Dark Dreamer 1: Upgrades
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Jazz twitched as he stepped into medical and did not see Temperance or his pet. It had been three orns. It was all the time she'd asked for. He'd been surprised at first, but soon understood just how massive a rebuild he'd requested.

"Lord Jazz," a frightened voice trying to be strong caught his attention. Failsafe, one of Temperance's more gifted interns. "Lord Temperance has sent glyph requesting that you join her and Stormcloud in recovery room one."

Jazz nodded and walked there. He knew this space as intimately as any medic in his crew and owned it as much as he did any location in this domain. The door opened at his approach and he took in the visible markers of his pet's new hardware.

"He's going to have difficulty with basic movements for a few orns," Temperance spoke without looking up from her monitors. "His mass has increased by a good twenty three percent, and it's not all balanced the way he's used to."

Jazz simply nodded and walked up to the table where Stormcloud was in post-op stasis. "Any complications?"

"Thankfully not," she did sound relieved. "However," and now she did look at her boss, "there will be no strenuous activity for him for at least a decaorn. That includes no interfacing. Treat him like he's just had the full frame rebuild that he's had and it's only half done."

"Got it," Jazz accepted the orders easily, even if he was annoyed at being told he'd have to wait so long to really touch his pet. "What if he explores on his own?"

Temperance huffed. "In the unlikely event that he does, don't stop him. Just don't join in either."

"He has all the protocols?" Jazz pressed, his gaze lifting from his pet's more solid frame to the CMO. "Everything's installed correctly?"

"Physically, yes. Everything is installed and working," she locked optics with him. "It will likely take him several orns to get his vocalizer to match up fully with the linguistic files."

Jazz scowled. "Why so long? Sparked mecha, even kindled ones can talk and walk within kliks."

A deep rumble growled up from her engine. "There were some very ugly anti-learning protocols. When they built him, they made sure he could not pick up much of anything from exposure. New skills had to be programmed in, not learned. I'll be working on him for most of a vorn, and they've already done their damage. He doesn't think about learning from his environment, and he still can't."

"That ... that doesn't even make sense," Jazz tried to wrap his processors around the concept and decided that he had found a new item for that incredibly short list of things he was morally opposed to. Learning, adaptation, were the very foundation of their species. To deny it, especially to one so young and innocent ... the mecha who'd ordered Stormcloud and who'd built him would pay dearly for their offences.

Perhaps Stormcloud would have advanced enough by then to have a hand in that punishment.

That thought brought a genuine smile to Jazz's features, and it was a frightening look.

"Here's the full documentation," Temperance pinged Jazz a sizeable file. "I want to see him in four orns, or when he can walk steadily, whichever comes first."

"No problem," Jazz nodded, turning serious. This may be a pet, a slave, a project, but he took his duties in this as seriously as he took anything. "If he's going to be that unsteady I'd like him to wake in my quarters."

Temperance nodded. "Failsafe will transport him there. Are you going to be present when he boots?"

"Yes," Jazz nodded, his features set. He watched the nervous but competent intern transfer Stormcloud to a hover stretcher, then waved him to follow. "I'll take good care of your work," he promised Temperance on the way out, and chuckled softly at her huff.

Systems initialized ... stand-by

Core programming initialization ... Completed.

Running stability check. ... completed. Stabilized.

Emotional protocols online.

Systems check ... Connecting ... Completed.

Analyzing Systems:
HUD online.
HUD: upgraded.
Primary Sensornet online.
Primary Sensornet: upgraded.
Sensor suite on stand by.
Interface systems: initializing.

Say what?

Interface systems-protocols: online and functional.
Interface systems-hardline: online and functional.
Interface systems-spike online and functional.
Interface systems-valve online and functional.

Reproductive systems: initializing.

No!

Prowl's frame would have spasmed with the strength of his denial if he'd had any control of it yet.

Reproductive systems-sire protocols: operational.
Reproductive systems-sire hardware: operational.
Reproductive systems-carrier protocols: operational.
Reproductive systems-carrier hardware: operational.
Reproductive systems: disabled. Spark strength insufficient.

