Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/562319.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Transformers_(Bay_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Jazz/Prowl, Jazz/Optimus_Prime
  Character:
      Jazz_(Transformers), Prowl_(Transformers)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Historical, Slavery, Tactile, Sticky_Sex, Rape,
      Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, Snuff, Torture, Kink_Meme
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-14 Updated: 2013-01-06 Chapters: 9/? Words: 67919
****** Dark Dreamer ******
by gatekat, Verilidaine
Summary
     Dead Story.
     Bayverse, Jazz/Prowl
     The young Prime is presented with a Praxian slave he doesn't know
     what to do with. Fortunately he has a long-standing place to put
     mecha that he doesn't want to think about.
     Written for http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/
     11776.html?thread=12048128#t12048128
     This'll be a long, dark one folks. You've been warned. Jazz ... is
     not a nice mech behind closed doors.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Jazz's New Pet *****
Ironhide's bellows carried easily over the chaos of the warehouse raid,
directing his soldiers and the Kaon Enforcers to their targets, as well as
warning the criminals that this wasn't a law enforcement raid to be bribed out
of or run from.
This was a raid under the order of the High Lord Prime Himself, deemed worthy
of sending His personal guard to oversee it.
It was also a clear and open warning that any failure to comply was grounds to
be shot. The Prime's Guard operated under battlefield law at all times and such
was a well-known fact. Almost as well known as the visage, frame and voice of
the Captain of the Guard, a mech who had served four Primes and seven Lord High
Protectors in his long and prominent existence.
Even if one did not respect the young Prime, to disrespect His Guard was as
good as walking into the smelter and the old Captain was more than happy to
escort any who disrespected his master and charge.
The blaster fire and shouts quieted quickly. Prisoners were rounded up,
cataloged by a lithe quicksilver minibot that was Ironhide's opposite in every
way but a matching loyalty to the Prime.
More gradually the warehouse's contents were brought out, a cell's worth at a
time, to be inspected by the medical staff from Iacon, interviewed by the more
social of Jazz's crew, tagged with their city of origin and instructions for
their care once they arrived there.
It was past dawn and the work all but complete, the criminals and enforcers
long gone, when a commotion towards the back drew Ironhide's attention. Bored
as he was, any hint of excitement had him moving towards it. A pair of his
soldiers, mecha who he'd seen handle riots and mad-mecha, were struggling to
pin one of the last slaves. The furiously thrashing creature was mid-sized,
storm gray with splashes of red and gold, and had definite combat training. But
what caught Ironhide's attention were the appendages on his back.
"Praxian?" he muttered, shocked to see one, especially one with such a fighting
spirit. This slave ring didn't trade to the arenas. They avoided them. Still,
training kicked in and he stalked over to grab the mech by both shoulders and
held him out at arms length. "Calm down, we're here to free you."
The Praxian stilled slightly, and under the scuffs, dents and whip-marks
Ironhide could see the transformation attempts of shoulder mounted weapons
trying to deploy, only there was nothing to deploy anymore. Two wing panels
marked a mecha that had been kindled free and at least of the middle class,
possibly higher, but not a noble or royal. He also realized rather abruptly
that even holding the mech tightly he couldn't teek him and the plating was
cool to the touch.
Growled with a hiss, the Praxian's sensor wings clicking against Ironhide's
arms lightly as he squirmed, trying to wriggle free. Ironhide considered the
mech he held, the clawed and scuffed warriors that he'd tried to fight off,
only to answer a comm from Jazz as he was deciding.
::Bring him here, 'Hide,:: the quicksilver mech said, as close to an order as
he ever issued to the big warrior. ::Trust me. I can get him to still.::
::All right,:: Ironhide agreed, somewhat reluctantly. He turned to walk the
squirming, hissing, unteekable mech to Jazz, knowing well how deceiving those
smiling lip plates could be and how the black glass visor concealed intent.
The instant the slave's pedes hit the ground he dug his claws in and tried to
lunge from Ironhide's grasp. A tiny flare of determination brought his field
close enough to his plating for Ironhide to catch a faint teek of it. It was a
futile effort, but it gave both mecha a clear view of his goal; the open door
beyond Jazz.
Jazz cooed, a soft, melodic humming buzz and clicking that wove around him as
he stepped forward, into the slave's personal space. To Ironhide's surprise,
the Praxian stilled, even relaxed slightly, and didn't tense when Jazz spread
his fingers across the Praxian's chest, over his spark.
::What did you do?:: Ironhide demanded across an encrypted comm.
::Talked to him in Praxian. Proper, undiluted formal ancient Praxian,:: Jazz
responded, his tone a bit sad. ::I don't think he knows any other dialect.::
Before Ironhide could ask anything else, Jazz flared his field, focused through
his hand and deep into the Praxian's frame.
A sharp keen and panic tore through the mech, but he stilled, panting through
his chest vents and spent as Jazz withdrew his field, though not his hand.
::So ... when we talked to him, it was so much gibberish?:: Ironhide scowled at
the trembling creature in his grip. ::What else did you learn?::
::He's young, 'Hide,:: Jazz's tone was definitely sad. ::Real young. Too young
to have been kindled. He's also not registered.::
The big black mech jerked slightly at that.
"Yeah, he's an illegal spark," Jazz huffed before making a smooth movement
along the slave's neck that dropped him into stasis. "This one's not going to
Praxus. He's the property of the Prime now."
===============================================================================
Optimus, the latest of those to inherit the title of Prime and the divine
connection that came with it, sat in a throne of a chair and behind a desk that
was as designed to impress as the office they were in. Behind him stood his
Lord High Protector, a giant of a silver mech that had served as such for two
Primes before this one. The entire display was intended to invoke awe and
submission in those who entered the room, but the lithe silver minibot was not
to be intimidated by prestige, wealth or power.
The purity of the spark that powered the young Prime's frame was intimately
familiar to Jazz, and he feared nothing he knew.
The scowl on the Prime's normally gentle visage was almost enough to make him
fidget, however.
"It is the law, my Prime," Megatron rumbled softly enough that only the Prime
should have been able to hear. "An illegally sparked mech must be your property
or there is no incentive to stop the practice."
The Prime allowed his field to speak of his opinion of that to his elder, a
mech he relied on often to guide his leadership and understanding of the laws
that were not always driven by the spark. The slender fingers of a priest
templed in font of the Prime's features, he regarded one of the few mecha who
was not overtly submissive towards him, nor treated him as a youngling.
It gave Jazz a very special place in the Prime's world and processors.
"It's true, Boss-bot," Jazz chirped. "The mech's not fit for society, I'm
afraid. Even with intensive work he won't be for a long time."
"Ironhide said that you can communicate with him, that you calmed him," Prime
rumbled. "How?"
"I'm probably the first person ta say anything he's understood in metacycles,"
Jazz shrugged. "He'd behave for you, and you know formal ancient Praxian."
The powerful convoy grade engine in the Prime's chassis rumbled in displeasure.
"What am I to do with him? I do not have time to rehabilitate him."
"There are other things to do, my Prime," Megatron rumbled in his audial. "I've
seen this mech. He cleans up quite attractively. I'm sure he will fall into our
berth as willingly as any other commoner."
"All the more reason for him not to be near it," Optimus rumbled in reply, his
field snapping a sharp rebuke at his High Lord Protector. He focused on Jazz.
"You've taken in foundlings before."
Jazz cycled his visor, visibly startled by the statement. "Well, sure, when I'm
going to take one into my crew."
"Is there any reason this one would do poorly in your crew?" Deep, warm blue
optics bore into Jazz.
"Well, no, Boss-bot," Jazz admitted as he settled into the idea. "He's got the
spunk to manage, once I socialize and train him."
"Then you will do so," the Prime instructed. "Do what you need to so he can
become a productive member of society."
"Will do, Boss-bot," Jazz gave a flourish of a salute and bounded out of the
room.
"Why so eager to be rid of him, my Prime?" Megatron's deep voice softened with
genuine affection and loyalty it was impossible not to teek.
Prime x-vented deeply and leaned into the strong hand on his shoulder. "I have
enough to tend to. You know I do not wish anger or slavery close to my
recharge."
"Yes, you are very different that way, my Prime," Megatron lowered his helm to
gently touch the Prime's, a touch far more intimate than they displayed in
public. "Very different."
===============================================================================
From the outside, Jazz's smile was almost perpetually cheery. His presence was
welcomed anywhere, a boost to the mood and flare of any party. His favors in
the berth were highly sought after and freely given. Much of Cybertron's elite
and many lower down believed they knew Jazz. And they did, in a way. They knew
the public Jazz. The Jazz that was not the conductor of Special Operations'
shadow wars, a mech with nearly as much power as the Prime Himself.
In the security and safety of his wing of the Prime's Palace, or rather under
it, in the sprawling complex that not even the High Lord Protector knew of,
Jazz allowed his true smile to creep through and twist his cheerful features
into a visage that bode ill for whoever it was directed at. It was still a
pleased smile, but it was a look that had every being grateful it wasn't
directed at them as he strolled by.
Only two creatures in this shadow empire did not fear him. His SIC, who was the
mirror image of himself with a matte black finish where Jazz sported silver
polished to a near chrome finish and a stern, grim look where Jazz wore a
smile. With their matching frametypes, many believed that Jazz and Whiplash
were twins and the black one was the evil one. It was a perception that neither
dissuaded.
A datapad slid into Whiplash's hand, no doubt from the other entity that did
not fear Jazz. His CMO.
"Temperance finished with him?" Jazz asked cordially, extending his hand for
the datapad.
"Yes," Whiplash handed it over smoothly. "The meeting go well?"
"Better than I dared hope for," Jazz actually purred, deep and resonant in his
pleasure. "Just the echo of that mech's field on me was enough to drive the
Prime to be rid of him. I didn't even get the chance to offer. He actually
ordered me to take care of him. Gave him to me in full, for Ops."
"I'm impressed," Whiplash gave his master a nod. "This one seems easier to
manipulate than Sentinel."
"And far easier to control than Nova," Jazz agreed as he flicked the datapad
on, waited for it to confirm his ID via his field and then scanned the
contents. He saw what he expected to, a few things he didn't, but overall it
was the picture of a very young sparked mecha perfect for indoctrination. That
malicious, eager smile spread further.
"I'll ping you if Prime calls," Whiplash ruffled his armor.
"I'll ping you when I'm free again," Jazz agreed absently and walked onto his
quarters, through the common room and into the berthroom, still studying the
pad in his hand. The door slid open smoothly to a delightful sight.
The storm gray mech was on his knees, helm and shoulders bowed because arms
were spread and bound there. Two panel sensor wings, the most elegant and
distinctive feature, were settled loosely.
To Jazz, he was looking at a mecha who was well accustomed to the uncomfortable
and submissive position and it hadn't put a dent in his fire. Whoever had
created this mech had their hands full with him until the slavers had gotten
him. Not even those much harsher methods had done much, though Jazz was willing
to bet it had made him even more violent and reactionary. He double-checked
that his linguistic file on the most ancient form of Praxian was fully loaded.
It was a dialect only one shift away from ancient High Vosian and as much about
frame as vocalizations, so the Praxian's ability to use it was rather limited
by his bindings, but he'd be able to use enough with his wings unbound. It
wasn't as if Jazz planned to ask much more than yes or no questions for
tonight.
Jazz knelt in front of his new toy and brought the mech's face up with a finger
under his chin. The beautiful creature growled at him, a sound more from his
engine than vocalizer, bared his denta in threat and field pulled in too
tightly to teek without forcefully invading the mech's frame as Jazz had done
before.
"I know you have a mechanimal's vocalizer," Jazz spoke in the melodic, lilting
dialect he didn't really have the frame to fully utilize. He noted with
pleasure that it had much the same effect that it had before. The Praxian
stilled, his growl muted, though that warning snarl was still in place. "Do you
know enough Praxian to answer yes or no with your wings?"
Both wings flicked up, bringing the primary joint above the line of his crimson
chevron, held there for a steady four nanokliks, then dropped back to neutral.
"Good," Jazz purred. "Are you hungry?"
Ice blue optics regarded him warily, but the wings lifted again, holding steady
for the same four nanokliks and dropped once more.
Jazz pulled a cube of good quality midgrade from his subspace and felt as much
as saw just how hungry his new pet was now that there was energon in range. The
quiver was tiny, the flash in those icy optics brief, but they were there.
"Then drink," Jazz cooed gently as he lifted the cube to his pet's lips and
tipped it slightly. Experience from both training mecha and caring for badly
injured ones made the move an easy one, and he watched carefully. It mattered a
great deal how much experience the recipient had. It didn't surprise Jazz in
the least when his pet reacted as one familiar with how to drink from another's
hand, even if he didn't approve of the situation.
With the cube half gone, Jazz resealed it and put it back in his subspace. "And
now for twenty questions," he grinned at his pet, earning a dirty look and
growl in reply. With a laugh Jazz flopped on his protoform-grade berth and
relaxed. His optics on the chained mech across the room, he reviewed the
questions he could ask, sorting them into categories and prioritizing them by
the value of the information they were likely to provide.
"Were you sparked a slave?" Jazz began with something that it was reasonable
for him to have guessed, and to ask.
Wings lifted in a yes, once more holding that precise timing of four nanokliks
before dropping to rest.
Jazz nodded. "Do you have a designation?"
This time the Praxian seemed to startle, craning his neck to look at Jazz. His
face remained impassive, but his sensor wings clicked lightly against his frame
in confusion and distress. Jazz gave him time, watching and cataloging every
tiny movement while the question was processed. Temperance indicated that he
had reasonable processor power. Nothing on Jazz's level, but adequate for many
functions and capable of being upgraded to an impressive level over time.
Slowly, sensor wings lowered and flattened to indicate a no.
"Well, we can not have that," Jazz huffed. "Do you have one you use when you
think of yourself?"
Again there was a significant pause before those enticing wings dropped once
more.
"Mmm, then I guess we will just have to go with something I think up," Jazz
considered his pet for a long moment.
"Stormcloud," he pronounced a verdict. "Yes, that seems to suit you. Colors,
ill tempered, violent, nearly uncontrollable, predictable only with great
understanding. Yes, that will suit you nicely. What do you think?"
The young slave considered Jazz for a lingering time before lifting his wings
in a hesitant agreement.
"Good," Jazz purred, delighted with how cooperative his new project was being.
He had no doubt that would come to an end, but for now it was a good sign that
there was enough of a processor in there to work with. "Now, Temperance
indicates that you have several sub-standard systems beyond your vocalizer. Do
you want those upgraded?"
Stormcloud froze, his sensor wings flared slightly in a marked reaction of
uncomprehending surprise. Jazz allowed him time to process the words, their
literal meaning and any implications the slave's processor could come up with.
Slowly those wings lowered from surprise to neutral, then flicked in an awkward
looking one up, one down posture that could either mean "don't care" or
"uncertain", depending on how Jazz interpreted it. While it meant one or the
other, Jazz wasn't quite good enough with the dialect's frame language to be
sure.
"I suppose that will do," he grunted. "You will go in for surgery in the
morning. At least I want more than yes or no answers from you."
That weird shrug happened again, one wing up and one down, only it was with a
different tilt. It might mean something specific to another wing-frame, but
Jazz could only work out that it was another neutral-ish response. He nodded
anyway. As long as it wasn't "frag off" it was good enough for now. It was
still cooperation, and cooperation deserved a reward.
"If I unchain you, will you remain on the berth until I tell you otherwise?"
Jazz offered, patting the space next to him. He knew it was the finest berth
padding in existence, something even nobles were proud to own, and he knew that
it was apparent at a glance just how luxurious it was.
He was not expecting a mecha without interfacing protocols to have any reason
to think it a trap, yet there was no doubt in Jazz's CPU that a trap, a very
nasty one, was exactly what Stormcloud's sudden tension indicated he thought it
was. It churned his tanks. Jazz could count on one hand the number of things
that he was morally opposed to.
::'Lash, when we find out who commissioned him, put them on the short list,::
he growled over the comm.
::Right. Reason?:: The black mech replied with practiced ease to seemingly
random demands.
::My new pet equates a berth to a nasty trap,:: he let the implications settle
in his SIC's processor and caught the hateful snarl when they did.
::With pleasure,:: Whiplash growled before Jazz closed the line.
Jazz knew the priority of finding Stormcloud's origins just went up several
levels from a slightly more than a passive search to a high priority active
mission an agent would be assigned to. Quite likely Whiplash himself.
"I won't touch you like that," he promised, his tone softening. "Just lay next
to me."
Ice blue optics continued to bore into him, judging, calculating, weighing
risk, reward and choices.
Very, very cautiously, the sensor wings rose in confirmation, hung there for
four nanokliks and dropped down to neutral once more.
"Good," Jazz brightened instantly and swung off the berth. With little concern
for his safety, he knew he could drop this feisty mech easily, he walked up to
Stormcloud and signaled the locks to open. He wasn't surprised by the sudden
surge of motion that carried the noticeably larger mech to his pedes and two
steps away from the chains.
Jazz watched in mild amusement that despite the motion, his pet seemed very
confused to be standing, unchained, in the middle of the room.
"Go on, on the berth," Jazz motioned towards it, but carefully made no move to
try and force, or even touch, the skittish and volatile mech. The more
Stormcloud was willing to do because of an agreed-upon trade, the better. He'd
learn that Jazz was good to his word on such things. Whether it was turbo-
puppies or mecha, consistency and timing were the keys to training and Jazz
respected that truth.
Ice blue optics stared at him for a long moment, then the sensor wings pulled
in tight as Stormcloud made his way to the berth and climbed on it, shifting to
the back by some former training. His sensor wings quivered as he turned
around, still kneeling and half supported by his hands, to watch Jazz flop onto
the plush, pliant surface that molded to every contour of a frame.
"Stay on the berth and there will be energon when I get up," Jazz told him
before shutting down for a light recharge. He would have to be much more
certain of this mech before he shut down to a level that prevented him from
protecting himself.
A klik passed. Then a breem. Then two. Finally Stormcloud moved to lay down.
Jazz could feel the tension in that frame without touching, but he let it be.
He wouldn't ask his pet to relax. Only to stay. Obedience was all he wanted for
the moment. Trust would come later, and with this one it would be hard won.
===============================================================================
Prowl watched his new master power down for recharge, but his processors were
spinning too fast to try to do the same himself. Master was a pretty mech for
an outsider, he freely admitted it to himself. Shiny, gentle, generous ... and
very confusing. That mirror finish would be a lot of work to maintain, but
maybe if he did that well, Master would not demand more than he currently was
in this berth.
It was a nice berth. Soft. Warm. Supportive. It was a place that Prowl was sure
he could quickly come to enjoy.
That thought was almost enough to sent him scuttling to the floor, but he
stopped himself with barely more than a twitch. Master had ordered him to stay.
Master had been good to him. It was a bad idea to invite pain by disobeying
when he was not sure that disobeying would be the less distressing choice. He
more than half wished Master had other slaves in the room. It was an unspoken
rule that the older slaves would teach the new ones what was expected, what
Master's quirks were, how to avoid the worst of Master's temper and the best
way to respond when it was unavoidable. Some masters liked whimpering and
begging, others wanted silent acceptance, and one Prowl had heard of wanted his
slaves to show arousal when punished. That one he had stopped trying to
comprehend, even though he could never completely let go of picking at the
strange idea.
With some effort he focused on replaying every nanoklik of memories and
information he had on Master. It wasn't much, but he had to admit that this was
far better than any other first orn with a master. Reluctantly, still uneasy,
he laid on his back and bit back the deep moan that wanted to escape. This felt
sinfully good. Anything this good must have a beating coming to pay for it, yet
Master had ordered him.
So Prowl remained, slowly cycling down for badly needed recharge.
He couldn't even remember how long it had been since he'd had more than a few
breems of uneasy recharge at a time. How long since a full defrag cycle? Had he
ever managed it?
He couldn't remember that either.
How he booted up and when would tell him so much more about functioning under
this master.
***** Upgrades *****
Chapter by gatekat
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.
***** Breaking Barriers *****
Chapter by gatekat
Chapter Notes
     Warning reiteration: graphic recounting of 'child' sexual abuse in
     this section
Prowl trembled, struggling to control his frame as his master guided him to his
knees in the shower on their third morning together. Memories queued up,
unbidden, unwanted, unerasable, and now filtered, partly, through the lens of
his new protocols. It created a sickening conflict between remembered pain and
humiliation, and the desire-arousal the protocols associated with the acts he'd
been forced to perform.
"What are you thinking?" Master's voice caressed his audials from above as the
silver minibot stroked his helm in a possessive way, his field thick with
desire he was no longer hiding.
Somehow, he really didn't know how, Prowl stopped the sob from becoming
audible. He couldn't make himself answer however. Nothing could make him say
the things he had no proper glyphs for. He could barely keep his energon down
with being forced to think them with his new understanding of the acts.
"Stormcloud." Master's tone was deeper, more forceful.
Prowl could only shake harder. He didn't want to anger the mech that had been
so kind to him. He knew that Master didn't understand why it was such an
impossible question to answer.
Desperate, he pushed his spark energy upwards and outward, focusing it through
his helm where Master's hands were touching him. The stutter of vents and
Master's sudden movement away was a relief as his field sank back, his strength
largely spent by the effort. He sank down, his aft on his pedes, trembling and
trying to cope with all that this situation was creating inside his processors.
It was pleasing to part of him that Master did not like what Prowl was feeling.
Others had. Most reveled in his fear and confusion as they forced him to do
things he still didn't really understand.
~You will understand,~ a foreign line of code slipped into his awareness, only
it didn't come from any of his data ports. ~There is interfacing for pleasure,
what I like. Then there is interfacing as a form of power, what you have
experienced.~
~Master?~ Prowl's thoughts came to screeching halt for a fraction of a beat
before his processors went crazy with the mutually exclusive effort to submit
and lay himself bare and kick the intruder out while he hid himself.
~Show me,~ the intruder demanded, the order gentled by the concern that was
woven into it. ~Show me who. Show me what. Show me where.~
Included was a silent promise of a reward when it was done, though little hint
as to what the reward might be. Prowl pushed down thoughts of what 'reward'
meant with some he had served, reminding himself that this master was not like
them.
The memories being demanded were already queued up for the most part and flowed
smoothly. Prowl did his best not to watch as they played for his master.
===============================================================================
Jazz growled as he shielded his pet from the memory replays, but even more
importantly he shielded Stormcloud from his response to the use and abuse of
that lovely frame. The earliest files were of pain and hunger, cold and
loneliness, dominated by a lack of anyone else or much ability to move in the
tiny cage. The timestamps were questionable. Stormcloud had yet to receive a
proper chronometer; a minor upgrade Temperance wanted to wait on. So the
timestamps were only a guess, reset on the few occasions that Stormcloud had
access to a clock. They were linked in chronological order however, and that
was good enough for Jazz to get a sense of timing.
Then a purple mech with a single large optic watched as two others pushed and
shock-stick prodded Stormcloud into a box he had to curl up in to avoid having
his wings crushed by the door closing.
A sense of movement, growing fear in the complete darkness of the cramped box,
then a sense that the movement stopped. There were sounds outside that
Stormcloud recognized as what mecha used to communicate, but language had yet
to be part of Stormcloud's working files, so the sounds were meaningless. As
such they were not recorded in enough definition to Jazz to pick out much at
this level of investigation.
There were a few moments of quiet that Jazz skimmed, then the box was opened. A
powerful red and gold hand reached in and pulled Stormcloud out, drawing a yelp
of protest as joints and gears moved in ways they never had before. Orientation
and focus was limited, the visual feed swimming slightly before Stormcloud was
steadied and the one who had pulled him out stepped back to consider her new
pet. A minor royal from Kaon. Jazz knew her, knew her tastes and her work in
gladiatorial arenas public and private.
Sideshot was a piece of work, even by his standards. Remembering her brought a
rev of desire from Jazz engine. Twice as tall and several times the mass of the
Praxian, with brilliant red optics, gunmetal gray paint with ruby and gold
highlights on a light tank-former's frame. She was an imposing figure that wore
her battle scars and weapons proudly.
Not that Stormcloud understood any of it. He only understood that he was
standing upright for the first time and it was a strange perspective. Strong
red and gold hands pushed down on his shoulders and he dropped to his knees
without resistance. He had no strength to resist and little reason to. There
was a sense in the memory that being mechhandled into position was the only
kind of contact he knew.
It annoyed Jazz, but he pressed into the memory, watching through Stormcloud's
optics and sensors as a spike -- a thing Praxian still had no glyph for -
- extended from the gray mech's pelvic girdle. He felt Stormcloud's lip plates,
then jaw were forced open by the hard length. Hands gripped his helm, holding
him, moving him, forcing the length in and out.
Jazz knew what was happening.
The poor mech that had experienced this was beyond clueless. He didn't even
understand enough to be disturbed by it. In this moment, it was merely one more
uncomfortable thing another was forcing him to do. In a way, he liked it, if
only because she was touching him and it wasn't intensely painful. A lifetime,
no matter how short, in near complete isolation had left his spark craving any
kind of contact that didn't make his entire frame scream.
Jazz liked pain. He knew it as a lover, a master and a servant. He was as
fluent in the language of screams as he was with moans. But his pain always had
some level of consent involved, even if the consent was nothing more than being
an enemy of the Prime.
Energy crackled along the spike, making the inside of Stormcloud's mouth and
glossa tingle. Without interfacing protocols, it was a strange sensation.
Interesting, but neither erotic nor unsettling.
Jazz forced the memory to run faster, skimming it for anyone else who abused
his pet, and how. Memories, orn by orn logs, were scanned in a similar order,
skimming for who and what and where. Even at this speed he began to grasp the
duality of his pet's reactions. Sideshot hadn't kept him long, and neither had
any of the others who'd become Master. The last Master had him for less than a
vorn and it was the longest time the Praxian had a single Master. This Master,
a medium build cream and copper Seeker, kept him chained as a guard animal of a
merchant's warehouse. The beatings were more frequent, but the other abuse was
more limited.
The Praxian hated it for the lack of contact he'd got. That function and
watching the real mecha-animals he was around was where the aggression first
made its appearance in the memories. Up until then, the Praxian was fairly
compliant.
Jazz's vents stalled in shock as a memory segment tagged 'happy' and 'good'
finished loading. He wasn't sure what to expect, but being in the middle of a
pack of large cyberhounds, part of that pack, as they tore some bot with blue
optics to shreds and lapped at the spilled energon to offset their meager
rations, was not it. He felt his pet's feel alive for the first time, felt his
pet's pleasure as the mech under him screamed and thrashed ineffectively to
defend himself against claws and jaws tearing at him. Felt the soft rumbling of
contentment at fuller than usual tanks and the companionship at licking each
other clean.
Yes, he walked upright, but this was a beast in a mecha's frame and felt no
shame in it.
Master arrived, mech and mecha-animals alike stilled uneasily, watching him.
Master meant food, and sometimes affection or treats, but he also meant pain,
and they had not had a normal orn. Instead of a beating that was more than half
expected, the touch on the Praxian's back was light and stroking, Master's
voice held pleasant overtones, though not a single glyph of it was understood.
That touch and tone was what the others received as well.
Then Master tossed out a handful of low-grade energon crystals, a rare treat in
the Praxian's mind. Jazz knew they were barely worth the energy to process, but
they were crunchy, tasty and rarely given to this group so they were prized.
Jazz watched through his pet's optics as he grabbed, swatted, growled and
postured until all the crystals were his. Only then did he select the largest
one for himself and dole out the rest to the others, marking rank and his favor
with how large a chunk a given cyberhound got.
His pack. His authority. His territory. His laws.
They obeyed.
Master trilled his pleasure before leaving.
Jazz allowed himself to remain in that intense wash of positive emotions for a
long moment before moving on. Three more kills were racked up before his pet
was captured by the slavers and the interfacing abuses and beatings began
again. This was where his pet had begun to fight back when they tried to use
him. This is where fear became linked to performing acts that had long just
been nothing to him.
This was where his pet first consciously used his own designation.
He was Prowl.
Prowl understood violence, used it well and did not fear the pain. He would
have been broken eventually, but not in the time the slavers had him.
Prowl was also painfully lonely. Being as aggressive towards other slaves as
the slavers, he was kept by himself. Yet here inside the memories and the
processor that created them, Jazz felt what he had always suspected.
Prowl was submissive by nature, craving the stability that came with having a
master and knowing Master's needs and wants.
Jazz smiled and gently backed out, unhooking himself from the main dataline in
his pet's neck and connecting it back together with the smooth skill of
experience. Yes, Prowl would be perfect.
===============================================================================
Prowl could only shiver, terrified of what Master would learn. He had no
defenses. He knew that. What firewalls he'd managed to construct had evaporated
before Master's presence so easily Master hadn't even noticed they had been
there.
"Stormcloud," Master's voice was smooth and even, giving Prowl a start and a
moment to realize that he was alone in his processors once more. The
realization nearly made him keen. It had been frightening, yes, but now that it
was gone, he realized how warm that presence was. Master, inside him ... it
felt good. Touching, teeking ... both chased away the loneliness for a time,
but that ... he wanted more of that connection. It hadn't hurt. It felt good.
Warm. Safe.
"Stormcloud," Master's voice was firmer, startling Prowl into looking up with a
panicked flare of his wings. "That is better. Stand up."
Prowl stood, his gyros stabilizing him quickly, and watched as Master knelt.
"Open," a low purring voice drifted up from the silver mech, curling around
Prowl with a resonance and command that made his interfacing protocols sing as
they activated. The touch between his legs, sliding across the equipment covers
sent a jolt of energy strait to his spark. He didn't even think about it, both
panels slid open as Prowl's vents hitched.
What did Master want?
"Lovely," Master purred, a deep, even more resonant sound that caused a shiver
of an entirely different kind to make Prowl's plating click and shift. Prowl
couldn't see, but he felt the hot air of Master's vents slide along metal and
sensors that had never been exposed. A low, trembling moan escaped Prowl,
rising to a keen as something soft and slick circled one of the new components
he couldn't designate; the glyph was not one he knew. He only knew that it was
the one that extended, the part he had long been made to mouth until Master
leaked forcefully from it.
He understood why now.
Hands became frantic, wanting something, anything to grip. Eventually they went
back to brace against the shower wall.
"That is correct, let it out. Let me see your spike," Master purred, his field
wide and bright in his arousal.
"M-Master!" Prowl keen, trembling as the equipment activated on its own,
extending smoothly.
"Yes, she does do good work," Master ran a line of kisses along the underside
of Prowl's spike, causing mechanics and cables to tighten inside Prowl's pelvic
girdle.
"Relax and enjoy, my pet," Master instructed before slipping his lips around
the tip of Prowl's spike and swirling his glossa around the sensor laden metal.
The purring vibration of Master's engine rumbled through their now-connected
frames.
"Master!" Prowl all but screamed as his hips jerked forward, driving his spike
into his master's mouth as every cable in his frame locked up. Heat rushed
upwards, circling his spark and flaring outwards to warm his entire frame. It
was terrifying and bliss and relief all at once, but over it all, was Master's
pleasure, Master's approval, radiating through the touch as Prowl slumped down.
===============================================================================
Jazz caught his pet easily as Prowl crumpled, completely unprepared for the
aftershocks and energy drain of an overload. And oh, but it was a lovely
sensation, the sounds echoing in the shower chamber, the heat and charge of
transfluid across his glossa, the brief flare where he could fully teek the
bliss he'd created. Knowing that he was the first to touch this creature in
such a way. It was a heady thing for Jazz, his only vice that could not be bent
towards more useful outlets.
"So lovely," Jazz purred as he guided Prowl to his knees, then sideways to lean
against him. He reached up to caress the Praxian's lax features, reveling in
the shock still rippling in that shrinking field. "That, my pet, is what
interfacing can be like."
"Warm," Prowl murmured, willingly leaning against his master, purring at the
gentle touches as he was stroked. He gave no resistance when Jazz tipped his
face sideways for a kiss that offered Prowl his first taste of himself, his
first taste of what he had usually been forced to give to others.
"Yes, warm," Jazz smiled and nuzzled him. "Pleasure is desirable."
"Yes, Master," Prowl murmured softly.
A low chuckle escaped Jazz. "Think you can stand? We still need to clean up."
"Yes Master," Prowl said, though according to the way his frame struggled, it
had other ideas.
Jazz didn't comment on it, merely noted it kept a hand close in case his pet
lost balance. Prowl managed to remain steady enough however, so Jazz signaled
the solvent to turn on, in the range where he found it a bit hot, but he knew
his pet would enjoy it. It annoyed him to coddle so much, especially since he
was still many orns from truly enjoy the results, but he'd be gutted before he
allowed such petty emotions to interfere with a mission.
There was no mistaking it either, what the Prime had done was order Jazz on a
mission. Those casual words, given as if an afterthought or habit to just be
rid of a slave he didn't want, were not lost on Jazz. There would be a steep
price to pay if this Praxian did not turn out to be something useful to Jazz's
division, and thus the Prime. He was also under no illusions that 'productive
member of society' meant as something far more than warming Jazz's berth. Prime
expected great things from this slave, and damn it all to the Pits of Unicron,
Jazz was going to deliver.
There were orns where his reflexive responses to this Prime, so different from
his predecessors, truly grated on Jazz's processors. He cajoled, manipulated,
blackmailed, terrorized and guided many powerful mecha in the empire from his
shadows and in plain sight. Yet only this mecha, only Optimus Prime, did he try
and please because his spark called on him to do so.
It was infuriating and frustrating, never mind humiliating, but Jazz had
already learned his lesson well. This Prime was one mecha he would never double
cross, never betray, never do less than his very best to support and please.
His spark literally would not let him do anything else, to the point it was
willing to abandon his frame to prevent him from crossing the young Prime.
That wasn't the part that really got to him though, Jazz mused as he went to
work on his still slightly dazed and very confused pet's plating with a soft
brush and cleaner. No, what really got to Jazz about the reaction was that he
had no clue why. He'd researched, tested every theory, hunted down trends and
the lack of them in every strata of society. What was different about this
Prime became enough of an obsession that Whiplash actually asked about it.
The search wasn't over, but that had brought Jazz back to his duties before
anyone else had noticed. Now he was dealing with more fallout. Yet through it
all Jazz simply gave a mental shrug, worked out how to work with what he had,
and focused on making the Praxian trust him, then like him.
Then the real work could began.
***** Indulging Jazz *****
Chapter by gatekat
Chapter Notes
     New warnings: Torture, Snuff
     Vaevade (LJ) has been a wonderful help/co-author of much of the
     graphic violence. It wouldn't be nearly this intense without her
     help.
     Question to Readers: does the explanation of why they can't just wipe
     Prowl's memory make sense?
His pet clean and polished, not to mention relaxed, warm and still humming
softly from the overload, and himself clean and polished, Jazz quietly let
Prowl from his quarters and into the hallway outside. Compliant and
subordinate, Prowl padded along after him, optics bright and taking in
everything without paying extra attention to anything. A piece of wall got the
same attention as a moving, talking mecha. Not even the beauty incarnate in the
form of Jazz's top pleasurebot agent got any extra notice, much to Starspark's
irritation.
"Relax," Jazz laughed brightly. "He doesn't understand a glyph of common."
"Really?" the elegant creation of white and red with golden highlights and
brilliant azure optics regarded Prowl with a little more interest. "Does he
understand any language?"
"Yes," Jazz gave a grin and started walking again, Prowl following compliantly
along. He had no doubt that his pet was paying attention, but he knew from that
trip down memory lane that his pet only barely recognized what was being said
as communication. It was no more important to him than a mecha-animal's sounds
were to the average mecha.
"Which you are not going to share," Starspark hummed, gave Prowl another long
look and continued on his way.
Prowl gave him the attention due not-Master and followed Master to the medical
bay. His gaze swept across the space, noting the sub-healer tending to a mecha
but gave it no more mind. Master was headed for a door towards the back and
Prowl followed.
The door opened smoothly for the pair, allowing them into the private room that
was both for intensive care and less serious but higher security issues.
Temperance was already there and motioned Prowl to the berth. A glance at Jazz,
who nodded, and he complied without a sound.
Jazz relaxed in the corner, watching in silent study as Temperance had the
Praxian move joints, tested his strength, reaction time, and finally plugged
into him for a processor scan. It was only when she plugged in that Jazz saw a
reaction. His pet actually growled, though judging from Temperance, he wasn't
growling at her so much as the intrusion in general.
Her sharp blue optics lifted to pin Jazz. "I told you no interfacing." She
growled darkly in common, leaving the Praxian out of the conversation.
"He needed to feel that it could be a good thing," Jazz countered sharply. "I
didn't do much, and I know you saw that. It's a small miracle he's not more
damaged than he is."
"I know," she settled with a sad glance at the mech watching them with no
apparent care that he didn't understand a glyph of the conversation. "Shockwave
did a real number on his design. I can't even begin to understand it. It's not
like Sideshot has those kinks."
"She doesn't, but I know a mech who did," Jazz huffed. "Mandate."
She paused, then shuddered. "I think I'm glad he angered the wrong people. He
would have never lost a custom slave to raiders."
"No, he wouldn't have," Jazz agreed, leaning back against the wall and regarded
his pet. "Why can't we just wipe him clean and start over? There's nothing in
there worth keeping."
Temperance grumbled and unplugged from Prowl. "His memory core is exceptional.
Absolutely perfect, 100% recording. Better than the Praxian Enforcers use. To
wipe him means that has to be removed. It's hardwired to prevent changes."
