Part 24
When Prowl arrived at his office, he was not surprised to find the door wide open and Jazz curled up in his chair, pedes on the desk as usual. Neither of them spoke as Prowl closed and locked the door behind himself, tossing his datapad on the desk so that it knocked against Jazz's armor. Prowl dropped in his spare seat, venting heavily.
"Soundwave?" Jazz grumbled.
"Soundwave." Prowl draped his arm over his face, hiding from the world for a moment. "And...well."
"Hm?" Jazz tilted his helm to see him better, reaching one hand out to touch Prowl's fingertips. "What?"
"Prime walked in on us," Prowl sighed with a loud vent. "As we were arguing."
"'Arguing'?" Jazz echoed. "'Bout what?"
"That Decepticon questioned my math," Prowl growled. "Said I had miscalculated his threat rating."
"Ooh." Jazz whistled lowly. He'd seen mechs try to second guess Prowl's math, or worse, try to correct him. So far, he'd never known Prowl to be wrong, and he had seen many chastened mechs duck and backpedal out of his office faster than a battle retreat. "Did you let him live?"
"He..." Prowl huffed and turned his head. "If he's what passes for Decepticon intelligence, it's amazing they've lasted as long as they have. Mech wanted to calculate in his casseticons when his connection to them has been severed, as if his emotional attachment to them meant anything significant–"
"Whoa, whoa," Jazz said, squeezing Prowl's hand as he sat up. "Mech's bad at math, okay. But you're sure he can't talk to his little terrors?"
"Certain," Prowl nodded. "Ratchet assured me of that himself."
"Well then." Jazz stood and stretched, reaching toward the ceiling so hard that his frame trembled, and then relaxed, one hand resting on his hip. "Let's forget it for now. We're both technically off shift, and I believe you made me a promise."
Despite his irritation, Prowl's frown slowly faded and then grew into a smile. He peered at Jazz from between his fingers, and he adjusted in his chair to face him.
"I did," Prowl acknowledged, holding one hand out to him. "It's been a long shift, though."
"Tell me about it," Jazz said, and he used taking that hand as an excuse to straddle Prowl's lap, scooting his thighs and aft until he was sitting comfortably. "That rotten mech...did you know he has a chain kink?"
Prowl nodded once, somehow following Jazz's conversation even though his hands were following the line of Jazz's waist.
"Yes, in one of his Spec Ops books," Prowl said. "There were a few others, but that's the one where he'd chained on a leash and overloaded in the brig."
Jazz paused, staring at Prowl to make sure the other mech wasn't making that up. And then he groaned and fell flush against Prowl, burying his face in the other mech's neck cabling. Not one to question a lapful of Jazz suddenly snuggling close, Prowl held him and idly allowed his fingers to explore the underside of Jazz's hood. If he was open about it, maybe the smaller mech wouldn't react badly to his touch.
"That's why his engine acted all funny," Jazz mumbled, his voice muffled by Prowl's armor. "Perverted mech was revving up on it."
"What?" Prowl's hand stopped, and he leaned back trying to see Jazz's face. "'Revved up' on what?"
"I..." Jazz peered into Prowl's face, pressing his lips together as he considered how to answer. "You agree that Spec Ops sometimes has to follow unorthodox procedure, right? And nothing happened, so you gotta promise no ratting me out to Prime."
Prowl's frown deepenend. "What happened?"
"Promise me," Jazz insisted.
"I promise I'll have Soundwave scuttled," Prowl said, his scowl darkening his faceplate. "What happened?"
Jazz felt Prowl's grip growing tight, pulling him taut against Prowl's waist. There were a dozen ways that Jazz could escape, but he found that he liked the sensation and told both his escape and assassination processes to stand down. Yes, he thought, wigglig on Prowl's hips. A jealous Enforcer was quite comfortable to sit on.
"Just that I was pressed for time," Jazz said, "and Soundwave kinda sets off my self-defense function, so the only way I could get him upstairs quick without killing him was...you promise you won't tell Optimus?"
"Jazz..."
"Or anyone else? Especially Ironhide–seriously, he is becoming a one bot menace–"
"Second in Command Autobot Jazz," Prowl demanded, "what happened?"