Slowly Prowl's spark rate calmed down. So he had the hardware now. If his systems wouldn't activate it, it didn't matter if it was installed or not.

Weapons systems disabled.
Vocalizer enabled.
Vocalizer: upgraded.

Now that was going to prove useful.

Ranged communications: operational.
Ultra-short range communications: enabled.
Short range communications: disabled.
Long range communications: disabled.

Ranged communications? That was new too. Was there anything important that wasn't new?

Self repair online.
Energon pump and lines at optimal functioning.
Hydraulics online.
Lubrication network online

Running Systems Check ... Completed.

Connecting data files.

Prowl was reluctant to boot to full awareness after the automatic sequence brought him to basic awareness early on in the post-medical boot cycle. He knew when he'd gone under that there would be a massive number of hardware and software changes to integrate, and so far the list was proving even more extensive that he'd anticipated. Even his neural network had been worked on, expanded extensively. He couldn't even begin to grasp why, but it made him uneasy.

He'd be so much easier to bring to the braking point with pain now.

The thought, and the memories it triggered, drew a shiver from the booting frame. Wings rubbed on the luxurious berth and drew a soft moan that Prowl wasn't quite aware of his frame enough to prevent.

"You have a lovely voice," Master's words penetrated Prowl's awareness and drew enough priority to slow the boot process to deal with them. With no question or order given, no response was either. Yet it was enough to bring Prowl the rest of the way to full awareness.

His optics lit, taking in his master's visage. It seemed pleased. That was good. He wasn't so sure about having Master lying next to him, prompted up on his side and watching intently.

"How are you feeling?" Master asked. "Try to use words."

Prowl had to scramble to correlate a passably accurate answer, and longer to understand the complex commands to make his new vocalizer crackle out a strange sounding "disoriented."

Was that his voice?

"That's to be expected," Master's voice was gentle. His small silver hand, the claws deadly sharp, reached over to rest on the center of Prowl's chest, over his spark.

The shiver it sent through Prowl's systems was only partially fear. The rest ... he didn't know what to call it. His new protocols labeled it mild pleasure-arousal, something desirable. Prowl wasn't so sure he liked it, or where it was going along the new protocols.

He was sure he didn't like it when the sensation increased as Master's claws slid along his chest plates, stroking lightly. That caused his interface protocols began to ping for activation. Prowl ruthlessly denied them and suppressed the sensation, shunting it to a deletion spool.

Master's smile reinforced that the response was desirable, however. "You are truly a lovely mech," he purred deeply before removing his hand. "I have duties to attend to," Master said as he got up. "Temperance said that you would be disoriented and take several orns to find your balance and get used to all the upgrades. You are free to explore my quarters and use anything you find here, including the energon dispenser and washracks. Do not attempt to open any door that does not open when you walk up to it. Understood?"

Instead of the vocalizer he wasn't at all sure would produce the correct sounds, Prowl shifted mostly upright and canted his wings in understanding. At least that he knew would not be misinterpreted.

"Good. Try to get used to that vocalizer. I expect to be able to talk with you when I get home after joor forty," Master said firmly.

"Yes, Master," Prowl managed awkwardly, and was rewarded by a bright approving smile.

"The computer will talk to you and help correct your pronunciation, if you ask it to," Jazz added as he walked from the room, giving a glimpse of a large, finely decorated room beyond it.

Prowl remained on the berth, still as a statue for a full half breem before gradually sliding down to his back with a groan that was equal parts physical pleasure and emotional relief. He had at least thirty-nine joors if Master returned when indicated. For now, he only wished to lie still until he could catalog and understand what each of the changes to his frame and protocols did and meant.

A joor later, after testing joints and limbs one at a time, Prowl carefully sat up with his pedes over the edge of the berth, resting light on the ground, and waited for his gyros to all stabilize. It barely took a nanoklik, but that was slow relative to what he had been accustomed to. Moving slowly was still advised, so move slowly was what Prowl did. Each stage of standing was completed, paused so internal systems could stabilize, then the sequence progressed one stage.

In all, it took nearly half a klik to stand up and feel stable, but accomplishing it was worth the time for Prowl. He now knew he could stand up with reasonable confidence.