"That's way too valuable to scrap just to avoid a few memories," Jazz regarded
his pet. "I still can't 'face him?"
"Not for the rest of the decaorn," she said firmly. "No energy intensive
activities at all."
"So he can watch me work, but not participate."
"He can watch, but no more than four joors at a time," she specified. "He needs
to recharge a lot to remain healthy. At least 50% of his time should be in
recharge."
Jazz huffed. "I remember. It's going to be a long century."
"Worth it though," Temperance gave a knowing look to her boss. "You saw what
he's capable of, how little it affects him. He's worth the work."
"Yes, he is," Jazz agreed and walked up to the berth, cupping Prowl's cheek and
drawing him into a kiss that was returned, though it did nothing to rev Prowl's
systems. Even so, Prowl leaned into the contact as an approving one, something
desirable.
"Jazz," Temperance rumbled in warning.
"It doesn't rev him up, but he likes the approval," Jazz pointed out as he
lightly guided Prowl from the berth.
Temperance huffed as they headed for the door. "Just remember to be sure he
recharges enough."
"I will," Jazz looked over his shoulder at her. "I take care of my mecha."
"Yes, you do," she murmured, keeping a few opinions on that count to herself.
Some arguments were not worth having again, at least not in this setting.
So Prowl followed Jazz as the silver minibot walked deeper into the labyrinth
that was the shadow's palace, a place that knew only two kinds of mecha; those
that served Jazz, and those who served to entertain him with their deaths. To
be fair to Jazz, it had been this way long before he'd been kindled and raised
here. The rules and ways weren't strictly his invention, though he'd molded
them all to suit himself once he had gained enough power to do so.
Prowl did not yet fully understand the importance of being seen walking
compliantly in Jazz's wake, that this walk and many more like it served to
imprint on the residents that Prowl was one of them now, not a target that had
snuck in. After all, it was a rare thing that a full frame mecha was brought
into their number. Adults simply did not adapt to this world, and sparked mecha
... well, there were better uses for them where questions wouldn't be asked
about where a given spark had gone.
No one would question Jazz's right to do so however, if he believed it was the
best choice for the health of their empire within an empire.
Six levels down and they stepped into an area lit so there was not a shadow to
be found in the meticulously clean hallways or on the doors that were
designated only with numbers, except for the first one on the left, a small
washrack meant for no more than one or two mecha at a time. It was a short
hallway with five doors on the right, four on the left, and one at the far end.
Prowl took it all in as he did everything else, paying more attention to Master
than he did to his surroundings.
"It's time you experienced what we exist to do. We preserve the power of the
empire by preserving the power of the Prime, but also by controlling Him, the
Senate and other Lords by any means necessary," Jazz began talking as he walked
to the third door on the left. It slid open after a longer pause than most.
"This pathetic miscreant was plotting against the Prime," he motioned to the
non-descript mech without a physical mark on him, but his helm was lolling to
one side and his features were blank.
The dark blue mech sitting by the shell-shocked prisoner rose, standing well
above the height of both Jazz and Prowl. His dark orange visor flared briefly
and locked onto Jazz and is spoke in the highly structured dialect of common
most hosts used. "Lord Jazz. Prisoner: stripped of useful intel. Report: will
be on Jazz's desk by dawn."
"Good," Jazz smiled brightly at his best interrogator, and his favorite as
Soundwave left prisoner's frames completely untouched. "Is there any reason to
show mercy?"
"Negative. Prisoner: willful and knowing traitor. Unrepentant."
"Excellent," Jazz rumbled, allowing the darkest of his coding, learned and
innate, free of the tight constraints he held it under to function in society.
He felt more than saw his master interrogator flinch as the coding coiled
upward, enveloping Jazz's consciousness, and how readily Jazz welcomed it. "You
may go, Soundwave. Good work."
"Lord Jazz: thank you," Soundwave said before making his exit look less hurried
than it was.
===============================================================================
Prowl watched the large blue mech, Master's truth-finder, leave the room. He
wasn't sure what it was about the big mech he didn't like, but he Did Not Like
him. Master did, however, and that was to be kept in careful consideration.
While he hadn't understood the exchange, he recognized the tones easily enough.
Master was very pleased. Master's truth-finder was less so, but seemed
satisfied.
"Stormcloud," Master demanded his full attention and received it without
hesitation. This master was a kind, generous one. A master to be encouraged in
his desire to keep him. "The energon dispenser is in the corner. Draw what you
need. Recharge when you need to. I wish you to watch my greatest pleasure," he
purred, his field flaring slightly to caress the prisoner's as the mech began
to come back to awareness of the physical world. "Baring something needing my
attention, I draw this out for an orn or more. Understood?"
"Yes, Master," Prowl canted his winds and helm in respectful acceptance of the
orders and the information. So Master's greatest pleasure was a long, drawn out
kill. It brought new importance to pleasing Master. If Master was angered, he
wouldn't pass Prowl on to another. One did not send a gift from the Prime to
another. So Master would likely take his pleasure with Prowl's final moments.
Prowl already had a reasonable grasp of the amount of pain and suffering that
could be inflicted in an orn, and he had no doubt that he was about to have
that limit expanded significantly.
His optics never leaving his master, Prowl settled as close as he dared where
he could watch Master and keep newly enhanced wing sensors trained on the door.
He watched. He listened. He strained his senses to pick up the fields, wanting
to feel and teek what he could.
The arousal in Master's field was intoxicating, drawing Prowl to lean forward
and open his vents to drawn in every bit of signal the silver mech was
emitting. His spark pulsed sharply, calling him towards that enticing teek.
===============================================================================
Jazz smiled to himself at his pet's reaction as he leaned in on his new
plaything, rubbing his finely tuned dermis against the harsher finish of the
low-grade common worker. A mech that was little more than a drone in the social
order, but Jazz, at least, respected them for what they were: the backstrut and
mainframe of Cybertron's industrial machine. That didn't mean he tolerated
treason talk any more than the High Lord Protector he supposedly served.
"With the functional again?" Jazz purred, rubbing his cheek against the
prisoner's as his frame began mapping the stretched out frame strung up by its
wrists but with both knees secured to the floor. "What's your designation?"
"9128698763896-098," the broken voice responded, the processors behind it too
tattered to resist responding.
"Your nic?" Jazz cooed, sliding his hands along the mech's frame to find the
gaps and reach slender, nimble fingers in to tease the wires. "What do your
fiends call you?"
A low, trembling moan escaped the mech, confusion flared in his field where it
slid against Jazz's before surrendering to the more powerful spark's demand to
mesh. "Ramble."
"Jazz," he hummed and nuzzled his neck before nipping it playfully. His hand
slid between the mech's legs to cup the interface panel. "Is this new, or have
you enjoyed it before?"
"N-new," Ramble's dim blue optics focused a bit more, taking in the sleek
noble-quality frame teasing his. "Why was it installed?" he asked with
trepidation. He didn't miss the way the Praxian in the background leaned
forward, his engine rumbling eagerly and icy blue optics locked on every move.
"Because I like it," Jazz laughed playfully as he fingered the panel without
trying to open it. "You know the penalty for treason. I'm your executioner."
Blue optics widened, then looked at Jazz in confusion.
"Silly mech. I'm going to frag you to deactivation," Jazz grinned, the smile
turning menacing. "You're going to scream for me until your spark literally
can't take it any more. Then I'm going to take that too."
When Prowl shifted with eager interest, Jazz opened a comm line with his pet
and offered a translation of what had been said, keeping it open for future
translations. Prowl pinged back a glyph of deep thanks with markers signaling
that he knew it was a gift Jazz did not need to give him. The simple
acknowledgment of his status, and that it was over information, made Jazz purr
and like his pet a little more. Information was power, and it seemed that his
pet understood that already.
"N-no," Ramble whispered in denial, the reality of the silver mech's attention
dawning on him. "I-I'm just a worker."
"I know," Jazz slid his claws along that simple, blocky frame a bit shorter
than Prowl's. He circled a dataport cover, causing his plaything to shudder,
before hooking a finely crafted, razor-sharp claw under the edge and ripping it
off with a smooth motion. His engine revved sharply at the cry of startled pain
he earned. "Yes, you scream so nicely," he grinned and claimed a biting kiss
that left Ramble's lip plates oozing energon. It was only a distraction as Jazz
plugged in, shattered what firewalls Soundwave hadn't and uploaded several
specialized viruses.
By his side he felt more than heard his pet let out something between a whimper
of want and a moan, optics locked on the oozing energon.
"Erotic, yes?" Jazz trilled at his pet, causing Prowl to break his gaze away
from the energon.
The answer was a moment in coming as Prowl ran the unfamiliar glyph through his
linguistic databases, then had to examine his response to work out if that was
what he was feeling. "Yes, Master," he answered with a low rumble, allowing the
semi-familiar sensation to spread at the clear approval it received.
With a grin Jazz slid up Ramble's frame and bit his lip plates hard before
driving his glossa into his oral cavity, coaxing his prisoner's glossa into his
own before biting down hard enough to gain a small mouthful of processed
energon. With it dribbling down Ramble's chin and a trickle sliding down from
the corner of Jazz's mouth, the silver mech turned to his pet and drew him into
a kiss.
Lip plates parted willingly, eagerly, and Prowl shuddered with a moan as the
bitter-sweet tang of processed energon, the very life of another, so full of
energy ready to use, slid across his glossa. His master had taken it and was
now giving it to him. It triggered coding associated with extreme approval,
loyalty, reward, feeding, good things. Now it was linked to arousal as well. He
resisted reaching out to touch his master, conscious of the restrictions the
healer had placed on them and that what his frame was calling for was not his
to offer yet.
He could teek his master's approval, the arousal, desire and pleasure. It drove
his good feelings even higher and generated another moan, this one from deep in
his chassis, a creation of frame and engine rather than vocalizer. The flare of
desire-approval from his master generated another, softer chassis-moan and
shiver of want.
Reluctantly Jazz pulled away, his vents open as he moaned softly at the
exquisitely intense response from his pet. For the first time in a very long
time he felt more desire to be with a mech who would live through the night
than for a pleasure kill.
"Oh, you are beautiful, my pet," Jazz whispered under his breath in ancient
Praxian, the glyphs full of sensual approval and possessive desire that drew
another shiver from Prowl with a matching flare of want-desire-belonging-
submission strong enough that Jazz could teek it easily. "You want a master."
Jazz purred. "It makes you feel safe to have a strong mecha to obey."
Prowl simply inclined his helm and wings. He had never denied his desire to
know his place and what was expected of him and those around him. He'd just
rarely had the luxury.
"Perfect," Jazz trilled with a pleased clicking ruffle of his armor. He
reluctantly turned his attention back to his duty and settled into the darkest
corner of his coding. Razor sharp claws slid upward, caressing and playing with
Ramble's frame, slipping into openings in his armor to tease, then cut wires.
Against him Ramble moaned, shuddered and choked cries of pain as the viruses
Jazz had uploaded dialed up his sensor net and fed his processors all pain
input as pleasure and pain.
Deeper down, other viruses were busy working to ensure that Ramble reacted the
way that turned Jazz on the most. Not just giving the 'right' moans and cries,
but angling his frame, loosening his armor and subtle shifts that opened his
frame up to the sleek minibot. In all ways acting like he wanted this, the
pain, the pleasure, the lack of choice and his impending deactivation.
Again Jazz slid his claws in, this time going deeper to catch a small energon
line, slicing it through as he curled his fingers and drew them back. The scent
pulled a deep rumble from him, and a similar sound from Prowl. Another line was
cut, and Jazz found his attention wandering again, focusing on his pet's
responses more than his own. Yes, this would feel good, he'd overload half a
dozen times before taking the spark, but to have his pet so excited by
processed energon was something new.
Jazz was perpetually enchanted by new. It was his greatest flaw, but one that
was very, very difficult to take advantage of these orns.
His pet embodied new and didn't seem to grasp how much power he really had over
his master.
It wasn't long before Jazz had given up trying to focus on his victim and was
doing things to see how his pet reacted. Moans, screams, pleas, energon,
coolant, the spark of cut wires ... Jazz's frame worked on autopilot to draw it
all out while his senses and processors cataloged what his pet was reacting to
and how much.
With energon oozing from a hundred cuts, Jazz leaned in to lap at it, reveling
in the heady rev of Prowl's engine. With a grin he scraped his hand along the
bleeding frame, gathering energon on it before turning to his pet and offering
the hand. Trembling light gray hands closed around his wrist, holding it, but
not so strongly that Jazz would have to exert force to extract himself.
Not that Jazz wished to do any such thing as his pet began to delicately lick
the life-energon from his palm. The dense mat of sensors that fed from his palm
lit at the contact, cycling Jazz's interface protocols higher. His optics
locked on the vision of his pet licking him clean with intense care and such
enjoyment rolling off him when each pulse of his spark brought his field close
enough to teek.
Each gentle slide of glossa along sensor-rich plating sent a jolt of pleasure
through Jazz's systems, revving him up until he couldn't keep his spike
retracted any more when Prowl drew a finger into his oral cavity and began to
suck and lick it clean.
Prowl slowly pulled off the finger, his lip plates and glossa making the
passage a torturously slow and enticing one.
"You learned to do that tending these," Jazz didn't really ask and motioned to
his spike, mindful that ancient Praxian didn't have a glyph for it. His vents
were wide open, fans on full and his spark racing from the charge that simple
effort had created in him.
"Yes, Master," Prowl murmured before moving on to lick along another finger. He
wasn't going to correct the 'learned' glyph. It just wasn't worth it. Not when
Master was enjoying his attention so much. It felt good to do this, and Prowl
wasn't going question anything that felt good too much.
Jazz was trembling with charge by the time Prowl let his wrist go. Daring
greatly, he leaned forward until their chassis touched and pressed his lip
plates against his master's. When Jazz moaned and opened his mouth, Prowl
shivered at the full brunt the contact transferred to him. Without actually
thinking about it, he reached down to stroke his master's extended spike and
moaned at the way his master stiffened, then thrust into the touch.
Strong, slender silver fingers ran along Prowl's chest, playing with the
slatted vents there, then reached further back to his wings. As much as he
wanted to pull them away, he managed to hold them still enough. They quivered,
memories quenching the heat and charge in Prowl's systems far quicker than it
had built up. He pushed it all aside and focused on the kiss and stroking his
master's spike.
It was only a few more strokes and Jazz cried out sharply, a sound somewhere
between keen and scream as his frame locked up against Prowl's. The Praxian
continued until he felt Jazz begin to relax, then cautiously shifted back on
his haunches, watching the silver mech recover and waiting for orders. He had a
fair amount of transfluid covering him, but like other things, it was pushed
aside as not important. He wanted to clean up, but what he wanted was fairly
low on the priority tree.
"It looks good on you," Jazz purred, taking in his fluids sliding down his
pet's abdominal plates. It was nearly sixteen nanokliks before it registered
that he'd completely forgotten about his prisoner. He looked over at the worker
mech with a dispassionate expression before turning his focus to Prowl once
more. "Stormcloud. Would you enjoy hurting him?"
Prowl's wings flared slightly without his intention to display just how much he
liked the idea. The energon staining the prisoner's frame was enticing even
though his reserve tank was full and his primary was at 78%. He didn't need the
energon, but the scent and taste still excited him more than he understood.
Jazz smiled and leaned forward to kiss his pet's lip plates with a light nip.
"Then hurt him. Any way you desire that does not touch or extinguish his
spark."
With both Master's command and permission, Prowl eagerly leaned in to press his
mouth up the prisoner's neck where a trickle of energon had been leaking down
from a severed line--a minor one, but enough for the taste to coat his glossa
and fill him again with some of the intense hunger-pleasure that the hands on
his wings had chased away.
When he reached up and tore the thin neck plate back to fully expose the line
so he could bite down on it and the surrounding mesh of wires, Master's
immediate sure of pleasure and arousal brought back the rest. The sound that
the prey made was just a wonderful, engine-revving bonus.
"Please, I didn't mean anything," Ramble shuddered at the alien sensations of
pain and pleasure mixing. "Just talk."
"Talk is how revolts begin," Jazz rumbled. "Soundwave said your mind was too
willing to follow through."
Prowl paid barely any attention to the words, just enough to ping if Master
required something from him, because the hows and whys of this bound mech were
not nearly as comprehensible or interesting as the way the wires sparked where
he had torn through. The fresh wound caused a fresher surge of energon, still
hot from the internal systems, and Prowl tore an entire section of neck away in
his mouth with his eagerness to get to the source of the heat.
A larger line, one that he remembered biting through on other mechs, which had
always produced a glorious river of fuel and life, was his next target. This
line he punctured instead of ripping (because ripping had once wasted the
precious energon, when it came too fast) and sucked, shivering with pleasure at
the taste.
Under him the mech screamed, much as others had. Only this one couldn't move
much, and couldn't strike him. It was helpless and that was exciting too.
Ramble saw his energy levels dropping and the damage reports on his simple HUD,
but it didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. The sure of pleasure
that came with every bite and slice and rend to his frame held more of his
attention, and drove his fear higher far faster than the pain.
Prowl felt the fear as it flared up and growled against the mech, pushing
closer, needing more of it, and pulled his hands up along the frame. Plating
and wires tore easily under his claws and he felt the heated liquid dripping
down over them. He pulled back and raised one hand to his mouth to catch the
energon while watching his other slide into one of the cuts Master had made. He
twisted his wrist and worked the claw sideways, down into one of the more
sensitive nodes beneath the armor. When it made the mech twist, he pressed into
the wound harder, and then ripped right out, bringing a fairly large piece of
armor away with his hand. Sparks flew from the newly exposed area and Prowl
dove at it, sinking his denta into the mess and tearing back. His arousal
spiked up at the sound of the shriek and the feeling of a body struggling while
he tore at it.
Behind him, Master's approval was bright, white hot and intense against his
plating as Master's field flared and shared. Words of encouragement, of arousal
and desire, caressed Prowl's audios from the only voice he cared about.
Jazz moved about, watching with bright optics behind that black glass visor and
making no effort to hide his delight at what his pet was doing with such a
simple and open command. It was far more than he'd ever dared hope for. Even
his custom-built killers didn't have this kind of natural violence to them
without programming that the Praxian simply didn't have. No, this violence came
from the spark, nurtured by pain and given an outlet when he was part of that
cyberhound pack.
Oh, what a wondrous creature Jazz would have at his command when he was fully
matured.
Prowl's awareness of even Master faded, just a little, and was the only thing
that he bothered to note on a conscious level at this point other than the
squirming prey that made such unique sounds. He knew the pain sounds of a mech
being ripped apart, but something was different in these.
Supported from behind by Master's approval and arousal he was able to commit
himself entirely to the new game of hurting just to hurt. Without the desperate
need for fuel or the fear in fighting an enemy, the seemingly simple task of
stripping plating from chassis became unbelievably enjoyable, a comparative
luxury to what he'd done in the past.
Prowl sucked the wound until the energon no longer ran with the heat of a fresh
tear before he pulled away and worked his claws under the next cut, further in
towards the mech's stomach. With greater care this time, he peeled away the
thinnest layer he could manage, making a thinner wound than before, and ran his
glossa up the length. Hot and dripping and the mech made a low sound that had
Master pressing up behind him, fingers trailing over his helm and field pulsing
over him with approval and pleasure.
Shifting forward, Prowl pushed his claws up the chest, dipping in and out of
Master's cuts and adding his own over the crisscrossing lines. When he had
nearly reached the neck, he tore down, leaving gouges behind in the writhing
body that he immediately fell upon, lapping and biting. The taste pushed the
still novel but welcome arousal feeling higher and he had to sink his claws
into the mech's thighs to keep his hands up.
His engine raced, fans spun at top speed and his vents wide open. Yet despite
the full energy readings, his systems began to ping him to recharge. He didn't
want to recharge. He wanted to keep exploring this incredible feeling that came
with rending into a mech.
"Stormcloud," Master's voice broke through his hazy thoughts.
"Stormcloud," the voice was more firm and Prowl snapped his attention away from
his prey to his master. "You need to recharge. There will be others to play
with. Times we can draw this out for orns."
The promise of more helped Prowl draw back, secure in the knowledge that this
would not be the last. He licked the last of the energon clean from his claws
while he looked up at Master, who caressed his helm with approval.
With a kiss that smeared a bit of energon, Jazz nudged Prowl to settle into an
open spot in the far corner to recharge. "Sweet memory replays," Jazz purred,
watching his delightful pet curl into a surprisingly tight ball and shut down.
Then he turned his attention to the mech he was to kill. "You're lucky. I'm not
in the mood to draw this out. My new pet is far too enticing."
It didn't mean he wasn't going to fully enjoy himself in the meantime, though.
Jazz sank down into the deep, cold part of his processor that was quivering
with anticipation and desire. A hint of a dangerous smile was the only
expression he allowed through as he stalked forward and walked in a slow,
steady prowl around the bound mech, moving a little closer with each pass. He
surveyed the damage left by his pet, but most of his attention was on the way
Ramble's terror was slowly rising. Condemned low lives were predictable. They
could hold out for so long, but eventually the fear would break and crest and
crash down in a wave that left a nearly insane, quivering mess behind that was
consumed by desperation to live.
That was the moment Jazz sought. He stopped in front of the mech, stepped
forward, and leaned in. "Still though," he murmured into audio receptors. "I
want to make sure you have at least some fun before you're gone." His hand
crept lower, pricking at the seams around the interface panel for a moment
before continuing further down and sinking into the thigh. He clenched his fist
and twisted, tearing and crumpling the metal in his fingers. He ran his glossa
up the mech's cheek and then bit at the same moment that he tore his hand away.
Weaker facial plating broke easily and Jazz could only delight in the
frightened cry as the fear spiked higher.
"Please," Ramble whispered, his vocalizer spitting more static than glyphs. It
was debatable if he even grasped what he was pleading for.
It wasn't as if it mattered. He screamed. He tried to thrash. His pleas became
static and a flaring field that became erratic in its pulsing against Jazz's.
It was the finest thing Jazz knew. It was his indulgence. One of the primary
reasons he'd worked so hard for the rank he had. He had as many kills as he
wanted. There were always traitors. He never had to invent charges or kill a
mecha that didn't deserve it. His networks produced more than he could ever
handle on his own. Which meant he could indulge his favored agents with
executions to enjoy.
Smiling to himself while leaning back to look at the gaping wound in the mech's
face, Jazz was especially glad of that excess right now because he already knew
it would be an exquisite indulgence to watch his pet tearing mecha apart.
He offlined his optics for a moment and shifted forward to straddle Ramble's
lap. His systems were already running hot, and imagining a fully realized Prowl
having his way with any number of mecha, shredding, devouring....
Jazz shivered and slid his panel away. His valve was already dripping and his
spike eager to extend whenever he chose to release the command hold. He
rebooted his vision and gazed down at Ramble, who was shuddering in that erotic
mix of terror and unfamiliar arousal that Jazz so loved. "See this?" he purred,
and coaxed Ramble's helm to lower with deceptively gentle fingers while he
leaned back and lifted his hips up, letting the mech get a good look at his
valve.
Ramble whimpered as the viruses recognized the visual feed and triggered the
arousal response, opening the new array. The spike pressured, but only enough
for the tip to come out. Jazz liked to coax the rest himself.
"Good mech." Jazz pushed his helm back up to meet his gaze and lowered himself
to rub against the tip.
Ramble's optics irised wide as unfamiliar sensation feeds ran through his
processor.
Jazz's engines revved and he pulled his fingers down the side of the victim's
face in what could have been a gentle caress if he hadn't been pulling claws
through plating, leaving deep gouges behind. He grabbed Ramble's mouth in a
kiss and bit right through the bottom lip and the muffled scream against his
lips was accompanied by the complete extension of the spike.
Jazz couldn't keep his vocalizer from releasing a groan as he was filled.
Temperance knew him well and knew exactly what to install for his greatest
pleasure.
"There," he whispered, and tossed back, sinking his claws into Ramble's
shoulders to steady himself, engines upshifting as he started to move. He
dragged down the already-torn arms, clutching around the elbows when the spike
was almost completely out before pushing back down, gripping and twisting one
of the arms. The loud snapping of a joint was nearly drowned out by the
simultaneous moans from the two mecha.
The teek of Ramble arousal/terror spiked, the pleasure/pain mix intense from
his spike, a snapped elbow joint and virus-driven responses.
The jagged flare of pain wrapped around Jazz and his fans had to strain to
expel the rush of heat as he began riding the doomed mech. He loved the new
ones, loved to teach them what ecstasy was and give them a glimpse of what they
might have had in life if they had not betrayed the Prime. Show them and then
make sure they watched it all dissolve into the agony he so loved to cultivate.
"Feels good, right?" he said, voice tense with rising pleasure. "A hot, tight
valve around a hard spike?" It didn't even matter if this mech was too naïve to
understand dirty talk -- Jazz liked it, liked the way the glyphs sounded, liked
the memories they conjured.
Ramble's blue optics stared back up at him, shocked and wide and bordering on
the hysterical panic that Jazz wanted to draw out. He drew his claws back and
lifted his hands up to the mech's face, cupping it gently. With no more new
pain sensation incoming, the pleasure from Ramble's spike intensified sharply
and he cried out, back arching. He was fighting the overload, afraid of the
unknown charge that was trying to shoot through him.
Jazz groaned and shifted the angle of his hips again. "Let go," he crooned,
running his thumb right under the mech's eye, carefully avoiding the torn areas
of his cheek. "It feels--mm--so good to let go and spill." He gentled his
voice. "Spill in me, let me feel it..."
Ramble's frame locked with tension and he shouted loudly as the overload hit.
Jazz waited a beat, reveling in the sensations across their fields and the
glorious wash of hot transfluid deep into his valve in burst after burst that
lit sensors tuned to no other input. Then with the ease of long practice,
pushed his clawed thumb forward and pierced right beneath the optic. With a
precise twist of his wrist, he flipped his hand, curved his thumb, and pulled
the entire optic device right out.
Ramble screamed and his field tumbled from overload to pain to the frenzied
panic, causing jazz to shudder in bliss. His unsuccessful but terrified
attempts to get free pushed the spike in hard and Jazz dug claws and teeth in,
ripping and tearing as he shuddered in overload, valve clenching around the
spike. He froze while the charge finished clearing and came back revving to the
feel of Ramble's field hitting his own.
"Tell me you didn't enjoy that," Jazz purred, not sure if the panicking mech
could still comprehend his words, and not caring. He pressed a kiss to the torn
mouth, slid his glossa through the hot energon, and shuddered again as a series
of small shocks built and released from the taste alone. "Oh, just try to tell
me that wasn't wonderful." The spike retracted out from his valve and Jazz
hummed, pushing Ramble onto his back. He crawled forward and pressed their
frames flush, not at all concerned about how much energon was getting on him.
For a nanoklik, he entertained the idea of letting Prowl lick the energon away
when he was done and his pet awake, and tucked that away for later.
Ramble's single remaining optic was zooming in and out rapidly, trying to
compensate for the loss of the other and failing. This mech simply did not have
a high quality enough frame to have optics that could function independently
with any clarity.
He could still see Jazz, though, that much was clear from the way it tracked
his every movement, all through the wild rolling.
"I think I shall reward you for being such a dedicated pupil," Jazz said,
pushing his knees between Ramble's legs and spreading them, forcing the other
mech's apart. "Would you like that?"
Incoherent, near-insane whimpers were his only reply.
"I thought so," Jazz purred and allowed his spike to extend. "But first..." He
lifted one hand and dipped a claw into the empty optic socket, probing around
through the mess of wires and protoform, seeing if he could touch a processor
block inside. Ramble spasmed and shrieked, his body still trying to buck Jazz
off, weakly, since his energon levels were nearing a dangerously low point.
Jazz's claw reached its goal and Ramble's field pushed forward with an
overwhelming surge of horror when he realized what Jazz was doing and it hit
Jazz with an intensity was enough to push him into another overload. He moaned
and surrendered to the clawing field, letting it pummel him while he shook.
"Oh, but you have such sweet fear," Jazz all but gasped and in the last moments
of the surge, he pushed his spike into his prisoner's valve, not bothering to
be gentle even for his own sake.
Hot and tight, but completely dry--work of the virus--and Jazz scored all the
way in on the first thrust. It hurt, to push so fast into a dry valve, but that
only made Jazz enjoy it more. Unlike most mecha, Jazz knew how to enjoy his own
pain and delighted in doing so.
His little indulgences, his pleasures in life. Jazz groaned and the mech
beneath him screamed again, writhing, while the viruses matched the incoming
pain with equal part ecstasy. Jazz thrust forward, accompanying each new push
with some new type of surface damage--plating pulled off here, fresh wound
gouged there--and when he overloaded and spilled into the valve, it brought
Ramble with him.
Jazz had to take a moment to gather himself and he listened to the static
laced, insane noises coming from the mech beneath him. He rolled his hips,
spike still extended, and felt the valve now slick with his transfluid. It
brought a purr to his throat as he remembered his pet covered in the same
fluid, remembered Prowl's hand on his spike, so unexpected and pleasing. He
pushed again, replaying the memory of Prowl tearing into the same mech he was
spiking, hands easily seeking out the wounds his pet had left and pushing claws
in.
Just those memories of something so new and exciting had his engines revving
back up faster than Jazz would have thought they could anymore. Oh, he was
going to enjoy his pet, that was for certain. Until then... Ramble's desperate
screeches washed over him while he drove again and again into the writhing body
as it began to still. Only through sheer willpower did he manage to stall his
overload in time to focus on what he wanted to do next, the real point of all
this fun.
With anticipation so bright in his field he knew it was burning the flagging
awareness of his plaything, Jazz reached up and dug his claws into what was
left of Ramble's chest plates. Oh, he could have opened them by hacking, but it
was so much better when he ripped them apart. The surge to his actuators and
pistons, the pull of cables, and suddenly the spark chamber was there, gleaming
in front of him.
The bright blue spark shimmered, flickered, dancing in its cage as it lost
cohesion and began to unravel before Jazz's hungry gaze.
"Your deactivation will not be in vain," Jazz whispered, his voice that of a
dear lover to one giving up their spark to a greater cause. With tender care he
used his claws to score the chamber, causing Ramble to spasm despite the lack
of processor activity to understand what was happening.
A sharp downward strike fractured the chamber along the score, cleaving the
front third off and exposing the guttering spark inside. Jazz shuddered at the
spark instinctively reached for his fingers, the pure energy of life dancing
across his plating while he opened his chest plates. His spark reached out as
he moved his hand out of the way, tendrils reaching for the rapidly failing
spark of his plaything.
The back of his awareness noted that his pet was aware, optics on, and
watching. The rest of him was lost to the incomparable ecstasy of the merge, a
bliss that soon drew a scream from him as his spark gathered the entire failing
spark inside his own.
It was agony. It was bliss. It was death. It was the purest moment in a mecha's
existence.
It was Jazz addiction.
His entire frame shuddered as he felt each thread of energy dissolve inside his
spark and fade, leaving an empty feeling in him that radiated agony there were
no glyphs for. It was perfect, pure, utterly complete, and each thread rippled
through him the same way until there was only one left.
That one, bereft of its companions, headed the call of Jazz's spark to join in
the warm, living energy all around it.
It was only one thread, in itself it was nothing, but combined with the tens of
thousands of spark-threads Jazz had claimed in his lifetime, he had nearly
doubled the size of his spark. It had given him huge advantages over the vorns
as he could upgrade with ever more powerful additions to his processors and
special mods.
It wasn't why he did this, but it was a powerful incentive to continue.
None of that mattered to Jazz as his systems cycled into a hard reboot, the new
filament of spark energy requiring time off-line to integrate without errors.
***** Linguistic Trauma *****
Chapter by gatekat
Chapter Notes
     starsheild on LJ helped with the interface. Thank you.
Prowl booted up from deep medical stasis, a process that was far more common
than he cared to contemplate. He was looking forward to the results of this
round up updates. Master said that he was going to have new languages
installed, and be able to learn designations. It was an enticing concept
despite how much chaos it was likely to cause until he acclimated to the
changes.
He on-lined his optics to the familiar room in medical and the familiar
features of the chief-healer.
"Can you understand me?" she asked evenly in the common dialect.
There was a moment as Prowl had to route the information through the much more
complex linguistic tree he now possessed. "Yes."
"Good," her frame relaxed slightly. "My designation is Temperance. Try to file
that in long-term memory."
Prowl focused inward, attaching the designation next to her readings and
'chief-healer'. Then he purposefully purged it from his working memory and
attempted to look it up.
"Temperance," he looked up at her with a touch of surprise at just how much it
took to file and retrieve that bit of data. "I believe it worked." He spoke
slowly, but he spoke in common as it was the language he had been spoken to in.
Why that was important he wasn't sure, but it was how the linguistic protocols
were set up.
"Excellent," she brightened considerably. "That one's Jazz."
Prowl looked to where she had motioned. "Master," Prowl said.
"Jazz," she corrected him a bit sharply, causing Prowl to flinch.
"Master's designation is Jazz," Prowl phrased it in a way that indicated he had
the information but didn't cause him intense anxiety.
"I like him," Jazz grinned back. "And you're Prowl."
Prowl startled, but quickly settled. Why Master chose to call him something was
irrelevant. He was Prowl. He belonged to Jazz.
Yes, he could live with that quite well. He could always create a new
designation for himself if he felt the need.
"So I can finally get a real taste of him in the berth?" Jazz rumbled, his
entire frame radiating excitement.
"Yes, but do not go close to his spark," Temperance locked Jazz down with a
glare. "I mean it. Spark play could extinguish him."
Jazz tensed, his visor brightening as the optics behind it dilated. "You're
serious."
"Yes," she crossed her arms and stared at him. "Spark play will extinguish him
for at least another century. I've got medical locks on his chamber. Don't
override them."
"Right. Got it. No spark play. No overriding the medical codes," Jazz shifted
his tone, adding in harmonics of absolute willing compliance that almost no one
had heard from him.
Temperance relaxed significantly. "He's worth the work. Worth the wait. It's
only a couple centuries."
Jazz simply nodded, allowing his frame language and field to speak for him.
"Come Prowl."
"Don't forget his recharge needs. Don't push him like you would an agent," she
gave a final warning before they left.
===============================================================================
Jazz barely waited to reach his berthroom before allowing his field loose,
flaring it against Prowl's plating with the full impact of his lust. He was
very pleased with his pet's performance, from adapting to the new languages to
having his private designation become his public one without more than a
startled look. Both were marks of an excellent agent in the making. Jazz had
done very well with far less, and he was looking forward to when he could begin
Prowl's training in earnest.
For the next couple centuries however, it would be a milder much more intimate
training that dominated their time together. With a move that not even an
experienced warrior would have sensed coming, Jazz grabbed his pet and threw
him on the berth, then leapt on top of him, casually pinning the startled but
compliant mech on his back. He gave a pleased purr at the way Prowl simply
relaxed and went with it. The skill may have been learned under less than idea
conditions, but it was still a good skill to have.
"Do you know what I have planned?" Jazz trilled in ancient Praxian.
Strong dark hands came up to slide along Jazz's sides in a caress that was as
gentle as it was uncertain. "To interface until I drop into stasis, Master?"
Prowl didn't hide the appeal it held, even flaring his field enough for Jazz to
teek it clearly. Part of him still couldn't believe that he was looking forward
to this, and looking forward to it very much. The bulk of him accepted that the
new protocols and whatever other edits that had been made to him were a
desirable thing, however.
The silver mech shivered in anticipation. "Far more than that, my pet," he
promised, sliding far longer, stronger and sharper claws than the Praxian
possessed along Prowl's plating.
Without fear, Prowl pressed into the touch, flaring his light armor outwards to
open up his interior for contact. He was under no illusions that his armor
offered any protection from his master. It was even thinner than the worker's
armor he'd rended apart, and Master had much stronger claws. Yet Master hadn't
hurt him yet either. Quite the opposite. Master had been ... Prowl didn't even
have the glyphs for it. Linguistic centers provided suggestions in a dozen
dialects, but they all seemed inadequate or presumptuous.
"You're thinking too much," Jazz groused and stilled, but the harmonics were of
tolerant amusement more than irritation and his field teeked of the same.
"I'm sorry, Master," Prowl focused for a moment on shutting down his analytical
programs before shifting as much attention as he could to touching the sleek
silver frame above his. He'd never questioned where those programs came from,
or how inappropriate they were for his original function. They were simply part
of how he'd always been and they had yet to turn their nature on why they were
there.
"That's better," Jazz trilled, field and voice full of the approval he knew his
pet craved from him. He would have to work on Prowl's self-reliance, but for
now it meant he had that much less breaking to do to make his new agent ready
for training. "Hands over your helm."
The whine that escaped Prowl's vocalizer was involuntary; his arms moved
without hesitation, his left hand cupped in his right and centered directly
over his helm.
"Good pet," Jazz cooed, excited by the sight. He reached up and locked Prowl's
wrists to the berth, relishing the whisper of tension-fear that rippled along
Prowl's frame, and even more how his pet relaxed into it so quickly. He'd spent
centuries breaking mecha down to this point before. To have one with such
potential already at this stage was a gift from Primus he was not going to
waste.
Sharp claws ran down Prowl's frame, pressing just hard enough for the sensation
to register, leaving fine pressure lines of in their wake. Prowl moaned and
pressed into the sensation that wasn't quite pleasure but was definitely not
pain. Jazz smiled and trailed his claws with kisses and licks that drew more
delightful little sounds from Prowl along with enough heat to focus the
Praxian's desires.
