Grasping a Chance 7: Private Quarters
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"So I've been thinking." Jazz started as he set his energon down on the table and looked around at the other mecha gathered with him in the common room. "The Citadel isn't really meant for mecha like me 'n Prowl, non-Knights, and we've been away from all-orn surveillance for while."
Now sure that he had attention of at least Thorn and Wing, and Prowl's too, even if he didn't show it as clearly, Jazz continued. "How about letting me move out? We could even move out together, if you're interested." He said, focusing on Prowl.
There was a minute pause as Prowl ran that through whatever passed for his 'good idea/bad idea' algorithms, and he nodded. "I am agreeable to cohabitating."
Wing chuckled and sipped his energon. "You both have the income to afford it, and you have settled in well. We'll have to clear it first, but I don't see a problem with it."
"You may be required to check in with us regularly, but I would recommend it as well," Thorn inclined his helm. "I see no reason not to give you both additional freedoms."
"See? Good idea all around. Do you want to look, or do you want me to do the looking and just bring back what I find?" Jazz said, true grin wide on his face. He had settled a lot in the last few vorns, becoming more at ease in the city and its inhabitants. "And if I am doing the looking, what should I be on the look-out for?"
Thorn watched his still charge and hid a smile of his own. There were times when Jazz had started to get excited over a project, and the Knight had to admit that when Jazz was excited about something the results were often spectacular. This might well prove to be another one of those times. He had much in common with Wing that way.
"I require a berthroom no smaller than my current one, and keep the price reasonable," Prowl instructed smoothly. "I would prefer a location within half a joor's drive of the central government district."
"I can work with that." Jazz said, his excitement growing more, his helm tilted as he looked at Prowl. "Anything else?" He doubted there was. Prowl was usually very thorough, and if offered nothing more in the original answer there probably wasn't, but it never hurt to check.
"No. I do not anticipate spending much time there," Prowl responded between sips of his energon.
"You might want to keep an optic on how close the bathhouses and cafes are," Wing suggested. "Most towers will have at least one, but the ratio of them to residents and how nice they are varies a lot."
"And how close it is to your central message hub, as well." Thorn pointed out, thinking of Jazz's current occupation.
The grounder made a face and nodded in agreement. "Good point. But the baths are more important." He had gotten spoiled with the abundant, well kept ones in the Citadel, and he knew this. He would have to find good ones. Basic ones for standard cleaning close to home, and maybe a nice one for the occasional splurge when a good long soak and detailing or extra attention sounded nice. It was one thing that Jazz liked to indulge in every now and then, and something that he could get Prowl to agree to sometimes as well. It seemed to be one of Prowl's few indulgences when it came to his frame. The Praxian loved a hot oil bath, loved to be clean and loved his extra soft berth with lots of pillows. Not that Jazz didn't relish these things, but Prowl seemed to find them important on the level most mecha found good interfacing to be.
Prowl glanced at Jazz, his optics calculating before he nodded to himself. "I believe you know my preferences well enough to take them into suitable account for the bathhouse choices."
"Some places come already furnished. That might be something to consider when you are looking, considering some of each of your personal preferences." Thorn said, looking from Jazz to Prowl.
Prowl inclined his helm. "The berth?" he guessed.
"It's a high-end flier's berth," Thorn nodded. "Your large wings make it strongly advisable, though as you know you can recharge well enough on a standard flier's berth."
"You could look for places furnished for one with a mostly unfurnished spare room," Wing added thoughtfully. "Assuming the rest meets Jazz's needs. Prowl's berth can be bought and put in the spare room."
"I am agreeable to that," Prowl agreed smoothly.
"I'll introduce you to the RRS then," Wing smiled brightly. "Residence Research System."
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Jazz was understandably pleased when the three apartments he'd insisted Prowl look at before they selected one when all were found acceptable. He'd been around Prowl enough by then to recognize 'I like it' when he teeked it. He'd chosen the one with the best view, which also happened to be closest to the nicest middle-class bathhouse in the district and a dozen cafes that Jazz knew served reasonably priced but good energon. He'd studied cost vs. quality in such basics as bathhouses and energon intensely ever since he'd gotten a firm grasp on what his income was, and again when he learned of Prowl's.
