Author's Note: I'm awfully sorry this took so long, but writing decent smut while under heavy, job-related stress is something I find very hard, to say the least...
Author's Note 2: I've been in such a hurry to upload this I plain forgot to thank deceptichick and Claire for their reviews. Sorry, guys! My brain's not working at full capacity at the moment, but your feedback was of course most welcome!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.
Tangled
Part 3: Unison
xxx
Pure, untainted bliss coursed through their systems.
They had no idea what exactly had happened, but it seemed that somehow they had made their intentions clear to their captive: The robot had stopped struggling, had dropped his defenses and opened his circuits to them, and suddenly all that wonderful, warm, rich energy was pouring into them like a stream of fiery light.
Oh, they had almost forgotten what that felt like.
The first few pulses, smooth as they were, nearly choked them in their intensity, but they stubbornly held fast, and before long they managed to settle into a contented rhythm. The world began to fade as they filled themselves with that perfect, delicious richness, dissolving into a sweet oblivion where nothing existed but relief and joy and gratitude and nourishing warmth.
It took a while for the new sounds to finally penetrate that cozy haze.
The first one was familiar; the robot's cooling fans had switched on again and gave off a soft, whirring noise. The second, novel one came from his engine, they realized, which had started to emit short, gentle revs with each frequency pulse they sent him. It felt nice, actually, as the reverberations traveled up their tentacles and created a pleasant tingle throughout their bodies. Out of a simple reflex, they put a bit more force into their next pulse, seeking to intensify the sensation.
A full-body shiver accompanied the gasping moan that escaped the mech's vocalizer. His plating, already pleasantly warm, grew a touch hotter, and his fans began to cycle a bit faster.
Their energy reserves were nowhere near their optimum yet, but the worst hunger was assuaged enough for this new development to pique their interest. They were admittedly not very good at reading the emotional expressions of other life forms, but this one definitely did not give the impression of being in pain or frightened any longer. Though still wrapped tightly in their tentacles, he had even started to move slightly, a gentle, rocking motion concurrent with their energy pulses, and through their connection, they picked up the echo of a sensation that, though unknown to them, felt emphatically good...
Could it be that he was gaining pleasure from their contact, just as they were gaining energy?
The thought was intriguing, to say the least. None of their prey had ever reacted to them like that - though granted, to get eaten alive probably wasn't a very enjoyable feeling. But this... what a wonderful new thing to explore and play with! Better still, it might even put them in a position to give something back to their donor in exchange for his service. Let nobody say that they didn't know how to clear their debts!
During their earlier inspection, they had already made out the occasional sensitive spot on that bicolored chassis, they recalled. Perhaps he would like to be touched in those places again?
Without stopping their feeding, they reached up with two strong vinelets to caress the black, horn-like appendages on the mech's head.
A heavy shudder passed through their captive's frame. He gave a deep, rumbling groan, and his backstruts formed a sensuous arc as he clearly tried to get closer to the touch, not away from it. The slow swipe of a tentacle across a white thigh was equally well received, eliciting a delicious shiver and a soft whine, while gentle flicks against his headlights resulted in a series of odd little pants.
A fierce sense of pride seized them out of nowhere as they watched, mesmerized, while their bicolored prey squirmed in obvious delight. It felt good, they decided, to know that they were the source of so much pleasure.
A new movement caught their attention then. The mech had started to murmur softly; quiet, exotic sounds they still couldn't understand, but his voice was much kinder now, almost encouraging as he gently tried to maneuver his trapped arms out of their entwinement.
They hesitated. Could they afford the risk? But their hold on the rest of him remained firm; it should pose no trouble to restrain him again if necessary, especially now that they weren't so completely starved anymore.
Innate curiosity got the better of them. Their tendrils loosened, just enough for the robot to pull his right arm free.
His reaction, though immediate, was delightfully non-violent. The black hand began to leisurely trail upwards, pausing briefly at the juncture between hip and thigh, but soon moved further up to caress his abdominal plating. Which meant that it inevitably, but to their greatest surprise without hesitation, also stroked the thick bundle of tentacles they had slung around his midsection.