"I thought you'd be dealing with your new project," Ironhide's gruff rumble simply earned a cheerful smile from Jazz. "It's been four orns and you've been up here the whole time."

"He's finally out of medbay to get many of his missing systems and protocols installed. I wanted to see what he'd do with free run of my quarters for the orn. Besides, it's informative to watch what he'll do when he thinks no one is watching," Jazz chuckled. "I want to know what he's made of."

Bright blue optics cycled as Ironhide stared at the slender minibot. "You gave him free run of your quarters?"

"Sure," Jazz shrugged, then giggled. "Ahh, he's cute," he offered a ping to patch Ironhide into the vid feed from his quarters. "He's finally standing up. Taking his time with it to."

"He's bigger," Ironhide observed.

Jazz huffed. "You wouldn't believe the list of hardware he was missing. Temperance had her work cut out for her. She did a good job though, even if only half the work is done. Something about only doing so much editing before it'd crash him."

"Given the job she usually has, I expect it was easy," Ironhide huffed, then dropped the feed as the Praxian took a careful, awkward step. "What's his designation?"

"Didn't have one," Jazz grumbled, then shrugged with a playful smile. "So he's Stormcloud. It suits him."

"Trouble then," Ironhide hid a smirk. "I'd say have fun, but I feel sorry for the poor glitch."

"I'll treat him better than anyone else who's had him," Jazz challenged lightly. "Or is it because you wanted his pretty aft?"

"Not my type and you know it," Ironhide growled at him and stalked off.

"No, you like them free and fiery," Jazz grinned to himself and continued on his way. He really did have work to do, but mostly he just wanted to see what his pet would do when given so much freedom and a clear restriction. Jazz had every intention of staying away until his pet was either bored enough to recharge, or bored enough to challenge the boundaries he'd been given. Neither answer was wrong, but it would be very telling of the basic personality and existing training.

As he settled into his public office, he kicked his pedes up on the desk and pinged the non-secured datafeeds from across the empire to run on his massive holo-display while the secure ones fed directly to his processor. His pet was a lovely creature, one he was eager to train for the berth, but he was also determined to be gentle about it. Jazz was already sure that interfacing as punishment wasn't going to be that effective on this one.

His mental attention trailed along his pet's frame as Stormcloud moved carefully to the berthroom door that Jazz had walked through, pausing to see if it opened for him. When it did, allowing him to look at Jazz's entry/party room, the Praxian paused, one hand on the doorframe as he studied the space, but didn't linger on any given object.

Jazz scowled. There should have been something in the room that caught his attention. Instead the young mech carefully walked along the wall to the energon dispenser and poured himself a full cube, drinking it slowly before walking slowly through the room, headed for the door on the far side. It was a door that wouldn't open for him as it lead to the hallway, but Stormcloud didn't know that yet.

A careful study of his pet suggested that Stormcloud was walking more steadily, though no less cautiously, as he approached another door that wouldn't open for him. Jazz's private office was off limits to everyone. A forty-eight nanoklik pause, exactly what the entry door received, and Stormcloud moved on, returning to the berth room and working his way to the door that would open.

The washrack.

Jazz leaned forward despite the fact that the display was going on inside his processors. This was what he'd wanted to watch.

Prowl took his time in moving despite the fact that he felt fine after the cube of energon. He knew it had been risky, but he'd needed it. All he could hope for was that Master didn't punish him, that he was true to his word and the energon was available to Prowl. In exchange for the promise, Prowl did not abuse and take more than his systems wanted.

Finally, a door that opened, and to the prize no less. A faint tremor passed down Prowl's frame, causing his armor to click as he made a short prayer that Master had included his dialect of Praxian in the commands the computer recognized.

Carefully Prowl pinged the handful of frequencies he had access to, rotating through them slowly as he waited for a ping back acknowledging the computer received it. The fourth one brought a reply, the simple 'waiting for orders' ping that meant he had the authority to give at least some orders, assuming he had a language it knew.