In a silent request, Prowl spread his legs and allowed both interface panels to
slide open.
"So eager," Jazz's ventilations ghosted over Prowl's plating, causing him to
shiver. "You don't even know what is coming, and you want it, don't you."
"From Master, yes," Prowl moaned as cleaver fingers brushed along his spike,
causing his hips to jerk into the contact.
"Oh, my pet, you do know how to appeal to my nature," Jazz purred before his
fingers slid lower, moving to circle the thick layers of fine platelets that
surrounded Prowl's valve entrance and held the lubricant pooling inside the
valve from dribbling out.
"Master." Prowl moaned again, hips shifting to press against the touch that
both frightened and excited him. What was happening both pleased his master and
felt good to Prowl, a combination he had experienced rarely enough in his short
functioning to treasure it, and seek it.
Strong fingers circled inward, ruffling platelets so the lubricant began to
spill out, sliding down Prowl's plating and coating Jazz's fingers. The gentle,
circling touch continued until Prowl's vocalizer whined without his permission
and his vans kicked onto high.
"So lovely," Jazz purred before sliding one finger smoothly into his pet's
valve, a relaxed, easy motion given how slick and ready it was.
The motion earned him another sound of surprise from his pet, Prowl's frame
going stiff for a moment in response as new and very sensitive nodes fired in
the rim of his valve, sending an entirely new wave of pleasure through his
frame.
As soon as the shock passed his entire frame squirmed, seeking more of the
feeling and focusing hopefully on his master. Wonderful, new master.
Jazz smiled at him, his field full of pleasure at the response. With a
deepening purr he pressed the finger all the way in, working his wrist and
digit to stroke as much of the flexible, silicon rich metal-mesh valve walls as
he could.
For a moment Prowl tried to work through a proper response. Then the protocols
for what was happened fully surfaced and he simply gave them free rein. So far
master had been pleased when he had responded within these boundaries, and it
was so new and felt so good that Prowl found he really didn't care to think
much at the moment. He simple wanted to feel.
And feel he did, moaning and whimpering as his valve was stimulated, quivering
as the calipers there cycled down around the invader, increasing the contact
and in turn the pleasure from each motion and touch. He was still fully tuned
to Master's responses, keeping tabs on whether he was pleased.
The invader withdrew, only to press forward again with a second finger next to
it, increasing the size of the penetration.
"Master." Prowl whimpered again, hips rising to meet the invaders and voice and
field full of desire and want that he was no longer able to keep completely
buried. There was a rising edge of fear there too, with the charge building in
his system and the unsureness of what he was supposed to do with it, the fear
of giving in to it and his master's reaction.
"It's nothing to fear, my pet," Jazz trilled, almost cooing his reassurance as
he began to thrust his fingers smoothly, rotating his wrist to rub them along
different portions of the valve wall as they moved. "This is pleasure. It gets
so much better than this too."
The reassurance was enough, Prowl's frame arching off the berth and into his
masters as Jazz's fingers found a deeper set of sensors and the sudden pleasure
triggered a cascade reaction through his pet's frame.
For a moment Prowl's processor was overwhelmed, thoughts of his master and the
outside world lost momentarily as pleasure whited out everything else in his
awareness. He came back to awareness to the sensation of a wonderfully hot
frame, hazy pleasure ... and a deep moan as the sensation of movement and
fullness inside him was suddenly tenfold what it had been.
It took another moment for Prowl to organize himself enough to work out that
his master was now fully on top of him and thrusting his hips against him. Each
time they came together, the rush of pleasure was dizzying.
"So wonderfully tight," Jazz's voice was thick with static and lust. "Waited so
long to feel you around my spike."
Prowl moaned as much from the approval as the pleasure already building again.
While the words meant little to him, actions spoke volumes. Master was pleased
with him. Master was very pleased with this. If this was what it took to
please, Prowl decided, he would gladly spend entire orns in service.
Jazz's visor was bright as he thrust, smooth and even, drawing the pleasure out
as long as he could. It was exquisite in a way skill could never compare to, in
no small part that it would only happen once for a mecha. Bracing one hand by
Prowl's side, he lifted the other to his pet's lips. "Lick them clean."
The response was eager, if a bit clumsy as Prowl angled his helm, glossa
slipping out to curl gently around the first digit in reach. The taste was
different from anything he had ever experienced, rich and mingled with that of
his master.
His glossa ran the length of the first one, cleaning it slowly and relishing
the approval of his master before he moved on to the second one. This time he
stretched farther, working to take the finger into his mouth. It pressed in
eagerly, much as it had in his valve; Jazz knowing exactly how far he could go
without causing discomfort.
"Yes, my pet," he moaned, trembling at the visual of his finger being licked
clean, then the other disappearing into a mouth that would soon be so very
talented.
Lips closed around Jazz's finger, Prowl's optics taking on a blissful light as
he sucked the finger clean, glossa working the length and Prowl purring at the
taste and repeated approval. Later he would remember this, startled at what he
had learned, but for the moment the pleasure of his frame and of pleasing his
master was foremost in Prowl's processor.
When Jazz pulled his finger back Prowl have a tiny sound of protest at the
loss, but in exchange for the loss he felt Jazz shift, bracing both his hands
alongside Prowl's lower chassis and changing the angle of the penetration.
Entirely new sensor nodes lit as primary, drawing a ragged moan from him as the
charge dancing across his circuits.
"Feels good, doesn't it my pet?" Jazz groaned, his pace picking up as his own
charge rose to the point he could no longer ignore it.
"Yes Master, yes." Prowl moaned, frame moving to meet the motion of Jazz's
thrusts as much as his restrained state would allow. The charge was even
stronger this time, more intense as already primed nodes fired along with the
newly reached ones multiplied the charge the dancing through and across his
frame to deteriorate what little conscious awareness Prowl had left.
Master's voice faded when a burst of charged fluid rushed into Prowl's valve,
reaching nodes deep inside that seemed to explode with the charge of desire.
The gray mech screamed into a sharp, high keen, frame locking for a second time
as Prowl was overrun with a flood of burning energy that was so intense later
he would wonder that it hadn't caused pain or damage.
Slowly, far too slowly, Prowl regained awareness. His frame was still
delightfully warm, as was the smaller frame snuggled against him. It was a
moment before he realized his hands were free.
"Recharge, my lovely pet," Master's voice was drowsy, content and rich with
approval. "You still need a lot."
"Yes Master." Prowl mumbled in agreement, arms moving slowly as he stretched
them out, just now registering the slightly strained feeling in his limbs and
not really caring as he settled more fully on the berth and allowed his systems
to shut down for the full, peaceful recharge that he knew this kind master was
offering.
***** Testing Patience *****
Chapter by gatekat
Chapter Summary
     Let's see: more no-name snuff, violent BDSM towards Jazz and a very
     distressed Prowl rather sum up this chapter.
     Another chapter co-written with vaevade
     And it's long.
Prowl came online gradually to soft flickers of pleasure along his frame. His
vocalizer purred along with his engine before he was fully aware, but both
sounds deepened when he realized it was because Master was stroking his
plating. The memory file of just before he fell into recharge caused him to
check where his arms were. He was half surprised to find them at his sides, one
curled lightly along Master's back.
Allowing his optics to power up, Prowl shifted the arm along Master's back to
stroke him while he watched what the sleek silver minibot was doing to him.
"Good, you're aware again," Jazz grinned down at his pet, his touch shifting in
intention from light, explorative caresses to more firm touches intended to
bring arousal. "I'm looking forward to when your spark is mature enough to keep
you awake longer," his fingers slid down to Prowl's spike cover. It slid open
immediately, though that was only a reflex to Master's desire. The spike was
still fully inside the housing.
"You have the most delicious spike," Jazz purred as his fingers played teasing
circles around the sensitive housing.
Prowl's vents hitched and he moaned, his hips rolling up into the touch.
"Master," his voice whispered, trembling with memories of pleasure he still had
little ability to understand.
"You say the best things," Jazz grinned before lowering his mouth to trail his
glossa around housing. Prowl moaned and rolled his hips into the touch once
more as the locks on the spike disengaged, allowing it to spike smoothly
forward into that enticing pleasure. Slowly Jazz teased the length out and to
full pressurization, then pulled away. He grinned at his pet's inadvertent
whine.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to leave you hanging," Jazz chuckled as he smoothly
shifted to straddle the larger mech's hips. "I just want you inside me first."
Prowl shuddered, his optics wide and bright as he watched his master slide down
around his spike, gradually taking the thick, spiraled length into the much
smaller frame. The slick, hot pressure all around that incredibly sensitive
length, the way it clung to every curve of his spike drew a yowl of pleasure-
shock from the Praxian as his hips bucked up and his hands grabbed for Jazz's
hips.
Jazz allowed the grab as he tossed his helm back and focused all his attention
on the way it felt to have his pet driving up into him. "Yes," he whispered,
putting careful, gentle hands over Prowl's as he rocked his hips forward in
response, sinking down completely and holding there for a moment. "Remember
this, pet, remember every detail of how this feels."
Prowl's vents stalled, then hiccupped to life to whir much faster. He struggled
to drag enough attention away from his spike and the fluctuating pressures
around it sending zaps of electrical pleasure into his frame's core to
acknowledge his master. He soon gave up on making his vocalizer spit out the
glyphs and nodded.
Jazz hummed and accepted that response. If he reached far back enough, he could
remember how the first time had felt, and it showed an amazing amount of
dedication and subservience on Prowl's part that his pet was able to pull
enough of his attention away from the sensation to even nod. He shifted his
weight forward, placing his hands on Prowl's chest, and lifted his hips up,
sliding almost all the way off the spike before pushing back down. He moved
slowly, wanting to draw the experience out for both of them.
Strong fingers flexed around his hips, trembling in the effort not to grab and
hold. Prowl's field was thick around him, stretching out far enough to latch
onto Jazz's in a frantic bid to share how this felt. The waves of energy
crashed over Jazz from below him, suffusing his field with the bliss he was
causing and how much his pet wanted to please him in this. In that field was
also the undeniable truth that Prowl had nowhere near the skill or endurance to
last long enough to drive his master to overload. At least not on the first
round. Which was fine, Jazz thought with a hint of a grin as he looked down at
the Praxian's features. Lost to pleasure, Prowl was absolutely exquisite. It
was a sight Jazz was going to love getting used to, and he looked forward to
teaching his pet how to best pleasure him. He certainly had the equipment for
it.
A particularly deep hit pulled Jazz's attention down and he shivered as he
rocked on the spike, getting to know its curves and textures, learning the best
angle to push from. Beneath him, he could feel Prowl's charge growing and the
ecstatic pleasure mixed with the wonder of newness his pet's field made him
moan. He squeezed his valve walls around the delicious stretch and texture as
he moved up.
The rest happened so fast even Jazz was startled.
With nothing by way of warning in his field or frame, Prowl's hands suddenly
tightened on Jazz's hips as his optics lost focus. Hips strong enough to dent
Jazz when combined with a strong grip jerked upward, off pattern, only to fall
a fraction and drive upwards again with a roaring keen and explosion of charged
transfluid, thick and hot, into the layered nest of sensors at the top of
Jazz's valve.
Jazz's fingers tightened and looked for any kind of purchase as he was tossed
up with the force of Prowl's thrust, but the Praxian's grip was more than
enough to keep him steady. The fluid and charge hit him unprepared and he shook
with delighted surprise, keeping the presence of mind to flex his valve walls
and cycle his calipers in a complex pattern around the spike as Prowl
overloaded, giving his pet as much pleasure as he knew how.
It hadn't been nearly enough to make him overload, but it still left him
trembling with unexpected pleasure. His vents were wide open and fans at full
strength when he saw and felt Prowl begin to perceive reality outside of the
searing, white-hot bliss that had locked his frame up in a cascade of unguided
energy. Those strong hands flexed, the fingers stroking along Jazz's hips where
he'd been held. It was a moment before Jazz realized that Prowl was checking
for damage, trying to determine what he'd done in those nanokliks of oblivion
that was a good overload.
Then Prowl began to thrust again, this time far more focused on what he was
doing. It was impossible to miss the tiny sounds he made as his hyper-
sensitized spike began to move inside his master once more.
"Oh, pet," Jazz gasped and pushed his pleasure and approval of Prowl's response
and rapid refocusing into his field. He settled back into the rhythm that Prowl
was setting and held his weight on his arms again, leaving his hips free to
move. With the heat and charge of the transfluid running through his valve,
mixing with his own lubricant, the thrusts were smooth and blissful. Jazz
allowed himself to focus on the wonderful stretch and friction, taking Prowl's
careful attention as the gift that it was.
Under him, Prowl trembled in pleasure, but kept his focus on pleasuring his
master as well as he could. He had nothing to compare this sensation to. It was
both intense pleasure and maybe pain, and he had no idea how to classify it.
Yet his master not only approved, but was very pleased, so it was good.
Daring, so very daring, Prowl lifting one hand to stroke along Jazz's back to
put just a tiny amount of downward pressure on his shoulders, even as he used
his sensor wings to help lift himself up.
Jazz arched into the touch, only vaguely aware of it as most of his focus had
shifted down to the way the spike felt as it moved inside him. He felt Prowl
push himself up and then caught the flicker of a daring hopefulness in his
pet's field and realized that he wanted something, but was hesitating to take
it. Jazz was already pleased beyond belief that his pet would work through the
discomfort of an over-sensitized spike just to pleasure him without even a hint
that he needed to do so, and he wanted to encourage any amount of self-
confidence that he could.
"You must take what you want," he murmured. "Until I tell you otherwise, you
must take whatever you want. Do you understand?"
"Yes Master," Prowl gasped before relaxing his frame to the berth and pulling
Jazz down the rest of the way. Their mouths met, Prowl's lip plates parted to
slide his glossa along his mate's. Despite the requirement to focus on far more
parts of his frame, his hips never lost rhythm.
Jazz was surprised but hid it easily and pushed into the kiss, running gentle,
talented fingers over Prowl's neck and shoulders, humming with approval. The
new position put Prowl in almost complete control of their movement and Jazz
pushed his hips up and back, spreading his legs out as fully as he could. He
moaned, their mouths still pressed together, as his pet continued to pleasure
him with the enthusiasm and joy of a truly subservient creature. That, more
than anything, was what made Jazz start to shake harder with his pet's thrusts.
Prowl's joy at his master's submission flared brightly between them, but even
richer in his field was his joy-pleasure that he could bring his master such
pleasure even after his own too-quick overload. His glossa stroked Jazz's, a
dance he had learned well in the previous decaorn, while his hands stroked and
rubbed along Jazz's finely polished finish. One remained close to Jazz's aft,
ensuring that each stroke went deep, while the other roamed Jazz's upper back
and shoulders, then caressed the back of his neck, exploring the multitude of
cables with both care and excitement.
His systems were beginning to reset, allowing the touch and tight heat to once
more be easily recognized as the pleasure from before. Only this time Prowl had
far more control over himself to keep his motions smooth and long.
Jazz arched and shivered at the fingers stroking over his neck, thrilled at the
bravery his pet was showing with just that small motion. "Good," he managed to
force from his vocalizer. "So, so good, my pet..." It was getting harder to
speak, with most of his conscious awareness being more and more overwhelmed by
the Praxian's thrusts and touches. The feeling of Prowl's field refilling with
pleasure only made it better as Jazz's echoed back and the two mixed, pulsing
and entangling. Jazz gripped the larger frame, wholly giving himself up to the
contact.
He felt the intense rush of excitement-pleasure from his pet's field, the joy
at pleasuring him to this point. A finger reached up, along the dome of his
helm, to caress a sensor fin as the kiss deepened once more. Prowl was
willingly taking charge and appearing dominant, yet his pure focus was on
pleasing his master by doing so, not on pleasing his own frame.
Just that simple touch on his sensors pushed Jazz over the edge and, held there
in his pet's hands, submitting to his slow, smooth thrusts, he fell into the
crackling charge of overload, grabbing hold of Prowl and clenching his valve
around the spike as he pushed back, shouting and arching up. Under him Prowl
groaned, his thrusts picking up speed and strength as the pleasure became a
maelstrom in him.
Even as Jazz's overload began to taper off, he felt the short, hard, jagged
thrust of a spike overload in its first stage. Prowl's arms tightened around
him, the larger frame trembling as he roared and drove his spike deep, grinding
their arrays together as burst after burst of hot, thick transfluid rushed into
Jazz's valve, pushing into openings and reaching sensors that were designed
specifically to catch a lover's overload spill and trigger a responding
cascade.
It caught Jazz pleasantly off guard that he could still be charged enough to
overload again and he gasped, riding the wave along with his pet, whose fingers
had clenched back down around his hips. This one was less intense but no less
enjoyable and when it tapered off, Jazz slumped forward, his cooling systems
sucking in air to cycle through his heated frame. Under his fingers, the
Praxian trembled and stroked his hips again, as careful as before in checking
that he'd done no damage in his pleasure.
"Good," Jazz finally said, recovering himself a little more, and the word was
woefully inadequate to describe Prowl's performance. There was a very fine
line, in some ways, between a dominant and a submissive who would dominate in
order to please, and Prowl was definitely and intuitively the latter. It was a
skill that Jazz could teach if he had to, but to find it so naturally strong
... this mech had more raw promise than any he'd worked with in ages.
Briefly Jazz thanked Primus and the Prime for such an exceptional start to an
agent and lover. He was already sure that this one, like Whiplash, would hold a
special place in his spark and command. There was so much that was right, the
few noticeable flaws would be smoothed over with experience, while training
would shape Prowl into something the entire empire feared without knowing his
designation or frame.
Oh, it was going to be wonderful to behold, a giddy joy to craft, and the
deepest pleasure to possess.
He lifted himself up off the spike, shivering as it pulled past hypersensitized
platelets. Prowl watched him with bright, attentive optics that were still just
a touch out of perfect focus. "That was very good, pet," Jazz said, enunciating
his words with a purr from his engines and a warm flare in his field filled
with the depth of his approval that glyphs simply could not convey. The
answering flare was a joy so intense it drew a low, ragged moan from Jazz's
chassis and he leaned in and gave Prowl another kiss, slow and lingering. "I
have a treat for you," he whispered, and without any further explanation, swung
off of Prowl and stood up, knowing without looking that his pet would follow
him.
===============================================================================
Showered, clean and recharged with Prowl in the same state, Jazz lead Prowl
down into the winding depths of the underground, deep into the endless maze of
halls and rooms. He'd had just the perfect frame type set aside and he was
looking forward to this test. From all indications, Prowl should pass with
flying colors, so Jazz was really more curious about originality and technique
than anything else.
He stopped in front of a room and palmed the pad to open it. The door slid back
and Prowl followed him in, his field too small to read, as usual. Still Jazz
could pick up the flare of excitement the moment Prowl had realized where they
were going from the mech's sensor wings. That twitching excitement only grew
stronger the closer they got to these doors.
In the middle of the room was a fully-repaired green and blue mech, strung-up
by his wrists, his thrusters and weapons deactivated, left to hang helplessly.
A Seeker, a frame-type with wings that were incredibly sensitive, and when
grounded like this one was, vulnerable. On the walls surrounding him were
dozens of different instruments, hanging in various categories, ranging from
simple blunt tools to incredibly complex devices that did everything from
freezing plating to the shattering point to sucking a spark clean out of a
frame. Jazz allowed himself a smile, then turned to Prowl. He smiled darkly at
the flex of anticipation in those sensor wings and the way ice blue optics
locked on the helpless mech.
"Kill him, as slowly and painfully as you can," Jazz purred with a deep,
anticipatory rumble of his engine.
"Yes Master," Prowl's plating shivered in an outward expression of just how
much he was looking forward to this.
"You will break at least every four joors for energon and recharge," Jazz added
belatedly. "No angering Temperance."
"Understood, Master." Prowl nodded, flaring his sensor wings wide in a display
of dominance common to all winged frametypes as he stalked forward to circle
his prey.
Jazz stepped back, enjoying the way the Seeker's red optics widened and fixed
on the Praxian's frame, and leaned against the wall, settling in comfortably to
watch. His dark visor glinted as he shifted his optics to watch Prowl circling,
sizing up the dangling mech, looking at him from all angles.
Reading his playing field, instead of just diving right in. And, if the way his
focus was shifting and changing, looking for vulnerabilities. Promising.
The Seeker dipped his wings down submissively and fearfully in response to
Prowl's aggressive flare. He could read power and danger when he saw it.
Prowl's optics tracked the motion with sharp interest and the Seeker trilled
imploringly to the other winged mech, accompanying the sound by a further
tucking in of his wings behind his back, a last-ditch plea for some kind of
mercy.
Whether it was for the mercy of a quick death or to totally spare his life was
hard to say, and depended on how intelligent he was.
Prowl rumbled in response, the low and aggressive vibration of a grounder.
"Master wishes you to end slowly," Prowl leaned in to whisper in the Seeker's
audial, but his optics were on Jazz. His hands slid along the tucked wings, a
touch light enough to be a caress. "You will scream for us," he tightened the
cables and powered up hydraulics in his hands until he felt finely tuned wing-
metal cave under his fingers.
The Seeker had whimpered at the light touch, optics moving over to look
fearfully at Jazz, correctly assuming that he was "Master," but when Prowl
crushed his wing, he screeched and twisted. "B-but!" he cried. "I--I haven't--
it was only--"
Pale blue optics flicked to Jazz, watching, performing for the minibot. Prowl's
glossa slid along an audial spire at the same time his hands closed a little
tighter. "It doesn't matter what you did. Master has condemned you."
The Seeker whined, a high, desperate noise and he made the same trilling noise
again, but this time it was definitely a plea for a quick death, trying
frantically to appeal to any part of Prowl that might feel sympathy for a mech
that, while not quite kin, was still closer than the quicksilver one leaning so
casually against the wall.
Prowl chuckled, a sound more from his engine than his vocalizer as his claws
finally penetrated the wings, driving his fingers slowly through the thin metal
skin, the dense mat of sensory filaments below, through the thin piece of
protoform and out the other side until he made a fits through each wing, his
claws curled against his palm plates. The Seeker arched and his wings
instinctively tried to flare away from the damaging grip, only serving to make
the damage worse as he struggled. He cried out again, then moaned as any last
hope of mercy drained out of his frame, making him go completely lax in the
chains.
His gaze locked on Jazz, Prowl pulled the Seeker back and licked at his throat
cables from behind, then bit down hard enough to draw the first dark pink pearl
of processed energon. The chemicals hit his sensors and Prowl shuddered into a
moan nearly as intense as when he was buried deep in his master.
His victim heard the sound and it made him shudder with more than just pain as
he realized exactly how much this mech was going to enjoy his execution. He
wailed when that word went through his processor and couldn't keep his fear
from spiking. He didn't want to die, but far more, he didn't want to die like
this, chained up and tormented until his frame couldn't be kept functioning
anymore.
"Such lovely wings," Prowl murmured, just loud enough for Jazz to hear clearly
over the protesting screech of metal, sensor filaments and protoform as he
tested if he had the strength to force his hands along that top wing edge until
they came out the tip. "I should have had real wings, like these. My spark is
Seeker, kindled for flight, to own the skies. Instead you have them," he
hissed, forcing anger he didn't really feel to flare his field outwards and
envelope the Seeker's back as he torn through wings with the slow force needed
not to hurt himself. "Maybe if I please Master enough, he'll give me wings
again."
"Maybe so," Jazz purred, and cocked his head slightly and gave an approving
rumble and flash of a grin while the Seeker thrashed and whined. The victim's
name was Shard, but Jazz didn't care whether or not Prowl knew that. Some of
the agents he'd trained had hesitated in their first execution upon learning a
designation, but Prowl quite obviously didn't even care if this mech was
completely innocent. Master had ordered, and so Prowl did.
"Then--then we are nearly kin," Shard was saying, forcing the words out past
the sharp bursts of static that Prowl's claws were creating. "Mercy, Primus,
mercy!"
Prowl paused, a look of concentration on his features for a brief moment before
he resumed, turning his fingers sideways so his claws did more of the work in
cutting the wings. "He is the one to give mercy, not me."
The Seeker keened in pain as energon seeped from the gouges in his wings, still
squirming uselessly. He could feel the minibot's focus on him and shrieked in
sudden fury of his fate. "Who are you to condemn me while you enjoy watching my
death!" he screeched, kicking uselessly back at Prowl, who barely noticed, too
focused on what he was doing.
Jazz only smiled and looked amused. "Seekers," he said. "Plagued by an
incessant need to talk." He tilted his helm and looked at Prowl, purring in
approval of the way he was focused on his claws tearing through the metal and
protoform and his pet's general lack of need to talk. "Lovely, my pet," he
praised, watching as Prowl lit up in pleasure at it. It was another reminder
that this was going to be one of those few cases where positive reinforcement
was going to be much more valuable a tool in training that punishment.
Prowl thrived on praise, and even without spark contact, Jazz had seen enough
of his pet's processors to know it was spark-deep.
Slowly those claws tore their way out of the wing-tips, causing Prowl to falter
slightly at the sudden lack of resistance, but he recovered quickly and
considered the wings of the whimpering Seeker before him. Energon ran down the
flat planes in steady streams and Prowl leaned in to run his glossa up the
surface, catching one of the trickles. It made his processor hazy with
pleasure. With a malicious grin, he grabbed the frame-side edge of one wing in
his hands, steadied it, and torn off the section that he's almost cut off. The
flier's helm snapped back and his vocalizer released a shocked burst of static
with his screech. Prowl dropped the piece in his hand unceremoniously and
grabbed the other shaking wing, repeating the action. With his victim crying
and thrashing, he caught both shoulder-mounts, slid his hands outward just
enough to leave them intact, and drove a clawed finger into the interior of
each wing, slicing and scooping out protoform and wires as he pushed further
outward.
Shard shook with involuntary spasms and twitches as wire couplings and
circuitry were torn away, mewling pitifully. "Not my wings," he sobbed, unable
to stop himself, and knowing that pleas were useless here.
Jazz grinned cruelly, thoroughly enjoying watching his pet destroy the very
wings he'd been denied.
"You'll never need them again," Prowl hissed with a hard bite to the side of
Shard's neck. "Not until your Primus gives them back to you."
Shard whined sharply and still fought to twist his frame away from the Praxian
as more of his wing's internals were slowly gutted, whimpering incoherently.
Jazz's optics narrowed with interest behind his visor. That was the second time
Prowl had acted oddly with Primus's name--the first time, not seeming to
recognize it when Shard had cried for mercy, and now, apparently having no
knowledge of who he was.
Prowl caught the look, or caught something in his master's shift and stilled
for a fraction of a nanoklik before focusing on his prey once more, licking the
bite he'd made. "Do you know how lucky you are, that Master gave you to me?"
Prowl whispered to Shard, digging his claws in deeper until his finger was a
full joint deep inside the wings' shredded top edge.
"Lucky?" Shard screeched, even as he desperately tried to fan his wing away
from the invasive touch. "Pit-spawned--nng--sadist! Fragging--aah!--wingless
groundkisser!"
To the side, Jazz made sure to keep his smile and field full of approval, not
wanting to give Prowl reason to hesitate, and very curious to hear what his
pet's answer to that was going to be.
It was a deep, genuinely angry growl and claws dug in deeper, piercing and
tearing metal skin as Prowl tore his hands free and stalked around to grab the
Seeker's jaw and pull him close, causing both shoulder joints to twist and
screech in objection. "Yes, lucky. Master could keep you alive for vorns if it
suited him. I'm not nearly so skilled. An orn, two if I'm lucky."
Jazz privately calculated that it was unlikely to be more than a few joors, but
he did give credit to his pet for grasping the gap in their skills and giving a
respectable difference. Accuracy of his own abilities and limits would come
with experience. This was a good start, inaccurate as it was.
"Master also has tastes that I have not yet learned," Prowl continued when the
Seeker balked and whimpered at the promise of orns of this. "I enjoy the pain
and flowing energon," he smiled viciously. "Master enjoys your terror. Master
knows how to twist your programming." He let go with a gentle caress, an effort
to mimic what he'd witnessed in previous executions; mixing pain and pleasure,
tender and savage. It was exhilarating in a way, though it was not as intense
as completely letting go and simply shredding an enemy.
Jazz didn't bother to stop the grin from splitting his face as he watched Prowl
trying to mimic his own style. Privately, he suspect that when the Praxian was
fully realized, he would still prefer blunt savagery, but it was impressive
that he was trying out strategies contrary to his nature, and even, if his face
and movements were any indication, enjoying them.
Shard's optics moved wildly between Jazz and Prowl, his wings shaking in
protest to the damage they'd taken. He was going to die, right here, there was
no way to escape and the two grounders possessed an insanity he could not hope
to bend. If the Praxian was to be believed, though, he was fortunate he was not
in the hands of the minibot.
Desperately, processor almost crashing as he followed a thought on how to bring
on his own termination sooner, he realized that the Praxian definitely seemed
more unstable, and that...
He whined again as he realized what he was about to do, and the reaction he
hoped to prompt. He gathered his strength and hissed, forcing his wings to
rattle. "Filthy grounder," he spat out. "You never deserved to have wings,
thank Primus they were taken from you!"
Prowl's wings trembled with sudden indescribable emotion and he lashed out with
a primal snarl against the filthy condemned creature who would dare say that to
him, racking new combat-grade claws across the Seeker's face. They tore open
the thin armor and complex plates, ripping right through the lip components,
daring the mech to speak to him like that again. The other hand pierced one
optic and shredded through the cheek and down to the neck before both sets of
claws then slashed down, tearing into chest plates with no regard to the bulk
of the mech's function-sustaining components that rested beneath them, opening
the body up to attack.
Shard released a guttural scream and arched his back, sobbing. "Ground-kisser!"
he managed to bite out. Jazz straightened, optics brightening and his frame
tensing as he watched the Seeker more carefully.
Fury blinded Prowl's senses as he grabbed the Seeker's throat and crushed
inward, puncturing outer plating and straining wires, though not using enough
strength to kill. He tested his grip, and then with a hard fling that put all
his hydraulics and cabling strength to the test, Prowl smashed the Seeker's
face to the ground, oblivious to the fact that it only worked because the
chains in this room were coded to respond to his desires to move the prisoner.
Shard shrieked in shock and pain, fingers reaching wildly out, trying
pointlessly to stop the disorienting fall before he groaned hard at the impact.
Following the motion, Prowl coiled onto the Seeker's back, tearing at wings
indiscriminately, ripping into the plating as deeply as he could and tattering
every flat plain in sight, flinging energon and metal and wire back. The heated
smell of spilled energon made him growl and shred with a wonderfully familiar
ferocity, and it caused such wonderful screams to spill from the vocalizer of
the insolent, insulting Seeker.
Jazz watched carefully, a little annoyed that a chatty Seeker had managed to
provoke such an obvious reaction, but reminded himself that no matter how much
raw talent Prowl possessed, it was still barely refined. Ignoring obvious
taunts was something that could be learned. Still, if it weren't for the fact
that Prowl was doing such an excellent job of torturing the Seeker on his own
even now, Jazz would have liked to step in himself to punish him. But he stayed
where he was, observing every bit of damage that Prowl inflicted.
Finally, there was nothing left of the once-proud Seeker's wings but tattered
scraps flung about the room. Shard had been reduced to a quivering,
incoherently moaning mess beneath the now energon-coated Prowl. The Praxian
snarled when he realized there was nothing more of the wings to destroy, looked
his victim up and down, and sank his claws deep into the Seeker's back. He
pulled, tearing the bulk of the plating off in a single, violent movement that
made Shard spasm and scream, arching up with a violent, agonized shudder. Prowl
raised a hand, set to strike, pale optics wild and nearly white in killing-
lust.
That was enough, Jazz decided. He took one step forward. "Prowl. Still."
The Praxian snarled, a sound directed more at the mech beneath him and
frustration in general than his master, but he stilled. His entire frame
trembled, his sensor wings wide, their three fingers, normally seamlessly
locked together, flared wide and flickering lightly with a charge that danced
between them. Prowl tore his gaze away from his kill and locked onto his master
with difficulty, using his wings' passive sensors more than his optics to
locate the smaller mech. The snarl was still on his features, his plating
flaring in and out in an effort to vent, but not one of his struts so much as
quivered.
"Time for a break," Jazz said firmly, stepping over and caressing Prowl's helm.
The moment he touched, he caught hints of the emotions in his pet's field and
realized that the anger, or at least the display, wasn't what he thought it
was. Yes, it was a killing rage, but the rage was directed inward, turned on
the Seeker for some other reason. Yet also in that touch, and the way Prowl
leaned into it, submissive and content with a quickly cooling temper, told him
something even more important.
Even in a full killing rage, his pet was his to command and happy to be at his
side. A snarl meant nothing when the frame froze on command and the field
expressed such desire for his master's nearness.
It was a priceless piece of knowledge, a foundation of a lifetime of training,
and reason enough to purr. As Prowl all but melted into the contact and sank to
his knees against his master, Jazz pulled the chevron helm in to rest against
his front while he stroked. "You are doing very well. You must remember to make
him linger."
"Yes, Master," Prowl murmured, his optics dimming in contentment but well aware
that it was a correction. "I will do better."
"I have no doubt," Jazz smiled with a touch of softness in his field. It was
true as well, and Jazz knew it was not because Prowl feared, but because Prowl
desired to please him. It was a delicious thing to feel and know.
With a thought back to what he first felt in Prowl's field, he slid a thick
connector cable from his lower chassis and quickly patched himself into one of
the data cables in Prowl's neck. While Prowl's firewalls were now far stronger
than when he arrived, upgraded by both Temperance and Jazz, they dropped all
the way down to Prowl's core code the moment Jazz was recognized.
He'd have to work on that a bit before turning Prowl loose in the real world,
but for now it was a good thing. He glided into active memory and tracked back
to when the Seeker first insulted Prowl. There, a flash of anger that Prowl
found as confusing as he did exhilarating. The slash across Shard's face had
been in retaliation, but Prowl wasn't enraged yet. He was barely angry, and
even as he struck there was a detachment from his emotions and the social
protocols that linked the form before him with a person, or even an animal.
Then the rage flared, hot and blinding, but it was a rage at himself, at
lashing out, and suddenly the disconnect from his social protocols, protocols
that handled most emotional input, were a determent. When the rage flared,
there was nothing to keep it in check and Prowl directed the rage at self
towards the most appropriate target: the one who caused it.
With a thought, Jazz shifted to his pet's real-time thoughts and pointed his
face towards the remains of the Seeker.
Food/provide/pleasure/energon/food/excitement/provide/kill/energon/food/
provide....
Jazz hummed to himself and tucked that information away as interesting. More
than anything, when Prowl looked at the mech on the floor, he saw a source of
energon. He certainly wasn't seeing a sentient being, or even a living being,
not on his most instinctive levels. Pleased with that, if not with the tendency
to savage a bit too quickly that it created, Jazz disconnected and looking down
at the quivering wreck of a Seeker.
Without wings, Shard looked much smaller than before, and his back was soaked
with energon that continued to seep out of Prowl's gouges. He nudged the heap
with his pede, unable to help his grin when the flier whimpered at the
movement, before looking back at Prowl, turning his pet's face up towards him.
"He will need repairs," he said. "I will call Temperance while you rest, and
then give you one more chance." He saw Prowl's eager look at being given a
second opportunity to prove himself. His gaze shifted up towards the tools on
the walls and he clicked thoughtfully. "And perhaps some instruction, as well."
"Yes, Master," Prowl purred and nuzzled him affectionately.
===============================================================================
Two joors of instruction in the various tools of the trade displayed in the
room, a quick shower to clean up, and a three joor nap for Prowl while Jazz
went to his office to work on the more boring details of his duties to pass the
time while Shard was repaired. When Temperance pinged him, Jazz was delighted
to return to more enjoyable duties.
He commed Prowl to meet him outside the torture room and was pleased, though
hardly surprised, to find him waiting when he arrived. Prowl had a shorter
distance to travel, but it also meant he knew his way around, and the last
metacycle trailing after Jazz had done its job of telling the other residents
that Prowl belonged among them. Prowl would no longer need a chaperone to move
about unmolested. All in all, a very pleasing result.
::Mind if I watch?:: Whiplash's comm was an actual purr. A sound the black mech
almost never made.
:Sure,:: Jazz pinged back. He wasn't about to deny his second such a request.
The mech hardly ever showed interest in torture, his specialty being
assassination, so it was more likely an interest in Prowl, or Prowl's
reactions. Both things that he needed to understand in order to perform his
function as Jazz's SIC.
As he set up the video feed and sent it Whiplash's way, Jazz palmed the door
and let Prowl follow him in. Shard was strung back up as he had been before
Prowl had torn him down from the ceiling, looking pitiful without his wings.
Temperance's no-nonsense work was evident: clean, simple, and efficient. She
hadn't wasted any time with the aesthetics; it wasn't worth her time to make a
condemned mech look nice, but the Seeker was no longer bleeding and the worst
of the gouges were welded back together.
::What's that one in for?:: Whiplash asked.
In response, Jazz sent over a packet full of images of mutilated younglings.
Whiplash growled.
::I thought he was a fitting victim for Prowl.::
::I'd say so.::
Shard looked up at their entrance and moaned, letting his head fall again. Jazz
chuckled. "I think he remembers you, pet." He turned towards Prowl. "I am
giving you a second chance. Kill him and make him linger. Anything in this room
is at your disposal."
