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Starcrossed 5: Celebration of Pain
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Prowl booted slowly, allowing the medical sequence to run. He had no reason to contest it. He noted with only limited interest as all the repairs and new parts scrolled by on his HUD. He knew it all, but he read it anyway.
He was glad he did. He hadn't just been repaired.
Vocalizer: mechanimal grade. He wouldn't be speaking until he got out and repaired. His voice would never sound the same.
Comms. Completely removed. Not just disabled, but gone.
He did a quick check of specialized subsidiary systems. Systems that most mecha did not have, but as the seneschal to a noble House, he had them installed as part of his function. He smiled privately when they pinged back as fully functional. So Vortex's medic was not as skilled as they believed. Likely a gifted trauma surgeon, but not a full medic. Not good enough to recognize that seneschal systems included comms designed to mesh with the estate.
Very cautiously, he reached out with those systems to the estate he's barely had time enough to fully explore. His access still worked. Without turning on his optics or twitching, Prowl began his work. He needed a back door, access in case it ever occurred to Vortex to remove his legal access.
SxSxSxSxSxSxSxSx S===================S SxSxSxSxSxSxSxS
Jazz sat on the berth, knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them while he watched Prowl and thought. The priest had tested and confirmed the sparkbond and left, saying nothing about the obvious changes and repairs made to Jazz's frame, and now he was gone from the estate. Jazz had been escorted back here, to find Prowl bound in much the same position as he'd been in earlier, but with heavier restraints.
Basic repairs had been done, melted pieces stripped and cheap plating slapped on to cover internal systems, nothing that could call itself armor. The helm was barely even shaped and the face... hardly anything was left of the striking features Jazz had loved. There was no way to tell what else had been done to him, if his processors were even still functioning or if he was nothing but a decorative piece. He was alive-Jazz had heard his systems booting up a while ago-but there had been no movement, no signs of consciousness. His tanks churned at the thought of a living frame with no processor to power it, and desperately prayed something was left of Prowl. He would get them out of here, he would figure something out, but he didn't think he had the resolve to do it alone.
Jazz watched Prowl's optics, desperate for even a flicker, scared to reach out to him, but as the silent, motionless kliks went by, his dread was increasing.
::Prowl?:: he finally asked, then started when the send was flagged as undeliverable. He tried again, same result. The receiving end of their encrypted comm link was gone. He sat up straight. "Prowl?" he asked, louder than he should have, forgetting about Vortex's cameras and recorders for a moment.
Ice blue optics flashed to life and Prowl's helm moved quickly to focus on that beloved voice. Meeting Jazz's optics, he nodded and tried to form 'yes' with his much reduced vocalizer. What came out was closer to turbo-hound's low greeting.
Jazz started at the sound, shifting forward, confused as much as he was relieved to see the optics on, but not sure what the noise meant. "Your comms are gone," he said, stating more than asking, glancing towards the door, irrationally afraid Vortex would simply appear there any moment. "I thought... But, do you still hurt?"
Prowl shook his helm. It wasn't entirely true. The level of rebuilding he'd required meant everything ached and would ache for several orns even under optimal conditions, but compared to what he now knew pain could mean, he wasn't hurting.
Jazz relaxed a little. He knew that wouldn't last, for either of them, but to have just a single pain free moment seemed like nothing less than a blessing right now. He drew his knees back up and huddled on the bed. He wanted to go to Prowl, touch him, feel him, soothe him, but the eye of the cameras felt like they were burning into him.
"I think," he whispered keeping his face angled away from them, "He's pleased with me. I thought he would kill the priest when he opened my spark chamber. Felt it through the bond." He shuddered. "Hate it. Like he's always there." He glanced up at Prowl, saw him watching, but the lack of any other response was starting to worry him. "Prowl?"
Prowl could only nod and make that low canid greeting again. He was aware. He was listening. He wanted to hear.
But Jazz was too focused on the sound. It wasn't Prowl, it wasn't Prowl's voice. "Are..." he started, then paused, reframed the question in his mind. "Is that still you?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Prowl nodded again, keeping optic contact.
"Can you talk?" Jazz asked, taking some comfort in the familiar gaze, the only thing unchanged in Prowl's appearance.
Prowl shook his helm.
"He doesn't need to talk, just scream," Vortex added as he walked in, golden optics sweeping across the room before he crossed to the berth and claimed a heated kiss from his bonded, all but forcing Jazz to his back.
Jazz didn't resist, tilted his head up to accept the kiss, quickly shifting Prowl to the side of his thoughts and focusing on Vortex. "Bonded," he murmured, as soon as Vortex released him enough to speak, trying to draw the rotor's attention completely to himself.
"You are not to speak to the toys. You are not to touch the toys. Understood?" Vortex rumbled.
Jazz winced and nodded. "I'm sorry," he whispered, reaching up to touch Vortex's jaw, running his fingers along its edge. "Forgive me?" he asked, spreading his legs open, a motion he'd noted that had, so far, always made the rotor's engines rev. This time was no different. He could feel it, though his field and through the bond, that he had Vortex's undivided attention.
"You," Vortex claimed a hungry kiss and retracted his spike panel. "I'll forgive. Arouse me."
"Anything," Jazz breathed, slipping down under the protection of his traitorous second creation programming, the systems that craved conformation to his bonded's desires and were flaring up with the need to answer that command.
Jazz could have fought them if he'd wanted to. His were not nearly as strong as some, like the second creations in the highest nobility and royal families, whose bondings carried the weight of political allegiances and could incite war if mishandled. His were designed to help, to make him pleasing to his bonded and to take joy in pleasing, but he wasn't incapable of being independent of them, even if it would be a struggle. He could even disable them completely if he absolutely needed to, a failsafe in most coding like his own. Doing so would leave him damaged and traumatized, but alive. The failsafe was there to prevent mecha from being manipulated and harmed by those who would take advantage.
Vortex didn't need his programming to manipulate and harm him. Vortex had something so much better. Vortex had Prowl.
Right now, the coding was a tool to help Jazz lie to himself that he cared for this mech and wanted more than anything else to please him. He relaxed into a kiss, drawing Vortex down, and pushed a hand down the rotor's frame. When he couldn't reach the spike housing he broke the kiss and slid down to trace it with his fingers while pushing his hips further up.
Vortex lifted his frame up slightly and rumbled in approval of the touch. He could feel the honest desire in Jazz's field to please, and it wasn't driven by fear. It was an exotic thing, unnatural in Vortex's world, and he found himself craving it more than he cared to admit to.
Jazz felt it through the bond and in Vortex's field and allowed everything that was still left of Jazz to slip away as he committed himself fully to the task and his enjoyment of it. His smaller engines purred in response and he used his free hand to stroke along plating edges in Vortex's chassis. His bonded was too heavily armored for him to dip into more sensitive wires from where he was, but Vortex still responded to the touch.
When his second hand joined the first on the housing, Jazz used them both to rub and caress, then slid down further so he could press his lips right over, parting them slightly and x-venting, remembering how good this had felt on him. His coding neatly blocked the memory of what had happened after that, leaving Jazz completely focused on his task. A low, deep moan was his reward, as was the roll of Vortex's hips into the touch.
To read the rest, head over to the Ao3 post
archiveofourown dot org/works/637909/chapters/1191214