Oh... what a wonderful sensation, the touch of warm, living metal so much like their own... If all the robots could be persuaded to be so accommodating, they were not leaving this place anytime soon, and no mistake about it. And those nimble fingers didn't stop there, they continued to slide further up, teasing hairline seams in the smooth metal, and eventually slipped under the protrusion of his chest armor to gently rub and fondle its underside.
It seemed that the cabling down there was particularly receptive to touch, since the constant rumble of the mech's engine instantly crescendoed to a point where it nearly drowned out the soft moans and mewling sounds that spilled from his vocalizer. The charge in his electrical systems, only so mild at first, had increased considerably, teetering on the brink of something they couldn't name, but which they intuitively felt was big and good and very much wanted. His body had tensed in their embrace, his fluent, undulating movements turned into jerky twitches as he gasped and arched against them. Oh, he was gorgeous... never before had they seen, or heard, or felt something so beautiful.
Another slow frequency pulse, and he practically sobbed in what sounded like near-desperation. The noise stirred something deep inside them, and in a sudden, strange desire to help they extended several slim vines and let them slip into the smaller gaps between his armor plates, caressing the delicate wiring they found there.
A lightning storm of energy exploded across their connected systems, so powerful and unexpected it threatened to knock them unconscious. They reared up with an involuntary cry, tentacles twitching and jerking helplessly as the incredible energy surge jumped from body to body, hot and tingling and pleasant in a way that hurt. The black and white robot beneath them trembled and moaned, but they barely took notice of him anymore. Too intense was the jumble of sensations that overwhelmed all their senses, swept them away like an irresistible flood and left nothing but heat and pleasure in its wake.
As ecstatic as the feeling was, though, it did not last very long. Which was probably a good thing, because otherwise, they might simply have dropped dead from the raw force of the experience. Still, as the sensation started to fade away, it was kind enough to leave behind a gentle, throbbing warmth, a heavy yet pleasurable weariness that spread through their bodies into the very tips of their tendrils, and they gave in to the temptation without a second thought, sinking down to rest on their captive's warm armor plates.
The tension had left his frame, they noticed. Only quiet little shudders traveled through the black and white metal while his cooling fans slowly cycled down. His optic band was offline, but when they nestled some vines up against him, seeking more contact, his free hand came up and started to lovingly pet and stroke as much of the metallic appendages as it was able to reach.
Never, never in their existence had they been touched with so much affection. They pressed into the caress, purring and chirring in utter contentment almost louder than the robot's engine had been - until a realization hit them like a douse of cold water, unpleasant and disturbing.
They had achieved their goal of restoring their energy reserves. Now it was time to make good use of that energy. They needed to leave this valley, to find better shelter and, most importantly, a reliable source of nourishment. They'd need both if they meant to survive on this alien planet. Not to mention that it was high time, too. It came close to a miracle that the robot's companions hadn't yet tried to reclaim their friend. The quicker they set him free and retreated, the better.
Except that - they didn't want to.
The mech looked utterly delicious as he lay sprawled in their tangled vines, engine humming and limbs twitching slightly from what seemed to be little aftershocks traveling through his wires. The connection was still active, and they could have sworn that they sensed something akin to amused contentment echoing across the link.
They wanted more of him. More of that invigorating energy, more of those sweet moans and gasps, more of those loving caresses.
A quick glance across the valley told them that, surprisingly, the remainder of the robots had not moved. They stood in a clustered group, watching them tensely and, from time to time, conversing quietly among themselves, but their weapons were lowered, and they made no move to attack.
Perhaps... perhaps it would be safe to keep their price, just for a little while.
xxx
The Morphobots had not let go of him.
That was the first thought that tiptoed into Jazz' CPU as he gradually came down from the height of his overload. Strange... he'd been sure that he would be dropped and abandoned the moment the alien plants got what they wanted, but no. Their grip on his chassis remained firm, though not brutal anymore, and the energy connection had not been broken. They were also producing that sonorous, purring sound again that brought an involuntary smile to his faceplates. Strange, yes - but not unwelcome.