"Spoilsport," Jazz muttered, looking away. "I...kinda had to use a chain on him."
Prowl's optics darkened. "A chain?"
"Like a leash," Jazz said, wilting as he saw Prowl's reaction. "Nothing happened–"
"Of course nothing happened," Prowl growled. "He probably followed every command of yours to the letter. You could've told him to crawl and he would have."
"I didn't know!" Jazz said, pushing back at arm's length. "Not 'till 'Bee said he was focused on my...um. Yeah, anyway, I did not know about his thing for chains."
Prowl still looked furious, although it had taken Jazz long millenia to learn Prowl's more subtle expressions. The precise way his mouth sealed, the faint narrowing of his optics, the way his hands curled tightly around Jazz's aft and held him securely in place.
And then Prowl sighed and lowered his head. It wasn't worth getting angry over, at least not toward Jazz. Better to direct his anger at that math-questioning Decepticon.
"I will create a list of his fetishes," Prowl said. "So you can avoid them."
"I...uh. Yeah." Jazz touched Prowl's face, tracing the faint lines in the flexisteel and the ridge where the plate met the helm. "About that."
"Yes?" Prowl's frown faded, brushed away by Jazz's attentions.
"I didn't tell anyone but..." Jazz leaned closer, whispering as if mechs were listeing in at the doorway. "I kinda get why he liked the leash."
Prowl went very still. For vorn, he'd longed for Jazz secretly, quietly, keeping such a tight clamp on his emotions that only Ironhide had ever figured out that he felt anything for the smaller mech. To have Jazz so happily in his lap, asking for his affection, was more than he ever hoped for. Jazz's lethal reactions, though unexpected, were an acceptable risk. But to have him already confiding something so unexpected...
"Really?" Prowl whispered. "Tell me why."
"Prowl-l-l..." Jazz turned, ducking his head.
His small movements had him wiggling in Prowl's lap, enthralling the Enforcer. He'd never seen Jazz so much as flustered, and here the Third in Command was on the cusp of outright embarassment, his faceplate warming up in a full flush.
"You don't do things by half measures," Prowl murmured. "First letting me interface, and now this newfound liking of leashes? What else will you confess, hm?"
"It ain't like that," Jazz protested, though he laughed as Prowl pressed a kiss to his arm, then kissed up a little higher to his shoulder, slowly coming up toward his throat. "That tickles!"
"A necessary precaution," Prowl said, though the quirk to his eyeridge belied that. "I wouldn't want you to feel threatened. Now..."
Jazz leaned in for a kiss that Prowl gladly gave, allowing the smaller mech's glossa to tentatively explore, still not confident in what liberties he was allowed. Prowl smiled around the kiss, relishing the shyness that he was sure wouldn't last long. And when Jazz broke away, pressing his helm to Prowl's, he chuckled as Prowl's fingers moved up his waist and slid under his hood.
"What was it," Prowl asked, "that you enjoyed so much about a leash?"
"You got a real one track mind there," Jazz said, biting his lip as sensitive cabling was caressed. He tensed, half-expecting Prowl to slip a little too high toward something sensitive, but the Enforcer had learned exactly what to touch and what not to touch, carefully avoiding Jazz's self-defense reactions.
"I have a Jazz track mind," Prowl said. He bowed his head, lavishing attention on Jazz's headlight, circling his glossa along its rim. "Was it the rush of power? Or was it the thought of having it around someone's neck in particular?"
Jazz's engine hitched, and he put his hand behind Prowl's helm, holding him close to his hood. He watched with wide optics, awed at seeing the Second in Command like this, normally so stoic and professional, now treating Jazz like his delicate toy. He pressed his fist against his mouth, stiffling the little noises in his throat.
I trust you, Jazz said, unwilling to say it out loud but needing to get it out. I wouldn't ever–I mean, I don't do this so easy, you know? I have to disable so many alerts just to let you touch me and...
Lifting his head, Prowl paused, listening intently even though he heard Jazz's voice clearly in his audios. Patient, he waited for him to continue, although he did take Jazz's hand to individually kiss his fingers.
When we had to move him, Jazz said. When I took him out of the cell...I reacted. Without thinking.