::Washrack on. Standard solvent. Temperature 377.::

The system cycled up and solvent streamed out at just enough under its boiling point that it didn't evaporate before pooling. With a shiver of anticipation Prowl stepped under it and stood still for a long moment, simply allowing the wet heat to stream along his plating and begin to seep in. As his optics flickered off a groan of pure, uncomplicated pleasure escaped his vocalizer. It would have startled him, how different he sounded with a real vocalizer, if he wasn't so caught up with enjoying being warm.

His protoform quivered under his armor, crying out for the warmth it could feel seeping towards it. Sounds he would never dare allow escape near a master's hearing flowed freely without witness. His frame trembled as armor loosened; he could no longer hold it closed.

The sharp sound that escaped his vocalizer over the roar of his engine at that first touch of near-boiling solvent running under the panels of his armor and into the sensitive internals did startle him, but it felt too good to care. His entire frame trembling in a mounting bliss like nothing he could recall, Prowl opened his vents for the first time in his short existence in an effort to cool himself down. The reflexive action was soon shut down by a far stronger desire to be warm. He fluffed his armor out instead to appease the internal warnings, which only served to bring more heat in.

Turning to put his back and wings to the burning bliss of the solvent he nearly fell forward. Hands stretched forward to brace himself on pure reflex and he locked his joints in a similar reflex. His armor flared further out, allowing the substrates and inner plating to open up as he trembled uncontrollably.

It felt so good.

He was warm all the way to the core of his protoform for the first time he could remember and it was a bliss he knew he was already addicted to.

Jazz's fans were the loudest thing in his office as he watched his pet slowly sink to his knees in the shower, crackling energy visible deep inside his frame, though not across his plating. Jazz had almost pinged Temperance and stopped the shower when he received the temperature settings his pet had called for, but now he was glad that first sound Stormcloud made had stopped him.

The Praxian was magnificent in pleasure.

It did make Jazz wonder, though. Yes, a nice hot shower was pleasurable, it could be intensely so, but to overload doing nothing more than standing under it? As intensely erotic as it was to watch, it wasn't normal. He'd been with enough wing-types to know it wasn't the generally high-sensitivity plating they inevitably sported that caused this reaction.

As he watched Stormcloud struggle to his pedes and face the primary showerhead once more, Jazz reluctantly pinged Temperance.

::What's wrong with him?:: her reply was swift and predictable.

::Did anything in your exam indicate a shower was likely to cause him to overload?:: Jazz asked as he packaged the recording and sent it to her.

There was a pause as she reviewed the file. ::Not expected, but not unexpected either. The temperature was high, wasn't it?::

::377. Why?::

::You knew when you brought him in that he was young,:: her tone took on the professional neutrality that warned that she was disturbed by what she was going to say. ::I don't think you picked up that he wasn't a sparked mech. He was kindled, and yes, he's barely three vorns old.:: She paused to allow the implications to sink in for a moment and for her boss to stop sputtering. ::Judging from the spark frequency and size, he was likely either a large Seeker or first generation Seeker-kin. I have no idea how they managed to transfer a sparkling only a few orns old into an adult frame and keep it alive...::

::Shockwave,:: Jazz growled darkly. Not even the internal vision of his pet building up to a second overload under the patter and slide of solvent was enough to distract his rage. ::You know he's the only one that would even try.::

::Likely,:: she admitted. ::Or why he can't remember anything prior to activating in this frame. However, as his spark matures over the next few hundred vorns the oddities you've noticed will settle out.::

::Wait, few hundred?:: Jazz interrupted her.

::Yes, as I said, his original frame was likely to be a large fighter-bomber class Seeker, or a Seeker-Shuttle mix. A kindled spark of that size will take between three hundred and five hundred vorns to fully mature; comparable to a convoy class grounder.::

::Was it a mistake to install interface protocols so soon?:: Jazz felt the fire of desire quenched as he processed what he was hearing and it ran into the bare handful of morals that not even a lifetime in Ops had managed to rid him of.