There was some light movement, and then several of the closer tentacles came sinking down to rest on his chest plates, like an exhausted lover might do. The action triggered a reflexive response in Jazz; his free hand rose and trailed gentle, invisible patterns over the warm metal. The tendrils instantly shifted closer, and he felt his spark glow with sudden emotion at this unexpected display of trust. How cute was that - they wanted to cuddle...
For a while they lay in content, almost companionable silence, and eventually, Jazz couldn't help but to inwardly laugh at himself. This was for sure the weirdest predicament he'd ever found himself in, and Primus below, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself. It might be attributable to the post-climactic bliss suffusing his processor, but while his fingers kept stroking and the Morphobots kept purring, the gentle glimmer of fondness in his spark had time to grow into a full-fledged burn of affection for these unusual suitors. How, pray tell, had he ever been afraid of those cuddly little guys? The thought seemed ridiculous.
The Morphobots began to stir, and he onlined his visor right when the tentacles began to withdraw, one by one, until only a couple remained wrapped around his thighs and upper arms, firm yet flexible. Three thick stalks held him tight around the middle, and a bundle of vines positioned itself conveniently underneath his head, almost like a pillow. The purpose of these actions became clear to Jazz when he felt their connection coming to life again with a small yet determined energy pulse. He laughed softly.
"What? Not sated yet?" he teased, and the rustling noise the metallic tendrils made in response sounded just like a chuckle.
Jazz knew from experience that he was perfectly capable of multiple overloads, provided that his partner was willing to give him appropriate stimulation. These partners were definitely more than willing, if the gentle rhythm the energy pulses were once again falling into was anything to go by. He vented slowly, checking his HUD. Most of the warning messages had extinguished now, and his energy levels were at 91 percent; he had plenty more to share before he'd even begin to feel the effect. Also, it seemed that Prowl had seen fit to provide him with the time he'd requested, judging by how docile the Morphobots had been behaving this past breem.
The thought provoked a strange, uneasy sensation, a feeling of being trapped, torn between his sense of duty and the responsibility for his fellow soldiers on the one hand and the growing fondness for those alien creatures on the other. Shouldn't he at least apprisehis friend of what was going on, even at the risk of being reproached with fraternization (and Prowler probably blowing a fuse or two)?
Right at that instant, a delicate little vinelet brushed fleetingly against his faceplates. A random gesture, no doubt, but it made Jazz' spark swell in a way that, though intensely sensual, had nothing to do with physical lust.
With a groan, he reached into the silvery mass of tendrils, making good use of the relative freedom of his hands by randomly grabbing hold of the nearest vines, pulling them down and hugging them close. They came willingly, rubbing smoothly against his chest plates as he re-opened his electrical systems and sent an encouraging energy pulse through his wires. It was gladly taken, and they both uttered their own quiet sound of pleasure when the connection flared to life once more. Their systems synched again, a warm, contented buzz between them, and Jazz delighted in the pure ease of it. He nuzzled his face into the closest vines, breathing a gentle kiss onto the metal surface before he indulged in one of his favorite interfacing activities by giving it a short, playful lick.
The Morphobots cheeped in surprise, but they did not attempt to shy away from the touch. Jazz grinned to himself before he repeated the caress, enjoying the warm, metallic taste in his mouth. The tendrils in his grasp shivered deliciously when his glossa settled into a languid, easy rhythm, and for a while he lost himself in the deep intimacy of the act - until his botanical lovers decided to return the favor.
Dozens and dozens of gentle touches assaulted his sensor net in more different ways than he cared to distinguish. Some of the slimmer, more flexible vines slipped into his transformation seams, catapulting his core temperature into the red once more as they teased the delicate parts in there. Others had begun to systematically revisit the various hotspots on his chassis, stroking his sensor horns, circling his headlights and feeling over his bumper, his hip plates, the sensitive insides of his thighs. His engine revved hard of its own volition, but he did no longer care about any form of control. It felt too wonderful; all those soft, tentatively exploring touches mapping out his body as if to memorize it...
