Title: First Kiss
'Verse: G1, sequel to 'Fall'
Rating: T/PG-13
Characters: Jazz/Prowl
Warnings: kissing?

Author's Note: Written for the prowlxjazz community's recent Anniversary Bingo Challenge. Inspired by a prompt posted by wicked3659. This is a sequel set some time after my recent fic "Fall"

Comments and suggestions for improvement are always very welcome!

Prompt: first kiss

It was hardly a surprise when Prowl followed Jazz back to his quarters; the tactician had looked concerned even before the debriefing. After three joors of listening to the saboteur's report, he looked determined too. Jazz didn't object. To be honest, he could use the company. There wasn't any such thing as an easy mission, not any more, but this one had been rougher than most.

He made an effort nonetheless, summoning a wan grin from a reserve he wasn't sure he had and waving an airy servo in his friend's general direction.

"You really don't have to come, you know. I'll be all right."

Prowl gave him a level look, door-wings spread wide and angled to accent his scepticism.

"You are always 'all right', Jazz. Eventually. And I will never hesitate to ensure that remains true."

That was about as much argument as Jazz had energy for.

The first time they'd shared a berth – in the aftermath of the fall of Praxis, and with a traumatised mechling Bluestreak sandwiched between them – had been a pure accident. Disrupted recharge, loss, concern and the need to care for the infant had simply led them to the same place at the same time. In the vorns since, sharing the recharge joors had become almost routine for the pair of them. When Prowl struggled with the memories, or the burdens of his duties, Jazz would be there to distract, comfort, listen or just hold his friend. When Jazz felt his own strains and not even his legendary public mask could conceal them, Prowl would be by his side in turn. It was one of the things that kept him coming home to base, time and again, despite the attrition of friends and colleagues in a war that never seemed to end.

He didn't bother with the pretence of conversation now, dropping onto his berth with an exhausted vent. Leaving room to one side of him was purely automatic. It had to be. He was deep in recharge before his optics had time to dim.

He might have noticed the hazy unreality of the recharge glitch at first. If so, the awareness soon faded.

He only knew that he was alone, and terrified. Skittering noises followed him through the vents. The whine of razor-sharp wings forced his helm down, his entire focus on the rough metal plates beneath his servos.

A dark red visor filled his processor. It seemed to surround him: looming around every corner, behind every view port and blocking every escape. Soundwave was hunting him and he could feel the telepath's clawed servos closing around his roof, catching in his plating and pulling him back against a solid, terrifying form.

Jazz thrashed and twisted, his desperation to escape defying reason. He didn't notice when the spectre of dark blue plating was replaced with black and white, or when the visor gave way to a pair of worried blue optics.

"Jazz. Jazz! You're safe, Jazz. You're home." The words penetrated, to some extent, but it was the familiar voice that drained Jazz's fight. Dazed from interrupted recharge, reality and nightmare blending in his processor, he hardly knew what he was doing.

His near-exhausted energy reserves fled. With a soft keen, he collapsed back against the berth and the mech that held him in a tight embrace.

Had his longing summoned this recharge dream of Prowl? Was this real or another fantasy? Jazz didn't care. He clung to his friend with all the desperation he'd felt and kept hidden through the long decaorn of his mission. His spark was racing, his relief tangible in the flaring electrical field that escaped his armour. Prowl vented hard as he felt the tension ebb from Jazz's struts. His hold eased, his frame pulling away a little, and, still only half conscious, Jazz didn't hesitate. This was the mech he trusted most in all creation, the only one he wanted to hold him, and to hold in turn. More than anything Jazz wanted to draw the other against him and revel in the comfort and affection of the embrace. He needed to keep Prowl close, needed an excuse to hold him for longer. Straining, tilting his helm to adjust the angle between them, he turned and caught the other mech in a deep, desperate, kiss.

The sting of Prowl's own internal energy field flaring across his armour, and the way the other went rigid in his arms, delivered a dual shock that jerked Jazz back to reality. The semi-darkness of his quarters swam into focus, long shadows cast by the glow of stunned optics and an equally bright visor. Prowl stared at him, and he stared back, mirroring the surprise and dismay on the other mech's faceplates. By silent mutual consent, both scrambled backwards, their arms unlocking and their servos jerking back from one another as if from the heat of a furnace.

Prowl half-climbed, half-fell from the berth. His door-wings jerked wildly, flaring to balance him as he stood. The tactician looked shaken and uncertain, his optics searching Jazz's bewildered expression.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Prowler. I didn't mean…" The words spilled from Jazz in a frantic stream, his processor playing no part in choosing them. He caught himself, and fell silent, unsure what explanation he could possibly offer.