The Praxian made a small fortune compared to Jazz, but then, Prowl was also in charge of allocating resources for the entire city. There wasn't a department or business that did not, sooner or later, need what he provided. In Jazz's estimation, it put Prowl's income somewhere in the top end of the upper middle class. Not that you'd ever know it from Prowl.
Jazz's occupation as a courier meant that his income tended to fluctuate from orn to orn, but he still made a decent living. More than enough to support him at a comfortable level, and still allow for the occasional indulgence.
Like right now when he and Prowl were going to try out one of the higher end bathhouses near their new dwelling. It was not one that either of them had used before, but it has the reputation of being well kept, quiet, and entirely worthy of its high rating. That was enough to convince Prowl to go. Not that he took that much convincing to follow Jazz somewhere these orns, something that was a matter of quiet pride for Jazz. The trick was getting Prowl out of his office. After that, he was generally willing to comply with Jazz's wishes.
Which led them to transform in front of the tower and walk in. This level and the eight above it were a shopping hub for the district. Everything from crafts to spare parts to services of all kinds were available, but the bathhouse that dominated the first level was the goal today. Prowl was still a touch distracted less than three breems after leaving the office, but Jazz was used to it. He'd learned early on that Prowl took the better part of a joor to completely untangle his processors from his job. It was time Jazz was inclined to give, especially once he had worked out that if he gave Prowl the time to wrap things up for the orn, the mech generally left work on the back burner until the next orn.
"Well, so far so good." He commented softly as they stepped in the doors, leaving the noise of the shopping district outside and stepping into an island of peace and calm.
The lobby was soothing, arrayed in neutral colors easy on the optic, and the slender femme that approached them moved with a smooth, welcoming grace. "Welcome to the bathhouse. What may we do for you this orn?"
"A quiet end to an orn." Jazz said with a smile. "A hot oil soak and a standard detailing."
The femme smiled, looking at Prowl to see if he was going to add anything before motioning towards a door. "Of course. If you will follow me."
She led to a standard communal wash area, meant for mecha to rinse off the dirt and grime of the outside world before they enjoyed a soak in the oil bath. "I will take your credits now, please." She said, accepting each of their sticks and deducting what they had requested. "There is a variety of cleaners for your use. Please take all the time you like. If you require additional things, that button will summon an attendant. Is there anything else I can get for you now?"
Prowl shook his head slightly, only manners keeping him from getting under the hot spray the moment he had his credit stick back.
Jazz smiled as she handed back the credits and watched in amusement as Prowl practically dove under the hot spray once they were alone. As public as the wash was, he was glad that it was unusually empty for this time of the orn so that Prowl could indulge in a way that he knew the other mecha would not in front of the after work crowd, even if others were doing the same thing.
"Let me know when you are ready and I'll wash your back and wings, if you want," Jazz offered like he always did before he stepped under his own spray. A hard vent escaped him as the hot solvent ran into seams and breaks in his armor and washed over plating, rinsing away the worst of the signs of the long orn before he actually started to scrub. Since he drove around all over the city all orn delivering packages while Prowl sat sedately in an office hooked into the city's network, Jazz was significantly more dirty than Prowl. It didn't make much difference to how much the Praxian loved being freshly clean. It seemed to be the only aspect of having a frame that had really clicked with him. Clean was good. Clean was civilized.
Clean meant safe.
"I will," Prowl replied quietly, shivering faintly under the hot spray before fluffing his armor out as far as it would go to draw the rain of cleanser under his armor and all the way to his protoform. His field relaxed as it did few other places and was soon teasing the edge of Jazz's with Prowl's pleasure, and that it wasn't entirely physical.
There was a matching edge of pleasure in Jazz's field, welcoming the warmth and the rare relaxed state of his roommate. The worst of the grime off he reached for a rather rough textured brush and a strong scrub, working at his plating and muffling another sigh of good.