Jazz suddenly felt reminded of some of the younger lovers he'd had, those who had granted him the honor of being the first to share their berths. The Morphobots had much in common with them, he pondered: willing, yet shy, anxious, but still curious, still eager to please, discovering each new action and reaction with endearingly innocent wonder.
Again his spark surged with this odd combination of affection and protectiveness he couldn't explain. Lying with those young bots, it had always been his defined goal to make his partners feel cherished and cared for, to create a memory worth treasuring. Doing the same for the Morphobots didn't even require a conscious decision, though he wasn't too far gone yet to not be aware of his train of thoughts. There was simply no doubt, not for a moment, that this was what he wanted and needed to do.
With a hint of amusement, he realized that his hand was trembling slightly when he raised and offered it to his multi-armed partners. A young, tender vinelet curled around his fingers like a tiny Earth snake, showing no hesitation at all, and Jazz carefully stroked one finger along its slender length before he guided it down to his side and used his free hand to fold back the cover panel of one of his access ports.
"Here," he murmured, and a hint of static clouded his vocalizer. "Wanna try this?"
It was completely, totally and utterly crazy, and he could off the cuff name a dozen people who would probably have his head for taking such foolish risks. He had no fail-safes here; anything could happen, from a simple short-circuit to a system-wide stasis lock. But the vinelet was curiously prodding and examining the port now, and all Jazz could do was to smile down at the charming sight, his intakes hitching a bit at the teasing touches.
"C'mon," he encouraged. "Trust me; you'll like it."
And perhaps the Morphobots did understand him, for the tiny claws pressed into the port with utmost caution, and then connected to the circuitry within with a soft click and a warm surge of electrical energy.
In an instant, any doubts Jazz might have had about the synchrony of their systems vanished. This kind of connection did not only transmit energy, but also allowed the participants to share all kinds of data. There was no conscious interaction yet, but he clearly sensed the presence of another mind skirting the edges of his processor, not teasing, just hovering expectantly. It took him a moment to get acquainted with the sensation of a consciousness that was so many, and yet one, so primeval, and still so much like his own. A message popped up on his HUD, informing him of an 'Unknown external hardware found'. He brushed it aside without a second thought, sending the command to accept the link.
'Unidentified type of connection. Transmission may contain malevolent software. Do you want to proceed?'
Jazz gave an agonized groan. Yes, dammit!
And finally that stubborn CPU of his complied, the program executing with a smoothness that belied all warnings. Their thoughts began to bleed into one another, a sensation so intimate it made both of them whimper. Jazz took the first step and carefully pushed a simple string of code into the newly established link, conveying his fondness, his care, and just how much he wanted this.
The answer was a deep, consenting hum from among the plants, and then Jazz' mind and spark were swept away by a joyous tide of emotional input, tumbling in rapid succession through a spectrum of happiness, pleasure, gratitude, affection, trust, hope...
He trembled helplessly under the onslaught, barely aware of the moans and gasps spilling from his vocalizer. The Morphobots echoed him with soft, high-pitched chirrs, and Jazz' energy field flared and extended on coded instinct, wrapping them both in a cozy embrace as he strove to repay his partners with every last scrap of code he had to offer. Oh, Primus, he wouldn't last long; this was too good, too perfect, was ecstasy at its most beautiful.
Yes, baby, yes... keep it coming... feels so good...
His core temperature spiked, straining his cooling systems to maximum capacity, but there was no way he could care about that now. Renewed charge was crawling languidly over recently depolarized sensor nodes, drawing up to the inevitable peak far quicker than the Morphobots could absorb the energy. But this time he was able to relax and to let things happen, to experience the mounting pleasure in its entirety instead of with his overheating circuits only. The Morphobots were quickly getting the hang of things, their collective mind gliding around and against his with the same ease and confidence their tentacles were caressing his trembling frame with. One vinelet grazed his lips, and Jazz happily complied with the unspoken request, using his glossa to gently guide it into his mouth before starting to suck away with gleeful abandon, pressing impossibly closer into the delicious embrace.
Yes... yes... please...