"Yes Master," Prowl purred, eager for the second chance and to please his
master. "I will use your instruction well," he promised as he stepped up to the
selection of implements on the wall. He now knew some of the finer points of
how to use some of them, but there was one that drew him to it as a first stage
implement. Not just because of how much his master enjoyed showing him the use,
but the way it felt in his hand.
Blades and shock sticks would come later. For now, Prowl picked up the heavy
whip with small razors imbedded here and there and unfurled it with a crack as
he turned to face his prey. He like the heavy feel in his hand, the way it
conveyed power along the supple length, the sound and hurt it could cause with
such a small motion.
But, oh, what really turned him on was the way his master could manipulate it.
He would be vorns perfecting that skill, but if Master allowed him, he was
eager to put in the time and effort.
Jazz felt Whiplash's attention go sharp and intense and he smirked knowingly as
he watched Prowl feeling out the weight and balance of his chosen weapon.
"Excellent choice," he praised, circling around the outside of the room to
stand at a better angle before Prowl began. He chuckled darkly at the way
Shard's optics went wide with terror.
"While you were repaired over that little incident," Prowl said matter-of-
factly even as he purred at his master's praise. "Master taught me a few things
to try out."
A snap of Prowl's wrist and the whip grazed across Shard's cockpit. Shard gave
a short yelp and only barely reacted, the hit not really striking deep enough
to hurt.
By Jazz's standards, the strike was completely clumsy and amateurish, but if he
relaxed his standards -- by quite a lot -- it wasn't terrible for a first go.
"Good," he said, always keeping in mind that this mech responded to praise far
better than pain or criticism. "Firm grip, quick strike. Try again."
The instructions flowed over Prowl, cataloged, assessed and absorbed in the
time it took him to reset. The next lash was as Whiplash walked in and created
a fine web of cracks along the cockpit's centerline.
The deep rumble of approval from Whiplash was noted, as was his presence, but
Prowl gave the mech no further attention as he shifted his grip slightly and
cracked the whip along Shard's side, leading a long, jagged gash where one of
the claws bit into his armor and tore through the flier's plating as Prowl
pulled the weapon back with a snap of his wrist. It made Shard squirm and
release a short, sharp cry. The first, faint tang of processed energon leaked
into the air around them.
Jazz nodded in approval when Prowl looked to him briefly, automatically, before
shifting his optics over to Whiplash with a slight inclination of his head in
welcome, and a knowing smile. His SIC was focused on the weapon, and the way
Prowl's frame put it to use. Though Jazz couldn't feel it across the room, he
knew Whiplash well enough to know the mech was excited. Whips were not that
common a weapon to favor and never had been.
The next strike was a display of precision on Prowl's part, a test to see if he
could land the strike in the same place twice. While he was off by half a
finger width, it was good for his first try and Whiplash's field caressed him
with approval.
Jazz was pleased to note that, while he did not reject it, Prowl was not nearly
as interested in Whiplash's positive reaction as his. He sent out his own
caress and Prowl's engines turned over with pleasure while he made fine
adjustments and readied himself for the next hit.
::You've done very well bonding him to you,:: Whiplash chuckled across a
private comm channel with a smile for his boss.
Jazz watched the strike, this one even closer to the mark though still not
exact. Prowl pulled away, taking more plating with him, and while he was
resetting, making subtle changes to his stance, Jazz let his optics shift up to
his Second. With Whiplash standing right there, he couldn't keep from imagining
himself as the one hanging from the chains.
Whiplash noticed the change in the internal video feed he was still receiving
and lifted his own optics, giving Jazz a very knowing smirk, one full of
promise. Jazz's engines kicked to life and purred in growing excitement as he
refocused on Prowl.
Perhaps the next lesson would be to watch how Whiplash handled a masochistic
lover, offering up the kind of non-damaging pain that was also rarely favored
in their ranks. Prowl's reactions to seeing his master bound and hurt, all
while enjoying it, would be telling of so many things.
By the fourth strike Prowl had his repeat-aim down and could land a blow on top
of a previous one smoothly, tearing at fine wires once the plating was gone,
making Shard shriek when the sensitive internals were hooked and ripped out.
The Seeker was whimpering steadily by now, terrified under the intense gazes of
Jazz and Whiplash, and completely vulnerable to the mech he had decided to be
an utter savage. There had been no way for him to not feel Prowl's enjoyment at
ripping apart his wings, the hunger when his back had been torn away. Shard
wanted to spit curses at the quicksilver minibot for saving him when he had.
Another strike curled around his body and he arched, releasing a shrill cry of
pain, followed by a choked sob as jagged edges sank into his armor and shredded
it when the lash was ripped away.
"You knew it was not a tolerated behavior when you abused those younglings,"
Jazz said casually, his optics sharp behind his visor as he watched his pet
sink into the hurting and started to show real enjoyment at it. Shard's frame
was quickly being covered in relatively shallow but razor thin wounds as Prowl
figured out how to snap his wrist to cause the whip to twist around his body
and really dig in before yanking away. He was currently trying to figure out
how to best pull back, experimenting with different angles that created varied
patterns in the armor. Yes, there was definite enjoyment on his face, though it
was far more subtle than either Jazz or Whiplash's, and nothing compared to the
enjoyment that came from using his claws. Shard screeched deliciously at one
particularly vicious wrap. "This has been the penalty for as long as I have
commanded SpecOps, and deactivation the penalty long before I took command,"
Jazz added. "Even if I do usually take the pleasure of the kill for myself."
Shard's optics shifted with difficulty over to Jazz and he hissed even as his
frame shook in pain. "Lucky me," he spat.
"Very lucky you," Jazz agreed, taking slow, sideways steps to get a better
angle as Prowl moved around the writhing Seeker, trying new approaches and
techniques with a simple, honest curiosity. There was absolutely no recognition
of Shard as another sentient being. No, the mech was just an animated puzzle, a
thing, to be observed for responses and how best to extract the desired ones.
::What a gift Prime gave you in this one,:: Whiplash nearly moaned as he
watched, optics locked on the movement of whip and the hand guiding it. ::Does
he learn best this way, with such minimal guidance?::
::Yes,:: Jazz said. ::If he makes a mistake, I only need to correct it once,
and he knows that taking initiative pleases me.::
::What a gift,:: the black minibot shivered with a flicker of charge dancing
across his plating as the whip continued to dance. There was a sudden hard snap
that shattered one optic, and then Prowl carefully looped the whip in a precise
copy of what it looked like when he had retrieved it.
While Shard screamed and thrashed, his vocalizations no longer words, much less
full glyphs, Prowl set the whip in its place on the wall and ran his optics
over the other options. He felt reasonably confident with the whip now. It was
time to try something new and learn it. His optics swept along the wall again,
drawn back to a device so simple he'd been confused by its presence at first.
Then Master had shown him the switch and tapped Prowl's arm in demonstration.
That he'd screamed and dropped to the ground to curl up, protecting his spark
and helm, had been more out of reflex to the shock than reacting to the pain.
The jolt of a charge the shock baton gave was nasty, but far from fatal unless
it was directly inside the spark chamber, and maybe not even then, if the spark
was strong enough. He glanced over his shoulder at his trembling, bleeding,
whimpering prey and back at the shock baton. The glance at Master was a look
not for approval, but in calculating, and a tiny smile crossed Prowl's features
as he looked at the shock baton again and picked it up.
With a flick of his finger the device crackled to life, the striking portion
alive with loose electricity.
"Master, does it have the virus to force him to feel pleasure installed?" Prowl
glanced at Jazz with the most innocent expression.
"No," Jazz flicked his armor in a negative and paid careful attention to his
pet, trying to read what was coming.
Prow looked at his prey, considering the pathetically whimpering creature
before looking back to his master. "How does one make its spike come out
without that?"
::It?:: Whiplash asked, curious at the pronoun shift from person to object. Not
even a mecha-animal pronoun, but a non-living object, less than even a drone.
::To Prowl, yes,:: Jazz answered briefly, with an affirmative tilt of his head,
much more interested in his pet's question at the moment. He stepped forward,
drawing out a short length of cable from his wrist. "I can do that," he told
Prowl. "I will teach you how, but that is a lesson for much later."
Jazz hooked into the Seeker, who was limp and watching him through dim, hateful
optics. Jazz flashed a grin at him. "Enjoying yourself, are you?" he asked, and
shattered Shard's internal defenses in the same moment. Shard's vocalizer spat
out a burst of shocked static as Jazz found the proper command and triggered
it, looking down to see the spike extend. He thought for a moment, then forced
a line of code through that would ensure the spike stayed pressurized and
sensitized, no matter what Prowl did.
"There," he said, unhooking, and couldn't resist reaching down to trail one
claw up the underside, enjoying the way it made the Seeker squirm. He turned to
Prowl. "All yours," he purred, and stepped back next to Whiplash.
"Thank you, Master," Prowl actually purred softly. The fingers of one hands
caressed the extended spike, curious at what kind of response the touch
received. It caused Shard to jerk and he made a sound like a whimper, laced
with the static of a badly taxed vocalizer, while his entire frame rattled with
shivers.
Watching as Prowl touched and explored, Jazz tilted his head towards Whiplash,
whose optics were also fixed on the Seeker. ::He doesn't acknowledge them as
sentient,:: he sent to his Second. ::He labels them as prey, and energon, and
it. And even if he enjoys this, ultimately he's doing this to please me. On his
own, he would just rip the glitch apart for the energon and be done with it.::
::A true predator then. Not many mecha can handle system energon without
serious code editing. Shockwave really did a number on him,:: Whiplash purred,
watching as Prowl's hand moved away and he caressed the extended spike with the
shock baton.
::Indeed,:: Jazz replied with a pleased rumble, one that was completely drowned
out by the agonized scream that the shock tore out of Shard's vocalizer. The
Seeker convulsed, arching back so hard that he actually lifted himself up a
bit, sobbing when Prowl seamlessly followed the motion with his hand, never
letting up contact with the baton. Shard sobbed out sounds that could have been
words if the listeners were being creative, incoherent begging for Prowl to
stop, pleas for the mercy of death.
Jazz observed silently, and then in an impulsive moment that was as playful as
he ever really got, he sent Whiplash a saved image file of the black mech's
fingers curled around a tool similar to the one Prowl was holding, lowered
between his legs and pressed to his valve.
::Oh, it will be my pleasure,:: Whiplash growled back, his engine already hot
and racing. In retaliation he sent an image of Jazz bent over, pinned in the
awkward stance of having his back level with the ground and his legs spread
while his arms were supporting his weight from behind his shoulders with the
shock stick in his valve while Whiplash played with Prowl's spike.
Jazz had to work to keep the sudden heated charge the image sent racing through
him from showing through on his face, which he kept carefully pointed at Prowl
with an expression of pleased approval.
The Praxian was very obviously liking the way the shock baton made his prey
twist and shriek and was experimenting with different ways he could use it and
what reactions they caused. Holding it in the same place for a long time made
the pitch of Shard's cries rise steadily until they reached the top of his
range and peaked out into a piercing whine. Sliding it up along the spike
prompted a similar reaction, and touching it briefly to different locations
each got their own tortured yelp.
Jazz watched, alternating his primary attention between Prowl and the image
Whiplash had sent, then decided that if the other minibot could play dirty, so
could he. He shot back a picture of Whiplash standing over him, favorite whip
in hand, shining bright with energon. In rapid succession he followed with
snapshots of himself from different angles, bound with his legs forced apart.
Prowl drew the baton away, causing his prey to sag with relief, only to shriek
once more when strong, clawed fingers reached between his legs and tore his
valve cover clean off, sending it skittering across the floor.
While Whiplash and Jazz watched him switch the baton shock cycle to random and
shoved it into Shard's as-yet unabused valve, Whiplash offered Jazz an image of
Prowl taking him hard enough to dent his armor from behind, his spike adorned
with tiny teeth to catch on even the slickest valve lining, while Whiplash took
Jazz's mouth, his hands pinching and twisting the delicate sensor horns with
each hard thrust.
A very short, quickly stifled groan came from Jazz's vocalizer and it made
Prowl's armor ruffle with pleasure that--so he thought--he had been able to
arouse Master that much, and in response he twisted the baton around, pushing
it in and out, causing full-body seizure-like jerks to shake the Seeker's
abused body.
Jazz shifted the angle of Whiplash's image to show from his perspective, adding
the details of his glossa caressing the spike in his mouth while it nudged at
the back of his throat, and equipping Prowl with a switch that cracked against
his body with each thrust.
Whiplash did groan, a low, deeply aroused sound he couldn't completely stifle.
The sound almost repeated when Prowl extended the game to claiming the Seeker's
mangled and oozing mouth in an intimately demanding kiss. His free hand stroked
the Seeker's spike, angling both their frames to give Jazz the best view of all
the action.
::I think your pet's completely smitten with you,:: Whiplash shivered slightly
at the intensity of arousal rolling off Prowl's frame now that his field had
expanded enough to reach him. ::What's his reward?::
Jazz smirked and didn't answer as he took a step forward, as much to distance
himself somewhat from Whiplash's incredibly distracting field as to catch
Prowl's attention. Prowl looked up from the kiss, engines purring happily,
eagerly drinking in Jazz's caress of approval. It combined with his intense
arousal and made the Praxian rumble and fluff his armor out invitingly, echoing
the same arousal in return.
"That was much better," Jazz purred. "Go on and finish him, though; I have a
different lesson in mind right now." He flicked his gaze down to the baton for
a moment. "Use that."
Prowl moaned into a purr, his spike sliding free at his master's desire and his
valve cover sliding back. He put his lip plates near the Seeker's audials and
rumbled. "Did you hear? Master is letting you go."
A strong hand slid around the Seeker's neck and he pulled forward, a thought
freeing the bindings to allow Shard to stumble, then tumble to the floor. He
was on his back before he knew it, Prowl's heavier frame on top of him and
field thick with arousal. The shock baton was to one side as Prowl thrust his
spike into the electrocuted valve. As he paused, fully seated in the tight, dry
space, he sank his claws into the left side of Shard's chest plate and tore it
loose.
::Primus below, he's got good instincts for a show,:: Whiplash shivered and
stepped closer, then around Jazz to hold the silver mech. Black hands caressed
silver plating, teasing and intent well before one reached Jazz's spike cover.
::He is an eager learner,:: Jazz said, field and frame both responding eagerly
to Whiplash's touch. As soon as the hand reached his cover it slid away and
Jazz moaned as his spike came out, his sensory memory already lit up with all
the files he had on Whiplash's talented fingers. The sound deepened as those
same fingers curled around him, teasing while they watched.
Shard's vocalizer had shorted out somewhere along the way and his single
remaining optic was flickering in and out, fixed with wild panic on the Praxian
over him, while his mouth worked in silent screams and harsh tremors shook him.
As Prowl thrust forward once more, his fingers spasmed and reached desperately
into thin air while his feet kicked, trying to force his useless thrusters to
life.
Prowl groaned, though the sound was far more a response to the flares of
pleasure-desire in his master's field than to the feedback from his own frame.
It was so very different a sensation when the valve was dry and damaged,
slickened only by system energon. With another moan Prowl grabbed Shard's
hands, pinning them in a mocking imitation of a lover's domination.
Then Prowl thrust, deep, hard and fast. A bit of a shift and his exposed valve
went on display for his audience through one of the recorders transmitting to
them, all without hampering their view of his actions.
"So vital," Whiplash moaned with another shiver, his fingers curling in just
enough to slide his sharpened claw tips along Jazz's spike. It wasn't enough to
hurt, but oh, it did a good job of reminding Jazz of what they felt like with a
little more pressure. "Will you share him with me?"
From the floor, Prowl's pleasure spiked at the suggestion, though it was muted
almost instantly in waiting for Master's response.
"'Lash," Jazz moaned, shivering from both the claw and from the anticipation it
created. "Of course I will." His gaze rested on Prowl, and he was very pleased
that his pet had responded so eagerly to the idea. He eagerly looked forward to
teaching Prowl more about how to please both of them. Whiplash stroked up and
Jazz lowered his arms and reached them back to touch the other minibot's waist,
tugging forward while he pushed his hips back. "Let us see you kill him, pet,"
he purred, not sure he was going to be able to stand waiting much longer.
With the pleasure driving into him from all sides, Prowl didn't even try to
last, but it was the command that drove him to action. With a grunt that curled
his frame around his kill, Prowl reached out blindly and grabbed the shock
baton. When he thrust in with the first burst of his overload into the tight,
still-dry valve he jammed the crackling shock baton into Shard's spark chamber
and gave himself over to the bliss he didn't try to understand.
Jazz shook at the display and he felt Whiplash's hand tighten around him.
Shard's mouth stretched open and he thrashed in a wild, driving panic as the
charge hit his spark and made it flare before the light flickered sharply in
time with his single optic, and in the next moment it was gone.
"So good," Jazz gasped, struggling to not step forward and just take his pet in
turn. That would happen, but first ... oh, first, he had so many more plans.
"Prowl, that was wonderful."
"Thank you, Master," Prowl responded, his voice crackling with static as he
recovered from his overload. His spike deep inside the graying and cooling
frame, surrounded by the slick charge of his transfluid, Prowl leaned forward
and pulled the Seeker's energon tank out. He cracked it open and drank,
intentionally messily, with his optics on his master and his field pulsing with
gratitude for the gifts.
"Such an amazing pet you have," Whiplash shuddered and pressed his claws in
just enough to draw the finest line of energon from Jazz's spike. "Look at him.
Spike sated inside a well-mangled kill, drinking of his prey's energon. It's
all over his face. I bet he's thinking of having you lick it off. I know I am.
After you cover him with your own fluids. Have you had him lick your valve yet?
I bet he looks incredible with lubricant, transfluid and energon all smeared
together on his face."
Jazz moaned and shuddered with the black minibot's words, leaning back against
Whiplash's frame as all of the images assaulted his processor and forced a
fresh wave of lust through him. ::That is not playing fair,:: he accused, even
as his hips pushed forward in response to the claws pricking him again.
::It's not supposed to be,:: Whiplash chuckled. "The way he looks at you, there
aren't enough credits in the empire to buy that look. Not honestly. He wants
you. Wants to please you. Wants you to sink inside him and frag him good. I bet
he wants to drive into you just like he did his kill." He tightened his grip
again, sinking one claw into the soft tip of Jazz's spike and slid it in a
slow, lazy circle. "Tell him to come here so you can spill all over his face,
just so you can lick it off him while I drive that baton into your valve.
You'll never know when it'll be on or not until the jolt hits."
Above his kill Prowl was fixated on the sight of his master and another, twined
in pleasure that seemed as much verbal as physical. Even as the secondary
recipient, much of it flared the fires inside Prowl's frame. Yes, he did want
the things Whiplash spoke of.
"Prowl," Jazz said, voice thick with desire, no thought of doing anything but
submitting to Whiplash's commands in his mind. He lifted a hand and quirked one
finger in a come-hither motion. "As he said," he rasped. "On your knees." He
arched up and gasped when Whiplash rewarded him with a firm stroke.
Prowl pulled out of his kill and scrambled into position. He didn't think about
how he knew exactly where his master's transfluid would fall, much less that he
knew when. He simply sank to his knees, aft on heel-plates, and turned his face
upwards to catch the stream when it arrived. That he had such an incredible
view in the process was merely a bonus.
"Look at him, so eager for you," Whiplash growled, stroking his lover's spike
with strong, fast strokes as his spike slid hot against Jazz's aft. With no
other warning, Whiplash drove all the fingers of his free hands into Jazz's
valve in a single motion, penetrating past his wrist. "Give it to him."
Jazz tensed, shook, and keened, body slamming back into Whiplash's as his
overload hit and he shot onto Prowl's face. The sight was so intensely erotic
that it charged him almost completely back up in time for the second wave to
strike and his vision whited completely out. He shuddered hard as the charge
ran through him, overwhelming his frame and setting his processor alight,
before it dissipated almost as quickly as it had struck, leaving him slumping
against Whiplash, shivering with small aftershocks.
The incredible thickness that was Whiplash's hand pulled out almost gently. Yet
even as he supported his lover, Whiplash also kicked his legs apart. "Lick his
valve," he ordered Prowl, the lust thick in his voice as he watched the energon
and transfluid coated mech crawl forward to press his mouthplates against
Jazz's platelet surrounded valve and delved in. His glossa swirled around,
lapping at the lubricant-soaked walls and paying careful attention to what made
Jazz moan and shudder the most.
Jazz pushed his hips forward into Prowl's mouth, lost in a pleasured daze as
the glossa swiped over the softer, sensitive metals. His vision slowly came
back online and he found himself with his head back on Whiplash's shoulder,
looking at the ceiling. Prowl found a favorite spot that made him groan,
engines starting to rev back up. "Ah--good," he managed, and thrust against the
exploring glossa, starting to regain the strength in his legs. "Nn--" He could
still feel Whiplash's spike extended against his back and he lowered his frame
slightly before pressing back and up, rubbing against it.
He found his helm tipped to the side so Whiplash could claim a deep kiss, his
glossa sweeping around Jazz's oral cavity before dueling with the resident.
Under him, between his legs, Prowl's field was thick and rich, a reminder of
just how powerful a spark that frame would one orn contain. Strong hands
stroked his thighs, using what little Prowl had downloaded and the painfully
little experience he had to make his master moan. Already his faceplates were
smeared with all three fluids, and it excited him to be with these two powerful
and highly aroused mecha.
Jazz groaned hungrily into the kiss as he watched Prowl enthusiastically
exploring his valve from one of the external feeds, letting his own optics
switch back off. Whiplash's hunger and excitement was heavy in his field, and
caught between his and Prowl's, Jazz yielded completely to their desire. The
image that Whiplash's words had created was dancing in his processor and he
whined against his lover's mouth, pushing the picture and his want through to
him. ::'Lash, please--::
::Make sure he understands I'm hurting you because you want it,:: the black
mech countered. ::I don't want to find out the hard way that he can't work it
out on his own.::
Jazz might have actually laughed at that image if he wasn't so desperate for
Whiplash's much harsher attention. He turned his head and broke the kiss.
"Prowl," he said, switching his optics back on to look down at him. "I need you
to listen."
The attention to his valve stopped immediately and Prowl scooted back enough to
meet his optics. "Always, Master."
::He looks good like that, doesn't he?:: Whiplash purred.
Jazz had to take a moment to clear and settle his processor as it protested the
sudden disappearance of the warm glossa, then revved his engines in agreement
before reaching out to stroke his fingers down the side of Prowl's face. He
stopped right under the chin, fully enjoying the mix of fluids that dripped
down onto him. "Whiplash is going to hurt me," he said, meeting Prowl's optics.
"And he will do it because I want him to. I trust him completely with my
safety, and no matter what he does, or what I may look or sound like, you are
not to stop him or hurt him. Do you understand?"
Prowl twitched, his field briefly flaring in alarm and confusion as he looked
up at his master. He didn't like it, but.... "I understand, Master."
::Yes, he definitely needed to be told that,:: Whiplash rumbled, nuzzling his
leader. ::Bound or free?::
Jazz caressed Prowl's face, sending out comfort, reassurance, and pride to him.
Pride that he could so quickly accept something so contrary to his every
instinct, the others to help settle him. It was all taken in, every moment
settling Prowl further as he was reassured that this would not end badly.
::Bind me,:: Jazz sent in a whisper. ::Put me at your mercy, 'Lash. He needs to
see that, and I want it.:: His field flickered in brief amusement. ::I think
you want it too.::
::You know I want it,:: black armor rippled down his entire frame. Strong,
deadly-sharp hands pushed and pulled Jazz into place, securing him to the same
bindings that the had held Prowl's prey and so many before.
Prowl watched as Jazz was strung up, completely still except for tiny movements
of his wings that marked his discomfort with this. He had the file, he knew his
master enjoyed receiving pain, but to be witness to it, to see his master
submit so completely to a subordinate, it was disturbing on a level that
surprised him. He hadn't anticipated being bothered by anything his master
desired, yet there was no denying that he was bothered by this, greatly so.
With Jazz's pedes secured to the floor and spread and his wrists bound together
over his helm, Whiplash signaled the chain to go stiff, becoming a bar that
forced Jazz to lean forward as it pushed down, a move that also pulled Jazz's
arms behind his helm until the joints began to creak in protest.
"Prowl, come here and let him lick your face clean," Whiplash instructed as he
moved to pick up the discarded shock baton and check that Jazz was receiving
all the various vid-feeds the room was capable of.
"Yes Whiplash," Prowl responded. He tried to keep his field close so his
distress did not hamper his master's enjoyment as he settled before Jazz once
more, their optics on level. At this range his plating could pick up enough of
Jazz's field to teek the basics; excitement, arousal, anticipation, pleasure.
"You are so good," Jazz purred to him, and caught Prowl's lips in a brief kiss
before pulling away and tilting his head to the side, running his glossa from
the corner of Prowl's mouth up his cheek. ::Tastes so good, 'Lash,:: he sent,
lips still pressed to Prowl's facial plating while he sucked away all the
flavor that he could. He licked back down, pausing for another kiss along the
way. He could hear Whiplash moving behind him and see him holding the baton
from the feeds and he quivered with excitement. "So proud of you, Prowl," he
murmured as he broke the kiss to move to his other cheek.
His pet moaned softly at the contact and the praise, his field loosening a
fraction for Jazz to feel his enjoyment of both, that he wanted to please his
master and he would, even if it meant being a part of whatever this was.
Strong, slender, sharp fingers capable of punching through most armor teased
the entrance of Jazz's valve. They could, and had, done brutal damage to the
equipment before, and the memories mixed with threat to cause Jazz to shiver.
Then the baton was slid inside, gently, slowly, as a lover would slide their
spike inside for the first time.
Jazz's valve tightened around the instrument, slick and eager with
anticipation. He continued to clean Prowl's face, the unique mixture of fluids
combining in an incredibly erotic way. Whiplash pushed and pulled at the baton,
rotating it as he did. Jazz twitched and jumped at each movement, waiting for
the shock that still hadn't come.
::I'd like you to warn him before I turn this on,:: Whiplash finally said. ::
I don't want him to startle on me when you scream the first time.::
Jazz kept himself from being too defensive on Prowl's behalf. He knew his pet
would not attack, he had seen and felt for himself how absolute and unwavering
Prowl's obedience was, but he could understand Whiplash's concern. ::You don't
want to be mauled by an enraged Praxian?:: he chuckled, even as he sent a glyph
of agreement.
::Could hold my own,:: Whiplash grumbled. ::But no. I think we'll all enjoy
this more otherwise.::
Jazz pressed a searing kiss to Prowl's mouth. ::Tell me when.::
::Now.::
"Prowl," Jazz murmured to his pet, and filled his field with as much calm
reassurance as he could. "Whiplash is going to hurt me now, and I will probably
scream."
::'Probably?'::
Jazz ignored his Second, nuzzling Prowl. "You are not to protect me.
Understand?"
"Yes, Master," Prowl flared his field, allowing Jazz to clearly feel his
determination. The whisper-quiet sounds of joints and rotators locking came
with it. Even if Prowl broke, his desire to protect overriding his desire to
please, unlocking his lower frame would give Whiplash more than enough time to
knock him out, or down, or whatever punishment was deemed appropriate for the
failure.
In flaring his field, he gave Jazz a very intimate taste of how stressful this
was for him, how badly he did not wish to witness this. The why was less clear,
but easy enough to extrapolate after a metacycle studying the young slave. It
hurt his processors, challenging deeply set coding of compliance, protection
and loyalty. It challenged Prowl's understanding of rank and order, two things
that the mech valued the understanding of dearly.
Whiplash didn't give Jazz enough time to fully process all he'd learned. The
moment he heard 'yes master' the switch was clicked to mid-power. A charge high
enough to drop most minibots where they stood when hit on the plating surged
through the highly conductive lubricant and valve lining directly into some of
Jazz's most sensitive systems.
Jazz's scream was as much joy as it was pain and his entire frame spasmed as
the current shot through him. His head tossed back and his fingers clenched and
unclenched rapidly as he surrendered to Whiplash and the sensations from the
twisting baton that were centered deep in his valve. He was only distantly
aware of the shock-panic-confusion tumbling through his pet's field at the
pleasure and joy. He didn't hear the sharp whine or see the trembling frame.
Whiplash caught it all though, and upped his assessment of their new agent-in-
training a small notch. Despite the precautions, and the clear indication of
not trusting himself they marked, Prowl did no more than quiver in distress and
fan his wings in and out in an effort to relieve the need to do something. For
an untrained mech that so desperately wanted to move, it was a very respectable
showing. He could teek the beginning of trouble in that field as well, but
nothing that they hadn't dealt with before.
When Whiplash clicked the power off to the baton Jazz slumped, his entire frame
going completely lax except for the occasional involuntary twitches the
residual charge created.
Gradually Prowl's wings settled, the fingers once more locked together. By the
time Jazz had his vision fully on-line once more Prowl's shaking had reduced to
a small, sporadic twitch.
"Master?" his voice was low, uncertain, filled with the sub-harmonics of
distress and needing reassurance of so many things.
Jazz lifted his head and with a hungry moan he caught Prowl's mouth in a deep,
demanding kiss. Excitement-relief-arousal spilled into his field and he pushed
it forward to his pet even as he demanded entrance with his glossa. He moaned
again when Prowl responded, even if it was more automatic than anything as the
Praxian still tried to work out what his master was feeling and why he would
allow this, much less want it.
When Jazz pulled away it was only to shift Prowl's head with a demanding nudge
so he could run his glossa over his pet's jawline, then he was relaxing,
shivering while he nuzzled and purred. "Proud of you," he whispered to Prowl.
"Let 'Lash show you how to please me. He's very good at it."
"Y-yes, Master," Prowl whispered, shivering as arousal quickly built in
response to his master's touch and field. Hesitantly, he reached up to caress
Jazz's shoulders, then one hand slid up his neck to play along a sensory horn
while the other slid down to run along the seam in the hard armor of those
silver chest plates.
His touch pulled soft, wanting sounds from Jazz's vocalizer as the quicksilver
mech relaxed his plating, pressing as much into Prowl's hands as he could from
the way he was restrained. The fingers on his horn made him moan louder and
relax, even as he felt Whiplash shifting his weight behind him. This was new,
for both of them, and it made predicting the next charge tricky.
Which just made the anticipation better, Jazz thought as his valve shivered
around the baton. He was equal parts eager and anxious as he waited, looking
forward just as much to the moment when the charge first hit as to the moment
when it would stop and leave him shaking.
Prowl's lips found his master's for a hungry, demanding kiss as he settled
hastily written protocols in place to handle this. With a full-frame shiver to
reset his plating, Prowl stood and looked at Whiplash.
The black mech smiled slightly and slid the baton in and out of Jazz's valve a
couple times. "Come here."
Still slightly hesitant, Prowl let go of his master's sensor horn and walked
behind him. He didn't resist Whiplash pulling him gently into a kiss, the black
armor hot against his plating.
"Kneel," Whiplash's voice was low and sultry. A command of desire rather than
to humiliate.
While Prowl didn't hesitate, the flare of approval and desire in Jazz's field
made him relax. His hands caressed black thighs, sneaking into gaps to stroke
wires and cables while he kissed, then swirled his glossa around the hot metal
of Whiplash's spike cover. Without hesitation he moved forward to close his lip
plates around the spike housing, circling it with his glossa and revved when
Whiplash moaned. The pleasure, hot and bright in the black mech's field was
enjoyable, and the same in Jazz's field was addicting.
"Yes, just like that," Whiplash held himself still with the goals of lasting a
long time and giving Prowl no reason to dislike pleasuring him. He already had
the protocols queued up for plenty of verbal and teeked praise, something that
didn't come naturally to him. "Keep your field meshed with ours."
While Prowl complied, working the slowly extending spike to full size and
exploring the complex, swirling design with his oral sensors and glossa,
Whiplash flicked the baton on, just the lowest setting, and for barely more
than eight nanokliks.
Jazz was fully enjoying the way it felt to have Prowl and Whiplash's fields
intermingling with his own while he watched his pet tend to the black mech's
spike, a sight that aroused him so much that for a moment he forgot to
anticipate the next charge. When it hit him by complete surprise he groaned
sharply, jerking forward in the brief moment the baton was live. It cut again
and he stayed tense, waiting, carefully attentive to Prowl's field for any
change in how he might react to his master's pain when he was right next to the
one causing it.
There was the distress, but this time Jazz and Whiplash both recognized a
distinct lack of anger, even protective anger. The desire to protect was still
there, the confusion and distress. But all Prowl did was whine when the pain
lashed into him from his master's field. Long familiar with the process and the
teek of a mech writing code on the fly, they both knew exactly what Prowl was
doing.
"Prowl," Whiplash waited until he was sure he had the mech's attention. "How
often do you write your own code like that?"
::Whenever I need to,:: he responded on a general ultra-short range broadcast,
not slowing his attention to the complex spike in his mouth. ::The first set
was to be able to stand on my own.::
::No wonder his code's a slagging mess,:: Whiplash huffed to Jazz privately. ::
I had to listen to Temperance's ranting when I helped untangle parts of it.::
Jazz hummed thoughtfully, being careful to keep his field approving while he
turned that information over, not at all bothered to turn introspective even in
such a compromising position. It didn't change his awareness of Whiplash's
attention to his valve or his arousal, but they were both set slightly to the
side for a moment as he mused. On one side it was a level of adaptability that
was simply Primus-sent in their function. On the other, it was unbelievably
dangerous to do so without knowing what you were doing and how to get out of a
crash while it was occurring.
"Prowl, have you ever damaged yourself, crashed, because of your edits?" Jazz
asked with a low moan at both the stimulation to his valve and watching his pet
attend to his Second while those small black hands caressed Prowl's helm and
chevron.
::No Master,:: Prowl responded smoothly. ::How is that possible?::
"Incompatible commands," Jazz shivered, then he was screaming again with a
full-power charge slamming through him like the conversation wasn't even going
on.
Prowl whined again, unable to completely suppress his dislike of his master's
pain, but he was gradually settling into a state where that whine was all that
happened.
Jazz's scream cut abruptly when the charge did and he flexed his fingers as the
lingering current rippled through him, shivering hard after the full-power
blast. Even to him, that level was agonizing, but mixed with Whiplash's very
evident pleasure at the sound of his screams, it became something blissful
every time he felt it.
::It explains some things,:: he sent to Whiplash even as he pushed his hips up,
silently asking for more. The rapid change in Prowl's acceptance of what
Whiplash was doing him was astonishing, despite having witnessed the self-edits
for himself. Astonishing and promising, once Jazz had time to instruct--
Another charge broke his train of thought, two short bursts in quick succession
that made him jerk and yelp, shivering with pleasure afterwards.
Maybe better to leave that question unpondered for now and focus more on the
way Prowl's head was bobbing up and down on Whiplash's spike and the bliss that
was so evident on his Second's lower face and the glow of that matte black
visor.
"You might inadvertently edit life-sustaining parameters or protocols,"
Whiplash explained with a low, throaty moan and switched the baton to random.
Both his hands moved to Prowl's helm, giving back some of the pleasure he was
receiving. "Editing your own code on this level is usually reserved for the
very skilled." Another moan and shiver as his hips began to rock.
A jolt that held on for nearly thirty-two nanokliks all but fried Jazz's
vocalizer and forced his spike to extend.
"Doesn't he look desirable?" Whiplash whispered to the mech before him. "All
tied up, wanting any and everything that might be given to him. Does it make
you hot, thinking about your spike being inside him instead of that baton?"
Prowl shivered, the charge rising in him at the ideas. His spike cover slid
open automatically.
"What about riding his spike you when neither of you have any idea when he'll
be hit? It's intense, I can tell you. Just enough of the charge comes through
his spike to make it feel amazing."
Prowl whined again, this time from desire. He reached one hand down to stroke
himself.
"No." Whiplash's order was calmly delivered. "You will take your pleasure from
his frame until you are worn out. Then you can watch me until I am sated."
This time the sound that escaped Prowl was a moan of desire.
"I think he likes the idea," Whiplash grinned at his bound lover and reached
over to slide the baton in and out once more. "The question is, how much
punishment do you need to take before I can turn him loose on you?"
Jazz's hips twitched forward, pushing into thin air as he imagined everything
Whiplash described. "Go until I beg for it," he said, with a groan that
vibrated deep through his frame. He wanted all of that, he wanted it badly,
wanted to be inside his talented pet, wanted Whiplash to take his pleasure from
him after, wanted to submit completely to both of the mechs standing behind
him, but he wasn't desperate. Not yet.
Whiplash was very, very good at getting him desperate. "Pay attention to
everything he does, Prowl," he ordered, voice thick with arousal.
::Yes Master,:: Prowl's response was layered with the sub-harmonics of pure
devotion.
Whiplash patched him into the cameras of the room, giving him the full datafeed
of everything, including his own actions that the recorders couldn't see. Then
he lifted one hand to Jazz's exposed aft and sank a claw, carefully, deep
inside the hip joint. When he felt the ball bearing at its core he twisted that
finger around to find a minor wire and sliced it through with a tiny jerk of
his clawtip.
Jazz shrieked and couldn't stop the automatic response of trying to twist away
from the claw, but it stayed lodged inside his joint and he shook, moaning
raggedly, his engines revving as he watched himself through the feeds.
The black mech simply purred, found another small wired, and snapped it, but as
slowly as he could manage. Little increments of pressure, pulling it taunt,
then stretching it bit by bit until, after almost a full klik, it snapped.
This time the shaking intensified with the pain, and came with a tiny but
visible charge crackling along Jazz's spike.