"Scrub your back?" Prowl asked without turning on his optics or looking over. He didn't actually need a scrub-down, but Jazz absolutely did. Once Jazz was clean, he knew he could indulge in the long cleaning that made him tingle all over and made Jazz's field light up with pleasure.
"Any time you care to move." Jazz answered agreeably, still scrubbing away at the parts of his own frame that he could reach, appreciation of the offer, however standard, bright in his field for Prowl to feel.
Though he didn't care to move at all, Prowl turned off his showerhead, picked up a brush and cleanser bottle walked over to Jazz, squeezing the cleanser on the brush as he moved. His first stroke of the brush across Jazz's shoulders was strong and firm, long familiar with how to clean Jazz's frame in an efficient manner that was also pleasing to the owner.
Jazz moaned blissfully, leaning into the touch as his own efforts faded away to enjoying someone else caring for him. Someone that he had to admit he trusted, as he loosened his armor to make it easier for Prowl to reach the dirt that had accumulated there. Pleasure flickered back at him, something he knew from experience not to give too much attention too, lest Prowl back off. The Praxian wasn't comfortable with the idea that he cared about Jazz, or anyone, really, and it had taken him the better part of a decaorn to settle back to normal the first and last time Jazz had brought it up.
Instead Jazz focused on the wonderful sensation of being clean that starting to tingle across his plating, relaxing into the cleaning and bending just a little to expose more of his side and a place that had been bothering him more than usual. "Back there above the hip joint..." He prompted, earning an immediate shift to the location and more focused action on Prowl's part to get whatever it was out until Jazz sighed with the bliss of the irritant removed.
Through it all, the better part of a joor where every micrometer of Jazz's frame was thoroughly and meticulously cleaned, Prowl didn't say a single thing and neither did Jazz, other than the occasional direction to a spot that needed extra attention. Their fields spoke for them in a way that neither had to fully acknowledge the feelings. The depth of care. The affection. The growing loyalty that was not natural to either of them.
Jazz straightened with a hum of contentment when Prowl backed off, slipping under the spray for a final rinse with his armor completely fluffed out.
"My turn to scrub you?" He asked with a smile.
"Yes." The simple word and even, unaltered glyph belied the subtle harmonics it was delivered with, something else they both tactfully ignored. The moment was not worth ruining for forcing Prowl to acknowledge what he couldn't control.
With a flicker of reluctance Jazz turned off the solvent and moved to the cleaners, selecting brushes that were appropriate for Prowl's frame and non-existent level of dirty, as well as a scrub that would clean and help shine the other's armor to a soft, everyday finish.
"Any particular place to start this time?" He asked as he turned back to the other. The words were almost more ritual now than needed, but sometimes even Prowl deviated from his normal, so Jazz still asked.
"My neck has been bothering me," Prowl murmured, uneasy with admitting it but not so uneasy he wasn't going to get help. "I think something is in there."
"Right. Just a klik." Jazz said, maneuvering around and finding something to stand on so that he could reach the spot on the taller mech. He rested a light hand on Prowl's shoulder, field at ease as he investigated visually, then ran slender fingers along the mass of cabling.
"Don't see anything, but that doesn't always mean-ah." A flare of self satisfaction rippled through his field as he found and dislodged a small stone. Gentle fingers ran over the spot a second time, checking for more before he dropped back down. "That do it?"
Prowl rolled his helm at his neck's full deflection, a tiny bit of relief mixed into a greater relaxation in his field. "Yes, thank you."
"Good. Sing out if there is anything else." Jazz instructed as he picked the brush and scrub back up and started on base of Prowl's wings, working carefully around the sensor appendages before moving on to the actual wings themselves.
It had taken some study, thankfully Wing was a willing subject, and several attempts before Jazz had started to work out the best way to clean wings of any sort. A while longer to tailor the process to Prowl, but there was something in the way that the other mech relaxed almost to the point of melting into the attention that made all the effort worth it. It felt good in a very strange way to have such pleasure against his field and know to his very spark that it wasn't sensual, that the mech wasn't going to ask anything more of him. Sure Prowl was a fantastic 'face, but it was all technique and no passion. Perfunctory in every sense.