His second overload was neither as strong nor as piercing as the first one had been, but that was fine, really, for the pleasure was deeper this time, sweeter and more satisfying. Lazy surges of charge washed through his lines, and the return of the Unmaker himself could not have stopped the joyous cry that broke loose from Jazz' vocalizer. His lovers purred in counterpoint to his revving engine, lustful contentment being the dominant sensation to fill the link as they lapped up the sparking electricity in a rhythm and at a pace which could only be called voluptuous. The gentle drain was a constant, tingling pull in Jazz' systems that seemed to physically draw him closer to his partners in a desperate attempt to merge their frames in the same way their minds had already joined. A multitude of tentacles closed in to again wrap him into a tight cocoon, and they clung to each other as they rode the subsiding waves of bliss into a warm, peaceful afterglow.
xxx
They floated in each other's satiation, all sweet and golden and happy and blissfully tired. Somewhere far in the back of his processor, Jazz registered the faint smell of ozone and hot metal and the soft ticking of his cooling frame teasing his sensors while gentle zaps of excess energy sent shivers all over his body. Recharge was quickly becoming an appealing option; to just sink into warm darkness filled with the Morphobots' happiness, rest for a while, and then to reboot slowly to be greeted by more gentle pleasure and the touch of an affectionate mind...
But no... no, no, he couldn't. His friends were still out there, waiting for him and probably worried sick by now.
A stab of contrition jolted him back to full awareness, immediately followed by a flash of anger at himself. With their connection still in place, his thoughts had filtered through the link unhindered, and now the Morphobots were stirring in obvious distress, voicing a soft, unhappy coo. Jazz cursed himself for his carelessness as he quickly sent a combination of soothing algorithms over the link, but there was no sense in pretending, and he knew it.
"'M sorry, sweetsparks," he murmured, caressing the vinelet that was still resting in his port. "I can't stay with you, I need to go."
The answer was an immediate tightening of tentacles, and then a rush of stubbornness and negation so intense it made Jazz reel. Primus, the force... In most cases, not even a hardline connection like this one gave you unrestricted access to your partner's processor. There was always the occasional firewall, anti-spyware program or coded file indicating data which the mech or femme in question wished to retain for themselves. Here, however, he perceived nothing of the kind; if the Morphobots possessed anything akin to a data filter, they made no move to engage it. The transmission rate was one-to-one, so to speak.
And still, despite the harsh reaction, something about those alien creatures simply left Jazz unable to feel anxious or annoyed at them. He turned his head, nuzzling his faceplates against the closest tentacle. "I know, sweeties. I like you, too, very much. But my friends will be worried about me, you see? I can't just leave them; we're a team, a family. You understand that?"
A wild flurry of emotions streamed into his CPU at that, together with something new he couldn't quite grasp, something that resembled memories. There was a fleeting impression of a once thriving and now dying world, of a home and companions left behind, of cold space and fear of an uncertain future, all emphasized by a deep, profound longing.
Something exploded in Jazz' spark in that moment. It writhed and scathed, burning a fiery path through every line of programming right down into his most basic source codes, screaming at him to protect/comfort/hold tight. He gasped in shock, but before he could do anything, the Morphobots' fierce denial dissolved into a kind of sad resignation that seemed to say: Yes. We understand.
He should have been pleased with this development, Jazz knew, but the feeling eluded him. The fingers of his one hand, he realized, had stopped stroking and instead closed tightly around the connected tendril, while the others had intertwined with the nearest bundle of vinelets, unwilling to let go.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered. Primus, what a clichéd thing to say, but for the love of him, he couldn't think of anything else. "I'll take care of you. Me and my friends, we'll think of something to help you, I promise. All will be well, you'll see." He pushed a carefully-wrapped data package into the link to help convey the meaning of his words, hoping so much that the little guys would understand...