Prowl's door-wings twitched, wavering high and low before he got them back under control. That, as much as anything, told Jazz just how rattled his friend was by his impulsive action.

"I…" The tactician shook his helm, adjusting his stance from unsteady to commanding and forbidding. His expression closed down. Suddenly the mech was standing in front of Jazz as a fellow officer, putting up walls that had never stood between them before today. Prowl cleared his vocalisor, deliberately calming his vents. "I believe it would be better if I recharge in my own quarters for now, Jazz. I will set a monitor and will return should you need me."

"Prowl…"

"No apology is necessary. Intimate contact has been scarce for many of late. Such impulses are a natural response to deprivation. I understand that you were not in control of your actions. You would have reacted similarly with any other who sought to restrain you." Prowl shook his helm. "You are still exhausted, Jazz, and still need recharge. I will ensure that energon is delivered before you wake."

The door hissed open before he finished the final words. Just like that, he was gone, leaving Jazz alone and confused, exhausted and terrified, wondering what he'd done and how in the world he could fix it.

He thought he'd never be able to recharge again. His energy-depleted frame had other ideas.

It was well into second shift when Jazz awoke. For a wild few breems, he thought he'd dreamt the entire experience, as he'd dreamt the pursuit that preceded it. The energon cube, slipped just inside his door as if Prowl could not bear to enter the room himself, shattered that illusion. The carefully placed cube was a gift and a slap in the face all at once.

Primus. He'd really done it. He'd taken their vorns of friendship and mutual comfort, and destroyed it for the sake of a momentary impulse and a half-awake fantasy.

Downing the cube, Jazz set his shoulders and raised his helm. He had to find a way to put this right.

That might be easier if Prowl wasn't on duty smack bang in the middle of the command centre… and if the mech would meet his optics, or face him for more than a few microklicks at a time.

"I'm sorry, Prowl, I seem to have misplaced those last reports you gave me…" Optimus Prime strode into the centre before Jazz had been there half a breem, or worked up the courage to say anything aloud. The huge mech paused, his optics brightening a little above his battle-mask as he noticed his second lieutenant leaning against the wall. "Ah, Jazz. It is good to see you awake. I have a few more questions about your mission. Prowl, if you'd join us…?"

The meeting was excruciating. Prowl's gaze remained firmly fixed on his data-pad. His door-wings were held even more rigid than normal. Their tips trembled from time to time, the only indication of the tension running through him. If he addressed a single comment directly to Jazz in the entire joor-long ordeal, the saboteur must have missed it.

The Ops mech had enough of a struggle keeping up with Prime's questions. His memory of the mission was as complete as ever – half the things he'd seen were burned into his databanks so deeply he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to overwrite them. It was just that every time he stopped speaking his processor and visor would stray to the mech by Prime's side, wondering what was going on behind those grey faceplates.

It seemed an eternity before Prime wrapped the meeting up. Jazz wasn't the only one to react when Prime murmured: "Well, that would appear to conclude things..."

He and Prowl jolted to their pedes in unconscious synchrony, their chairs squealing against the floor plates in their haste. They winced in unison too, the expression fleeting as both masked it in a hurry. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out something was up. It certainly didn't take a Prime.

"Sit."

Jazz obeyed the order slowly, trying hard to hide his reluctance. Prowl mirrored him, neither officer meeting their Prime's optics.

Optimus studied the pair of them – his lieutenants, his friends of long standing. A frown furrowed his brow-ridge. Red-clad arms rested on the conference table between them, his servos steepled in front of his battle mask.

"Is there a problem I should know about?"

"Nah." Jazz had grinned and joked with bounty-hunters and Decepticons when his duty called for it, lying to their faces without hesitation. It was almost too easy to force a grin now, even as his spark ached. "I'm just a little tired, that's all. Thought I'd go check out the Rec Room for a joor or two."

He didn't dare look at Prowl for support, but he hardly needed to. No way Prowl would want to share this mess with their Prime.

"There are a substantial number of requisitions awaiting my urgent attention. I wished to deal with them as soon as practicable."

Optimus Prime didn't move, his bright optics still resting on them. It was almost half a breem before he raised a single brow-ridge.

"If some issue has arisen between the pair of you…?"

Prowl's door-wings flicked, the only significant movement they'd made in the last joor.

"I assure you, Optimus, that your concern is needless."

"Me and Prowler? We're fine, just fine." The words tasted like ashes but they sounded halfway convincing. Prime rumbled, his engine note uneasy, before nodding.

"Very well. I believe I will need to see you both again tomorrow. For the moment though: dismissed."

This time Jazz took his time rising. Again, he wasn't alone. Prowl moved briskly but without the undue haste of a breem before. Both kept their expressions relaxed. Not even Prime could overhear the tightly focussed private comm that passed between them.