A soft moan snuck out of Prowl's vocalizer when Jazz reached the slender wingtips. Jazz allowed a smile that Prowl could not see, even if he muted the pleasure in his field and indulged in spending extra time in that area. It was almost with regret that he finally stepped back.
"Ready for rinse." He commented softy as he dropped the brush in the used bin and replaced the scrub on the rack. He heard the shift in the shower as it went from solvent to rinse, the small shift in mass changing the echo made against Prowl's armor. Most of all he heard the motion as Prowl shifted, turned, flexed and shifted armor to allow the since to wash away the solvent.
"Hot oil?" Prowl hummed, relaxed as he rarely was when he turned to face Jazz again. His field was relaxed, licking at the edges of Jazz's in a platonically affectionate way.
"That's what we're here for." Jazz pointed out, a touch of amusement lacing the response as he started for the door opposite the one they had entered, pleased with the timing as several other mecha entered the washroom just then. He felt Prowl's field around the mech's hand before he felt the touch along his back and was hard pressed not to press into it. It was so rarely that Prowl touched without a reason. Neither stopped walking, but Jazz didn't miss the looks they got from the group coming in. The assumption was there that they were lovers at the very least. Even if creating that assumption was the only reason that Prowl was doing it Jazz wasn't going to argue, the touch soothing on a level that he was very hesitant to reveal even now. It was a personal weakness, and one that was going to be satisfied far less often now that they had moved out of the Citadel and he no longer shared quarters with Wing. The young jet was always agreeable for touching, snuggling, 'facing, no questions asked.
A large, hot pool of oil dominated the next room, multiple doors leading in and out the area. The pool itself was set into the floor, with various levels of steps and seating scattered around the edge and throughout the liquid to accommodate many frame types and sizes. There were a few mecha there, mostly in pairs or threes. One group still made them both uncomfortable, even two vorns away from the war. A Seeker trine wasn't something the Autobots had. The few Seekers they knew on friendly terms were all loners, or at most had a single wingmate.
Prowl's touch guided them to a place that gave them space from the others as well as a good view of the various doors between them.
Jazz slid into the oil first, not even trying to hide sigh of satisfaction or the flare of sheer pleasure in his field as his frame sank into the hot liquid. "Going to have to find someone for regular maintenance soon." He commented, mostly thinking out loud as he moved to give Prowl space. He knew from experience that from the moment his toeplate touched the oil to after he'd fully submerged and came back up to settle, Prowl wasn't really paying attention to much else.
The sharp pulse of pleasure, at least as intense as anything interfacing could draw from him, washed against Jazz's field. As good as it felt to Jazz, he knew, at least in relative terms, that it was as good as anything Prowl could experience. As pleasurable as interfacing but without any of the demands.
With another sigh Jazz found a place to settle, armor loosening to allow the oil to seep deeper, his protoform tingling from the warmth, and waited for Prowl to settle well. It didn't take long before the ways of pleasure rolling off the Praxian made it difficult to think about anything other than touching that gorgeous frame. It was perfectly acceptable, socially. It just wasn't with Prowl. Jazz had to pause at that thought when it didn't phrase true. Prowl was actually fine with it, in his own strange way. It would be humiliating for the mech with him, however.
"You're thinking too hard," Prowl murmured as he sank into position next to Jazz, his wings loosely flared along with his armor.
"That's saying something, coming from you." Jazz said, tilting his helm to better look at his companion and try to work out these odd deviations in the other mech. They were small, but small with Prowl was even extreme.
"You are thinking too hard for you," Prowl elaborated with something that might have been a chuckle.
Jazz debated for several kliks before admitting the truth. "Thinking about you, and how much you enjoy this." This being everything that Jazz had never experienced back on Cybertron. A tank constantly full of good quality energon, not having to look over his shoulder every other nanosecond for danger, even if he still did out of habit.
