jazz... want to see him, touch him, taste him... but Jazz would not be there and he had to come to live with this.

Two more days passed, and as they did, Prowl grew more and more distant. For every moment that drifted by, he seemed to grow colder, and nothing seemed to be changing that.

And then, all at once, the gate opened and as he was walking by medical, Prowl stopped dead in his tracks, optics wide and jaw hanging just slightly slack as he stared...

It took almost two days for Ratchet to finally get Jazz in working order again, complete with a good buff and wax. Smiling brightly, the saboteur let the bond flow freely again, stumbling briefly at the sudden feeling of agony he felt... followed swiftly by very near surprise.

Sweeping to his feet - and almost knocking Ratchet over in the process, the saboteur bolted out the door, nearly crashing headlong into Prowl, who was staring at him as if he'd seen a ghost.

Then again, Jazz assumed that in effect, this had to be quite similar to what he was feeling. His fellow black and white lifted his hands, trembling softly, and nearly touched Jazz before all at once, his face went devoid of expression.

Doors flung wide in an expression of extreme frustration, Prowl drew himself up and hissed out, "How dare you."

Flicking his gaze over Jazz with barely restrained emotion, the turmoiled tactician spun on his heel and stalked swiftly off down the hall.

Jazz just stood in shock for a moment before he jogged off after him. He'd never seen Prowl so angry before... not in a very long time. It took so much to breech the Datsun's air-tight defenses that even a small rise of any sort of emotion publicly took a great deal of trying to draw out.

/Prowl/ he called gently over their link. /Prowl, what's wrong... talk to me/

/You were gone for almost a week, Jazz. You could have told me your so-called death was part of your plan. I have been in agony, Jazz. I haven't been able to hear you... I haven't been able to feel you. I cannot count the number of times I have exhausted myself into recharge because I couldn't stop thinking of your face long enough to rest/

Jazz stopped cold in front of the door to the quarters they shared, awash for a moment in the unrestrained guilt and terror that flowed from his mate. /Prowl.../

Another wave of grief. Prowl didn't want Jazz to see him like this. /Just leave me be/

Frowning, Jazz attempted to unlock the door to get inside, but he had no luck. Prowl had locked him out and was showing no intention of letting the Porsche inside.

So Jazz sighed, sliding to the floor to sit, his doors drooping. What could he really do, other than sit and wait for Prowl to cool off enough to let him in.

But Jazz was nothing if not an adaptable mech, and he knew Prowl well enough to know exactly how to deal with this problem.

Or he hoped, anyway.

Taking a soft breath, he parted his lips... and began to sing.

"My gift is my song," his voice came softly, "and this one's for you... and you can tell everybody that this is your song..." He sighed. "It may be quite simple, but now that it's done... hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is now you're in the world..."

Prowl frowned, leaning against the door inside, listening quietly as his mate began to sing. That was the wonderful voice he had missed... that gentle, smooth baritone. He shuttered his optics, feeling his faceplate grow hot as Jazz's voice continued to drift softly through the door. He knew Jazz was singing to him.

And he had little willpower to resist.

"Sat on the roof and I kicked off the moss. Well, some of the verses, well, they got me quite cross... but the sun's been kind while I wrote this song. It's for people like you that keep it turned on..." His voice grew in confidence, and Prowl just knew there was likely an audience accumulating by now. He covered his face with his hands. He wanted Jazz in his arms, but... "So, excuse me for forgetting, but these things I do. You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue. Anyway, the thing is... well, I really mean... yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen..."

That tore it. That absolutely tore it.

The door slid open all at once, and Prowl stood there with a frustrated expression, although his lips quivered just slightly. He cast a glare around at the mechs that stood around before he hissed "Shut up!" at Jazz and dragged him into the room by a horn, causing the Porsche to let out a surprised (and somewhat pained) yelp. As soon as the door was shut, however, Prowl's demeanor changed.

Without so much as a warning, he launched himself forward, somehow managing to get both arms and one leg wrapped about his mate as he kissed him soundly, trying to get as close to the saboteur as he could. Choked sobs came from his throat as he trembled, nuzzling gently at Jazz's jaw. "Jazz... oh, Jazz..."

Arms coming up to embrace the tactician, Jazz at first was not surprised, until he realized his fellow black and white was trembling in his grip, doors drawn back so tightly that they were quivering visibly, face pressed tightly against the saboteur's throat. Frowning, the Porsche lifted the Datsun's face so they were optic-to-optic, questioning worriedly, "Prowl...?"

"I missed you even more than I could have believed," Prowl began, his voice quiet, optics never really quite meeting his mate's, "and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this... is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things." Gently, he pressed his lips to Jazz's again, and Jazz could feel that aching terror trembling weakly over their bond. "Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan't make you love me any more by giving myself away like this... but oh, my dear, I can't be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that."

The Porsche raised his brow just slightly, resisting the urge to smile. "Vita Sackville-West."

Prowl nodded slowly, forehead resting gently against Jazz's. "It seemed appropriate." He sighed softly, shakily. "Don't ever do that to me again, Jazz. Please. That hurt so much I almost couldn't bear it. I feared I was about to go mad with grief."

Gently nuzzling Prowl's cheek, trailing delicate, affectionate kisses down his jaw, Jazz murmured his agreement. "I know how you feel, lover. This past week's been hell on me. Primus, I've missed you so much... missed how you feel when I'm holdin' you like this, how you smell after a day's work, how you taste when I brush my lips over your cheek..." He sighed softly. "My beautiful, wonderful Prowl. You put up with so much from me. I'm sorry I scared you."

Prowl nodded softly against Jazz's helm, lifting one hand to delicately massage the horn he had so roughly grabbed earlier. "Just... I just want to know one thing. Why? Why couldn't you tell me?"

"If I'dve told you over the comm what I was planning, the 'Cons could've picked up on it. I had to protect you as much as I had to protect the mission. I know I should've told you I was okay as soon as I got back... but I didn't want you blamin' yourself for my injuries. Y'know?"

The tactician paused at that, then nodded, rubbing his nose slightly against Jazz's. "That does make sense. I understand the logic in your actions, but..."

Laughing softly, Jazz abruptly got to his feet, spinning Prowl with him, lips pressed firmly to the other black and white's. When he had broken free, he leaned his head back. "Prowl, logic is overrated, especially in my line of work." He nuzzled his mate, sweeping him over to the berth. "I did what was best, and I came home soon as I could."

Smiling, he rested on the berth, pulling Prowl to lay beside him, spooning the Datsun against him as best he could. His lips found every surface, kissing his chevron, across his noseridge, his cheeks, finding his lips again...

But when he received no response, Jazz wrinkled his nose in surprise, leaning back to discover, with a smile, that Prowl was simply not awake. The black and white had dozed off peacefully, wings lax behind him, nestled comfortably against Jazz with one leg draped over his partner's.

Smiling softly, Jazz pressed a chaste kiss to the top of Prowl's helm. "Pleasant dreams, lover," he whispered, curling close. "I'll be right here when you wake up... cross my spark."

With a gentle sigh, the Porsche relaxed against his mate, taking comfort in the soft sound of air softly passing through Prowl's intakes, letting the warm, comforted feeling of their bond lull him into recharge at last.

--End--