Prowl hesitated, then turned Jazz's hand over and pressed a kiss into his palm. Dangerous as Jazz could be, Soundwave had made it to the interrogation room safe and in one piece, without suffering any missing limbs or severed cables.
Soundwave looked intact and functional, he said slowly. And said nothing about ill treatment.
Jazz grimaced. Pervy bot probably liked it...
Liked what? Prowl asked, frowning. I don't think I want him around you anymore.
With a sigh, Jazz shook his head. Prowl's ministrations soothed his nerves, and though the Enforcer's engines ran silent, Jazz felt a comforting vibration rumbling through Prowl's thighs and his hood. It seemed to carry on a personal wavelength, resonating deep within him.
I stabbed him, Jazz said, wincing as Prowl's vents skipped. I didn't cut nothin'. He came walking toward me, and I couldn't–I mean, he's bigger but I know I could take him, especially if he's cuffed, but it was just...
You reacted to him coming at you, Prowl said when it became clear Jazz wouldn't finish. It triggered a response, likely from your brief captivity. Still...you stabbed him? He didn't seem to be losing energon.
Got lucky, Jazz said. Didn't hit anything vital.
Prowl's frown deepend, and he held onto Jazz's hand with a little more force than needed, refusing to let go. You held yourself back.
Good thing, huh? Jazz smiled, but his mouth gave a bitter quirk. Soundwave wants to defect, and I nearly kill him.
I...am sure Optimus is glad you didn't, Prowl said after a moment.
Jazz heard what Prowl left unsaid and grinned ruefully, tipping his helm forward to rest against the edge of Prowl's hood. Even so close to his engines, he heard nothing of the other mech's systems, but Prowl put his arms securely around him, rubbing the base of his doorwings. Jazz arched back, pushing his own hood against Prowl, hissing in a vent and groaning in satisfaction as Prowl worked his fingertips into the soft, flexible joints.
It won't happen again, Jazz swore. I can always have Smokescreen escort him.
No leash? Prowl smiled, lifting his head to brush Jazz's cheek with his own.
Prowl, Jazz said, dragging out his name in a complaining grumble.
Maybe I should send him a present, Prowl said, leaning back so that Jazz lay more and more flush against himself. He slipped one hand down Jazz's back, cupping his aft and running his thumb along the seam of one thigh joint. I imagined just touching you like this for so long, and now you're mentioning leashes.
"I don't–" Jazz squeaked as Prowl kissed him, pushing his mouth against Jazz's to keep him silent.
I like keeping you like this, Prowl said, lightly touching his glossa to Jazz's denta, asking permission to taste. I know you could cut me apart with ease, but you let me do this. You let me...
I like what you do to me. Jazz allowed him in, tilting his helm. I never really understood it, y'know? How mechs could lower their guard so much. Let someone this close.
And now? Prowl drew back, wanting to see Jazz for the answer. With a quiet ping, he warned the other mech even as he raised his hand, touching Jazz's visor.
I still think you're crazy always going on about my optics, Jazz said, venting even as he disengaged the locks and let Prowl gently remove the blue polycarbon.
Your optics make me crazy, Prowl corrected him. And you let me see them. Hundreds of mechs wondering what's under that visor, but I get to see.
Still shy about letting someone else see them, Jazz turned his head, only for Prowl to touch his cheek and turn him back, coaxing his optics to open with a soft brush of his thumb.
Do you mind? Prowl asked. That I do this? I know you never took any other partners, so...
Special Operations mechs can't trust anyone, Jazz said, reaching up and putting his hands on either side of Prowl's helm. But I trust you. Completely. It ain't easy telling all my programming to let you in.
Prowl's optics shut, and he pressed his chevron against the edge of Jazz's helm, resting against him for a long moment. Content to rest like this, Jazz relished the faint wisp of the Enforcer's vent against his faceplate.
You let me in. Prowl's echo, even across their internal comm, was a sigh. Thank you.
I should be the one thanking you, Jazz murmured.
They sat quietly for almost a breem, languidly touching the lines of their armor, the seams of their joints, exploring eachother without talking and idling away the minutes as if the war would wait.
So about that leash, Prowl started.
I'm starting to think you're as bad as he is! Jazz groaned, but he was laughing despite himself.
TBC...