The large pool of hot oil that they were relaxing in, just lengths from a Seeker trine and in the middle of an entire group of strange mecha.
Prowl's engine purred slightly. "Short of what I was sparked to be, this is paradise now that I have a somewhat useful function. It's very nice. The praise they're always giving me is strange, but I'm getting used to that too."
"They aren't used to mecha like you." Jazz pointed out, leaving out the fact they weren't really used to mecha like Jazz either. From what he had gathered, a mech like him never would have passed the screening to be allowed on the exodus. It was a thought had him shifting unconsciously closer to Prowl, though still not touching.
A soft caress of understanding slid between their fields as Prowl nodded. "Outside of my caretakers when I was still part of Praxus, I doubt anyone is, or was. Autobot command was little better than here in using me to my full potential, and they definitely did not like having me around."
Jazz slid closer, questions that were going to have to wait for later when they were back in private spinning in his processor. "Here is different." He finally settled on.
"Very different," Prowl agreed. "How are you coping?" he glanced over, something resembling concern in his field, though it wasn't concern like Wing teeked it. "I know this is quite a downgrade for you."
Jazz shook his helm. "Still an upgrade. Here I am at least..." Free was not a word he would use, could use. Maybe ever. But here he was allowed to choose what he wanted to do, and had the resources to make those decisions a reality. "Able to do something different."
"Courier is an upgrade?" Prowl cocked his helm, completely bewildered by the assertion.
Jazz's field rippled, bad memories swirling to the surface. He hadn't liked what he had to do for his functioning before. He has simply been doing what was needed to survive. Here...had chosen to be a courier from a list of occupations. And it was a functioning that he could walk away from at any time, with no repercussions. "Yes."
The memories, the oddness in Prowl's field, the sense of relaxation from the oil and warmth...all of it played into Jazz finally moving against Prowl's frame in a full length cuddle. Prowl stiffened for a brief moment, then relaxed and allowed it. Gently he slid an arm around Jazz and held him lightly.
"Then I am glad for you," Prowl murmured. "Is it what you wish to remain?"
"At least for now. There are several other occupations that I'm considering. Maybe even splitting my time between two or three, so I don't get bored." There was a flare of amusement there, along with the underlying reminder that a bored Jazz was a troublesome Jazz. The stink over the time that he had put dye in some of the city fountains was still talked about, even if it had been a mostly harmless prank. At least Wing had thought it was funny, and even Demeter, who could usually be counted on to be entirely too serious, had snickered once the leadership was out of hearing range. It had been telling that everyone looked at Wing when it had first come up, but none had actually challenged his assertion that he didn't do it.
"What else are you interested in?" Prowl's voice was soft as they relaxed, almost snuggled together in the hot oil. A low moan escaped him as a tiny shift opened up a new part of his protoform for the liquid heat to ooze against.
"Wing mentioned exploring the planet, probably stuff like charting more of the areas that they only did initial scans on when they settled. It would give me something new, once I've seen all there is to see in the city." Jazz answered, field and frame companionably warm against Prowl's. "Might keep me out of trouble for a little while." He joked.
"If only because you will be out of range of anything they deem capable of being trouble," Prowl's voice was deadpan, but his field belied his light amusement. "Have you thought of entering any of the dance competitions? Some of them offer rather impressive prizes."
"A little. Never seriously." Jazz answered, systems purring softly in pleasure as he leaned into Prowl. "Dancing is fun, not work." It was the one thing that he did, had always done, just because he wanted to. And selfishly he wanted to keep it that way.
"I calculate a 98.7% probability that you would place well enough for a prize if you did," Prowl offered, completely clueless at to Jazz's reluctance. "You are quite an impressive dancer."
"Your vote of confidence is very encouraging. It I ever need to, I will. But for now it is just a hobby." Jazz replied, unable to put into the words the desire in his spark. "What about you? Looking for more to do?"
"Yes," he huffed a soft sigh. "I am learning the value of gaming, however. It is successfully using enough of my processor power to keep me from acting out."