"We can't have that," Whiplash moaned at how close he was to overload. With a
huff he pulled away from Prowl and stepped over to a blank section of wall.
Palming it open, he reached in and grabbed a small, box-like object and
returned with it. "Open." He tapped Jazz's backplates just below his spark
chamber.
Jazz moaned incoherently, dazed by how close he'd come to release only to have
everything stop, and the last thing he wanted in that moment was the object he
knew Whiplash held. He shook his head, shuddering hard as vorns of hard-learned
experience at this lover's hands reminded him of what would absolutely follow.
On some level, it was a desire for that more than a desire to overload that
kept his plating shut.
"Remember, he asked for this," Whiplash spoke to Prowl as he dug his claws into
weak points only long experience and close contact taught of. The seams on
Jazz's plates were all false. Every last one of them. To get to the real seams,
you had to go through thin cosmetic plating that gave way easily to the
enhanced strength behind those black claws.
Prowl was on his pedes, shaking once more with his wings spread wide and optics
bright. This was beyond pain and into real, highly visible damage as Jazz's
backplate was functionally torn off.
Whiplash ignored Jazz's screams and Prowl's distress as he hooked the box into
Jazz's systems with the ease of long experience. "That is an overload
inhibitor," he explained to Prowl as he finished and lifted his hands away.
"Play with your master's spike. I'm going to hurt him until he begs. That box
won't let him overload until he has you inside him."
Prowl whimpered but nodded and moved around to kneel in front of and under his
master. Long, strong hands moved along the extended spike with gentle care,
coaxing a moan of pure pleasure from Jazz. Then Whiplash dug his claws into the
exposed machinery of Jazz's back and began to pull wires and small cables out,
one at a time. Some slow, some fast, uncaring of the occasional shocks the
baton gave him through Jazz's frame.
Static mixed in with Jazz's wild shrieks as he shook between the completely
opposite attentions of his lover and his pet, the mix of Prowl's pleasure with
Whiplash's pleasure-pain with the burning white electric caress that fired
randomly into his valve all warring in his processor, each screaming for their
own share of his attention, and each demanding after that to be the only focus,
until the next tore him away again.
And it didn't stop. It was maddening, dizzying, pure ecstasy and torment and
pain and bliss colliding together, pummeling him over and over, pushing him far
past the point of overload in what felt like both a matter of moments and an
endless eternity. He could see himself writhing and hear himself screaming
incoherently, but neither of those things seemed adequate for what he was
feeling. Their designations were torn from him as he cried and thrashed, and he
was only just barely aware of himself enough to keep the pleas from falling
from his mouth.
"Not yet," he heard himself moaning, speaking to himself more than the other
two.
He watched and felt as Prowl took that as reason to shift the attention on
Jazz's spike from his hands to his mouth. Whiplash grinned at the visual and
moved to drive his fingers into Jazz's hips, teasing and tearing in the same
moments.
Jazz cried brokenly, pushing forward into Prowl's mouth and pulling away from
Whiplash's talented, torturous claws in the same motion, which only served to
almost double the sensory input as his spike slid further down his pet's intake
and Whiplash dug in tighter. Jazz sobbed Primus's name, blessing and cursing in
the same moment.
The words that would end it all circled in active consciousness and Jazz
rerouted them every time they tried to force their way to his vocalizer queue.
It became harder to do every time as more of his focus and resolve was stolen
away by skilled hands and an eager mouth. He could already foresee a near
future when his pet would make him beg with a skilled mouth alone.
Just the thought brought a deep shudder to Jazz's frame.
"Beg, and I might let your spike overload as well," Whiplash purred
dangerously. "Which one of us should ride your broken frame? I know he's only
been touched by you ... perhaps I should change that, make you watch as I
pleasure him, make him forget all about you while all you can do is watch from
every angle, and feel what I do via hardline. Oh, wouldn't that be fun. I think
that might just break your resolve."
The flicker and flare from Prowl's field spoke of an eagerness, something that
wasn't just from the idea of being pleasured.
"N-n-no," Jazz gasped, and it took all of his strength to do it. His field
traitorously screamed the opposite, because he wanted Whiplash to break him and
that...
Jazz shook at the thought of that, and cursed his lover vehemently as the black
mech's claws continued to play their cruel game in his wires. This lover knew
him well, knew the utter torment-bliss he craved, in so many different arenas,
and the punishment he was more than willing to take to get there. He would want
anything Whiplash chose to do right now, and the hint of Prowl's eagerness only
drove his desire higher.
A low, rumbling chuckle that came as much from Whiplash's engine as vocalizer
washed over Jazz with that all-too-knowing field.
"Prowl. Go kneel in front of Jazz, hands and knees. Make sure he has a good
view of your spike and valve," the black mech instructed, causing Prowl to move
with quick grace. Both his panels open, the Praxian settled easily into the
directed posture and curved his back down and his hips forward to give just a
bit better of a show of the glistening opening and platelets that had been
first touched only that morning.
"Is this what you desire, Master?" Prowl trilled seductively, intentionally
leaving off all identifiers of which mecha he was referring to.
Jazz whimpered at the sight and strained against the bonds, far beyond the
capacity to even really think about Prowl's words, much less answer him. There
was a brief flicker in a deep part of his processor that noticed the ambiguity,
and it was stored away for much, much later, when he wasn't struggling with
every cycle of his cooling fans to not give in and beg. By now his spike was
aching with denied overload and as he looked right at the valve, he didn't know
if it was a mercy or a torment to lose Prowl's mouth. Recent sensory memories
of being sheathed inside his pet washed over him and made him moan, even
through a low-intensity charge that synced up with the snap of a wire as
Whiplash quirked a claw up.
"Play with yourself, Prowl," Whiplash ordered with a grin in his voice. "I want
to watch you overload yourself before I feel just how good a lay you are."
Prowl shivered at the order, then looked at Whiplash over his shoulder. "May I
take a different position?"
"Yes, so long as it gives us a good show," the black mech nodded before finding
a minor articulation joint deep inside Jazz's spinal chain and jabbed a finger
into it, and the thick data cable inside it.
Jazz had enough time and a brief moment of clarity between charges and while
Whiplash was looking for his next target to realize that Prowl hadn't looked at
him at all for the exchange before the claw dug in and his spine locked in
protest and he keened, the thought vanishing along with his resolve, the latter
for just a moment, long enough for him to cry out. "'Lash!" he sobbed, spike
throbbing painfully with each new assault of pleasure-pain, but he caught
himself just before he could say anything that would absolutely be begging,
clamping down on his vocalizer.
With a nod Prowl lifted up a bit and moved to face them directly, sitting and
relaxed on his pedes. His widely spread knees gave an excellent view of his
spike as he slowly stroked it, his optics on Jazz, wanting to see his master's
reactions to this display. As Prowl's plating began to ripple with the pleasure
in an attempt to begin venting excess heat, he moaned and gradually leaned
back. Each movement was exact, every tiny span calculated so he never lost
balance or control of where his frame was.
::For a three vorn old, that's impressive,:: Whiplash commented privately, even
though he was reasonably sure that Jazz was only logging the commentary for
later review at this point. ::For a three vorn old who wrote his own movement
code ... we need to be careful with him. As loyal as he is now, he'd be a pit
demon if he turned on us.::
Though the entire arch backwards, all the way until his shoulders touched the
ground behind his pedes, Prowl continued to stroke himself. Only now, both
minibots had an excellent view of his glistening valve, and if they looked
close, they could both see the calipers cycling, seeking to close around a
thick intruder that wasn't there.
Jazz heard Whiplash only as a subconscious note that there was a message to be
reviewed later, his primary attention fixed forward onto his pet, hungry and
riveted. It was torture, he decided, to be deprived of the warmth of a mouth
and be subjected to the erotic display. He strained forward again with all the
strength he could gather in that moment, forgetting that he would not be able
to break away from these bonds, yearning to be the spike to sink into that
valve.
With a shiver and moan, Prowl allowed his helm to loll back and the pleasure he
was causing himself to spill over his awareness of self and surroundings. He
was safe here, with Master and Master's lover. Gradually he brought his free
hand up, caressing his frame, making a show of his pleasure and how he wasn't
rushing it. Whiplash had demanded a show; Prowl would do his very best to
provide.
Anything was better than being so close to Master when he was being hurt.
Over his chest plating, over the lower abdominal plating, fingers slipped into
gaps between the plating to tease his own systems. He was panting, drawing in
extra air through his mouth when his hand finally reached his quivering valve
and slowly stroked the fine platelets that circled the opening to create a
dense, thick, compressible mat around it.
Just that touch drew a keen his from vocalizer and his hips jerked, thrusting
his spike harder into his hand. He loosened his grip slightly, intent on
lasting longer than this.
"He puts on an amazing show," Whiplash's voice was thick with lust, his hands
all but forgotten inside Jazz's internals.
Those words drew another thick, deep moan and hard rev from Prowl, the praise
doing nearly as much for him as the physical contact.
With Whiplash's hands mostly stilled, Jazz's processor cleared enough for him
to answer, "He does," in much the same tone as his lover. He shuddered, taking
the opportunity to reign himself in somewhat, steadying his field, but it did
nothing to stop the way his spike screamed at him. Even the smallest twitch of
Whiplash's fingers in his systems made it shiver with denied charge. He moaned
in unison with Prowl as his pet stroked himself.
Then Prowl's fingers sank into his needy valve and his entire pelvic frame
arched up sharply with a cry that was just on the verge of overload. Shaking,
desperate, Prowl wiggled his fingers inside himself and closed his fist around
his spike, stroking and thrusting as his processors shorted out on the bliss.
Whiplash moaned, his hand on his spike as he watched the lovely dark mech
scream and shudder in pure pleasure. The arch of glistening transfluid
splattered across Prowl's chest as his frame coped with the rampant charge by
thrusting and writhing uncontrollably. He didn't even wait for Prowl to come
completely to his senses again before he was kneeling between those spread
knees.
One hand pulled Prowl's away from his valve while the other steadied Prowl's
hips so Whiplash's first thrust sheathed him smoothly and fully inside that
crackling, too-slick and quivering valve.
A desperate, longing keen came from Jazz as he watched, his frame quivering
from the desire to be in Whiplash's place, and now that all the contact to his
body had vanished, the arousal that had built up in him had no outlet. It was
maddening to watch the other two mechs rocking together and he struggled
between spitting curses and pleading to be freed, to be touched, and instead
just made a frantic, incomprehensible sound.
It was only moments, but it felt like an agonizing eternity before Whiplash
shuddered and roared, pumping his overload into Prowl's valve while the Praxian
keened his own pleasure, still bent backward over his own pedes. As he came
down, Whiplash sank forward to rest on top of the larger mech. Then gradually
turned his helm to look at Jazz.
"Was that a plea for Prowl's spike?"
Jazz stilled, staring back with optics wide behind his visor, and opened his
mouth. But as hard as he tried, he couldn't bring himself to answer one way or
another. He closed his mouth, feeling frozen and pinned under Whiplash's calm
gaze.
A cruel sounding chuckle escaped the black mech and he turned his attention to
Prowl once more as he pulled out and gave the larger mech a bit more space.
"Lay down. I'm going to ride that wonderful spike Temperance gave you."
Prowl shivered in anticipation and made the rather awkward shift to lay flat.
He rolled his hips up, inviting, and rumbled in response to Whiplash's growl of
desire.
"Oh, you are a fine one, Prowl," the black mech purred very honest praise as he
moved close and settled to the side away from Jazz, giving his silver lover an
excellent view of how his hands extracted moan and whimper of pleasure from the
lovely frame that had once only been Jazz's to touch.
"Nn..." Jazz caught the pleading glyphs before they could slip out and turned
it into another moan. His hips were pulsing steadily, pushing forward into
nothing as he watched Whiplash's hands map out the plating he knew so well and
wanted so badly to touch and caress and sink into and sheath--
Whiplash gave him an evil, knowing grin and slid a datacable from his side,
dangling it teasingly in front of Jazz. "Now, should I or shouldn't I?" he
smirked, then perked up at an idea. "Prowl, datacable."
The requested panel slid open on Prowl's lower left side and Whiplash quickly
combined them so all three would feel everything happening for both Prowl and
Whiplash. Quivering with excitement, Whiplash stood and hooked it into Jazz's
primary dataline in his neck. With Jazz's experience it could be blocked or
filtered, but for most this was a direct, all but unsecured line to their
processors.
With a pat on Jazz's helm Whiplash returned to stroking and exploring Prowl's
frame.
Jazz shuddered with Prowl's next moan, redirecting another phrase that would
have been his surrender. Whiplash had to know how desperate he was, would be
able to feel it in his field, and the damn black mech was teasing!
"All you have to do is beg for it," Whiplash purred as he shifted to straddle
Prowl's hips and leaned forward to give Jazz the best view of that delicious
spike disappearing into his valve.
There was no thought of even filtering the feed in Jazz's processor as the data
began streaming in. He had long ago given total control of this entire
situation to Whiplash and it never even occurred to him to do anything other
than submit to the feed.
But--oh, Primus--
Hot, liquid arousal slammed into him and both his spike and valve flared to
life as Whiplash sank down. He shuddered hard as the overload he so desperately
wanted still didn't break and his helm tossed back, vision flickering out.
"'Lash!" he cried, and his resolve was moments, nanokliks from shattering.
The black mech moaned in pleasure and simply rolled his hips, rubbing against
Prowl's platelets as his valve cycled and explored the new and wonderfully
filling spike inside it. From below him Prowl moaned and shuddered, his hips
driving up in a reflexive bid to sink in even deeper.
Jazz thrashed and screamed. "Please!" he wept. "Please--oh--please take me,
please let me--"
A smirk and grin was tossed over Whiplash's shoulder as he rolled his hips once
more. "Just as soon as I'm done here. It won't be long, my lovely, lovely
plaything. Then he'll take you for all he's worth."
Jazz knew it, believed it, and he still didn't want to wait. "Whiplash," he
pleaded, straining forward, gasping harshly at the roll, feeling the charge in
his spike skyrocket past uncomfortable into what he could only describe as
agonizing. Moaning, every joint tensed, he hung helplessly, shuddering with
every movement Whiplash made.
No longer trying to tease, Whiplash gave himself fully to seeking the overload
and denying it to Prowl through the hardline. Even if it came too quickly, he
did need the Praxian to have enough in him to fill Jazz up and turn the
inhibiter off. Jazz knew exactly what he was doing and he moaned for Whiplash
to hurry.
Under the sleek black mech Prowl howled at the assault on his senses as he was
ridden. The way the valve tightened around his spike from his perspective,
overlaid by how it felt inside Whiplash… Only he couldn't overload. Desperately
he grabbed Whiplash's hips, blind to who or even what was above him. All he
could do was hold on and thrust into that tight, slick, flexing heat.
Jazz could feel Prowl's frustration and groaned deep in his chassis, far past
the point of being able to feel something as complicated as empathy, but there
was an understanding ache there as his hips pulsed in time with the other two.
His awareness had been lost to an overwhelming crash of ecstasy and need and it
was all he could do to just keep himself online.
With a roar, Whiplash overloaded, hard. Jazz's back bowed and he screamed at
the same time as the powerful sensation hit him without releasing anything at
all. Whiplash's frame arched, his clawed fingers flexed and curled around empty
air, only to have his entire frame drop forward, sedate and strutless in
Prowl's desperate grip. Only the Praxian's continuing efforts gave movement to
his frame.
"Be still," Whiplash whispered, content with the last crackling of his
overload. He was still utterly amazed with the speed at which Prowl compiled.
He could feel on so many levels how desperate Prowl was, and behind him, Jazz
pleaded incoherently, frantic, now that Whiplash had finished with their pet.
"Let me go so I can stand up," Whiplash told Prowl. Hands immediately fell to
the side, leaving noticeable dents in Whiplash's hip armor. "Good, pet," the
black mech purred as he lazily got up and out of the way
"Please, 'Lash, please," Jazz managed, only able to speak full glyphs now that
Whiplash was standing, no longer filled with Prowl's spike. Jazz's armor buzzed
with wild, desperate desire and he was sobbing with need. "I can't take this,
please."
Whiplash shot Jazz a lazy, sated grin, unplugged them from each other and
purred deeply before he looked back at Prowl. "Now pound into him until you're
so sated you don't want anymore."
Jazz whined sharply, already pushing his hips up and trying instinctively to
spread his legs, optics fixed on Prowl's spike and the relief he knew it would
bring from the agonizing, charged heat that had peaked in him long ago. He
watched from every possible angle as Prowl scrambled to his pedes and dashed
behind him. The shock baton was pulled out with frantic haste and tossed away
without a thought.
Powerful hands grasped abused hips hard enough to dent and Prowl drove himself
into the electrically abused valve with a roar. Barely two painfully hard
thrusts later and he roared again, this time as his release came with a flood
of thick, rich transfluid from his spike to fill all the nooks and crannies
that his spike couldn't.
As soon as the transfluid hit the back of his valve, the inhibitor that
Whiplash had installed in Jazz switched off and a charge that would never have
been able to build as high as it had naturally surged up and out, splitting the
air as it cracked away from every seam, driving Jazz's frame into powerful
seizures that lashed through him over and over, shorting his vocalizer after
the first ecstatic scream and knocking his vision offline. The current surged
through his spike and he shot onto the floor while his valve clenched around
Prowl and he was only dimly aware of the Praxian's roar. Charge after charge
struck his processor until it couldn't withstand the assault any longer and it
completely shorted out and he slumped, offline.
Whiplash watched, grinning, as Jazz slumped, held up only by the bindings. The
look vanished when he saw Prowl's optics flicker off and his frame begin to
fall back in the same state. He'd already pinged Temperance as he rushed
forward to catch the larger mech and settle him gentle on the ground. A quick
check of vitals made him relax, but not enough.
It wasn't good and he knew it.
"You patch our leader up," Temperance's strong voice had Whiplash snap to
attention and compliance before he'd even fully processed the glyphs. He was
distantly aware of her kneeling over Prowl with one of her assistants.
Failsafe, the reflexive ping promptly informed him.
They worked in silence, plugged into Prowl, for longer than it took him to do
all the basic repair work on Jazz. He knew what he was doing with torture,
after all. Even if he didn't have quite the same taste for it as his leader, he
knew what he was doing. As messy and disturbing as Jazz looked, there was
little real damage done that recharge and Jazz's super-charged Ops-grade self-
repair wouldn't fix soon enough. Only his back plates, really.
"Whiplash," Temperance claimed his full attention with her tone, rippling with
sub-harmonics of anger and promised pain. "Did you fully phrase and integrate
the file I sent you on Prowl's care?"
"I skimmed it," he forced himself not to take a step back even as he quickly
unpackaged the file and began integrating it as quickly as he could. "I
integrated Jazz's send."
She waited until he flinched.
"Understand now?" she rumbled dangerously.
"Yes Sir," he forced himself to be still once more and accept the hard cuff
upside the helm as his due. Yes, it was Jazz's desire, Jazz's order, but the
instant Whiplash had assumed Master status in the scene it was his
responsibility not to push any of them too far. He'd indulged himself and Jazz
at a price they both should have known was too high. It could take metacycles
or longer to untangle the damage done by moving far too fast with a mecha that
could never forget.
When his sensors stopped reeling from the precise blow, he dropped his optics
and offered a small apology to Primus below for hurting one of His creations
when he hadn't meant to.
"Good," her engine growled again, but her field as smoothed out for the most
part as she extended a hardline from her wrist. He took it and plugged into a
wrist port without question, accepted the download and ran it through all his
nasty surprise filters before phrasing it.
Then he winced again.
"At least you still have some sense in that mangled set of morals you call a
processor," Temperance huffed and retracted her cable. "Make sure he has plenty
of energon in reach and stay with him. The physical damage is minor. Right now
Prowl needs the emotional comfort as he works out how to cope with damaging
Master when he loves Master. Do not leave him alone, not even for a klik."
"We'll make this right," Whiplash promised quietly, speaking for himself and
Jazz. He knew Jazz would agree. Jazz really did care for his new pet and proto-
agent as much as he cared for any of them. This was family, a bond that
transcended what the glyph meant out there, in the normal world. Here, it was
everything. Jazz had put his function, his very spark on the line for them
before and he would again without hesitation. So would Whiplash, or any of the
others. It was how they functioned in an existence with so few rules
internally, but such high penalties for getting caught out there. The unnatural
duality carried a high youth mortality rate, so the survivors were even more
loyal and dependant on each other.
"I'm sure you will," Temperance softened the rest of the way. "Now take Prowl
to Jazz's quarters, set up the energon where he can reach it and stay against
his plating. Even if you can't teek him, he can proto-teek a field against his
plating. He needs the contact."
"Understood," Whiplash gave a smart click of his armor and moved to take charge
of the hover-stretcher that Prowl was on.
Prowl wasn't the only one to have some hard thinking to do.
===============================================================================
Prowl came on line briefly when his systems pinged him for energon. For a
confused moment he thought Jazz was against his side, but the moment the other
shifted he knew it wasn't.
Whiplash.
That brought up memories he desperately did not want to remember and he had to
suppress the whimper. Was Master angry with him? Had he been given to Whiplash
because he had hurt Master? Was....
"Jazz is fine," Whiplash's voice was low, his filed soothing, reassuring ...
apologetic? "Temperance has him for the moment."
A cube was lifted to Prowl's lips and he accepted being fed automatically. It
gave him the chance to not think for a moment while the fuel hit his systems
and he began processing it.
"You did spectacularly well, Prowl," the words were a strong reassurance that
was eagerly accepted. "I should not have asked you to be part of hurting Jazz."
Prowl forced his optics to focus on the black minibot that looked so much like
his master and shifted to sit up when the cube was offered to him to drink on
his own. "Thank you."
"We will not ask you to hurt Jazz again soon," Whiplash promised, feeling as
much as seeing the way Prowl sagged with relief. "We both got carried away."
"Master will want that from me, though?" Prowl glanced up before focusing on
his cube. He was hungry. It wasn't a familiar feeling anymore.
"Eventually, yes," Whiplash spoke the truth. "He will expect you to learn to
take my role in that scene. To command and torture."
Prowl shuddered once before stilling. "Then I will learn," he murmured. Even
without a field extended far enough to teek, it was pathetically easy to read
how little Prowl wanted to.
"You enjoyed it with the prisoner," Whiplash poked at the incongruity that
bothered him. Sure, it was expected that a new agent in training might have
reluctance to hurt another agent, or to torture in general. But this ... this
just didn't make sense.
"It wasn't Master," Prowl said simply, an answer that summarized everything for
him.
Whiplash processed that for a long moment while Prowl finished the energon.
"Would it have upset you if I was the bound one?"
"No," he answered smoothly and easily before sinking down to lay on his back.
With energon levels acceptable, recharge protocols were pinging him again.
Whiplash hummed thoughtfully and settled against Prowl's side. He was long past
any need for recharge, but it was good, quiet thinking time.
===============================================================================
The next time Prowl began to power up, he felt two warm frames against his, one
on either side. His optics lit to silver on his right and black on his left,
with the black stirring to offer him another energon cube.
"Thank you," Prowl kept his voice low out of respect for the fully repaired
silver mech still deep in recharge against him.
Whiplash gave him a crooked smile and settled back down, slipping smoothly into
recharge. Prowl settled as well, but he wasn't ready to recharge. There was too
much to do. With a slow x-vent, he turned his attention inward and began
creating a new partition inside himself to house the personality and loyalty
requirements to please his master even in damaging him.
***** Cultural Lessons *****
Chapter Notes
     Chapter co-written with starsheild and vaevade
     Jazz/Optimus Prime
     Jazz/Whiplash/Prowl ... with Whiplash under the whip.
     Heavy consensual sexual and torture violence.
When Whiplash left, he did so knowing his leader still had a lot on his
processors and a few things to sort out with Prowl over the previous evening.
The silver mech wasn't alone in needing to think about what had happened and
how. They both had far too much experience to make such a rookie mistake, and
yet they both had. No matter how well he tried to hide it, Prowl couldn't
completely conceal his uneasiness with having both Whiplash and Jazz in the
same room with him. It was the primary reason Jazz had shooed Whiplash away.
Playful in appearance it may have been, both minibots knew it was because Prowl
had all but panicked when he saw them kiss over his frame.
Now Jazz lay sprawled on top of his pet, taking in how quickly Prowl settled
with Whiplash out of the room.
"You liked Whiplash before," Jazz prodded lightly, his tone mildly curious.
Though it was an effort, he kept his displeasure from showing for the moment.
He wanted answers, not code-reworking compliance right now. The root cause
needed to be addressed, or at least understood, before it could cause greater
problems. Having an agent distressed at having Jazz and his Second in the same
room was a serious issue on so many levels.
"I still like him, Master," Prowl murmured, distinctly uncomfortable with the
subject. He knew his master was not pleased.
"But," Jazz prompted, his tone just a fraction harder but his field still
calmly curious.
Prowl dropped his optics, submission pushing through a flared field despite the
difficulty in pushing his spark energy so far. "He hurt you," his voice
quivered, a faint tremor that expanded to his frame. "He made me hurt you,"
Prowl nearly keened despite his best efforts not to.
A resigned sigh flowed from Jazz's vents. "That I wanted him to, that I enjoy
it; none of that matters, does it?"
A low, plaintive whimper was all Prowl could manage for a lingering moment. His
wings trembled against the berth's plush softness before he briefly glanced up
to meet his master's visor. "Master ... I'm working on it," he promised,
pleading for time. "Hurting Master goes against very deep coding. It is not an
easy edit."
Jazz's fingers lightly stroked Prowl's chest. "How deep?"
That flicker of stillness across Prowl's features had been one of his pet's
most difficult tells for Jazz to decipher, but he'd managed. With a soothing
trill Jazz slid a cable from his wrist and plugged into the quickly offered
port at the base of Prowl's neck. He was welcomed in with the same mixture of
self-hate/pain and frustration directed in equal measures towards himself and
Prowl that had been in Prowl's field, yet there was also a definite sense that
he is welcome to be in his pet's processors.
Prowl awkwardly nudged Jazz's awareness away from core processors, and even the
secondary ones. The entirety of Prowl's consciousness was skipped, though it
showed clear signs of recent half-complete renovations of a rather dramatic
extent. Jazz paused as he recognized the beginnings of a primitive full
personality partition. The kind of construct that in a far more effective form
was used for deep cover missions.
Prowl waited until Jazz had finished looking with a native patience that just
didn't feel quite as natural as it should if it was truly native. Jazz didn't
prod at that just yet, and followed Prowl's markers with a growing certainty of
where he was going. As young and simple as Prowl's programming was, there was
only one small but immensity powerful set of codes that wouldn't be in his
primary processors.
Spark coding.
With a nudge from Prowl, the ancient and primitive glyphs unfurled for Jazz.
Simple, clean and so very painfully unable to cope with what Jazz wanted.
Serve.
Protect.
Know.
Each glyph was so simple as to be all but unrecognizable to its modern
counterpart. Inscribed into the spark chamber by the spark itself, they were
the immutable foundation of everything that spark could become, and what would
destroy it beyond any ability to recover.
Whether Prowl recognized the power he was giving Jazz in this knowledge the
minibot didn't know. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know. Yet in the glyphs
themselves he could read the truth.
Yes, Prowl knew exactly what he was offering.
He offered it not out of ignorance of its value, but out of the drive the
glyphs themselves spoke of.
To serve Master.
To protect Master.
To know everything.
Every line of coding installed or written, every memory and choice would
eventually be filtered through the foundation of those three glyphs. Even if
Prowl was completely wiped, new memory core and even a new frame, he would
develop along similar lines even in significantly different situations.
To force any mecha to fulfill one of those spark-codes at the direct expense of
another was inviting disaster.
Yet as he watched the glyphs shimmer before his virtual optics, strong and
potent as the spark that coded them, Jazz couldn't help his own nature. Though
he has no intention of sharing his spark coding with anyone not capable of
tearing it from him, he knows himself. He knows what is engraved in the very
matrix of his spark chamber.
He shields all thoughts of it carefully as he backs out of this intimacy and
towards the upper levels where Prowl's awareness is waiting for him.
~What is the partition for?~ Jazz asked, though he's fairly sure he knows.
~A holding place for the protocols, memories and thoughts needed to hurt you,~
Prowl answered without hesitation. ~They can not exist freely in my processors
for long before causing problems.~
Jazz caressed his pet's processors, expressing a very real awe at the loyalty
he had stumbled into and respect at what he'd been willingly given. ~I will
help you build it,~ he said softly, nuzzling against Prowl's awareness. ~But
for now, remember this. Until Temperance says otherwise, until your spark is
fully matured, you will not be asked to hurt me or watch me being hurt for my
pleasure. It is your explicit right to stop it.~
He watched, utterly fascinated, as Prowl almost stalled. Processors went blank
in a near-freeze that was embedded thickly with shock-disbelief-relief and a
much smaller sensation worming through it: uncertainty. It wasn't quite
distrust, but it told Jazz all he needed to know of how well promises to Prowl
were typically kept. How Prowl knew what had been promised when he had no
memories that contained language Jazz was less sure, but the resulting
sensation was unmistakable.
~I can stop it?~ Prowl repeated, somewhere between a question and statement
with intense hope fluttering behind it.
~Until Temperance says your spark is mature, yes, you may stop it,~ Jazz
repeated even as he pinged Whiplash with the agreement.
Surprise came back from his Second, but no argument. Jazz had little doubt that
Whiplash was relieved for the order. Prowl's reaction towards him had not been
what the black mech wanted for the first morning after. Whiplash didn't have
nearly Jazz's taste for pain in either position, though like every good agent
he'd made good friends with it. Jazz still knew that if he never had to cause
or suffer pain again, if he was only asked to perform the quite, silent kills
that were his specialty, Whiplash would be pleased by it. The black mech also
had a preference for lovers, those that wanted another round upon waking up
with him after their first encounter.
Prowl had most definitely not wanted another round. Jazz had no doubt that
Prowl would have bolted from the room if they hadn't be leaning over him at the
time. It didn't matter that it would have been an interface devoid of bondage
or pain and it showed in the Praxian's frame when he registered arousal in the
pair.
Jazz continued to watch as the permission order sank in and propagated through
Prowl's processors, creating thousands of small changes and a few significant
ones in the reaction tree Prowl maintained. It was a look at how his pet
thought that fascinated Jazz. He'd watched many bots think before, some that
were decidedly odd, but he had yet to watch a logic and response tree that was
quite so devoid of the clearly selfish aspects. The closest Prowl seemed to
come was his reaction to research, but even that was very muted when doing it
for its own sake.
Emotional pleasure, for Prowl, was too tied up in the needs and desires of
others for Jazz's long-term comfort. It made him an excellent slave, and
excellent low-ranking subordinate, but it made him all but useless as an
officer or agent without a tremendous amount of work. It was work Jazz would
do, even if he didn't like it.
~Master, please help me build a good partition now?~ Prowl struggled with the
request for himself. Behind the words was the terrible distress and spark-code
conflicts the memories of the previous night had caused him.
Jazz smiled and caressed his processors and frame with affectionate support.
~Yes. I have nowhere more important to be.~
Deep inside Prowl's processors, multiple levels of tension smoothed. He opened
himself up even more and have himself fully to watching and assisting his
master build the strong partition to keep him from breaking at fulfilling one
spark code against another.
===============================================================================
Prowl stood in a room he was entirely too familiar with. A place he hated and
adored in equal measure.
Hated because it meant he was alone. His master was elsewhere, sometimes for
more than an orn, and no one else was going to keep him company, or even keep
an optic on him. He knew it was a sign of trust, but he couldn't shake the
sensation of being abandoned that came with it, the subtle panic he couldn't
suppress that his beloved, wonderful master would never return and he would be
given to someone else. Again.
This place was adored because this was what Master referred to as a tactical
room. Prowl only knew that it was full of the most incredible holo-displays
that would bring to wonderful visual detail any information he wanted. There
were ports where he could plug into for direct downloads.
He couldn't even begin to wrap his processors around the scope of the
information Master had presented him with, but he could give his full
dedication to learning each and every detail of whatever Master had listed for
the orn. The schedule had been plotted out a metacycle in advance, though it
was constantly being modified based on how much Prowl learned and what
questions he asked Master at the end of the orn when their frames were sated.
The schedule was what he was expected to learn, but Master had made it very
clear that once Prowl had that committed to memory he was free to look up
anything else that he wished to. So far he had backed off any time that he
encountered a firewall he wasn't authorized to pass, though he was dimly aware
that at some point Master expected him to try and get through without the
correct password. It made him uncomfortable for reasons he could not
articulate, so he did not even try. He determined to face that challenge when
it was required of him.
Until then, he would explore what he had easy access to.
The lesson this orn: frametype classes.
Settling in, relaxing his frame and locking his lower joints, Prowl called up
the first series of image and datafiles: airframes.
The first subsidiary menu came up, asking which of the nine size categories he
wished to learn about first. Prowl hummed with a pleasure he had no designation
for and didn't care to worry about. Except for Master's absence, delving into
the endless torrents of data was a bliss like no other. Not even the best
overload he'd experienced came close to how good it felt to submerge himself in
the data streams and give himself over to their expansiveness.
He was completely unaware of just how many individuals were watching him in one
way or another.
===============================================================================
Several levels and a world away Jazz was walking through the halls of the
Prime's palace, cheerfully greeting nobles, warriors, servants and slaves
alike, noting changes, new scuffs, new finishes or adornments. Sometimes out
loud, mostly to himself. Yet much of his processing power was devoted to
watching his pet and what he pet was looking up. He was no longer concerned
that Prowl might not do what he'd been told to, or that he might find something
that he shouldn't. These orns he watched because it was very enjoyable to see
his pet so happy, to feel, even filtered through half a dozen systems, what the
unusual mech felt when immersed in the dataflow. Prowl would be an outstanding
monitor and data miner, possibly even before he was old enough to have
specialized upgrades for it. He had the personality basics already, and the
spark code glyph that was most critical for the function. Any mech with Know
branded on their spark casing would excel in any function that involved huge
amounts of data. They also tended to do well in any function that found hidden
information.
He'd barely settled down in his office when he received a summons from the
Prime. Or more accurately, an invitation to the Prime's hot oil bath.
A playful grin crossed Jazz's features as he shut down the systems that had
just come on line for him. An invitation from the Prime was not to be ignored,
but this was far more than a simple invitation. As much as the Lord High
Protector despised it, the young Prime liked to indulge in the company of
others, especially one minibot whom Megatron could not control and didn't care
about the Prime's age or status.
He strolled from the lift into the foyer of the Prime's apartment, a gorgeous
five levels tall by a convey class height and wide open from here, into the
grand entry hall and out across Iacon's bright skyline through windows two
levels tall. If he'd been a less common visitor there would no doubt be someone
there to meet him, if not the Prime himself. But Jazz was a common sight here
and knew his way around. He was allowed to move where he pleased and soon
reached the top level where the Prime's berth chamber and huge, lavish
washrack.
Jazz whistled his arrival, a cheerful, playful sound to greet the large,
lightly armored Prime as he walked into the washrack where the highest High
Priest was relaxing in simmering hot oil and looking out over the beauty of the
capitol city.
The small smile on the young Prime's face was genuine, welcoming the mech that
would have obeyed his summons no matter what, but that Optimus also knew
enjoyed these summons as much as the Prime did when he was in this sort of
mood.
"Join me." He waved to the oil and to where Jazz's preferred refreshments were
arranged, the words more invitation than order as his attention switched from
the outside view to studying the motion and frame of his newly arrived company.
"Anytime," Jazz grinned and made an easy, smooth dive into the deep oil, his
passage barely rippling the surface with his passing. He sank to the bottom and
strolled to the tiered bench that had a spot next to the Prime that was shallow
enough for him to relax with his helm out of the oil. "Just wanting company, or
is there a chat before the fun?"
"A little bit of a chat." The large red mech rumbled, shifting so that he was
facing the silver minibot more. His relaxed field set the tone for his words,
indicating clearly that it was mere curiosity driving his questions and nothing
more. "I have been wondering about that new pet project of yours, and how it
was coming along."
Jazz didn't have to fake any level of his pleased smile or field. "He has a lot
of maturing to do and a couple serious faults, but what I've dealt with so far
indicates he'll be amazing when he's trained. He's got a native curiosity and
ability to process a huge dataflow that's just incredible. He loves it too.
He's down in one of the unused tactical rooms now if you want a feel for him
when he's reasonably calm and content."
White optics lit in momentary surprise at the report, far different from what
he had expected when he had heard the initial report on the Praxian. Jazz's
obviously pleasure with his new acquisition prompted Optimus to do just that,
accessing the mainframe that allowed him to know what was going on in his
immediate domain and feeling for the Praxian buried in the tactical room.
Jazz was there in an instant to give him the address and made sure the system
allowed the Prime in without complaint. When Optimus settled in to listen and
feel the Praxian from the safely shielded distance, he had a hard time
believing it was the same individual.
"This is the mecha that almost killed two of Ironhide's soldiers?" Optimus
Prime murmured as the smooth flow of the mind mingled with an emotional
pleasure that saturated the simple act of learning.
"Yap," Jazz chirped with a grin. "It's kinda amazing what he turned into once
he realized that everything moving wasn't trying to hurt him."
"A shame that such a spark was so underutilized." Optimus said as he continued
to watch, seeing all that Jazz had said about the mech to be true. "A situation
that I am sure you are fixing as we speak." He added, not pushing to find out
exactly what Jazz had planned for the vast potential he could feel on so many
levels in Prowl.