::If I thought so, I would have fought you on it and refused to install them,:: she reminded him sharply. ::You know I would.::

::True,:: Jazz acquiesced as he began to respond to Stormcloud's pleasure, even if he wasn't sure he wanted to. ::Why?:

A deep huff came across the line. ::Three reasons. One: he's already had experience interfacing without them. The sooner he can be trained that not all interfacing is like that, the better off he'll be. Two: He's in an adult frame. He's going to be treated as an adult by anyone who meets him. Without those protocols and all the extra social signals they include, he's going to have a far more difficult time adapting. Three: sparks do not care about age, theirs or anyone else's. A sparked mech comes on line with the protocols and many will interface in their first few orns. Perfectly normal so long as they have the protocols. The only reason kindled mecha don't separate with the protocols installed is because culturally we shelter them and bring them into society very slowly. There is no physical, emotional or intellectual reason they can't have the protocols and associated hardware. We just don't install them until the mechling upgrade out of cultural bias.::

::You aren't making me feel better about this,:: Jazz grumbled lowly.

::I'm not trying to,:: she huffed again. ::I'm giving you the facts. You do with them as you wish. You always do. But I'm telling you. That mech is as mature as the one you thought you brought to me.::

Jazz drew in a deep cycle of air and let it out again. ::You've given me a lot to think about,:: he murmured before signing off and turning his attention back to his pet and shoving the entire conversation into a back processor to mull over where he wouldn't have to actively think about it.

Jazz watched his pet every moment of the orn, watched him overload the second time in the shower, felt the heat in his systems when Stormcloud shakily pushed himself to his pedes and lowered the temperature by fifteen degrees. Still very warm, but inside the range most mecha would use. He'd watched with a hand on his spike as the Praxian meticulously used every useful tool available to him to clean himself from the tip of his bright red chevron to the bottom of his pedes. Temperance's words soothed the lingering doubts he had about desiring a young spark in an adult frame.

He watched as his pet dried himself in the air jets and polished himself just as methodically, but now that Jazz's frame was reasonably sated he'd picked up how much smoother Stormcloud's movements were, and yet the motions were not that confident. He knew what to do, but he'd had very little practice at it.

Then Stormcloud began a meticulous path through the open rooms. He picked up, organized, cleaned ... a self-motivator. That was useful, even if Jazz did not approve of too much apparent order in his personal space. It made things too easy for an intruder to find.

Three joors before Jazz said he might return, Stormcloud had gotten another cube of energon and retreated to the berth, sipping on it as he practiced using his vocalizer with the computer's assistance. His choice of words and phrases was as telling as his choice of activities. Yes, Master. No, Master. Forgive me, Master. I did not mean to, Master. What would please, Master.

Jazz slipped into his quarters a full half joor after he said he might be back. His pet needed to understand and accept that Jazz's existence was an unpredictable thing. He buried his irritation at the organizing his pet had done. He was dealing with a young, under-socialized and habitually abused animal that reacted violently when it felt cornered. That Stormcloud had tried to make himself appealing and useful was far, far more important at this stage then whether he had succeeded.

"Stay," Jazz whistled softly as he walked into the berthroom, preempting Stormcloud's attempt to scramble off the berth and to his pedes. "Good," Jazz trilled, tilting his modulation towards that of close non-trine kin to a young creation among Seekers. He intentionally didn't match it completely, but he could see when the harmonic registered with his pet and made him relax slightly.

With a warm smile that somehow made Stormcloud try to edge away, Jazz walked to the berth and sprawled on it with apparent ease with the situation. He rolled to his back and looked sideways at his pet, who was still sitting mostly upright and watching him with uneasy expectation. "Have you practiced speaking?"

"Yes, Master," came out quickly and flawlessly in ancient Praxian. Only so many changes at one time, Temperance had insisted. Language could be one of the last ones, since Jazz was fluent enough to manage anything needed in the next vorn or so.

Jazz nodded and carefully extended his field to brush against his pet's plating. He teeked nothing, but he could see Stormcloud fight back a whimper and watched those ice blue optics flash a look at Jazz's pelvic interface panel before finding a place in space to focus on nothing.

"What made you think that?" Jazz asked, keeping the sharpness from his voice with practiced ease. He couldn't think of what was in his field to draw that reaction. He'd kept it a neutral brush, not at all invasive. As he kept the scowl from his features, he also contemplated how his pet could teek him when he couldn't teek his pet. It wasn't possible, or so he'd long thought. Not without some very expensive hardware that Temperance would have found and noted.