Amusement rippled through Jazz's field, expressed in his next question. "So how many mecha are you flattening an orn? And how many at once?"
"It ... is not that kind of game," Prowl hesitated. "They don't have war-games, not even basic ones. I've been playing a government sim, for lack of a better description. Mostly against myself. There are very few willing to play in the same game as I do."
"Tinkering with theoretical changes and what they would do, even if you would never be allowed to implement them, no matter how effective?" Jazz guessed, voice soft enough to not really carry beyond the mech he was snuggled against.
"Building a city from the foundation up. Praxus, Vos, Kaon, New Crystal City, Tyger Pax, ones that just gave me a random set of mecha and location, sometimes on Cybertron, sometimes not." He shook his helm. "It's just busywork, something to do so I don't start to shut down. It's enough though, for now. It should be enough until I'm allowed to have more duties."
"Glad you found something to do." Jazz rested his helm on Prowl's shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his processors he was noting that Prowl was unusually willing for physical contact than usual. He'd almost always tolerate it, but this was beyond tolerating. It might even be beyond accepting it, though he wasn't sure. Either way it was a rare indulgence for Jazz, and one that he was taking full advantage of until Prowl protested.
"Yes. And you, both for work and to unwind," Prowl murmured. "I never anticipated that I might have to adapt to a post-war existence."
"I didn't expect to live to see post-war." Jazz admitted, one hand reaching up to touch Prowl gently, over the data-sharing port they normally used. It brought the now-familiar shiver of pleasure and arousal from Prowl, a reaction that always left Jazz with mixed feelings. He knew it was his problem too. He'd spent enough time hardlined with Prowl to know that all the way to his spark, Prowl was content with the way pleasuring worked for him. He enjoyed what he got and did not care that others enjoyed differently, or more. Prowl enjoyed, in his own way, bringing another to overload the way it happened for him. Jazz had felt that too, and it was the part he understood best.
It was power. Prowl was a mech that had never had personal power in his existence. He'd been sparked into a set of core coding his spark was fully compatible with and it didn't include such things as desiring personal power. Yet he did know that desire, in a warped and mangled way, from when the emotional and social protocols for a mech were uploaded and forced to integrate. No one there had counted on Prowl fighting to retain his original sense of self. Only a handful of the protocols installed fully, a few others got bits of their code into him, and it very nearly offlined him from the trauma. This, the enjoyment of pushing another to overload, helpless in Prowl's arms while Prowl himself was barely charged enough to feel a strong tingle, was all that remained of the protocols defining personal power.
Jazz had to admit to himself that the universe got lucky that joor. Prowl's concept of power had been completely corrupted, but it hadn't gone the way of Megatron. It so easily could, and Jazz could see that even if Prowl couldn't. He suspected several Knights saw it too. The two generals at the very least definitely did. The way Dai Atlas responded to Prowl was all the evidence Jazz needed of that.
A small shiver passed through Jazz's frame at the kiss, so unexpected and warm, as Prowl pulled him into his lap and lightly traced a dataport while his own slid open.
"I'll take that as a yes." He murmured against Prowl's lips before initiating another kiss, dataport sliding open at the soft touch but doing little more than offering. This was Prowl's place of control, and one of the rare times in his functioning that Jazz was willing to relinquish almost total control to another. There was a rare trust that the bright mech refused to admit existed for another that Jazz had in Prowl. Trust that made something like this possible.
Strong, sure fingers slid along Jazz's back before Prowl made quick work of connecting them and settled his hands back around his lover. Connection protocols ran, IDs exchanged and verified, and they smoothly slipped into a joint space; Jazz in Prowl's awareness and Prowl inside Jazz's. This had changed between them as well, in a small way. Prowl was learning to enjoy a slower buildup, and now that Jazz didn't push the interface by trying to return what he was given so much, Prowl had taken to opening with a smooth flow of energy that simply spread a pleasant warmth through Jazz.
It was also light enough that they could converse for some time before Jazz became distracted.