"My office, Jazz. Now."

"Prowl, look this whole mess is my fault." Jazz started talking as soon as the office door locked behind them. Prowl, leaning against his desk with folded arms, raised a brow-ridge and didn't try to intervene. "I'm sorry, Prowler. I never meant to push you like that." Jazz threw up his arms, pacing a few steps back and forth in the narrow space in front of Prowl's desk. "Slag it. I didn't even think I was awake!"

That got a reaction. Prowl's optics cycled slowly through a reset, still avoiding direct contact with Jazz's visor.

"You chose to kiss me, unilaterally, believing yourself still in recharge?"

"I'm sorry." Jazz was getting sick of those words. He was sure Prowl must be too. He only prayed his friend could hear their spark-felt sincerity. "What we have… I didn't mean to mess it up like that – you've got to believe me! Look, I know you said I'd have done it to just anyone, but I want you to know that just isn't true. Frag, Prowl, there's not another mech on this base I'd let that close to me when I'm recharging. You're not just any other mech, slag it, and I respect you too much to... I want you to know…" He shook his helm, all his half-planned words fading into confusion. He spoke from his spark instead, the words formal but oddly fitting for the moment, and for the mech. "Prowler… I want you to know, I didn't mean any disrespect."

It sounded stiff, artificial. Jazz cursed himself even as his vocalisor stalled out into silence. Prowl hadn't moved, his expression unreadable. Jazz groaned, his shoulder's slumping and his entire frame feeling heavy around his dimmed spark.

"And now you're even angrier with me."

Prowl's door-wings flicked out. His engine rumbled, and his servos drummed against his upper arm.

"Mildly disappointed, perhaps." The tactician spoke in a soft tone. For the first time this orn, he looked up to meet Jazz's gaze. "I had imagined our first kiss would take place under rather different circumstances."

It took several klicks to register. Jazz's visor dimmed and then brightened. His vents hiccupped, his expression evolving from shock to wonder.

"You… you imagined…?"

Prowl vented a sigh. He pushed up from the desk and stepped forward. His door-wings framed his helm, their sensor panels angled to focus on the mech before him. Reaching out, he took Jazz's servos in his own. He moved tentatively, his optics never leaving the Ops mech's faceplates, giving him ample time to back away or reject the contact.

Slowly, he turned Jazz's servos palm up, raising each to his lips in turn, laying a gentle kiss on the sensitive plating. Jazz shuddered, his optics still wider, his expression betraying a sudden wild hope. A small smile touched Prowl's thin lip-plates, his optics glowing under his broad red chevron.

Just as slowly, never breaking optic contact, he leaned forward. Tilting his helm, he adjusted for their relative heights. The kiss he laid on Jazz's lips was gentle, almost chaste. The optic contact between them made it much more, almost painful in its intimacy. Jazz lost himself in the kiss, wondering yet again if he was awake or if this was some cruel recharge fantasy. It seemed to last forever, and at the same time be over much too soon.

A quiet keen escaped the Ops mech as Prowl pulled away. It brought another flickering smile to his friend's face, and the barest hint of satisfaction.

"Now that," Prowl told him in a teasing imitation of the tone he used to lecture new recruits, "was a first kiss." The tactician paused, his door-wings twitching with an anxiety that didn't show anywhere else. "The first…" his intonation changed, taking on a questioning lilt, "I hope… of many?"

Jazz was still venting hard, not quite able to believe. He melted against Prowl's side, afraid to let go. The other mech chuckled, a low and deep sound that vibrated through his frame, and along his door-wings. They twitched above Jazz's helm, their tips arching over in an almost protective gesture.

"Had I realised you shared my growing affection, I would have acted sooner. I remained uncertain… until the moment you began to speak."

Prowl looked down at him, and Jazz looked back, the exhaustion of the last few orns catching up with him. He let Prowl hold him, resting his helm against the other mech's shoulder. Prowl did so, tilting his helm to nudge Jazz's helm-horns.

"I fear I am taking advantage of you, Jazz. You still need recharge more than emotional strain. But… can I assume the answers we gave Optimus Prime were accurate, albeit premature?"

"No."

Prowl froze. His door-wings vibrated with sudden tension, his frame gone rigid in Jazz's embrace.

"No?" he asked quietly.

Jazz straightened, reaching up – as he'd wanted to for vorns – to give the tip of the nearest door-wing a tweak.

"No," he confirmed. "I told Prime we were just fine." The corner of his mouth quirked, a familiar grin spreading across his weary faceplates. "We're more than that, Prowler. You and me? We're perfect."

The End