"Master always expected when he let me teek him," Stormcloud struggled to keep his new voice steady.

Jazz reached out and gently forced Stormcloud's face up so ice blue optics met black glass visor. "I am not like them." Jazz promised softly but firmly. "Make no mistake, I will make demands of you. You are my pet, my property and duty by order of the Prime." He paused to allow the words to sink in, and not just the ones about Stormcloud's status.

"Understood?" Jazz asked when it became apparent that Stormcloud was not going to say anything without a direct reason to respond. He wasn't ready for conversation yet.

"Yes Master," the answer came swiftly.

Jazz held back a sigh and a concerned twinge. Where was the wild savage from the warehouse? Such behaviors did not go away with some energon, a few kind words and upgrades that hadn't been asked for. It should have taken so much longer to reach this stage. And yet he could not deny he had a compliant, coherent mech here now, one who'd already demonstrated a desire to please.

"We will get to that, but not soon. Temperance has made it painfully clear that if I try before she clears you, she'll have my interface bits for her display rack," Jazz recounted the threatening tease. Not that he was entirely sure she wouldn't, but it was a line he wasn't inclined to cross anyway. He still wasn't completely convinced that his desires were okay given Stormcloud's age, not when he was in touching range of the mech anyway.

He shoved all that into a back queue. It wasn't relevant yet.

Stormcloud didn't get the joke, not even with all the amused harmonics Jazz included, at least if his quickly hidden horrified expression was anything to go by.

"Right," Jazz allowed his disappointment to flicker across his field and noted the way Stormcloud cringed back without actually pulling away from his hand. He'd been trained well, at least when he was feeling cooperative. Jazz caressed the sensitive metal plates and derma of his pet's cheek with a thumb, enjoying the way the supple metal responded to the light pressure. "What did you enjoy most about your shower?"

This time he could teek a tiny hint of surprise against his fingers, then a well-honed wariness, but it was gone as fast as it had come.

He gave his pet time to find the words he wanted. In this moment, the answer didn't matter so much as how true it was.

"The heat, Master," Stormcloud spoke very quietly.

"The heat?" That wasn't what Jazz had expected, yet he had no doubt that he'd been told the unpolished truth. ::Temperance. Is there something I should know about his frame and temperatures regulation?::

"Yes Master," Stormcloud murmured.

::Nothing significant. He'll run cool for another hundred vorns until his spark is large enough to properly supply and heat a frame that size,:: she supplied.

::Right,:: Jazz grumbled, his processors twisting unhappily with the reminder. His touch gentled even more and he spat a few choice glyphs at creator protocols that were trying to on-line themselves. It took a serious force of will to stop his engine from revving in a confounding mixture of desire and creator approval when his pet leaned into the touch just enough that he felt the movement.

A decaorn. No touching for arousal for at least a decaorn Jazz reminded himself firmly. Fragging his pet now would easily settle the coding debate chasing itself around in circles in his processors.

It was going to be a long thirty-one more orns.

"Are you cold now?" Jazz asked softly, catching himself from leaning in to kiss his lovely pet. It gave him an idea, however. It would be intensely frustrating, but it would at least settle his coding well away from the creator protocols that shouldn't even exist anymore.

There was a fractional hesitation before Stormcloud murmured. "Yes Master."

This time Jazz didn't stop himself as he leaned in and drew his pet's face close to brush their lip components together lightly. It sent a tingling rush through Jazz's systems. He didn't remember what long-extinct organic race had first taught him and a few other explorers about kissing, but he'd never given it up, and now it was a common enough practice among many social circles he wandered through.

Stormcloud, on the other hand, was openly bewildered.

"That was the beginnings of a kiss," Jazz told him, using the word from common Cybertronian, before moving to repeat the motion. Again there was no resistance, but also no joining in. "An intimate touch. A touch for pleasure."

"Yes Master," Stormcloud whispered, trying not to tremble.