"Yes," Jazz responded to it all with a flicker of affection in his field. "He
is learning, both what I set him to and anything else that catches his
attention once he's done. He'll never be a leader, but he can command in the
right situation. Loyal as anything too. He'll be truly amazing when his spark
matures fully."
"A mech whose loyalty you will need to keep then." Optimus observed as he
withdrew from the feed and focused once more on Jazz. "How young is he? Were
you able to find out more about his background?"
"A fair amount, though admittedly what I know make it all the more confusing,"
Jazz admitted, relaxed as he snacked on a confection. "He's a little over three
vorns old, sparked, and then transferred from his original frame into that one.
Temperance believes he was originally to be a very large bomber-class Seeker,
or a mid-sized shuttle. Either way, right now his spark is barely large enough
to support the frame he has, but give him a couple centuries and he'll have the
extra spark power to handle some very serious upgrades. We know who built that
frame, Shockwave, but not who acquired sparkling he came from, how it was
acquired, or exactly why. We know he had regular interfacing with several
previous owners, though we don't know if any of them were aware he did not have
the protocols for it yet."
"Or if they cared." Optimus rumbled, that little bit of news darkening his
pleasure at the progress the Praxian had been making. "I trust that you are
also on alert for more of his kind, now that we have some idea of what to look
for?"
This sort of thing troubled the young Prime on several levels, one even a
distinct discomfort from the Matrix itself, something that Optimus did not
always understand and tried to remedy as soon as possible.
"Even more than usual," Jazz rumbled in reply, relieved more than he cared to
admit that this Prime was just as disturbed by the fact as he was. "Stopping
that sparkling abuse is one of my pet projects. I've made good progress by all
accounts. Keeping a sensor out for others like Prowl ... that's what I call him
... is easier. There aren't a half dozen beings in the entire empire capable of
attempting such a transfer and at least two of them would never do so without
officially recording it. Temperance is mine and I trust her. Shockwave and
Firewire are the only ones I can't really touch who might try."
"So there is no way to punish him for this?" Though the question was soft,
there was no way to miss the outrage that underscored it, and the slow building
fury in Optimus at the idea.
Jazz sighed out his vents. "Unless I can prove who Prowl used to be, and
convince his creators to testify that he was stolen, and that Shockwave didn't
know that whoever paid for the transfer didn't have the right to do so, there
really isn't anything in the laws against it. Right now, the most Shockwave
could be charged with is failure to file the procedure. It's a fine, and not
even that big a fine for him. The mech I'm almost certain paid for it was one I
dealt with three vorns ago for sparkling interface abuse. I didn't know about
this at the time. In all likelihood I picked him up after the transfer but
before Prowl was delivered to him, leaving Shockwave to sell him to someone
else. Really, the worst I can do to Shockwave is inform the first customer who
bought Prowl that he didn't have interface protocols. I know her and it did not
go over well when she found out that she'd been 'facing a sparkling in an adult
frame. But that one's a civilian matter over misinformation on the status of
goods sold, assuming she takes it to court. It's not really her style."
The fury died down to a simmer, Optimus offering a matching sigh as he sank
deeper in the oil, optics going dim as he contemplated what Jazz had just told
him. He was familiar enough with Shockwave to know that Jazz was right, and
there was no evidence that could be found to use against the mech that would be
of any value. Finally he shoved it to the back of his processor, to be worried
over later, perhaps, and focused on something else that Jazz had said.
"Who are the other mecha capable of doing this, and are they being monitored?"
"Ratchet, who works at the Primus' Gift Medical Center here in Iacon," Jazz
relaxed as the Prime did. "He has the skills, though I'm not worried that he
might try. Mech has a code of honor backed up by a scary as the pit temper and
enough contacts to keep even me at bay. The other is one of your High Priests,
Soundwave. As a host he may have the skills, I'm sure he has the capacity, but
there just isn't any motivation there that I can find and even I have a hard
time with the idea that he'd do so without recording it. Both of them might
perform the normal variation to safe a life, but the odds that they'd do so for
anything like this is just ... infinitesimal. I'm watching them, and the up and
coming medics, scientists and hosts. It's a very rare combination of skills to
even try such a procedure. I think that's why there really aren't laws against
it."
"Something that will have to be looked into, sooner rather than later." Optimus
said with another sigh as his attention refocused on Jazz. "So tell me more of
Prowl's progress. Was the designation his, or your idea?"
"Technically mine, but it's his own," Jazz chuckled. "I called him Stormcloud
for a while. After digging around in his processors I found out he'd lied about
not having an internal designation for himself, so when an opportunity came up
to call him something new, I went with what he thought of himself as. He's
amazingly adaptable. Probably the two most important things to know about
handling Prowl are that he responds in a similar way to how he's approached and
he's a spark-coded beta. If you're violent, he is back. Which is what happened
when we found him. The slavers used violence to try and control him so that's
what he replied with. The soldiers used force to subdue him, and he fought
back. He calmed down when I spoke to him because I was being calm. Though I'm
sure that actually understanding the meaning of the sounds I made helped too,"
he gave a grin. "Basically, he's one of those that responds best to approval. I
don't have to be harsh to get him to comply. He wants to make his master happy,
and it's on a spark-code level. Even as a free mech he'd seek a master, a
stronger mecha, to follow and serve. He's sweet, really, especially after all
he's been through."
Optimus hummed, regarding his friend. "What are his spark-glyphs?"
"Serve, Protect, Know," Jazz flashed Prime a grin. "I don't think a better
spark could have been called for a smart slave if you tried."
Optimus chuckled softly in agreement, his field indicating a deeper level of
interest now, as well as approval for both Jazz and the Praxian. "So he will
hopefully be able to fully overcome everything that was done to him. You seem
to like him well enough."
"I do," Jazz admitted, unashamed but a touch wary of the fact. "He's been
through the pit, hurt worse than most POWs, and all he wants is a strong mech
to serve and approval from that mech." He sighed softly through his vents.
"I've been in his processors, watched how he deals with pain, trauma and
internal conflict, and I still don't understand how he can let go of it all so
easily. Once he decided he was safe and I was keeping him, everything before me
just stopped being important. Strangest thing I've ever seen."
"And not necessarily a good thing in a mecha, if losing you will send him into
chaos until he settles on someone else." Optimus observed. "Is there anything I
can do to aid his progress?"
Jazz stilled, really thinking about it. "I'm fairly sure he'll latch onto
Whiplash or Temperance if I'm gone. They're both strong personalities, strong
mecha and they have political power he knows about. From what I've gathered,
while he's psychotically loyal to his master, he also transfers loyalties
easily once that master is classified as gone." He considered the Prime again.
"It wouldn't hurt for him to get to know you, if you have some time. I'm much
rather he turn to you than Megatron, or any of the other nobles around here."
"Once you deem him acceptable company I should like to meet him." Optimus
replied, indicating his interest in seeing the Praxian but leaving all of the
details to Jazz's discretion. There was no point in the pushing the small
silver mech with his pet project, not when Optimus himself wanted to see Jazz
succeed. "Are you planning to have any special upgrades made to his frame when
he can handle it?"
Jazz nodded. "Temperance said it'll be at least a couple hundred vorns,
possibly much longer. So it's somewhat a matter of what's available and what
specialty he's training for by then. He's already the top candidate for a
premium tactical processor system, but if he takes to flying well I might try
to get a teleportation system for him. He could handle triple-changer upgrades
too, or possibly even more." He laughed and shook his helm. "So the short
answer is, yes I'm planning to have some special upgrades installed. No, I have
no real idea what yet. He has the spark to handle anything."
Optimus laughed as well, one hand reaching out to gently brush over the silver
helm affectionately. "And what about you? How are you doing?" He asked, the
tone taking on a softer and more intimate note.
Jazz trilled and leaned into the touch and the rich, powerful field that could
only belong to the Prime. It suffused him, thick and alive and ancient and
healing just in accepting it to wash through him unresisted. "I'm good,
Optimus," he smiled, knowing that he was one of the very, very few to call the
Prime by designation and the big mech liked it. He knew exactly what he was
being asked about; whether he was still being tortured for his pleasure. It
distressed the young Prime, and for that alone Jazz was a bit sad. "I have many
mecha who watch out for me. But you," he paused to move close enough to stroke
the thick glass of the big mech's chestplates. "You have so few you can relax
and just be a mech with."
"All the more reason for me to take care of those few." Optimus replied,
wrapping and arm around Jazz and pulling the other mech closer, his field
loose, warm and welcoming the mech next to him. "I do worry," he added. Even
softer, but not pushing any harder.
"I'm good, Optimus," Jazz promised. "I know what works for me." He cracked a
grin and slipped his claws into fine seams that no other lover could manage.
"I've been enjoying pleasure in all its forms for a very long time."
The regal looking red mech moaned at the touch, optics dimming in appreciation
as he tipped his helm to kiss the silver mech gently. "Including this one?" He
purred.
"Oh yes," Jazz purred, the truth of it bright, clear and warmly welcoming in
his field. "I very much enjoy what we do." His fingers ghosted across fine
plating that didn't really deserve to be called armor. "You feel so good inside
me, stretching me. But you field..." he shivered in memory of it. "Oh, my dear
Optimus, you have no idea how incredible your field feels when you overload
with me."
"Hopefully as good as it feels to me being with someone who does not feel like
they have to do this." Optimus answered, helm tipping down to catch Jazz's lips
in a tender kiss as he shifted the other mech to straddle his lap.
"I'm sure it does," Jazz returned the kiss willingly, eagerly, his field and
frame full of the truth that while he respected the Prime's rank, he was just
another mecha to Jazz. One that Jazz enjoyed being with, sharing pleasure with
and what that pleasure was. "You're a good mech, Optimus, untainted by violence
or greed," he murmured into another kiss as his fingers found their way into a
minor transformation seam to stroke the wires underneath. "There are too few of
them in my existence."
Strong hands caressed Jazz's armor, stroking skillfully over the silver plating
as Optimus hummed softly, drinking in the honest praise that he rarely
encountered, and part of what he valued from Jazz even more. "And what can I
give you this time?" He asked, drawing back to look down in the black glass
visor of the mech he privately called friend.
"Your spike," Jazz shivered eagerly. "Thick and smooth and oh so patient." He
moaned and rubbed his interface covers along Optimus' plating. "You feel so
good inside me, stretching me to that perfect point. And the way you moan," he
shivered in the memories of it and slid his valve cover open, the passage
already slick with lubricant before the hot oil rushed in to fill it.
An answering shiver ran through the red mech's frame, eagerness flaring into
his field as slender fingers traveled down Jazz's frame to the exposed valve
and teased the sensor laden platelets surrounding it. "Moan do I?" Optimus
rumbled, optics lighting teasingly. "I'm surprised you can even hear it over
the lovely noises that you make as you cry and beg for more."
"Oh I can," Jazz shivered and moaned wantonly, shifting a tiny bit to offer
himself more easily to those delicate fingers. He sent his own digits to
teasing at the myriad of sensors available on the barely armored frame. "I know
you love my voice."
A pleasant chuckle escaped Optimus as he drew Jazz in for another kiss, fingers
continuing to tease at the smaller mech's valve, one finally dipping inside to
seek a deeper sensor node. There was nothing hurried in Optimus's motion or
field, merely a desire to pleasure and enjoy. He had time to do so right now, a
luxury he was not allowed as often as he would like, and he had no plans to
rush it. His lover was similarly pleased to relax into the pleasure and indulge
as long as time allowed.
With a wickedly teasing grin Jazz cycled the magnets in his palms and slid them
across Optimus' chest.
A full body shiver ran through the red mech's frame, white optics going bright
as Optimus moaned in appreciation and withdrew his hand so he could settle back
against the edge of the tub. "Do it again?" He requested, almost pleading as
the cover to his spike slid away.
Jazz purred with a grin and swept the magnetic field across the Prime's chest
once more, then down as far as he could reach before sliding them upwards
again, resting briefly over that powerful spark. He pulsed the magnets, an
upgrade that at full power could extinguish a spark but at these settings was
pure pleasure, relishing the feedback from the spark below.
He could feel the powerful surge of the spark in response, and see the matching
light in Prime's optics. There was a trust here, a pleasure allowed with few
other lovers. Gentle hands settled on Jazz's hips, slender fingers teasing into
the joints with surprising skill. With little more than a purring smile, Jazz
slid his hands further up, caressing neck cabling on the way to the sides of
the Prime's helm.
Soft pulses were given here as they swept up long antennae, the field's wielder
keenly aware of how much power felt good and how much could scramble the
processors between his hands.
For a minute Optimus simply enjoyed the attention, purring in response, before
strong hands shifted on Jazz's hips, lifting the smaller mech. "I believe you
said you wanted this?" He asked, thick spike teasing at the entrance to Jazz's
valve.
"Yesss," Jazz moaned eagerly, the platelets fluttering at the light contact and
calipers deeper inside cycling eagerly. His hand-magnets pulsed, causing
Optimus' entire helm and processors to tingle. "Spread me side, fill me like no
other can."
"Very well." The red mech agreed with a smile, lowering his lover in a smooth,
controlled motion and moaning at the welcome. The way Jazz shuddered and
responded in his hands, each wave of shared pleasure was a unique sort of
bliss. It was addictive, to share pleasure with an equal. Not even his mate,
his Lord High Protector, truly viewed him as an equal.
Small silver hands slid down to the Prime's chest, over his space, and pulsed
in time with the pleasure seeping through Jazz's frame as he was spread just up
to the threshold of pain where the pleasure was the most intense. This was a
familiar dance, and Optimus paused, savoring the tight warmth and allowing his
lover to finish adjusting to his size. He tilted his helm, catching Jazz's lips
in a possessive kiss. "Tell me what you want." He rumbled when the kiss broke.
"For you not to hold back," Jazz shivered and gave a heavy pulse into the spark
under his hands. "Take me, hard, fast and completely."
A growl of agreement was all the warning Jazz was given before Optimus
complied, strong hands clamping down on slender hips as a thick spike was
driven into a tight valve.
And under the physical pleasure was the relief and the release that would come
with this overload and all of the ones that followed. A refuge in an equal,
even if it was an illusion, that was needed to balance the confusion and power
his position subjected his spark to.
===============================================================================
Jazz walked into the room just as Prowl was shutting down his connections and
took in the condition of his pet. Sensor wings were swaying smoothly and
slowly, the frame relaxed, armor loose. It was a lovely sight.
"Good evening, Master," Prowl smiled as he turned to greet the smaller mech
with genuine warmth. "How was your orn?"
"Very pleasant," Jazz smiled and walked up to his pet to claim a kiss that was
eagerly returned. He felt himself relax into it, relax into the incredibly rare
pleasure of being with a mecha that only wanted to please him and wasn't out
for personal gain. He reluctantly ended the kiss and turned to leave, knowing
Prowl would follow. "I did a lot of thinking about what happened with Whiplash.
I know we have settled, but I picked up that you still have ill feeling towards
him over his role."
"I am working to overcome them, Master," Prowl promised urgently, distressed
that he could not make the feelings simply go away.
Jazz reached back to pat him reassuringly on the arm. "I know, my pet. Such
things take time. They can also fester and become irrational hatred if left
untended. I had an idea that may help you accept what happened by venting your
anger on the mecha who caused you such distress."
Prowl almost missed a step, his expression scrunched into confusion and his
wings twitched. "I do not understand, Master."
Jazz smiled at him with a predatory edge. "You have the opportunity to hurt
Whiplash."
Only his automatic reflexes to keep up with Master kept Prowl from stumbling.
He didn't know what to make of the hot flash of yes that crashed through his
CPU, but he accepted it. "I would like that to work, Master."
"Good," Jazz purred and palmed open the door to his quarters. "Go set up the
playroom while I call Whiplash."
"Yes Master," Prowl purred eagerly and headed for the door that had been locked
to him on his arrival. He'd never had reason to go in before, other than the
time when Master had showed him what was in it. A private torture chamber as
equipped as the killing rooms far below, though with many more items that were
clearly about interfacing.
It wasn't long before Whiplash arrived with Jazz.
"He's all yours, my pet," Jazz motioned to his black counterpart. "Just don't
kill him."
"Yes Master," Prowl purred, turning to look his prey over with a predator's
gaze. It was radically different from his normal expression, yet fit there
perfectly. It was a look, a tiny moment, where you could see the Seeker
influence in Praxian coding.
::Your pet is a predator,:: Whiplash commented silently to his boss as he
waited for Prowl's orders. Unlike Jazz, Whiplash only tolerated pain. He
understood it intimately, he knew how to take pleasure from it, but the truly
masochistic desires that Jazz had were not in him. He was barely sadist enough
to perform for his leader.
Prowl pointed to the chains hanging from the ceiling and Whiplash compliantly
allowed himself to be bound upright, all four limbs separated. He watched the
young Praxian, so new to both pleasure and pain, and cast his optics down to
give a small prayer to Primus that the inexperience did not kill him.
With a rumble of approval Prowl stalked around his prey, always aware of his
master's presence and gaze. What he wanted was modulated for that fact, the
revenge taking a step away from the raw violence that Prowl enjoyed most to the
more sensual themes that his master did.
Whiplash never took his optics off the circling predator unless he moved
behind, and then he focused over to Jazz, the light of them dimmed with
wariness but without a hint of fight to them. He would do this, take whatever
Prowl needed to vent, because he had overstepped and hurt one of their newest
brothers, done damage that he knew Prowl was still trying to understand. And
because Jazz had asked him. He would submit to the other minibot's wishes,
always.
It might be easier, though, if Jazz did not have that smirk on his face.
::You were quite the horrible tease, you know,:: came Jazz's purr. ::One could
see this as justified payback.::
Whiplash didn't react outwardly, far too aware of the Praxian who was watching
him intently. ::I seem to remember you wanting it.::
Jazz's smirk split into a grin. ::Excuses. Really, 'Lash, I won't let him kill
you. And I might make it up to you later if you're good.::
Prowl's claws sliding down his back plating just hard enough to leave grooves
in the hardened metal snapped Whiplash's attention to his primary tormentor.
"Do you know why you're here?" Prowl's voice was a low, angry rumble suited to
his original designation in these halls.
Whiplash kept his armor tight against his frame. "Because I hurt your master
and asked you to help, and in doing so, hurt you deeply," he said. "Because
your master has commanded I make reparations for doing so."
Prowl hummed, his field flickering with a bit of relief that was less distinct
in its source. Claws dug in deeper and the hum turned to a purr. "I'm going to
hurt you to burn out the anger still inside me."
Somewhere in the glyphs, tone and field flickered a mixture of thanks and hope
that this would work. Whiplash offered as much reassurance as he felt
comfortable doing so in return, and even more apology.
Sharp teeth bit into Whiplash's neck, piercing casings but not cutting anything
off, yet. Tight against Whiplash's back, the heat of their frames whispered to
each other, but what Whiplash noticed the most was how cool his tormentor was.
He hissed softly at the bite but the coolness of the frame was the far more
startling sensation. He knew the reasons for it, but to feel it so suddenly...
it was a vivid reminder of how young a spark he had hurt, how unprepared Prowl
had been for what Whiplash had done to him--unintended as it was--and it
strengthened his resolve.
The rumble of Prowl's engine vibrated them both. Claws came up to Whiplash's
throat, teasing in their sharpness as they slid in and down, not cutting a
single thing, only to dig in deep when they hit the armor of Whiplash's chest
plate.
Whiplash didn't make a sound, and barely moved other than a small jolt as Prowl
dug in. With a thought, he initiated the program that was installed in all of
the SpecOps agents, both fully trained and fledgling, that would allow him to
translate pain into pleasure, and the sharp pressure from Prowl's claws shifted
and changed, turning into a spreading warmth.
"Turn it off," Jazz's voice was a calm order.
Whiplash complied without hesitation or thought of refusal, taking in the sting
of the real sensations and accepting it. It was what Jazz wished. A rumbling
growl vibrated against his back as Prowl found an armor seam and sunk into it,
sharp claws digging in deep. The first sound--a very quiet click--escaped his
vocalizer as tight plating was forced apart under the pressing digits to bare
the vulnerable internals.
A flare of victory, of yes, flashed up from Prowl. It was barely there except
for how closely they were pressed together, but Whiplash felt it. In that
moment he knew exactly what Prowl wanted, what he needed, and it went against
everything Whiplash was.
He was going to scream. He would beg. Not because this youth could force it
from him, but because that was what Prowl needed.
That didn't mean he had to give in easily though.
The clawed finger withdrew, only to find a spot where heavy chest armor met the
weaker abdominal armor and Prowl sliced in, slowly, savoring the way components
and armor parted under his claw.
Whiplash hissed, a barely audible noise, and squirmed reflexively as the wound
deepened. He locked his optics on Jazz, and they cycled as he tried to read his
boss's stance, wondering if--and, probably, when--he was going to step in.
Another sharp jab from the claw jarred his attention back to the Praxian. This
was the mech he should be wondering about right now. Prowl's lack of training
was suddenly a valid concern. He wouldn't know limits nearly as well as a
seasoned interrogator, and though he knew Jazz would stop this before it went
into permanent damage, that didn't mean much when you had a frame as resilient
as his. It had been a long, long time since Whiplash had felt pain without the
aid of the conversion software and it was a decidedly unpleasant experience.
Prowl growled and let go of his neck as claws found his hip joins and dug in,
seeking the key cables, rummaging through wires and lines, drawing energon and
sparks.
Whiplash's memory flashed vividly back to the image of his own claws doing much
the same thing in Jazz's hips and he wondered how much he had inadvertently
taught the young mech that was about to be turned against him, with much less
pleasurable intentions. It made his plating--already pulled in as tight as he
could manage--quiver as it tried to tighten even more, and it did absolutely
nothing to stop the painful intruder.
Hip joints were some of the most flexible in a frame, and key for full-body
movement, which, in turn, also made their cables some of the most sensitive to
damage. A mech should be aware of any damage they took, and pain was one way of
ensuring it.
And--oh--Whiplash was definitely aware when the claws made their first crucial
cut. It hurt. His legs shook and he gave a sharp, quickly-stifled groan.
The rev of a powerful engine marked Prowl's notice of the sound, and instead of
simply slicing through in one hard hit he slid his claw along the main cable,
shredding only a handful of the fibers at a time, teasing away at them.
Whiplash ground his denta together and his helm tossed back, hips jerking
forward, trying to escape the Praxian. It pulled another harsh groan from him,
one that he couldn't cut off nearly as quickly as the claw moved slowly along
its path.
Another slice, another sound wrenched from the black frame. Again and again,
Prowl displayed a patience he did not have with pleasure. Each cut brought
Whiplash's legs closer to useless, and it was apparent to both minibots that
was Prowl's intention. To sever the main cables to each leg, just a bit at a
time, fraying them slowly.
It made Whiplash shake when he realized it. He'd expected mauling, fast and
brutal, and certainly torture, certainly agony, but the careful precision that
his boss's pet was displaying here had not been expected. He had already done
so very little, but he'd remembered and attacked a key component for mobility.
A calculated first move; prey would be hard-pressed to defend itself without
use of its legs.
The thought made Whiplash growl. He was not ordinary prey, even tied and
deprived of his legs. He was not going to give in easily. Even with that
defiance in mind, though, the next slide along his cables made him hiss.
A quick glance at Jazz showed him very little, other than that the silver
minibot was both impressed and pleased by Prowl's choice of target. If the
tactical thoughtfulness surprised Whiplash, it must have thrilled Jazz.
The explosion of pain, bright, hot and impossible to ignore sizzled across
Whiplash's awareness when, a full three kliks later, the main cable on his left
finally snapped. He could still support himself, sort of, by locking armor and
other components, but it was crippling damage until repaired.
The right side gave less than half a klik later to distinct satisfaction from
Prowl, though no hint that it had evolved into the sexual sadism that Jazz had
perfected. Not yet at any rate. Whiplash knew it was only a matter of time
before the highly malleable young mech was just like his master.
Even with both main cables snapped, Prowl didn't remove his hands, but instead
pressed forward. Sharp claws sought out lesser components, gears and cables
alike, to pierce and tear with slow precision. The only component that seemed
immune to assault was the ball joint at the center, and Whiplash could only
hope that Prowl didn't set out after those. He'd expected the Praxian to pull
out once the crippling damage had been finished, move to something else that
would hinder his motion abilities, but he was lingering, carefully going after
pieces that were all but worthless without the main cable.
No other purpose but to cause pain. Prowl pierced a tight cluster of sensory
wires and Whiplash shouted, plating trying to snap down on the source of the
increasing damage, meeting hard resistance from the claws that were mercilessly
picking through him.
He felt another rev and flare of yes-pleasure-success from behind him. This was
nothing like what Prowl had done to his kill. Jazz had said that the display,
the time he took, really, doing anything other than rending his target apart as
quickly as he could, was all for Jazz's benefit.
Jazz was wrong. The young killer they'd taken in definitely understood
vengeance and pain as a tool.
Slowly, almost teasingly, Prowl's fingers withdrew, stroking broken and cut
components on his way out, curling his claws around severed wires, teasing as
the snapped, frayed ends of the main cable. The minibot shuddered.
Whiplash's legs were secured to the floor, splayed out in a way that gave easy
access to every part of him, but it also required those main cables to
maintain. As Prowl's hands finally withdrew, his frame sank a bit, putting more
pressure on his shoulders to take his weight now that his legs couldn't.
The hands turned soft, gentle, caressing as Prowl slid them up Whiplash's
front. One found his throat and stroked it as a lover would, while the other
wandered back down to tease his spike cover.
His pained groan faded and shivers of agony turned to shivers of dread and
anticipation. He had seen what Prowl could do to these systems when he was
performing for Jazz, what was he going to be capable of when he was taking the
joy of the pain he was causing for himself?
His aching hips were serving as a brutal and chilling foretell. Part of him
wanted to comm Jazz and inform his boss that if he still had a spike when this
was all over, Jazz was going to get on his knees for it. The wiser part decided
to not risk riling Jazz's sadistic streak and stayed quiet. Prowl really didn't
need to be given any ideas.
"How well do you think you can fight now?" Prowl's voice was sweet, seductive,
full of desire and riding on a power high.
Whiplash growled. "Could still tear you apart," he answered, completely honest.
"Wouldn't stand a chance against your master, but I wouldn't go down quickly,
either."
A low rumbling chuckle vibrated between them. "Then I'll just have to even
things up a little more," Prowl purred, his seductive caress moving upwards
until his hands were playing lightly around Whiplash's shoulder joints.
"Starting here," he trilled and dug his claws into the exposed joints.
Unprepared for it, Whiplash arched forward and gave a startled yelp, then an
unhappy moan as the movement jarred the tender hips and pain shot through him
from both major joint sets.
Prowl rumbled in pleasure and pressed further in. He dug at the joints without
cutting, yet, each movement made with an intentional push to one side or the
other to force Whiplash's hip joints to try and compensate when they no longer
could. "So much more strain here. They'll snap that much faster," he murmured
with a disappointed sound. His claws found the primary cable and began the slow
processes of slicing it one set of strands at a time.
Whiplash would have been pleased and impressed if he hadn't been the subject of
Prowl's observations. More strain in the joint meant it was more vital that
those cables remain as they were. Their break would cause more damage than a
frame settling onto powerful legs.
That only made it hurt worse. Whiplash couldn't stop--didn't try, a small part
of his processor whispered in correction--the angry, pained cries that the
claws tore from him. They were what Prowl wanted, and each sound only
solidified the assessment with a fresh flare of pleasure, but it was a pleasure
so very different from Jazz's pleasure at causing pain. Prowl wasn't a sadist,
not yet at any rate. He was enjoying this, but not with arousal.
More than a breem of slowly fraying the cable away, each new slice earning
another sound from Whiplash, before there was the sickening sound of the thick
main arm cable snapping under the load each strand was now forced to bear.
Whiplash shrieked over the sound, the hand in the damaged arm spasming at the
sudden loss of the primary motor control. The break made his vision snap and
flicker as the automatic panicked charge at the damage tore through his
processor and warnings flashed up, alerting him to piece after piece that was
in danger of imminent damage. Hand, wrist, elbow, shoulder, even hips at the
increased weight on one side bending them out of place.
Suddenly Prowl's claws were gone from both sides, leaving Whiplash with a
single functional arm, but one with enough damage to the primary cable that it
wouldn't take the weight on it for long.
For the first time, Prowl moved away from him, towards the back of the room
where all the toys were, and began humming as he made a bit of a show of
selecting what to use.
Whiplash moaned, not at all looking forward to what the surprisingly conniving
Praxian was going to select. He shot a baleful look over at his grinning boss.
No doubt Jazz had taught Prowl about these, and there was no question that he
would remember his master's favorites.
The crack of a whip and the painful lash that the charged length caused along
Whiplash's back registered at almost the same moment. Whiplash groaned as he
immediately remembered how quickly Prowl had taken to this weapon. Should have
known. Still... "Good choice," he said with a short huff of a laugh before the
next strike dug in, making him shake and give a startled, pained yelp.
The next strike landed perfectly on top of the last, and this time Whiplash
really felt the difference between the bladed one designed to eventually kill
and this one. The electrical whip snapping against his plating was designed to
cause pain, but almost no damage. He'd scream, most likely, and thrash enough
to snap his good shoulder.
Another perfectly-aimed strike and Whiplash fought to lock his joints against
the automatic shudder, holding out as long as he could. Another--he wasn't
going to last long if Prowl's aim kept up like that--and another--and then
Prowl hit right along the seam of the damaged shoulder, making the whip wrap
around his arm before it was pulled away. The movement, along with the pain it
shot into the damaged cables, made him shake hard enough for the other shoulder
to creak in protest, and the remaining wires stretched and snapped.
He crumbled, his frame no longer held up by anything more structural than his
armor and the ball joint at the center of the shoulder. Pain went to new levels
when the next lash danced across his elbow joint, then up to his palms, and
down to curl around his throat in a caress entirely too skilled for Prowl's
experience.
The sound that would have been a scream became strangled and shorted out as the
charge from the whip hit his vocalizer. The lash slid away and there was a
longer pause, and Whiplash didn't want to think about what Prowl had just
learned.
He found out when the whip cracked and wrapped around his neck again, higher,
the aim deadly perfect and hitting in such a way as to not cause another short.
Prowl pulled, tightening without making the lash return to him, and it
constricted around Whiplash's neck as the charge surged out, hitting the intake
systems. It made his vents stutter and stall, but the sound of their protesting
clicks was only barely audible next to the sound of the scream it wrenched from
him.
Deep inside, Whiplash felt the protoform in his limbs hurriedly oozing towards
his main mass to avoid being severed and deactivated when the limbs went.
Because they were going to go. Armor, if Prowl left it alone, could maintain
enough structural integrity for a lengthy time, but not forever. That was all
the attention Whiplash could pay it. As the lash fell away, sliding down his
throat before withdrawing over his shoulder and down his back, Whiplash had to
focus on the hard revving of the engine behind him.
Prowl was getting excited by this.
What he couldn't tell from this distance was whether it was in arousal, or the
more basic battle-lust.
There was a longer pause, and then a new whip cracked the air between them,
striking cleanly between Whiplash's legs to curl over his valve cover and sink
the barbed tip into his spike cover before it was yanked back.
It caught him completely unprepared--he hadn't even heard anything that would
indicate the switching of weapons and his body jerked as the spiking
wavelengths of pain surged up through him as the thin and sensor-thick plating
tore away. He screamed again, short and harsh, a sound that was cut off when
the whip cracked again to tear into his valve cover.
It hurt, more than he'd expected, more than he remembered it having done so
without the pleasure-pain protocols. Playing to Jazz's sadistic streak, he'd
taken this and worse, but it had been a long time and at least Jazz had
preferred the protocols turned on. His plating trembled in protest and he
gasped static, processor too stunned by the initial wave to reboot his
vocalizer right away. The continuous rumble of an excited engine purred
ominously behind him and Whiplash reminded himself why he was here.
The quiet steps of Prowl walking towards him did nothing to still the unease at
not knowing his tormentor. A soft hand, warmer than before, slid down his back
in a lover's caress as Prowl pressed close against his back.
"You do have a lovely scream," Prowl rumbled, his field extending far enough
for Whiplash to clearly feel that the excitement was not in the least bit
sensual. It was running hot and eager, but it had none of the flavor that every
other mecha that had hurt him had. It made the situation all the more
unsettling, especially when combined with the gentle, rather sensual touches.
"Extend your spike."
The 'or Master will do it for you' was clear, even if it went unspoken.
Whiplash hissed, eyed Jazz, and decided that leaving his boss out of this as
long as possible was still going to be in his best interests. He didn't need
Prowl picking up on the arousal he was sure Jazz was humming with by now. He
complied, the action accompanied by a protoform-deep shudder as every self-
preservation script he had screamed at him to stop, not to expose such a
sensitive piece up to the pure predatory delight that was running hot through
Prowl's field.
Jazz watched intently, as eager to see what his pet was planning to do as he
was to see Whiplash enduring it. Yes, he cared for his Second and no, he
wouldn't put him through something like this without a good reason... but it
didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the show as long as it was here. Pain was pain,
no matter what frame it was being coaxed from. ::Good choice,:: he purred, and
chuckled at the sharp hiss he got in return.
Then Prowl's hand was on Whiplash's spike, stroking it gently, imparting only
pleasure with this touch to fight with the pain crying out from every other
part of the black frame.
Whiplash whined at the conflicting signals--not something he was used to, not
something he enjoyed, and deep, automatic coding was trying very hard to make
him panic. He kept that emotion in check, but he wasn't short on sickening
dread. The hand was light and tender and made his hips automatically try to
buck up into the touch--
It shifted the damaged joints forward and he cried out as he weight settled in
a different position, sending new sensors flaring to life with nothing short of
agony, their signals chasing on the tail of another whisper of pleasure. His
shoulders creaked dangerously.
Prowl was far too good at this for his age. Whiplash shuddered to think what he
would become when he was fully realized under Jazz's instruction.
There was a soft hum, a glance at Jazz, and then Prowl went to work in earnest.
He stroked Whiplash's spike, strong and firmly, a steady rhythm of pleasure
even as he used his free arm and chassis to help support the damaged frame.
Whiplash groaned as the pressure suddenly let off his shoulders and the spike
sensation quickly became the dominant one. It was going to take a lot for his
frame to overcome the all-consuming throbbing ache that was his current
existence, but Prowl had already started to make him gasp and shiver. Another
firm stroke and a subtle twist of his wrist and the Praxian gave a pleased
rumble at the way arousal was bleeding out into Whiplash's field.
"You're lovely in pleasure too," Prowl murmured, licking at the side of
Whiplash's neck as his thumb slid around the head of Whiplash's spike before
trailing his hand down. "Don't worry, I'm done with torturing you. You can let
the pleasure happen."
Whiplash moaned, the promise sounding too good to be true, but there was truth
in Prowl's field and he surrendered to the strokes, processor eagerly consuming
the much-welcome feeling of not-pain. He sagged back against the larger, steady
frame and soaked up the heat, letting it spread through him, letting it center
in on his spike and the warm, squeezing hand. Another gasp and a shiver and his
vision flickered in warning of the growing charge, one that he was too happy to
feel.
"That's good," Prowl purred in his audial, his hand steady and his field warm.
"It feels good, doesn't it? To have a gentle hand after the pain."
To the side, Jazz tilted his helm curiously. His engines raced at the sight in
front of him, but he could hardly believe that Prowl was going to be satisfied
with what little he had done so far. It was barely a taste of what Whiplash had
done to Jazz and what Prowl had been forced to put his master through. The lack
of any kind of sexual torment was curious, and far too easy. Jazz had screamed
for mercy, and so far... Whiplash had not.
Whiplash's moans were loud enough to pull him from his thoughts as he centered
in on the black minibot's spike. Small charges crackled and danced over the
surface and Jazz knew from long experience that at any moment...
Whiplash arched back against Prowl and screamed, an entirely different sound
than the ones Prowl had been tearing from him not long before. Overload charge
spread out from his spike and ran sizzling up along his frame. The instant it
registered with Prowl, he let go and stepped back, removing all support for
Whiplash's abused shoulder joints.
Even as the overload had the black mech's full attention, his shoulders gave
out, the joints and remaining cables snapping as he thrashed in the grip of
pure pleasure. He felt himself hit the ground, but it was a long, shuddering,
bliss-filled moment before any of it registered with his processors. His ankles
were still bound, causing his hips to land at an uncomfortable angle, but it
was nothing compared to the stress on his ankle joints.
As his new position settled in Whiplash's CPU, he felt the shackles release.
His vision snapped in and out of focus as he rode through the last over the
charge, processor already mapping and planning, instantly on the defensive. He
never once lost total awareness of Prowl's position behind him, even if a vast
majority of it had been subconscious. That knowledge clamored up as the
overload faded completely, processor warning him of the new damage. It would
severely hinder him, but he wasn't crippled. Not yet. Of easily greater concern
was the predatory mech that had dropped him and now freed him. He forced
reluctant optics to focus.
Prow was standing where he'd stepped back, watching, waiting, the flare of his
wings a subconscious marker of his aroused state. A decidedly hungry, predatory
smile flitted across Prowl's features when he knew he had Whiplash's full
attention and the mech was coherent again. Without any more warning, he
launched at his prey, fingers splayed and claws forward, his wings wide and the
fingers separated.
It showed his youth, his lack of training, his lack of understanding of his
opponent, but it was pure and honest too; raw, unchecked instincts driving the
movement rather than thought. It was most likely the part of Prowl that needed
soothing the most.