For the moment Jazz simply relaxed into the strong hold and purred at the warmth spreading through him, welcoming it and all the security it brought and allowing that pleasure to be his offering in return. Finally settled into the connection, he started to speak once more. ~Are you still planning to try and escape?~
~I am planning to try.~ Prowl murmured, the thought quiet even here. He lowered his forehelm to rest against Jazz's. ~I can not abandon the Prime until my tac-net has determined that my presence will not matter.~ With the words came subtler things, markers of coding that Prowl could not disobey without shorting himself and his tac-net out. ~They could not stop me from trying to survive, but they ensured I could not defect.~
A wave of disgust and sadness rose in Jazz, though there was no surprise or shock. He really hadn't agreed with the ideals or ambitions of either of the main factions in the war. He just had a stronger dislike, bordering on almost hate, for the Decepticons. ~Is the fact that you are making an effort to return enough to keep the coding happy? At least for now?~
~Yes. Tactics are not just the split-nanoklik decisions made on a battlefield. Some plans take vorns, even decades to implement. So long as I am moving forward in gathering the data or materials I require, I am following my orders to return. The first step in that was to get out from under constant surveillance and full access to their datanets. Now I need a ship capable of making the journey. That is a much more difficult effort.~
Jazz contemplated that as he slipped in and out of the energy induced warm haze that was being connected to Prowl over the hardline. It wasn't that he wasn't focusing, he was simply taking his time. To someone who had survived functioning so long on those nanoklik decisions, it was a different way of thinking. One that he often only managed effectively when he was like this. ~Have you managed to locate any prospects in the city, or are we going to have to look farther?~
~There are hints, a glaring lack of data on what was done with three of the shuttles they came with,~ Prowl focused on that. ~The records are meticulous. When each ship was taken apart, exactly what came from it, what specifically was built with each part. Yet there are records of two shuttles and an interstellar shuttle in inventory at landing, but not what happened to them. That interstellar shuttle is the only possible escape, if it can be found, repaired and stocked.~
A soft hum of consideration accompanied the processing of that data, and the myriad of questions that it raised. ~What can I do to help?~ Jazz asked, seeking specifics that would aid Prowl on top of his own initiatives.
~Look for the shuttle,~ Prowl answered quickly, including all the data he'd gleaned on the craft from records he didn't technically have access to. ~It should not be far from the city, if it is not within the parameter.~
Jazz pondered that as Prowl stroked his back, generating small tingles of charge as well as keeping up appearances. ~I will look in the city first. And if it is not there I will push for the explorer job.~ He smiled inwardly. ~But then I will likely be bored and causing trouble again, so I imagine I will not have to plead my case very hard.~
~Thank you,~ Prowl's gratitude mingled with a thick, warm pulse and kiss as he pulled Jazz closer.
The emotion, coming from Prowl, meant so much more, and was more the cause of the moan and surge of pleasure in his field than energy. ~Thank me when we find it.~
~I will,~ Prowl promised, his next kiss just as soft but a bit more intense to match the pulse of energy than came with it. Prowl's hands became focused, but he was in no hurry. That was new too, that the pulses didn't come in perfect synch with Jazz's spark. One set did, but they were so small it was barely more than exciting, a tingle that spread through Jazz's systems. The stronger ones came slower, more in time with the movements of Prowl's hands along his back and sides.
The mech in his arms shivered at the touch, at the changes, focusing on them with something akin to amazement but making it clear that he was enjoying every nanoklik of attention. Attention that Prowl rarely gave, and Jazz would never have accepted from anyone else in such a setting. It felt amazingly good to be the center of Prowl's universe like this, and at the same time know that Prowl was completely alert for him and would never lose track of the room and everything in it.
Gradually the stronger pulses got stronger and more rapid, but they never matched his spark like the smaller pulses did. It was enough that soon his entire frame was quivering, soft moans filtering over the hardline with no conscious control from the mech they were issuing from. It was a build-up, slow, controlled. And when it finally pushed Jazz to the point of release it came on a tide of pleasure washing around him.