The next moment, he was lifted clean off his bed of alien plants with what seemed to be not the slightest effort at all. He couldn't hold in a soft "Whoa!" of surprise, marveling at the sheer strength of those tentacles. Holy Pit, they could snuff him with nothing more than a casual squeeze if they had a mind... But the tendrils held him safely while the plants beneath him moved aside, and then he was gently lowered onto the sandy ground and released. The claws still holding the wires in his hip joint let go, and one by one the single stalks loosened and withdrew until the only one remaining was the vinelet in his access port.
A last, strange impression washed through the link, a confusing mix of uncertainty and trust, and it pained Jazz that this should be the last thing he felt from his lovers. But the tiny claws had already disengaged and the connection broke, leaving nothing but a brief burst of static in his HUD. The click of the cover panel closing over the port sounded much too loud in the ensuing silence.
Jazz drew a deep, slow draught of air into his systems. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it, but his spark ached.
The Morphobots chittered softly and offered a steadying tentacle when he scrambled to his feet and wobbled slightly as his equilibrium sensors protested the sudden shift of position. The last tendrils lifted like a silvery curtain before his visor and provided him with a good view of both the valley and of his fellow Autobots.
They had formed a combat line, weapons leveled and ready to jump into action. Positioned squarely in the middle was Prowl, his back straight and door wings held high. Nobody moved as a couple of tense astroseconds ticked by.
Finally, not taking his optics off of the Morphobots, Prowl made a brief gesture towards both ends of the formation. Jazz sensed the buzz of comm. messages being passed, but didn't bother tuning in to the frequency. He could imagine what kind of orders their SIC was giving.
As expected, two of the 'Bots, Hound and Blaster, abandoned their positions in the line and began to approach from either side, guns charged and firmly trained on the alien plants at Jazz' back.
Not wanting to provoke any rash actions, Jazz held himself as still as possible, but he did raise both hands slowly, palms outward, to show that he was not bound or restrained in any way. "'S fine, guys," he called. "I'm alright."
Both mechs stopped in their tracks, exchanging a quick glance. "Man, you okay?" Blaster inquired. "We heard ya scream."
For the time being, Jazz decided to not react to that last comment. "Splendid," he said. "All's cool, mechs, they're friends. No need for violence." He didn't expect them to just drop their guns and jump into his arms, but it still seemed to him that they both unwound a little bit. Hound even gave him a small smile.
"Okay," he said. "So, let's get you outta here, alright?" He took a cautious half-step forward.
A soft rustling became audible as the Morpobots stirred slightly. Glancing over his shoulder strut, Jazz couldn't make out much more than a gently swaying, silvery mass, but the sensation of warm metal sliding against his plating didn't really surprise him. A medium-sized tentacle had crept forward silently and wrapped itself around his lower arm, not squeezing, just holding gently, while the clawed tip came to rest softly against his palm.
Hound's barely lowered weapon instantly jerked up again, closely followed by Blaster's electro-scrambler as they both fell back into attack positions. The air was suddenly filled with the whining sounds of charging guns, and the Morphobots reacted immediately by rearing up their tentacles with an ugly screech, dozens of maws swinging open to bare sharp, metallic teeth in a gesture of clear threat.
Two quick steps, guided by well-proven battle protocols, and Jazz had positioned himself firmly in front of Hound's gun muzzle, creating a physical barrier between the two adversaries. Arms spread, he leaned back against the wall of tentacles to enable as much body contact as possible while half-turning his faceplates into the tangled bulk.
"Hey, hey," he crooned, extending his field to encompass the closest tendrils while he simultaneously held Hound's wide-opticed gaze. "Don't take on so, all's well. They won't hurt you, and you won't hurt them, alright?"
Frankly, he didn't know in that moment to which of them he was talking, exactly. Still, he decided to take the low purr he got from the Morphobots as a Yes, and even felt a bit proud when the little guys settled down again surprisingly quick. They didn't let go of him, though, and he almost laughed when a second tendril snaked around his waist for what he could only guess was good measure.
A sputtering, indignant sound came out of Blaster's vocalizer. The communications officer was gesturing helplessly to and fro between them, obviously lost for words, a remarkable occurrence that would have been hilarious if only the situation had been less grave.
"What the frag, mech?!" he finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger at the Morphobots. His expression was stuck somewhere between anger and incredulity, and Jazz couldn't really blame him.