As all that registered, a back part of Whiplash's processors realized that the
pain, and the overload, had been nothing more than a display for Jazz while
Prowl weakened him enough for the fight he really wanted. What he really
needed.
Whiplash curled and rolled, forcing his legs to pull up and back, bringing his
knees over his more vulnerable abdomen, catching Prowl's initial dive with his
shoulder. He threw his helm sideways, using his helm as a blunt weapon to slam
into Prowl and knock him--barely--off his balance to give him time to extend
his legs, launching off the larger mech, lurch up to his knees, his hips
screaming in pain at the motions he was forcing them through.
He felt the surprise, the grunt of the impact from Prowl when he didn't land
where he expected to, but the Praxian rolled with it smoothly enough to come at
Whiplash again with a snarl and field full of pain-rage-hurt it as he fully let
go and allowed the violence to sooth his issues with this mech.
Whiplash locked the plating in his legs and braced himself, letting the blades
in his shoulders snap out, angling himself so that he caught Prowl's weight
right on them. He had no way of holding himself upright under the Praxian's
mass, not with the way his hips were already shaking in protest at his own. The
best he could do was angle himself in their fall so that he landed on his back
and pray that his legs were free enough to use once he was pinned.
In a fight against a real target, he still had dozens of ways to drop a mech
within moments, but his duty right now was to be enough of a threat to make
Prowl work for it, and then...
An image of the mauled seeker flashed through his mind. He hit the ground,
hard, Prowl over him, and wrenched his shoulder, digging blades in and tearing
as much as he could. Prowl howled in pain, a sound that morphed into a snarl of
anger, but his field was a halo of YES around him, thrumming with the alien
non-sensual pleasure that was becoming his hallmark for what he did for
himself.
Instinct forced Prowl to jerk back, pulling the blades out of his shoulder and
sealing the punctured lines before he lashed out again with heavy claws,
sinking into the collar, catching his prey and yanking it back before it could
struggle out from underneath him. Straddling Whiplash, his optics almost white,
he tore down, claws catching on chest armor, and gouged.
Whiplash trashed and latched onto the sound of the angry snarl and mimicked it
back at the Praxian, twisting uselessly against the pinning weight. He kicked
his legs out, found one of them with enough freedom and strength to be useful,
and triggered the blades along his upper leg to extend. The longest was right
above his knee, perfectly angled, and he slammed his leg up, digging it into
Prowl's lower back.
He felt Prowl's pain as he pulled his leg to the side, straining under the
weight and hurt and ignoring flashing warnings that this was the last of the
limb's usefulness. He kept pulling, trying to dislodge Prowl from his seat,
prepared to roll away if the chance came. Agony exploded out from his hip and
he growled through the pain, focused only on the mech above him.
Claws came down hard, slashing at his face. Though the aim was less than
perfect, in his debilitated state Whiplash couldn't completely avoid the strike
that caught his visor and shattered the connection points before it went flying
in a slice that cut into his optic glass on the way. Deep down, the part of him
that wasn't fighting for his very spark recognized the subtle shift in Prowl's
field from the joy of attacking to the energon lust that could completely
consume his awareness.
Jazz felt the same shift and kept the command for Prowl to still ready and
waiting, should his pet go too far. He wasn't worried, not yet, and he could
stop Prowl in mid-critical-strike if he had too, but the desire to keep
Whiplash around kept him attentive, long before any real danger.
Whiplash stilled for less than a nanoklik, running his limited choices through
his processor. There were several different ways he could probably still move
his leg, forcing the blades to cut through armor, widening the wounds, and at
least one of those stood a good chance of getting Prowl off him for long enough
to disengage and roll. More than likely, though, Prowl would be back on him in
an instant, this time pinning him on his front.
He could freeze, retract the blades, and then go completely still and let the
Praxian do what he wanted and hope that the lack of struggle didn't flame the
energon lust. But he didn't know if Prowl had had enough yet, and he didn't
want this scene to fail and leave the Praxian with any kind of unresolved
anger.
In the end, he stilled, just slightly, and left his blades in, but didn't try
to move them further. He watched Prowl's hand descend and at the last moment,
snapped his helm to the side to dodge the blow, timing his strike and catching
Prowl's claw in his teeth, biting down and twisting, hoping to distract the
other mech with unexpected pain.
It earned him a growl and an unusual response. Instead of yanking his hand back
to try and free it, Prowl's free hand slammed into Whiplash's jaw, driving it
down and shattering the right hinge completely. Only with the pressure gone did
he pull back. The next slashing strike towards his main chassis came barely a
moment later, hard and fast, designed to hurt and draw energon more than
cripple or kill.
Whiplash moaned and didn't bother trying to raise his helm back up after that.
Prowl was too far gone to even pull instinctively away from the sharp bite he'd
given, so the minibot decided his best option, now, was definitely the route of
going still and accepting whatever the other had left in him to vent. Field and
armor both pulled in tight around him and he shook as the battle scripts were
dismissed and they freed up the rest of his active consciousness to be pummeled
by damage warnings and the flares of agony that came with each one.
The fresh surge came with another lurching wave of terrible agony and he
screamed again, the sound going up in volume and pitch as Prowl's next enraged
attack descended on him, and this time, with no resistance coming from his
prey, he didn't stop.
Whiplash found himself praying for the moment when he was too badly damaged and
Jazz stopped his pet, because that was the only way for this to end now. Prowl
was too focused, too far gone into the energon lust. The other side of his
chest was gouged, abdominal plating shredded and ripped away, sensory horns
twisted beyond recognition, crumpling easily in Prowl's claws. One of them
ripped away when it was turned too far and Whiplash saw the static that flooded
through his processor and consumed his cries. Above it all, warnings of
critical energon loss flashed nonstop.
His body, his frame, had been turned into a shredded mess on the floor,
surrounded by a huge, growing spill of his energon and shards of his plating.
Before long, he lost the ability to use his vocalizer, and after that, his
vision.
He was slipping in and out of awareness when he heard Jazz call Prowl off, felt
relief that the blow he'd anticipated didn't fall, and let his consciousness
slip under when the medic was called.
Jazz felt the exhilarating rush that came with watching such a powerful mech's
movements simply stop with a single glyph from him. Of course, he didn't think
of himself as power-hungry. Yes, he had striven to lead, and loved where he
was, but he was much more motivated by the variety of fringe benefits of being
on top, rather of the power itself.
Still, it was a heady thing to experience. He waited until he had Prowl's
optics completely focused on him, then leaned back against the wall, relaxing,
and crooked a single finger. "Come here," he purred, engines running hot from
the display.
He took a moment to look Whiplash over as Prowl rose. His Second would survive
until Temperance got here, which meant he could focus on the much more
enjoyable experience of letting his pet please him in every way possible.
Prowl eagerly returned to his side, kneeling without command. He was covered in
energon, marked by a couple noticeable injuries, and was running just as hot as
his master, though with a very different feel to it.
"That was incredible," Jazz said, pushing his field forward with very honest
praise and approval. Prowl's flared back with the bliss that approval generated
in him at the very spark level. With a smile Jazz bent forward and tilted his
pet's face up towards him, just barely brushing their lips together despite
Prowl's effort to continue the kiss. "Did that help?" he asked softly, needing
to know the answer before he continued.
Prowl cycled a deep vent of air, steadying and stilling himself before seeking
the answer. He chased down emotional linkage trees, cross-referencing every
place that Whiplash appeared.
"Yes, Master," he answered when he was certain. "It helped a great deal. Thank
you."
Jazz hummed and pushed back into the kiss. "Good," he murmured against Prowl's
lips, and let his engines rev while his desire and arousal washed back into his
field, consuming it. Later, he would use this as a teaching moment and ask
Prowl who he thought the winner of that confrontation would have been if
Whiplash had actually been fighting for his life. He was interested to know
what Prowl's answer would be.
For now, though...
He pulled back with a grin. "Do you have any idea what watching that did to
me?" he asked, voice low with want. Between them his spike cover slid back.
"It made you hot with desire," Prowl rumbled, his field flaring with answering
arousal. He shifted to settle a little closer and slid his hands along Jazz's
thighs to his hips as he leaned forward to kiss the spike housing. Even hotter
than Prowl's arousal however, was his desire to pleasure his master, to please
the mech he looked to. Desire that could and did turn him to arousal when he
had no natural inclination towards it, yet it was just as honest as his
master's.
Jazz chuckled. "Yes, exactly," he said, and ran his hands over Prowl's helm
with a pleased purr when the lips pressed against him. He let his helm rest
back against the wall, petting absently while he remembered Whiplash's screams
and the way he'd looked in pain. It made him moan just as a slick glossa slid
across the very tip of his spike before circling the housing. Hands that had so
recently destroyed another mech's hips began playing with his, the fingers
working their way into gaps to stroke the very cables he'd cut.
His senses full of spilled energon and his master's arousal, Prowl moaned and
purred as he coaxed Jazz's spike out with his glossa and desire to pleasure
him.
An exasperated huff came with the door sliding open and Temperance stalking in.
She gave a hard glare at Jazz.
Jazz grinned back at her, unrepentant, continuing to stroke his fingers over
Prowl's armor, not in the least bit bothered that his pet continued to run his
glossa up and down his spike the whole time. "What? You told me to figure out a
way to help Prowl recover."
"And having him suck you off while Whiplash is bleeding out was your answer?"
She glowered at him even as she began sealing the worst of the damage. "Which
one of you did this, anyway?"
"Prowl did, and--mm, no," Jazz hummed, distracted for a moment as Prowl dipped
his helm down. "That wouldn't do Prowl any good at all. 'Lash is fine, anyway--
his arms are above you if you're looking--and it was his idea in the first
place."
Temperance huffed again before stabilizing the black mech for transport, then
moved to retrieve his arms, rather pointedly ignoring the pleasured sounds Jazz
was making and the happy humming Prowl was answering with. "And it worked?"
"Mmm, what?" Jazz asked, giving his irritated medic a huge grin. "Oh, yes." He
looked down and caressed Prowl's helm fondly. "It did. I think he just--aah--
needed to give physical expression to the anger he was still feeling."
"Then let's hope he doesn't need to do it often," she gave a rather pointed
look at Jazz for his part in the mess. "I'll leave a message when Whiplash is
functional again," she grumbled and walked out with the hover stretcher,
leaving the lovers to their pleasure.
Jazz barely managed a murmured response as she was on her way out before he
gasped and curled his fingers around Prowl's helm, pulling him in close. "Just
like that," he gasped, moaning again when Prowl repeated the swipe of his
glossa as he sucked strongly. He moved as well as he could in his master's
grip, not the least bit disturbed by the handling, but focused on the move that
was good enough to make his master speak.
The sharpening pace of Jazz's vents made Prowl all the more eager in his
efforts, wanting to taste and feel the physical proof that he'd done well.
There was still a tiny twinge inside him that was remembering doing this when
he didn't know what it was and couldn't take pleasure in it, but it was largely
washed away by the intensity of making this master happy. The past did not
matter so much, as long as his current master was strong and pleased with him.
Jazz groaned sharply as the pressure and speed both increased, fingers
tightening. His hips started to push forward on their own, trying to force his
spike deeper into the heat of Prowl's mouth, nudging against the back of his
throat. Prowl swallowed eagerly around him every time he did, until Jazz
couldn't stand it and with a shout, grabbed Prowl's helm and pulled until lips
smashed against his plating, holding there. Prowl moved his glossa and throat
with no protest and Jazz threw his helm back, slamming it into the wall as he
overloaded, shooting into the confining heat.
His knees buckled when Prowl didn't stop sucking and his shout shifted into a
lingering moan that gradually faded. Only as the volume decreased did he let go
and sag, gasping, and let Prowl pull away. As the charge faded, Jazz stroked
his pet's helm, enjoying the ever more gentle attention until Prowl finally
drew off the tingling spike to lick it clean.
"Whatever you'd like to do, you are welcome to it. You performed excellently,"
Jazz purred in offer when Prowl looked up at him for a hint as to what was
next.
There was a momentary pause as Prowl processed that and selected. Then he stood
smoothly and claimed a kiss, his manner dominant in that delightful way that
Jazz knew was still more about his pleasure than Prowl's, but Prowl would enjoy
more than enough. Strong dark hands moved down Jazz's flanks as Prowl pressed
him against the wall with his frame.
Jazz purred up into the kiss, tasting himself on his pet's glossa and
immediately surrendering control. Quivering under roaming hands he lifting his
own to Prowl's chest, stroking and caressing, encouraging the heat he could
feel in the frame against his to surge higher.
A hand on his aft tilted Jazz's hips up as Prowl's spike pressurized between
them, slick, hot and hard, eagerly rubbing against Jazz's still-pressurized
spike and the valve cover below it.
Jazz pulled back from the kiss to grin up at his pet. "So enthusiastic," he
whispered, voice deep and husky with anticipation, rubbing against the much
larger mech. His valve was already quivering and dripping just at the thought
of taking Prowl into him. "So ready to bury in me, aren't you, to pleasure me
with that wonderful spike..." He pressed back into the kiss, swirling his
glossa around Prowl's, pulling a pleased rumble from him that he answered with
his own hard rev.
"Yes," Prowl's tone quivered, not with arousal but with intense desire and the
truth that Jazz spoke. He leaned in to kiss again as his finger slid forward to
stroke the valve cover. "I want to feel you around my spike, feel your pleasure
so...." his voice trailed off as he tried and failed to find the right word-
glyph for the level of intimacy it was for him, to express the incredible
sensation it was to pleasure Master with an act that brought him just as much
pleasure, how much more it felt with Master than with another.
Jazz slid his valve cover back underneath the rubbing finger and gasped as
Prowl pressed forward, then whispered a glyph in a language that he knew Prowl
would not understand. It was an old glyph, only barely out of the Language of
the Primes, which was the last time the glyph was used very often. He
accompanied it with the feel of the word in his field, of feeling the pleasure
of a lover around you, in you, while two bodies thrummed together with heat and
passion. "Close," he translated, inadequately. "Inside and around and together,
filling and being filled." He gasped softly as the finger stroked him.
Prowl nodded and repeated the glyph, his pronunciation a flawless rendition of
Jazz's accent, and logged it in his linguistic center. He linked it to these
feelings, to the joy he felt to please his master in a way that pleased his own
frame. His fingers slick from stroking the soft layers of platelets around
Jazz's valve, he moved to grip Jazz's hips on both sides and lifted him up,
still pressed against the wall, and slowly brought their interface arrays
together.
The moan of pleasure and flare of yes came from both their fields and frames as
Prowl sank his spike deep into his master's valve and stilled, enjoying the
newness of the sensation and the moment that was unhurried. He simply drank in
everything in that moment, committed it to memory and linked and cross-linked
it to half a dozen glyphs, but mostly to the new one.
"Master," Prowl's vocalization was quiet and tight with the pleasure surging
through his frame as he drew their hips apart. A glyph of devotion rather than
submission. A title given freely with the loyalty to match. Almost a prayer to
have it accepted and the devotion returned. Master. Alpha. Leader. All these
were the same for Prowl. A gift and honor he gave with the hope that it would
be repaid in kind. If Master took care of him, he would do anything for Master.
Right in this moment, Prowl could not imagine a Master more deserving of the
glyph.
===============================================================================
Whiplash regained full consciousness more than two thirds of the way through
the medical-progression boot cycle and groaned inside his helm. It was never a
fun way to boot up, and he knew he was in for an interrogation of the CMO
variety when he on lined his optics. His HUD scrolled with repair work notes,
things that had been fixed, replaced and reattached. It was a blunt reminder of
the kind of terror that Praxian would be when he matured.
With no small amount of reluctance, he braced himself and triggered his vision,
feeling his optics spiral open. They immediately focused in on the figure of
the CMO standing over him. She looked cross.
"I hear that this was your brilliant idea," she glared down at him.
Whiplash rebooted his vocalizer twice, stalling for time. "I wouldn't say the
whole thing was my idea..."
"All right," she crossed her arms over her chestplate. "Just what parts were
your idea?"
Whiplash told himself it would be very unbecoming to squirm. "Well, it was
definitely you who told Jazz he'd better find a way to help Prowl, so one could
make a case that it was your..." He trailed off at her dangerous look, rebooted
his vocalizer once more. "I only suggested Prowl might feel better if he was
allowed to vent anything he was distressed about on me, since I was the one in
control at the time. I never suggested exactly how he might choose to do it,
that was all him. And, possibly Jazz."
"Vent ... and at what point has 'vent' ever meant anything other that torture
to that silver menace?" She growled, even if she seemed slightly less angry at
him.
"Sometimes it means interfacing," Whiplash answered helpfully.
The glower returned in full force. "Without pain?"
"...Well, no," Whiplash admitted. He shifted his gaze down, looking at one of
his newly-attached arms and drummed his fingers experimentally. "So, ah, looks
good, should I say thank you and get out of your way?"
"First you're going to tell me just what Prowl experienced, at least as much as
you could catch," her gaze locked him in place.
Whiplash sobered. "It was like you said, he was struggling with reconciling
hurting Jazz--Master--and he was angry that I'd forced him to it. And from
this, all I got was excitement, especially every time he could get me to make a
sound. Not arousal, like Jazz would, but excitement at causing me pain. He
really got into it once we were fighting and he could just let loose and tear
into me."
Temperance hummed thoughtfully. "Warrior coding, or something along those
lines. Did it work?"
"I have no idea," Whiplash answered honestly. "I hope so, I can't say I want to
do that again. Jazz called him off in the end, he didn't stop on his own, so
whether he still had more to vent after that or not..." He shrugged.
She nodded. "I'll ask them. He was very happily sucking Jazz's spike when I
arrived, and left. You're on light duty for two orns while you adjust to all
the repairs. Fortunately he gave you enough warning to pull your protoform in
or it would be a lot longer."
Whiplash winced as he remembered the feeling of protoform creeping up his limbs
and nodded in acceptance of the orders. "Tell you this, though," he added as he
sat up, watching notices about the affected systems scroll by. "He did a damn
fine job of weakening me, even if he severely underestimated. Would have worked
just fine on plenty of mechs. He'll be Pit spawn when he's trained."
"I have to wonder how much of that was because he didn't know, and how much was
knowing you wouldn't dare poison him," she hummed, then shrugged. "You can
escape now."
Whiplash didn't have to be told twice.
===============================================================================
Whiplash left medbay cleared for full duty and happy to have gotten away
without another interrogation. He'd barely seen Prowl in the last two orns, but
his boss had assured him that their plan had worked and Prowl was emotionally
settled on Whiplash's account. He was taking Jazz's word for it, because one of
the last places he wanted to end up twice in a row was on Prowl's bad side.
He palmed the door to his office and stepped in, thinking to finish up the last
of the day's reports and then go find someone to do some hand-to-hand sparring
with, to fully loosen out the rather heavy repairs his arms had taken, when
hands wrapped around his shoulders from behind and the warm presence of a frame
was suddenly pressed up against his back. "Glad to see you're fully cleared,"
Jazz purred against him, engines kicking to life.
Whiplash was startled but didn't show it more than a barely-noticeable shiver
in his protoform. "Didn't I teach you that was impolite?" he growled.
Jazz chuckled. "If you did it didn't sink in." His field curled out, full of a
myriad of seductive and sadistic emotions all playing off of one another,
wrapping around Whiplash. His voice lowered. "Prowl has indicated he still
needs to feel closure on your behalf. He's asked for one more favor from you."
Whiplash tried to get an idea from what he was getting from Jazz what, exactly,
Prowl might have suggested as a "favor." Jazz was aroused by the idea, whatever
it was, but that told him very little. "...What do I have to do?"
"The same thing as last time," Jazz said. "Let yourself be bound and Prowl will
do what he wishes."
Whiplash huffed. He couldn't say no. "When?"
"Right now," Jazz purred. "Come with me."
With an internal groan and an uneasy quiver of his spark for what Prowl might
have been taught in the past two orns, Whiplash turned and followed his leader
to Jazz's quarters. More than a bit to his surprise, he was led into the
berthroom, not the playroom. Optics flicked behind his matte black visor as he
took in the space suspiciously devoid of toys and tools to settle on Prowl.
The Praxian was sprawled out on the berth in a decidedly seductive way, his
fingers playing along his frame in a languid dance of arousal. He smiled
warmly, his optics darkening with lust when he saw his master.
Jazz smiled and revved in response and stepped back and to the side, trailing
his fingers down Whiplash's arm, keeping his gaze on Prowl. "How would you like
him, pet?" he asked.
An eager trill came in response and Prowl slid from the berth, revealing a much
flatter version of the inhibitor Jazz had been subjected to in their first
scene. This one was intended for lovers and would short itself out before
serious damage could be caused. The amount of teasing that Whiplash knew his
systems would take under such a device would still be intense.
"Right here, Master," Prowl's rumble was pure arousal and eagerness.
"Come with me," Jazz murmured, guiding Whiplash with a loose hand around his
upper arm over to the berth, turning him with light touches and nudges until he
was in the middle with Jazz slipping in behind. He took the inhibitor and
settled it against Whiplash's back, flipping the mag-locks on and ensuring it
was properly syncing up with his Second's systems. When it was properly online
and ready, he shifted to the side and lay Whiplash back. "Arms up," he said,
grinning, and bound Whiplash's wrists together up over his helm, lashing them
up to the fine silver chain that was set in the wall. Strong enough to hold a
mech thrashing in overload, but not one of Whiplash's strength who was actively
trying to break free. He leaned in and brushed a soft, teasing kiss to
Whiplash's mouth.
Whiplash shivered, flexing instinctively against the bindings, unable to keep
from picking up on Jazz's arousal and echoing it softly.
"Have fun," Jazz purred, and drew away.
"I intend to," Prowl picked up as he slid onto the berth, one knee at a time.
His hands moved up Whiplash's frame as he explored the design so similar to his
master's but so decidedly different.
Whiplash responded warmly to the touch, so different from the last time these
hands had been on him. He settled in with a soft vent, steadying his systems,
letting the excitement in Prowl's field soothe away the last of the tension in
his, and relaxed under the curious exploration.
Prowl watched, just as intent on cataloging his own reactions and how they
differed between the two very similar mecha with him. Learning, always
learning. He couldn't stop if ordered to, and he knew Master was pleased that
he loved to watch and touch and learn.
Jazz settled himself next to the others on the berth, reclining comfortably and
in a good position to watch everything with an excellent view. He followed
Prowl's hands as they moved teasingly over the black frame, drawing out
contented sighs from Whiplash, and lifted his own to mirror the actions on
himself, already running hot just from the memory of Prowl describing what he
wanted to do and feeling the arousal in his pet's field.
It wasn't a normal punishment, but it was going to be a lot of fun. Anything
that edged Prowl closer to enjoying sensual pain was a plus as far as Jazz was
concerned.
Strong, curious but gentle hands moved up Whiplash's chest ahead of Prowl's
chassis until he was completely over the black minibot, their fields brushing
lightly against each other. With a bit of a grin Prowl lowered his helm to
claim a kiss. Chaste at first, but quickly deepening, and something Whiplash
was eager to respond to. As relatively new as Prowl was to most intimate acts,
he'd had a metacycle to practice nothing but this one with a very eager Jazz,
and he was amazing. Amazing enough to make even Whiplash, who considered
himself a fairly hardened mech, feel dazed.
Prowl supported himself with one hand while the other stroked Whiplash's side,
making the minibot's armor start to loosen as he relaxed further, even moaning
into the kiss as Prowl's glossa danced with his. Prowl was in no hurry, not yet
at least, and Whiplash was more than pleased with the direction this was taking
and in no mood to protest. He could hear Jazz's engines purring loudly beside
him.
He could already work out the basics of where this was likely to go. He'd be
teased and aroused until the charge was high enough he begged, but it would
never reach the point that it had with Jazz. This inhibitor wouldn't allow it.
This kind of punishment or vengeance he would readily agree to just for fun.
Another moan rumbled up from Whiplash's engine as Prowl's mouth moved from his
to trail light kisses across his cheek and to his throat, nibbling and sucking
on the myriad of cables and tubes there.
He tilted his helm up and back to offer more of it to Prowl, and as he did, he
heard Jazz's engines rev. He felt his boss's weight shift closer and then warm,
silver lips were pressing to his and a second hand slipped down his body,
joining Prowl's in its stroking, teasing exploration. It was a languid, tender
approach that he just didn't associate with his leader and he moaned into the
kiss. It didn't matter how well he could take pain, or ignore it, or sink into
the state of pain=pleasure that the protocols created. This was what Whiplash
wanted in the berth and he pushed his pleasure, desire and approval for it
through his field and by pressing into those touches.
Prowl had made it all the way down to his collar armor at the base of his
throat when it occurred to Whiplash that despite the heat of all three frames,
not a single interface panel had been touched or opened yet.
Instead, they were focusing all their energy and touch on the sensitive systems
of his neck, chest, and arms that were so very rarely paid attention. Their
world so often led to short, hard-lived lives, and that had shifted over into
their berths as well. Whiplash did not actively seek out lovers in lower ranks,
but the few he'd had had been relative tumbles compared to what the act could
be. It had been a long time since he'd felt this kind of gentle pleasure.
Jazz and Prowl were taking their time coaxing it out of his frame, doing little
more than teasing with every new movement. Prowl's glossa slid over his collar
as his hand rubbed his abdomen, stroking over the grooves between plates, while
Jazz continued to kiss him, humming in response to the flares in his field. The
silver minibot's fingers ran over Whiplash's sensory horns, barely brushing
against them, so light that Whiplash wasn't even sure if he was actually making
contact or if he was just feeling the glancing energy fields. Each pass made
him shiver with short bursts of sensation.
He deepened the kiss as much as Jazz would allow him, not bothering to quiet
the long moans they were pulling from him, and neither one of them had touched
anywhere lower than his waist. He shifted his hips, feeling heat start to pool
lower in his systems, completely caught between the two aroused fields and the
talented pair of hands and mouths. He could feel Prowl's pleasure in drawing
out these sounds from him just as he had those of pain.
Then there were a pair of warm lips against the opening between his pelvic
girdle and leg. The same place that Prowl had dug his claws into two orns ago
now felt the attention of his glossa stroking the wires. Dark hands moved
lower, slipping sharp claws into his knees to gently pluck at wires and cables
just hard enough to cause them to vibrate and tingle, but nowhere close to hard
enough to damage.
Whiplash groaned against Jazz's mouth as Prowl's attentions sent tremors up
through his chest and down his legs. He flexed his fingers and reflexively
tugged against the restraints as the desire to rest one hand on Prowl's helm
and wrap the other around Jazz's neck to pull him closer flooded through him.
Trapped, he shivered in a mix of frustration and the erotic tension that was
rapidly growing in him, and made a short, longing sound, lifting his hips
barely up off the berth.
Jazz slid his hand from Whiplash's helm down to rest against his cheek. He
stroked his thumb over the edge of his Second's jaw, enjoying the way it was
making his field bright with pleasure and want, content to move with the slow
pace that Prowl was setting if it meant this was his to enjoy for a little
while. He would never want this for long, but it was a curious and pleasing
experience, despite being so opposite to his nature.
Whiplash gasped into the kiss as Prowl's glossa stroked over a quivering wire,
bucking slightly at the jolt it pushed through him, and the need for more
started growing in his processor and his field. Prowl took the clue and dragged
his glossa along that wire again, the full accessible length, and the blew a
warm gust of air across it, only to repeat the attention.
When Whiplash began to tremble, he slid his lips across the black mech's spike
cover just high enough that they didn't touch, and went to work on teasing the
other hip joint.
It left Whiplash trembling in the wake of the gentle, teasing attentions and he
whined sharply when Prowl's mouth moved right past, and again, more desperately
when he started in on the new location. The first hip was still aching from the
loss of Prowl's tongue, every wire he'd plucked alive with energy. The whine
faded into a sigh when Jazz's second hand, which had mostly been resting still
on his chest, slid down his body, dipping fingers easily into the seams between
his loosened plating, carefully stroking. The lower he moved, the deeper
Whiplash's gasps became until he was moaning again, hips lifted high. His
interface panel was burning from the lack of attention, but he also didn't want
this to stop.
"I never thought you had this patience," Jazz purred between kisses, his
fingers playing an intense song in Whiplash's left hip.
"Because you don't," he moaned and shivered, his hips rising into the touch and
he whined again, then gasped and shuddered when Prowl's x-vent ghosted over his
spike panel again and the youth's field sank into his, alive with desire. He
couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself, and his panels snapped back under just
the brush of air and his field pulsed back with bliss and even more want. He
was almost sobbing with need, fingers curled into fists while his hips jerked
up, trying to press harder into Jazz's touch and Prowl's mouth.
With surprisingly fine control of his frame Prowl maintained the distance from
his mouth to Whiplash's spike as it quickly pressurized, and breathed on it
again. "I think it's time for a show," Prowl's grin as he looked up at Whiplash
was feral and a touch cruel.
Whiplash broke from the kiss as he snapped his helm around to stare down at
Prowl, disbelief flooding through him even as a small part of his processor
tried to remind him that he'd known very well something like this would happen.
It didn't stop his sharp whine at the sudden loss of Prowl's glossa. Next to
him, Jazz's chuckle was deep and his field lustful as he also turned to watch
his pet, settling himself more fully against the black frame.
"You remember how good of a show he put on," Jazz murmured, rubbing his palm
over Whiplash's pelvis, spreading his index and thumb wide and pushing them up
around the base of his spike but never touching. He leaned in and brushed lips
to audial, nipping gently and lowering his voice to a husky whisper. "He's only
gotten better."
Prowl purred at the complement from his master as he slid from the berth with a
supple grace that Jazz was no doubt encouraging him in. From artfully concealed
speakers thought the room, music suddenly began to play. Low, thrumming and to
most Cybertronian systems, extremely erotic.
Whiplash only had enough sense left to him to wonder how much more intense it
must be with those wings that Prowl sported, and now fully unfurled, the three
fingers separated and spread wide. There was a moment of absolute stillness
around Prowl, a soft, engine-rumbling moan as he felt the music charge his
circuits. A pede moved forward, all grace, poise and intense self-control as
Prowl's helm tipped back and his arms stretched upwards. Ice blue optics
dimmed, all but off, and Prowl began to move to the music.
As the Praxian shifted and rocked through the controlled, sensuous movements of
the dance, Whiplash had a flash of imagining Jazz teaching him these steps and
that alone was enough to make him whimper. Jazz was still teasing around the
base of his spike, and Whiplash was faintly aware that the other minibot's
spike had extended as well, and he had moved his other hand over to rest
against it, but nothing more than that. Jazz was as focused on the dance as he
was, possibly more.
Prowl had been swaying and turning, and now he faced them and touched the backs
of his hands together over his helm, arms stretched completely up. He
straightened his fingers, lifting up on his pedes and reaching, arching his
back, baring his throat, before very slowly lowering back down. One hand slid
slowly down the opposite arm and back up, and then he mirrored the movement
with the other. Wrists crossed over his helm, he lowered them down to touch his
helm and then lower, in front of his chest, and pulled his arms back, sliding
his fingers along each other. He threw his helm back as his hands mapped lower,
caressing and stroking every part of his chest and waist.
Whiplash pulled forward, desperate to replace Prowl's hands with his own, to
push him back and run glossa over plating. Jazz's finger brushed lightly up his
spike and he gasped.
It was ignored by Prowl, his plating was fluffed out, helping to vent the heat
of his arousal. Slowly, so slowly, his hands reached his spike cover and made
the agonizingly erotic display of manually pushing the plates apart and into
their recesses.
Whiplash couldn't quite imagine the will it took to keep the spike in. He'd
felt Prowl's state before the dance had even begun and the mech had been hot
and ready then. But now Prowl teased himself, a finger just ghosted around the
spike's housing. Emphasizing the movement with a roll of his hips to focus all
attention on that one spot, he slid a hand further down, only to drag his
fingers up and across the array with a ragged moan.
Jazz waited until Whiplash moaned again before his finger turned into a loose
fist around his spike, sliding up and down in time with the rhythm that Prowl
was dancing to, stroking himself at the same time. He had seen this dance, or
versions of it, and it was no less erotic when viewed again. Prowl only
improved the motions with practice, and Jazz could see the beginnings of
Prowl's willingness to expand and improve once he had mastered the basic form.
He tightened his fingers for a moment, teasing, before returning to the loose
strokes.
"Ah..." Whiplash gasped out, attention riveted forward. He felt Jazz's field
pulsing with desire alongside his, but Jazz's was deeper than just want of the
frame.
With each rolled of Prowl's hips, each dance of his fingers across his array,
Prowl's spike extended another bit. His ventilations were harsher now, deep and
pulsing through his frame, but he kept it up, forcing his systems to hold
steady. He'd taken so many tries to get it this close to right, and it was
inevitably a thousand times more difficult with his master there, watching him
with such desire. He had no designation or glyph for the thrill it gave him to
know he could rouse the mech he desired so easily, and it made him all the more
determined to do justice to the dance Master had made the effort to teach him.
His spike almost fully extended, Prowl finally wrapped his fingers around it to
stroke himself. His hips still rolling to the music, his wings fanning and
flaring, quivering to the ripples of air pressure around them, he sank to his
knees, then stilled more as his aft settled on his pedes. He continued the
slow, completely controlled fall backwards until his shoulders, then helm,
reached the floor.
Not once did his hand falter on his spike.
His right hand busy with stroking himself as shivers rocked his frame and
energy crackled over his plating, Prowl raised his left arm over his helm and
arched his back. Only now that the dance was done did he let go of his tight
control. His fist closed and jerked hard. Once, twice, and he bellowed the
overload that rushed through him.
Jazz engines revved hard at the sight and he leaned forward, the light from his
optics bright and unwavering. His hand on Whiplash's spike stayed steady
throughout the display and Whiplash was just as transfixed as he was, without
even the presence of mind to moan, too mesmerized for sound, completely frozen
in his amazement. Both minibots stared at Prowl, systems racing and hot, and
unlike the last time they had both been this revved up while watching him, it
was entirely his doing.
It made Jazz incredibly proud.
Prowl's form quivered as the overload faded. His hand still around his spike,
transfluid splashed across his abdominals and his making him look like he was
heaving as it moved in and out in a smooth wave to increase air movement
through his burning, crackling protoform and internals.
Gradually his panting slowed to the point where he could think again and he
allowed his right hand to fall to the side. Lazily, he spread his knees widely
and shifted his lips to make a prominent display of his bared valve.
"Master," Prowl's trill was pure seduction, thick with want and desire that the
overload had done nothing to quench. "Overload inside me while he must feel it
all." Though spoken as a statement, there were deep sub-harmonics of it being a
request, that the speaker knew well his subordinate place in the hierarchy.
Whiplash moaned as soon as Prowl finished speaking and Jazz's answering purr to
his pet vibrated through his frame into the black one, making it shiver from
just that small amount of sensation. The hand disappeared from his spike.
"I'm sure you remember how much fun these are," Jazz murmured against
Whiplash's audial, accompanying the glyphs with a short, hot lick. Whiplash
could feel the grin when he gasped. Jazz held up the end of a cable in front of
his dazed optics before slipping to the side, teasing it around the same port
that Whiplash had used on the side of his neck.
"No filtering," Jazz said. "Not one...single...thing." He parsed out the words
with small nips and licks around the port before clicking the cable in.
Whiplash's helm fell back as Jazz's arousal flooded him through the link. Deep,
burning, and incredibly excited. Jazz grinned and pulled away.
His grin only widened at Whiplash's whimper at the loss of the warmth. "I hope
you enjoy this almost as much as I'm going to," he said, then slipped off the
berth, carefully spooling the cable out until he was kneeling in front of
Prowl. Prowl offered his own up and Jazz synced the three systems together.
Whiplash's vents stalled out completely when Prowl's intense arousal slammed
into him and he watched helplessly as Jazz leaned in and kissed his pet deeply.
At this point, without the inhibitor, the sight of that kiss alone would have
pushed Whiplash over the edge.
Jazz could feel the desperation through the link and he put one hand on Prowl's
chest, pushing him back as he sank down over him, angling his hips up and back
to give Whiplash the best view possible before he pushed almost all thoughts of
the black minibot out of his processor and focused on his own frame and the
heat radiating from Prowl's. He teased his spike over the valve opening for
only a moment before he sank in, pressing in fully and holding there. He
gasped, at once feeling the slick heat from the valve and the filling length of
his own spike. Behind them, Whiplash cried out and under him, Prowl keened and
bucked into the contact, the rush and deep emotional pleasure of being filled
by Master roiling in his field and rushing down the connection to draw a keen
from Whiplash.
Jazz sent back his own pulse of affection and the joy he took from Prowl's deep
loyalty, mingling it with the feeds from the other two, creating a dizzying
swirl of longing-need-pleasure-YES-devotion-want-pleasure-bliss-amazement-
wonder-new-ecstasy-joy-desire-passion-MORE that engulfed them just as much as
the physical sensations alone would have. He lost himself in the maelstrom,
sinking into it with the same heat and strength that he felt just driving into
Prowl's frame, holding himself up on shaking arms.
Prowl and Whiplash screamed together as their presences mingled with his,
Whiplash's set apart by the jagged edges of longing-need-want-PLEASE that tore
at him. Jazz could hear him sobbing with the sheer intensity he was being
pummeled with. This wasn't just the interface that Jazz had suffered through.
This was so very much more at having to face the emotional bond, both spark
deep and intense, that the pair interfacing shared.