"What are you afraid of?" Jazz pressed lightly. There were times when violence, pain or fear got you what you wanted, and times when a softer approach was the more effective interrogation technique. So long as his pet was cooperative, slow and gentle was the way to go no matter what Jazz's systems said about it. Or the mental images of this lovely mech bound, covered in fluids and screaming in pleasure, or bound, covered in very different fluids and screaming in pain. Both got his systems racing.

"That Master will be angry that I will not remember the glyph in the morning," Stormcloud was shaking now.

"Why will you not remember?" Jazz kept his scowl in check as he rapidly scanned through Temperance's long and detailed report for something on his pet's memory. To not remember a new glyph? That was beyond fragged up.

"I was coded to prevent me from learning many types of things, Master," Stormcloud barely whispered. "Most physical skills and language in particular."

"I will not be angry about things you can not control," Jazz promised firmly even as his fury rose at those who'd do such a thing. "Temperance has it on her list of things to correct. It will just take a while to get to it."

Stormcloud cycled his optics, staring at Jazz with such a look of hope-awe-terror that Jazz wanted nothing more than to plug in and fix it himself, wipe the past three vorns clean and start with a fresh memory core.

But first, there was work to do and he needed Stormcloud's memory files intact for it.

"There are many ways to get warm," Jazz murmured with another light kiss he was delighted to find returned. "The hot oil pool is very effective," he purred as he drew away, drawing his pet along with him. Stormcloud didn't resist as he was lead into the washrack, past the shower he had such wonderful memories of and to a deep depression containing a sloping ramp, a flat bottom large enough for Stormcloud to lay spread out in and seats carved around the sides.

As they watched light oil began to pour into the depression, quickly filling it with simmering liquid heat.

Stormcloud trembled at the very thought of it.

"Go on, get in," Jazz nudged his pet forward. If the shower was delicious to watch, this was going to be intense. "And don't hide your responses."

"Yes, Master," Prowl responded as he walked down the steep ramp. The first step into the oil, now half filling the pool, drew a full-frame tremble and hitch in his vents. Memories of how good the shower had felt rose to the top of his awareness. He had no glyphs for what it was like, only that bliss seemed inadequate.

Protocols he didn't understand and didn't want to think about because of the memories they had linked had formed links to suggested how to touch himself to make the feeling increase. They suggested how to touch Master and how Master could touch him. The sound that escaped his vocalizer was as much a whimper of distress at the thoughts as it was a moan of pleasure from the oil reaching halfway up his hips and oozing into his main chassis

With difficulty he forced his vocalizer to mute and stepped the rest of the way to the center of the pool where the oil reached halfway up his chest.

"You don't need to control yourself so much," Master's voice ghosted over his plating and drew his attention to the lithe silver minibot lounging on the sitting shelf, up to his chin in oil and sprawled in a display of command and demand. "I do not punish for enjoying something. You have a lovely voice."

"Yes Master," Prowl responded even as he struggled to decide whether Master meant to demand attention or if it was merely his natural posture. The words from earlier, that Temperance forbid such activities and Master seemed to obey her, made the decision. With cautious optics on Master, Prowl took a seat across from him.

Once more the heat drew tiny whimpers and sounds of pleasure from him unbidden. Now up to his neck in the oil, Prowl trembled in the burning pleasure. His armor loosened, sliding outward to grant more access to the slick, hot slide of pleasure deeper into his systems. It was the only thing in Prowl's awareness. Heat, comfort, the oozing thickness of oil caressing him deep inside with every motion of components, frame or oil flow that kept the pool warm and fresh.

"So lovely," Master's voice reached him, forcing his optics to turn on, though he didn't remember turning them off. Master was still sitting across from him, watching with avid interest. "Do not let me disturb you," Master added as his hands moved along his own frame. "Enjoy the oil."

"Yes Master," Prowl actually moaned the words. His frame was trembling almost as badly as his voice as thin armor fought between remaining locked to protect Prowl and expanding fully to enjoy the oil.

Enjoyment, and following orders, won out as his optics slowly powered down once more. He sank deeper into the oil, his armor opening up to its full extension, allowing plating and systems deeper inside to shift, drawing in more hot oil and moving it around until every molecule in him was the temperature of his environment and he gradually sank the rest of the way down.