"Put the guns down, mechs," he said. "I can explain, but I need a bit of a more peaceful vibe here, you catch my drift?"
No such luck. Hound shook his head tersely. "Jazz, we have orders to -"
"Retrieve me. I get that. But the Jazz-man's only available in a twin pack today, guys, so you..."
He wanted to say more, but a crackle in his comm. system forestalled him. The message came on a general frequency so that all three of them could hear when a familiar voice said: 'Prowl to rescue team. Why is this taking so long?'
'I'm sorry, sir,' Hound responded, his optics nervously darting back and forth between his companions. 'There's a kind of... situation here, sir.'
'Is Jazz damaged?'
'No, he's not,' Jazz cut in, hot anger suddenly welling up inside him. Who did they think they were, talking about him as if he wasn't there? 'But he does have a Code White for you, sir.'
Silence. He met Hound's and Blaster's astonished gazes with a hard, unflinching glare.
'Request confirmation. I received 'Code White'.'
'Confirmed,' Jazz spat into the line. 'Repeat: Code White confirmed.'
Another silence followed, longer this time. Jazz felt a tension growing in his hydraulics that had not been there a klik ago. The Morphobots behind him chirped softly, and their embrace tightened a bit.
'Prowl to task force. We have a confirmed Code White. Repeat: Code White has been confirmed. All hands, stand down and await further orders.'
One by one, the Autobots began to lower their weapons. Some clearly did so with more hesitancy than others, but none of them refused the order.
Jazz sank a bit deeper into his charges' hold, making no effort to prevent the relief he felt from trickling into his field. He still wasn't sure if the Morphobots were capable of reading field actions, but it felt natural to him to communicate that way, and he reckoned that there was no harm in trying.
His attention returned to Hound and Blaster, who had not subspaced their guns yet, but stood more or less at ease now and eyed him with undisguised curiosity. "Man, that true?" the communications officer asked, jerking his head at the Morphobots. "These things are refugees?"
The addressed chittered softly, and Jazz nodded, dragging his thumb over the claws in his palm. "Yeah. Bitlets need somewhere to stay, and I promised they could room with us 'til we find them a place of their own."
"So they have a language?" Hound edged another step closer, his faceplates now shining with that eager fascination he held for every living creature he encountered for the first time. "How do you talk to them?"
"An interesting question, indeed," someone said.
Prowl approached them with slow, measured steps, his faceplates neutral and his field as stoically calm as ever. He carried no visible weapon, though Jazz knew better than to conclude that there was none. Both Hound's and Blaster's salutes were acknowledged with a perfunctory nod, then he turned and focused his attention on Jazz and his botanical charges, silent and waiting
A strange fit of rebelliousness seized Jazz out of nowhere, his jaws tightening subconsciously. Frag the formalities; if Prowl wanted to be a stuck-up slagger, bring it on!
But then he felt the movement of tiny claws in his hand, and the impulse faded as swiftly as it had come. His right arm still occupied, he had only his left hand for the salute, but it seemed to suffice. Prowl's gaze became a tad softer.
"Is an explanation for your actions forthcoming?"
There was neither reproach nor anger in his voice, nor any other discernable emotion. But even as he spoke, Jazz sensed a light, electric tingle against his plating, indicator of the comprehensive system scan Prowl was directing at him.
He became suddenly, painfully aware that he would not be able to hide what had happened from his friend, and not because he had to hand in a mission report which Prowl as his superior officer would read. They weren't lovers in the classical sense of the word, but over the millennia they had formed a close bond and had also shared a berth often enough for the tactician to identify the tell-tale signs of intimate contact. It had nothing to do with shame, either, for as far as Jazz was concerned, there was no shame in interfacing. But the thought of Prowl knowing about everything that had taken place between himself and the Morphobots made his spark hurt and felt wrong in a way he could neither explain nor understand.
He modulated his field frequency, gently yet decidedly blocking Prowl's scanner beams.
"Yes," he replied with as much composure as possible. "There is."
To be continued...