It felt insanely good to know that Prowl did feel so much more towards him than
towards Whiplash or any other. Jazz shivered and grunted as he drove into his
pet, relishing the way Prowl writhed under him and the sobbing from the berth.
"Please!" Whiplash howled, his entire frame arched and shuddering in a
desperately high charge.
Under him, Jazz could feel that Prowl would overload hard the moment transfluid
hit his valve and with two quick, deep thrusts let go of the remnants of
control and shot into him, shouting as he did, sending overload charge
rocketing through the feed. A fraction of a moment later Prowl's deep rumbling
roar joined Jazz's voice and his pleasure, and deep satisfaction, crashed
through the connection into a screaming, writhing, almost incoherent Whiplash.
As the pair on the floor recovered, Prowl uncurled from his tuck and nuzzled
his master as he slid his arms around Jazz. "You ride his spike while I take
his valve, Master?" he purred deep in his chassis.
Jazz chuckled and slipped his fingers around Prowl's still-extended spike,
stroking lightly, shivering as the pleasure fed through to him, but it was
almost an afterthought of a feeling compared to the desperation from Whiplash.
"That sounds perfect," he purred back, and rose smoothly, turning to face his
restrained Second, who looked back at him, visor bright and fixed.
"Please," Whiplash whispered, stunned from the dual overloads he'd felt, his
frame quaking from tension that Jazz could feel running deep into his
protoform.
"All you have to do it make me overload, and then my pet will to give you what
you need," Jazz grinned at him, motioning Prowl to take his place first.
Without hesitation, Prowl nuzzled his master and settled between Whiplash's
spread legs. He slid two fingers along the valve entrance, purring at the gasp
it created, before shifting to drive his spike into the intense slickness in a
single stroke.
"A--ahn--nything!" Whiplash moaned, arching completely off the berth, supported
by only his helm and his pedes as Prowl hit the back of his valve. He tried to
rock onto the spike, but Prowl's strong hands came down on his hips and held
him still. Whiplash whined and trembled, sinking back down.
Jazz watched his Second, gaze roaming up and down the black frame, enjoying the
delicious way it was twitching before moving forward to join the other two on
the berth. He swung one leg up and over Whiplash's waist, straddling him,
spreading his legs wide and leaning forward until their chests were flush,
pushing back to rub his valve over the base of the spike. From Prowl, he got an
intense surge of lust from the visual, and from Whiplash, nothing less than a
cacophony of emotion and need. "Anything?" he purred.
"Anything," Whiplash gasped, his body shaking in mini-spasms as it tried to
drive onto Prowl's spike, to push his own into Jazz.
Jazz gave a pleased hum and lifted himself up enough to align his valve with
the tip of Whiplash's spike, then slid down. They moaned together, and Jazz
began to rock.
Held down by Prowl's hands and Jazz's weight, there was almost nothing Whiplash
could actually do other than lay there and take the intense surges of pleasure
and charge from all three frames as the pair moved.
Prowl leaned forward, shifting his angle in the valve, but his real goal was to
kiss any part of his master he could reach. It wasn't much longer before his
hands moved, letting go of Whiplash in favor of stroking Jazz's frame.
Jazz's plating responded eagerly to his hands and he sat up, leaning back
against his pet's powerful frame, letting the Praxian move him more than he was
moving himself. He tilted his helm back, sinking back into the shared feed and
their swirling fields. Fresh from an intense overload, he was relaxed and
drawing more from Whiplash's arousal than his own to push him forward until he
began to gasp.
Whiplash writhed beneath the other two, lost in the overwhelming feeling of the
connection between them as Prowl continued to pet and kiss his master. It was a
depth of emotion Whiplash had never felt in another creature, much less two,
and he wondered--deep, deep in his processor--if Jazz was even aware of how
intensely he returned Prowl's affection. It pulled another moan from him as he
shook, desperate to overload, desperate to free himself. With Prowl's hands
gone, he had more control over his hips, and he slammed them into Jazz as hard
as he could, driving up.
Jazz felt the change in pace and groaned, pressing back eagerly as his valve
cycled and clenched, surge after surge of arousal from Prowl and Whiplash
hitting him in ever-strengthening waves. "'Lash," he moaned, even as Prowl's
hand curled around his throat and pressed a finger between his lips, and
beneath him, Whiplash sobbed.
"Master," Prowl whispered in reply, his frame steady and strong as he thrust
deep and hard into the black frame beneath his. Yet all of his attention was on
his master, on not just pleasuring him, but arousing him. Affectionately he
kissed and nipped Jazz's neck while his free hand roamed silver plating with
more knowledge than three orns should have produced.
Jazz sucked at the fingertip and gave himself completely up to Prowl's
caresses, riding the heated spike below him that was so eagerly pushing into
his valve. "Prowl," he gasped, and trembled in his pet's arms, the growing
charge starting to show beneath his plating. "Ah--Prowl--" The swipe of a
talented glossa down his neck had him crying out eagerly and his spine curved
in as he thrashed back, frame soaking in the surrounding warmth and energy with
sudden hunger. Whiplash's desperation was bleeding into the air, and with just
a few more hard bucks on his spike, Jazz screamed as charge consumed his frame,
grabbing onto Prowl even as his valve clenched down in hard spasms. He shook,
helpless to do anything but ride the waves of his overload.
As Jazz sank down, lax and sated in his pet's arms, he was vaguely aware of
Prowl's movements picking up. The deep, hard thrusts were right on the edge of
overload and Prowl moaned, trembling as he leaned forward. It pressed Jazz
down, nearly sandwiching him between his lovers before Prowl's roar shook the
room. That sound came with the first rush of transfluid into Whiplash's valve,
freeing the black mech from the inhibitor.
His overload was immediate and he writhed beneath Jazz and sobbed meaningless,
jumbled glyphs as energy shot through him. He spilled into the thick nest of
platelets and valve mouth while his own clenched around Prowl. His vision
shorted out and he pulled against his bonds, wanting to reach up and grab the
mech above him and pull him the rest of the way down. The Praxian's powerful
engine rumbled continuously, underlining the entire moment with it strength.
The feeling of this overload fading, and along with it the intensity of emotion
coming in through the combined feeds, was a bliss of its own and Whiplash sank
back, robbed of the ability to even move. "Jazz," he whispered, voice thick
with static, trembling, hovering on the brink of a total processor shutdown.
"That was fun," Jazz murmured, quite content to remain right where he was for
the moment. Prowl reached up to release their captive, but his attention was on
his master and nuzzling him.
"It was," Prowl's purr was deep and content, his field full of pride, pleasure
and sated contentment as he pulled out of Whiplash and settled to the side. One
hand still stroking his master's back, Prowl's optics were only for the silver
mech.
Whiplash flexed his fingers, also staring up at Jazz, dazed, fighting off the
looming need to shut down into recharge. After a moment he lifted his arms and
moved them forward, settling them up on Jazz's shoulders, running them down to
his waist, and resting there. His spike eased back out his silver lover and
into its housing. Jazz settled down over Whiplash, stretching contentedly out,
frame still warm with hazy pleasure. The same relaxed ease pulsed lazily in
from the still-connected hardline and he purred, not inclined in that moment to
disconnect it. His optics offlined, preparing for recharge, and he felt
Whiplash slip under a moment before Prowl curled up around the pair, purring
deeply, and he allowed recharge to claim him.
***** Kneeling Before Primus *****
Jazz led Prowl deep underground, down more than a hundred levels below the
hidden citadel that was the shadow caste's domain. It was so deep inside the
world that it was actually warmer here than on the surface. It was dark too,
the rich darkness that came with warmth and a complete lack of any light. Their
optics were useless here. Navigation was by memory and secondary senses. Jazz
was used to it. Prowl had to work just to follow in his master's pedes and
remember the path without any of the usual navigational markers.
They moved in silence, both their systems designed for it and Jazz was not in
the processor-space to talk. It was too serious an orn for it.
He could lose Prowl with this.
He really, really didn't want to lose his pet. He was even willing to admit
that Prowl was more than a pet now. He was more than a potential agent. He
wasn't willing to go so far as to call Prowl his mate, but Prowl mattered to
him more than he should.
Yet as much as Jazz didn't want to do this, it was tradition and law. Before he
taught Prowl any more, before Prowl was even permitted to remain in the realm
any longer, he had to face this.
This ... Jazz shuddered in the privacy of his processors. Even his memories of
it were hazy, but they were full of terror, pain and loss. He'd stumbled out of
the chamber alive, something that not all managed. Three orns later he'd also
been declared functionally sane, a trick not all survivors managed. He
remembered being very angry that he hadn't gotten one clue as to what to expect
and even angrier at the order not to share anything of his experience with
another short of bonding with that mech.
In time he'd come to understand, but he still despised it. He hated sending the
least trained of his clade into a death trap. He always put it off as long as
he could, as long as he dared, and he grieved every spark he led to their end
because of this room.
With Prowl, he almost balked the tradition completely.
In the end though, he couldn't. He's put it off nearly seventy vorns, teaching
Prowl everything he dared first. Bringing the mech up to what those separated
into the clade knew, or at least as much as he could within medical
restrictions. Prowl was as ready as any new mechling of the clade.
It just was that it wasn't saying much, given almost one in twelve didn't make
it out of that room intact enough to survive.
Jazz felt his spark quiver as he paused in front of the door that made or broke
every mecha of his clade. None left this room unchanged. Those changes enabled
them to do what they did. At least that was what jazz had convinced himself of.
It wasn't just tradition. Tradition he could do away with. A useful tradition,
a needed thing, that he could not.
He felt Prowl stop a half pace behind him and wait, silent, still and patient
for instruction. Prowl wasn't afraid. His spark had grown enough that it could
usually be teeked at close range if you were trying. Jazz silently admitted to
himself that he was more than afraid. He didn't want to lose his pet, his
future agent. Replacing him could be the work of a lifetime and Jazz didn't
have the time to devote to it.
Steeling himself, Jazz palmed the door open and stepped into the warm, space
twenty places by twenty paces for him, carved into pure crystal. Bright white
light radiated up from under the floor to shine, reflect and refract from the
faceted walls.
"Kneel," Jazz pointed to the center of the floor. Prowl moved with a fluid,
silent grace that made Jazz's vents stall every time. He would never tire of
seeing this mech kneel at his pedes so willingly. Ice blue optics looked up at
him, trusting, so very trusting. Would they still be trusting when this was
over? Jazz didn't know. He'd never been able to tell how a mech would be
changed by this room.
"Remain in this room until the door opens," Jazz instructed, the words he said
to every mecha he brought here. The words his sire, his leader, had said to him
so long ago.
"Yes Master," Prowl's smooth vocals rolled over Jazz, soothing his spark for a
moment.
It took all of Jazz's will to turn and walk away without another word, touch or
look. He couldn't show favoritism. He didn't dare. Not in that room. He wasn't
entirely sure why that was so imprinted in his processors, but it was.
Some things weren't to be questioned.
When the door closed behind him, Jazz sank against it, shaking for a moment as
he gathered himself to return to the world above and his duties to the greater
good.
Prowl remained completely motionless in the center of the crystalline room. His
senses alert, his frame relaxed, his systems primed.
He waited.
His chronometer disabled, he did not know how long he held still, ready for
anything, expecting nothing, waiting for this test to end. The light was
difficult to focus around. It was too bright, the colors and frequencies
bouncing every which way. Combined with the crystal walls it made his vision
and much of his other electromagnetic based senses ineffective. It even messed
with his sensor wings' ability to judge distance.
It was an unnerving kind of blindness, unsettling in many ways, but it did not
bother him much. After his early orns in the box, in the cage, in the places
that other masters kept him he had acclimated to far worse. There was no
compression here, no physical misery, no expectation of pain to come. This was
simply ... emptiness.
He knew when he had been still for two orns when his systems shifted into
conservation mode, shifting his tac-net to standby along with other energy
hungry systems. It did not bother him. While it reduced his reaction time, it
was the tactically more sound of the choices he perceived.
His systems cut back two more times, marking the seven orns and sixteen orns
respectively. The next reduction would happen in sixteen more orns. In thirty
he would fall into stasis.
He was hungry. Very, very hungry.
He knew hunger. Knew this for what it was and exactly what stage of starvation
he was at. It didn't bother him.
Deactivation held no fear for him.
~Do you wish to return to me?~ a powerful, warm rumble echoed through Prowl's
awareness.
Prowl considered the question, absently curious why he would be hallucinating
already, and hallucinating of Primus of all things.
~You do not believe I am real,~ the presence was curious now as well.
Prowl paused again, giving the question his full consideration even though he
believed he was hallucinating.
"I do not believe that Primus or Unicron are all powerful, all knowing beings,"
Prowl eventually answered. "I do not believe that one is good and one is evil.
It does not fit the data I have."
~Yet you speak to me as if I am real when you believe I am not.~ There was real
curiosity now.
"If you are real, then it is to my benefit to have this conversation," Prowl
explained simply, calmly, and without moving more than was required for speech.
"If you are not real, then it does little harm at this stage to indulge myself
and my subconscious. A point of fact, however. I do not discount the
possibility of their existence. I discount the extent of their power."
~You do not believe in gods.~ Amusement flowed from the voice.
"Define what a god is, first," Prowl insisted calmly. "There are many
variations. Some are confirmed, others plausible, and some improbable to the
ridiculous."
There was a deep rumble of amusement and affection. ~Go to the root glyph for
that. Primus. The creator of all Cybertronian life.~
"I do not have an issue with that," Prowl said calmly. "Just as I have no
reason to believe."
~There is a thing called faith. You have a very strong core of it.~
Prowl considered that and nodded. "It is not a faith founded in gods, however.
I could argue is it less faith and more a choice not to drive myself insane
seeking conflict where there may not be any."
~It is faith.~
"So you say," Prowl responded, neither refusing nor accepting the statement.
The presence swirled around him, drawing a soft moan of pleasure from him. ~Who
do you serve?~
"Order."
~Primus or Unicron?~
"Order," Prowl insisted, shivering as his armor began to loosen in the next
stage of energy conservation. The trillions of microfilaments that secured it
to his protoform and fed information back and forth drew a lot of power, but
were considered high priority for survival. Higher than the processors. It
meant he'd been here for thirty two orns, or the energy equivalent to it.
~Primus or Unicron?~
"Order." Prowl growled back, his very spark flaring to challenge the
unacceptable options.
~He's rejected you, brother,~ a new, darker voice chuckled.
~He has rejected you as well,~ the first replied and pressed deeper into the
spark that was so fresh from himself. It pressed back, growling and defiant,
but also not hiding in the least. It didn't shy from the darkness of the
devourer as the second presence jointed the first in pressing against Prowl's
awareness and spark for answers.
"I rejected neither," Prowl growled back. "You both know you are the same
being, split in two. Creator and destroyer. One can not exist long without the
other," he snapped, irritated by them and the statements.
The two presences paused, seeming to regard each other.
~Balance.~ Primus corrected Prowl.
"Urr?" Prowl tried to follow the conversation he was sure he was only hearing
part of.
~Balance,~ the brighter one repeated. ~You serve balance. Creation and
destruction in equal measure, when things are in balance, or whichever side is
needed to bring things into balance.~
Prowl considered that for a long time, his processors having trouble tracking
information and correlating it. Yet it did sound correct. It was Order.
~You may return to me, if this function is asking too much of your spark,~ the
bright one offered gently. ~I know serving the silver destroyer has already
burdened you greatly.~
It took Prowl too long to work out who was being spoken of. "No. I will adapt,
or I will return when I cannot. I am not ready to leave him."
~Then gather your strength and return to Master. The door has reopened to the
physical world.~
===============================================================================
It took everything Jazz had not to react outwardly in the middle of an audience
with the Lord Prime, Lord High Protector, six city rulers and a dozen other
officials when a small notice popped up on his HUD. A single root glyph with no
modifiers.
Success
His pet had walked out of that room. It didn't always mean the mecha would
survive, but Jazz was sure that it meant Prowl would. He knew his pet. Prowl
had none of the instabilities that triggered madness in the following
metacycles. Jazz had. Oh yes, Jazz had them. It was a near thing, his survival.
He was still marked and heavily scarred by that experience, even if he couldn't
remember much of it.
He diverted some attention from the gathering to watch his pet appear on the
first of the cameras in his realm and took in his appearance. The slender
mostly black protoform was staggering, using various walls for balance and
support as often as he could. Pale blue optics where glowing dim and stress-
white. The slender nubs that marked where his chevron attached were the only
indication that he had one at all, and the slender limb-like appendages, half
the length of Prowl's arms, didn't look anything like the elegant sensor wings
they supported.
It took a lot of knowledge to recognize this pathetic, struggling creature as
his precious, prodigious pet. In the movements and in his destination were
important tells, hints as to what kind of mecha had come out of that room.
There were creators and there were destroyers. That much everyone knew. It was
the very foundation of their society. What only a few knew, and fewer
acknowledged, was that every once in a while a mecha would find a different
path from that room. Sometimes these mecha were like Jazz, builders on the
outside, destroyers at their core. Others served what Jazz referred to as
Stasis, the status quo. Their function focused on making sure things didn't
change too much. There were never that many of them, but they were a powerful
force within the ranks and often a serious thorn in Jazz's side that he
couldn't remove.
Privately Jazz expected Prowl to be a builder. All who craved knowledge the way
he did were. They built networks without peer, unstoppable viruses, unbreakable
defenses, made plans and designed worlds. It didn't matter what they focused
on, they always gathered and built. Jazz had heard that one would be a
destroyer now and then, but in his long life he hadn't actually met one. At
least to Jazz, Prowl didn't have the spark to be a destroyer. He could be
trained to destroy, could likely be taught to enjoy it, but it wasn't in his
core makeup.
Prowl's abrupt shift from his unsteady stumble focused more of Jazz's attention
inward to watch. These were such critical moments to witness. The protoform,
one Jazz knew really had no business moving under its own power at this point,
straitened, the protoform wings jerked upwards in something resembling Prowl's
more commanding posture and he stalked across the hallway. Jazz could see
exactly what had drawn his attention, there was a mecha standing there with
energon, chatting with two others, but not why the normally docile, subservient
and never-denied-here mech felt the need to posture.
The speakers did what they were supposed to and pretended that the protoform
didn't exist. Right up to and including when Prowl snatched the energon cube
from his hand. A startled look, carefully focused on his hand, and then it was
dropped to his side as he continued to talk with his friends while Prowl gulped
the contents down, then continued on his way.
Jazz couldn't help but grin at the fire that little display represented. His
pet was maturing into a fine mech.
The track followed Prowl all the way to their quarters and once against Jazz
beamed inside. Unarmored, disoriented, his processors mostly off line, badly
depleted, a mecha always went to where they felt the most safe. He'd done his
job then, convincing Prowl's very spark that those rooms were a haven, a place
of safety.
He continued to watch as Prowl slumped against the wall next to the energon
dispenser and tapped the codes for medical grade, then settled to wait the few
moments it took the device to route and condense and purify flier high grade
into something that thin and easy to swallow but concentrated.
Prowl had good survival instincts too.
Jazz could barely wait to get out of this gathering and go greet his pet.
***** Rebuilding Bonds *****
Chapter Summary
     A bit of J/P smut and Bad News from RL.
Prowl booted up, the slow progression of medical overrides, and relaxed into
it. Medical meant safe. Master's field brushed against his plating and he
flared his field out to caress it in return, happy and eager to be with Master
once more. The past metacycle had been extremely distressing and he desperately
wished to forget, but he knew the most he could do was tag it as distressing
and archive it to long term storage as quickly as he could process it for
anything he needed to keep active awareness of.
He had his armor back. Someone must have retrieved it. It felt so good to be
covered again. Very good. It felt better to feel Master's hands on his plating
and the steady strength of his field. Warm, strong, commanding, balanced ...
balanced enough.
Prowl noted the new perspective and looked more closely, studying it for an
origin and purpose. His processors nearly stalled completely when he found it.
The room, those beings, had changed his very spark code.
He knew his distress was pouring off him. He knew Master and the medic were
trying to reach him. All he could do was stare at his own spark code and try to
comprehend the glyph that had been stripped out and replaced by something he
wasn't even entirely sure he understood. Yet the missing glyph was the one that
caused him so much distress and displeased Master. As strange as it felt, he
could not be displeased at that.
Ice blue optics powered up and focused on Master as the soothing calm of
acceptance washed through Prowl. He reached up weakly to take Master's hand and
kissed it.
Jazz's field immediately relaxed, soothed by the contact. "How are you
feeling?"
"Slightly disoriented, Master," Prowl admitted.
"That is normal, my lovely, perfect pet," Jazz said reassuringly, his engine
purring at the contact and response and he leaned down to capture Prowl's mouth
in a welcoming kiss. Prowl's hands came up to caress Jazz's sides, fingers
teasing his master's seams as his field licked along the silver mech's with
open desire.
"Not disoriented enough to behave," Temperance huffed. "If you're that amorous,
you can get out."
"Yes, ma'am," Jazz laughed with relief and teasing as he stood upright and
offered a hand to Prowl to help him to his pedes. It wasn't needed, but it was
a gesture Jazz knew made Prowl feel wanted. And oh was he wanted. The flicker
and brush of Prowl's field against his was proof enough that at least this much
hadn't changed.
They made it to their quarters in record time, given Prowl still didn't have an
alt mode. It was all a blur until time slowed down on their berth with Prowl
relaxed on his back and Jazz sprawled on top of him, their mouths joined and
hands caressing, exploring, seeking to wipe a metacycle of absence and stress
away.
Jazz could feel the difference in his pet's field, and to a lesser extent in
his touch. Like every mecha that went into that room, Prowl had been changed on
a fundamental level. He had matured, rapidly and unnaturally, but Jazz knew
that it was the least of the changes made in his pet. He stroked Prowl's main
dataport, the one under his collar plating. It spiraled open eagerly.
Prowl's field flared eagerly, almost grasping at the smaller mech in his desire
to have Master inside him.
"Shu, shu," Jazz crooned as he unspooled his cable. "I'm here. I'm with you."
Under him Prowl whined and squirmed, wanting so badly it ached. The moment Jazz
clicked in a wave of relief-welcome washed through Prowl, making him shiver and
moan. Firewalls, now good enough to keep Jazz out for a respectable chunk of
time fell like gossamer mist, clearing his view of his pet's processors to the
crystal perfection he had long known.
He touched it with a thought and gazed for a moment, sending Prowl the wonder
he always felt here. He felt the returning shivers and caught Prowl's mouth in
another kiss as he pushed forward through the hardline, exploring what changes
had happened in that room. The first thing that hit him was that Prowl had a
perfect, to the nanoklik complete memory of the entire metacycle.
~May I?~ Jazz asked, one of the few occasions when he would give his pet a real
choice in something. In response, Prowl guided him forward to the moment when
the silence had first been broken by the voice.
He watched and listened through Prowl's senses to an experience that was so
vastly different from his own in that room that he forgot, for a moment, to
mask his stunned surprise and the emotion went surging through the hardline. He
felt Prowl tense beneath him and fingers tightened around his hips, concerned.
Jazz immediately paused and pulled back from the memory.
~Shu, shu,~ Jazz cooed, kissing his pet gently. ~I've never known anyone to
recall more than a hazy sense of what they chose. That you remember is
remarkable.~ He paused, kissing him again. ~That it wasn't simply an
hallucination I was not ready for.~
Prowl nodded, welcoming the kisses and offering a sense of understanding. ~Do
you want to view the rest?~
~Yes,~ Jazz whispered, and sank back into the memory, this time more prepared
to hear the voices that he only dimly remembered as being background to his own
near-insanity. They had echoed inside him, made his frame reverberate down to
his spark. In his memories, they mixed with the sounds of his own voice,
cracked with static as he flung out screams and protests and curses in response
to their choices.
But Prowl...Prowl had spoken with them, engaged them in calm, logical argument.
Prowl had refused to choose one of them, and he had lived.
"Balance," Jazz heard in Primus's voice. The memory moved forward and he heard
Prowl's request to remain with him, and he sent a surge of gratitude and
affection through to the mech, for choosing of his own will to return.
The memory made it all too clear that it was not a fear of deactivation that
kept him in his frame. In fact, the fear and pain that was so prevalent in the
bits and pieces of Jazz's experience seemed completely absent from Prowl's.
His pet simply did not find such things terrifying.
It was amazing. And it drew Jazz's interest to what else had changed, subtle
but there.
Prowl's spark.
There was no resistance, only an uneasy acceptance in Prowl as Jazz worked his
way to the young spark and nudged it for its glyphs.
The four swirled around him before settling to be read. Four he expected, but
even before reading them he knew it would not be the pattern of every other
agent.
Serve
Know
Create
Destroy
No where as Protect, the glyph that had nearly driven Prowl mad in his efforts
to both protect and serve his master.
Carefully masking his own fascination and pleasure at the changes, something
that he was going to fully explore later, Jazz looked up into Prowl's optics.
~How do you feel about this?~ he asked. ~Does it please you?~
~It will make functioning easier,~ Prowl said carefully, investigating the
concept of being pleased. It still wasn't a glyph he understood well. ~Yes, I
believe it pleases me.~
~Good,~ Jazz purred, gently backing away from the deep center of Prowl's
processor, slipping back up until he was on a level Prowl was comfortable with.
He sent a heavy pulse of desire through the hardline and immediately felt it
mirrored back. ~I have been impatient to have you back,~ he said, and tucked
the discoveries he'd made in Prowl's memories and spark away to be contemplated
later. Right now...
He wanted to claim his pet all over again, and he started by pushing forward
with a deep, searing kiss.
Like always and in all things, Prowl welcomed him, met his advance and matched
it with all the passion and desire in him.
Strong dark hands moved along Jazz's flanks, Prowl's desire to reacquaint just
as intense. He adored Master and very much wanted Master to know it in every
way possible.
Jazz slid their frames together, heating quickly under Prowl's hands. He'd
craved this more than he was willing to admit, gone so far as to seek out
partners with similar frames to Prowl. Even Whiplash had commented, and Jazz
couldn't bring himself to care. Not when this--this, he thought with a gasp as
fingers moved around to his back and aft--was his to have and own. He swirled
their glossas together, already worked to the point of moaning with just that
little contact.
~Fill me?~ Prowl's request was quiet, but very earnest. He wanted his master's
spike deep inside his valve, wanted to feel the pleasure of that joining before
Master rode him. His valve calipers cycled, creating an ache in the empty
cavity so wanting to be filled. He spread his legs a bit more and rolled his
hips up, grinding their spike covers together.
~Yes,~ Jazz whispered, running his fingers over Prowl's helm, teasing at the
tips of the chevron as he let his cover slide away, and shivered as Prowl
pushed against the more sensitive inner metal.
~Master.~ The mental glyph was full of loyalty, adoration, desire and approval.
It whispered between their minds, Prowl's offering to the mech that was the
center of his universe by choice rather than force.
Jazz moaned at the word and all that it implied and let his own desire,
approval, and pride flood back through to his pet. Beneath him, Prowl's hips
were still moving, his field awash with his need and hunger. Jazz shivered,
just as eager as Prowl and when the next roll of the Praxian's hips pulled a
groan from him, he slid back, not in the mood to be patient. He'd been only
grudgingly patient for Prowl's entire absence, and no one would ever say it was
one of his virtues.
He settled between Prowl's legs, leaning forward, letting his spike pressurize
between them, rubbing it over the valve cover. ~Waited so long for this,~ he
whisper-thought.
~Missed you, Master,~ Prowl nearly keened as his valve cover slid open, the
platelets already glistening with lubricant. ~Please!~
~Anything,~ Jazz crooned, and shifted the angle of his hips to push smoothly
into the slick heat. His fingers tightened around Prowl's waist and he pushed
deep in the first thrust, hitting the bottom and holding there, shuddering,
just letting the sensation of Prowl's valve cycling around his spike wash over
him. He twitched his hips, grinding their frames together. ~Mine,~ he growled.
~Yours!~ Prowl howled, his entire frame rippling with the rush of pleasure that
was only partly physical. ~Want you. Want this. Want to feel,~ he rambled,
rolling his hips into the slow thrust, then against Jazz's in a bit more more.
~Feel me, feel this,~ Jazz sang, letting his helm fall back as he pushed again,
matching Prowl's rolls, sliding against him, losing himself quickly to the heat
and lust that was pouring out from Prowl's frame. Prowl's valve was tight
around him and he moaned his pet's name. ~Mine, my splendid wonder, my own,~ he
sent, struggling to keep his thoughts coherent beyond a dizzying, giddy joy to
be inside Prowl again.
Every thought, every feeling that rolled into Prowl from his master warmed him,
filled the empty places that he didn't like, and flowed back through the
hardline, his field and his frame to the mech that was everything to him. The
words were bliss, the emotions just as good. To make his master feel like this
made Prowl feel utterly complete and he reveled in it.
Jazz rocked into him, the feelings of completeness echoing off him and
returning to Prowl with his own joy to have this creature in his care and
command. ~So good to fill you,~ he said, moaning at the same time, and meaning
far more than just their bodies joining together.
Prowl could only moan in reply, his processors too full of bliss, emotional and
physical, to manage more that sharing what his master was doing to him and how
much he reveled in it and his place in it. His vents wide open and valve
calipers cycling rapidly, Prowl threw his helm back with a roar that echoed
across every line of him with the crackling wash of an overload.
The charge flooded through the hardline and jumped from frame to frame at every
point of contact, rushing over Jazz, racing through and around him and lighting
his circuits before centering in on his spike. Prowl's valve clenched down and
Jazz shouted as he spilled into him, gripping his pet's frame to keep steady as
he shuddered through the combined sensations of their overloads.
So very few could make him feel like this and Jazz reveled in the intensity.
His processors going white and his frame beyond him in the pleasure, he was
addicted to this mech in much the way he was addicted to killing with a spark
merge. There was simply nothing like it.
Slowly Jazz came down, relaxing into the bliss as it settled. His pet's hands
slid along his frame to gently coax him forward and into an uncoordinated but
intensely passionate kiss.
He sank into it with another moan, feeling Prowl's engines still revving and
hot beneath him. His hands wandered the strong shoulders, gripping and pulling
as their mouths clashed together, and the strength of Prowl's desire still
pulsing through the hardline made him eager and impatient with need for more,
to really feel that Prowl was back and his.
There was a roll of Prowl's hips, and the Praxian's thick, ornamental spike
rubbed up against Jazz's valve cover.
"Let me in," Prowl murmured as their kiss briefly broke. "Let me hold you while
I fill you." Across the hardline that glyph Jazz had taught him just after he'd
torn Whiplash to pieces swirled and glittered at the core of Prowl's desires.
Jazz felt a pulse go through his spark at the words and the glyph, odd and
jolting and thrilling, and the burning need he'd felt for Prowl flooded in
after it, consuming him, his cover sliding away in its wake. He was already wet
and ready and his valve quivered in remembrance.
Strong, large hands closed around his hips, guiding both their frames in the
easy remembrance of seventy vorns together, indulging in every pleasure Prowl
was capable of. Prowl's groan as he sank into his master's valve was low and
rumbling, like the storm of his first designation here. It felt so very good.
Jazz nearly whined in response, his vents and engines both straining to keep up
with the heat his arousal was producing, pushing his aft up as much as he
could, shivering in Prowl's hold. His valve fluttered and cycled around the
familiar spike, coaxing and squeezing it as it sent small shocks of ecstasy up
through his frame.
One large hand spread across his aft, the longest finger teasing down to rest
right where spike entered valve, while Prowl's other arm slid upwards, across
Jazz's back and shoulders to hold him tightly.
At Master's whim, for Master's pleasure, Prowl took completely control and lost
himself in the bliss that was pleasuring his master by pleasuring himself. It
was something he still marveled at each and every time, something he
unabashedly craved. Each slow roll of his hips undulated his entire frame under
the smaller silver one. Each movement choreographed, learned and perfected to
generate the most pleasure for the longest time. To draw out this bliss of
being joined, of holding his master, surrounding him and being surrounded, of
being the closest he was permitted to becoming one with this wonderful mecha he
had been gifted as his master.
It all went straight through the hardline into Jazz, who only too eagerly had
surrendered that control and craved the same bliss that Prowl was feeling, but
from the other end of the exchange. "Prowl," he moaned, frame vibrating with
each perfect stroke, each carefully timed thrust. Prowl had long ago figured
out how to choreograph his absolute bliss and it was an ecstasy of its own to
feel this again after what had felt like far too long. "Prowl--yes--so good,"
he managed, having to strain to even speak. "Please!"
"Always," Prowl shuddered and moaned. The tempo changed, responding to the plea
as an order eagerly obeyed. The hand on Jazz's aft began to move him, drawing
the thrusts out longer, but also putting so much more power behind each one.
Every cable and gear in Prowl's frame was dedicated to this one act, the ever-
quickening drive to flood his master with his fluids and loose himself
completely to the incomparable bliss of an overload joined with his master.
Jazz's vents stuttered and he gasped, clutching at Prowl's chest, pressing his
forehead to armor, gritting his teeth, groaning and arching his frame into the
thrusts. "Yes," he moaned in return, even that single glyph almost incoherent
in his pleasure.
Another slight shift and every thrust drove the tip of Prowl's spike just right
into that thick cluster of sensors at the very back of the valve, setting off a
maelstrom of sensation.
"Prowl--Prowl!" Jazz cried out, and anything else he might have said was lost
to the scream of his overload, mouth opening wide and fingers digging into his
lover, seeking anything to hold onto. He bucked back onto Prowl's spike,
driving onto it as the charge surged through him and into his lover.
It was what Prowl had been holding out for. With the first zap of his master's
overload he let go with a roar and drove his hips up, seeking his own releasing
in that quietly hot, slick, pulsing passage. One thrust, then two, and his
transfluid, rich with the energy of his overload, flooded over the sensors in
Jazz's valve, reaching those designed only to be touched by the thick fluid.
They immediately flared to life, overlapping with the fading of the charge from
Jazz's overload, and Prowl echoed that charge back to him so quickly that Jazz
jerked up and shouted, optics flaring as his vision whited out and he writhed
in Prowl's arms, sobbing his bliss as the second overload crashed through him.
He shook and clung to Prowl, riding the surging charge.
They were both gasping, trembling, beyond any ability to think as their frames
gradually settled from the intensity of the repeatedly relayed charge. From his
very spark, Prowl purred in contentment. This was bliss beyond description for
him, and he readily welcomed it and the contentment of the purring mech on top
of him.
Jazz lay dazed, sated, relaxing his fingers from their tight grip and stroked
them over Prowl's armor, feeling the slight dents he'd left behind. "Welcome
back," he murmured, settling down to just enjoy the peaceful bliss.
===============================================================================
===============================================================================
===============================================================================
This is an author apology. RL just kicked my computer's aft and my main working
data drive won't be recognized. So this story is on hold, possibly
indefinitely, as I try to put my working writing in some kind of order. What's
above is what I could salvage of ch 9.
If you want to read the outline of what was planned
http://gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/14475.html
Sorry to those who have been enjoying it.
End Notes
     Fandom: Transformers Bayverse-ish AU
     Pairing: Jazz/Prowl, among others
     Rating: NC-17
     Codes: AU, Slavery, Tactile, Sticky, Noncon, Torture, Snuff, Self
     Mutilation, Bondage, Violence, Mechpreg, graphic ref to past 'child'
     sexual abuse ... seriously, if you have a trigger, it's probably in
     here somewhere.
     Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted
     muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the
     inspirations page http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html.
     We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.
     Notes: Prowl is my tri-wing design: http://
     www.alteride.deviantart.com/art/Commission-Resonance-Prowl-254774764
     Teek: to read another's EM field. It can provide information on
     identity, age, strength, health, emotional and mental state and other
     factors that influence the spark or energy running the frame. Term
     originated by Dwimordene, though I don't hold strictly to her
     definition.
     nanoklik = 1/8 second;
     klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;
     breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;
     groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;
     joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;
     orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;
     decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;
     metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;
     vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;
     ::text:: comm chatter
     ~text~ hardline/bond chatter
     Prompt:
     I'm not concerned with who's the master and who's the slave.
     I leave the how this happened up to the author.
     While I picture this pre-war, if you can make it work after the war
     starts, by all means go for it.
     What I'd like to see:
     Breaking down the slave. They came young and rebellious, possibly
     right from freedom, and has not been convinced that they can't get
     out/this is a permanent thing.
     The slave being reasonably compliant with basic commands, but when it
     comes to interfacing/their personal space (being touched), they're
     very determined to maintain rights they no longer have.
     A lot of focus on breaking down the slave's issues with interfacing
     with their master/anyone their master gives them to. Both the basics
     of 'you will do as you are told' and any spesific kinks the master
     has. I'm damn near unsquickable, so have at it.
     The master trying several methods to get through to this difficult
     but extremely valuable slave. From kindness to cruelty, gentleness to
     giving space to force.
     Creative punishments.
     Once the slave is completely broken down, the rebuilding process so
     he's useful/valuable for more than looks again.
     If you include mechpreg, please, pretty please, have the slave so
     vitriol in his hatred of having it forced on him (whether he carries
     or not) that the sparkling is in great danger if allowed anywhere
     near the slave. If you use creator-creation bonds, that sparkling is
     going to be traumatized, big time, by the intensity of the hate from
     one of the bonds. Who the other party is doesn't need to be the
     master, just at the master's order/permission.
     A 'happy' ending. Well, at least what my warped brain calls happy.
     Jazz/Prowl are together and the slave is no longer fighting/resentful
     of his place.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!