OK, I'm cleaning out the Drabbles folder on my computer and so I bring you another round of...

Drabbles That Went No Where, Part 2

As per usual, if you are inspired by any drabble, feel free to pick up and have a go! And do let me know! I LOVE reading where other people take these. :) Also, if you read one and go "OH OH OH! I have an idea of what you could do with/how you could further it" message me and let me know what you have in mind. I love suggestions and ideas. :)

Warnings: A few drabbles are dark themed, mech on mech, some angst, mentions of rape, drug use, non con, dub con, and I think that's all.

This is a long one...so grab some snacks and a drink.

What Part Of No….

(KO/BD or KO/? Originally meant to be a story of how Breakdown was one of the first mechs to ever turn Knock Out down, unintentionally intensifying Knock Out's interest in him instead of decreasing it. Knock Out, unable to accept that ANYONE would turn him down, resorts to stalking and drugging Breakdown. But as this story never took off, it doesn't need to be BD who he's fixated on.)

"No."

Knock Out stood, alone, in the darkened empty commons room. Optics fixed on the spot of empty space in front of him, staring blankly where a mech had stood not too long ago.

"No."

The word played itself in his head. Circling. Repeating. It registered on some level. The meaning he could process, but it just didn't make any sense.

"No."

He was very familiar with the word, knew it well. Had said it many times to many others. And it always made sense when he said it, which was why it wasn't making any sense now. He was so use to saying the word, directing it at someone. But directed at him…..this was foreign territory. It was like a whole another world being opened up. That he could be….rejected.

This….this had never happened before.

All the other times, all the other mechs he'd ever approached had been happy…no, no…they had been thrilled at being offered the opportunity to spend a few orns in his berth. They had felt privileged to lay with him, touch him, 'face him. To be allowed a taste of his exquisite perfection. They had reeled from the experience.

"No."

The only thing keeping the shock from turning to anger as he finally moved from his frozen stance, mind viscously chewing over the incident, steps taking him to familiar territory, his med bay, was how it had been said.

There had been no malice, no sneering, no condescending tone, just uncertainly and a quick retreat. As though the invitation itself was something to fear. It was strangely intriguing. Made the new warrior far more interesting, some how more….desirable. And when he desired something, he got it. The how didn't really matter.

Knock Out walked over to a storage cabinet with a coded lock, keyed in the code, and open the doors. Inside was shelf after shelf of various colored glowing vials. Medicine but not for medicinal purposes. These were for Knock Out's….personal use. A wide range of concoctions he'd played with and perfected over the vorns.

What Hurts The Most

(Prowl/? Originally intended to be a story about how Prowl is captured by Cons, only to find out just how many Autobots are actually Decepticon spies. Individuals who he was very close to and trusted. His capture was actually intended to keep him safe and out of harms way as the last battle was finally fought.)

Prowl came online slowly.

He hurt, oh Primus, he hurt. Everywhere, every limb, every joint. It was as if every sensor in his body ached or was registering pain.

What had happened?

Prowl tried to bring a hand to his aching head. He couldn't move. His arms and legs were stretched out spread eagle and bound tightly to the wall behind him. He powered up his optics and even they didn't seem to want to work right. His vision was a little blurred but not so much he couldn't tell where he was.

Prowl had expected a cell to grace his optics, however what he was looking at was more like someone's personal quarters. The room was rectangular and he was strung up on the far end, on the smaller wall. Opposite him on the other small wall stood a metal cabinet. To his right, pressed up against the wall was a good sized berth, and a few feet from the head of the berth was a door.

Prowl gave struggle to test the bindings…but they were solid. There was no give.

What had happened? How had he gotten here?

Bits and pieces of memory flashed through his processor.

He had been out on patrol. Yes, that's right, he'd been out on patrol with….with…slag, who had he been with. Sunstreaker….Sunstreaker….and Jazz! Yes, he remembered Jazz, he had called out to Prowl to "look out"…right as the Decepticons had ambushed them.

There had been gun fire and an….explosion. Prowl had been driven back behind a rock…Sunstreaker was there. He remembered Sunstreaker hadn't been firing at the Decepticons and he'd asked if Sunstreaker's weapon had been broken or was malfunctioning.

Then Sunstreaker….grabbed him and ….hit him.

He'd gone down, stunned, and Sunstreaker…kept hitting him, he didn't even have a chance to fight back.

Before he offlined he remembered hearing Jazz yelling, yelling at Sunstreaker, "Sunny! NO!"

That had of been how Prowl got caught. Slagging Sunstreaker and his temper.

But what of Jazz?

Granted, Jazz was good at getting out of tight spots. Hopefully he had gotten away, warned the base, maybe bring help. He wouldn't want any Autobot to fall into the hands of Soundwave…like he had.

Prowl shuddered uncontrollably at the memory. He couldn't remember all if it, just touches of memory.

Being strapped down to a table, wires forcefully inserted directly into data uplink jacks, the unimaginable pain that came from having information being forcibly taken from his processor that had left him writhing and fighting against his restraints uselessly.

And now he was here, again, awaiting whatever torture the Decepticons would see fit to put him through this time.

Through the thinner metal of the door, he could hear the faint sound of a door cycle open, then closed as some one moved about in an a jointed room. He didn't want to admit it, but he could feel fear and dread closing welling up in him. Whoever was in the other room had him for a specific purpose. This was not a normal holding cell or interrogation room.

Perhaps this was an act of vengeance or simply a 'Con intending to use him as a form of entertainment…or both.

Some of the Decepticons were well known for their sadistic ways….especially seekers.

Whatever happened next was not going to be pleasant.

Truth or Dare

(J/P, others. This...I blame on friends. I talk to people, I get ideas for fics, I write them out. This one has been on my computer for months and months. I have no idea where I was going to go with it and after all this time, whatever I had in mind for it has never resurfaced. So, it belongs here.)

Jazz leaned heavily against the table, laughing hard, doing his best not to fall out of his chair. Watching Sunstreaker do his best impression of Tracks while very, very overcharged was nothing short of hilarious. Not that Sunstreaker was the only one overcharged, they all were at this point.

Sunstreaker fell back into his chair, a cocky wide grin on his face as he grabbed up his cube of high grade. He pointed with the index finger of the hand that held his high grade at all the mechs around the table.

"And that, my friends, is how it is done."

Hound kept trying to take another drink of his high grade but would start laughing too hard to actually complete the task. Mirage leaned on the table next to him, his drink sitting neatly in front of him, his face buried in his hands as he continued to laugh. Ratchet leaned on Ironhide as both tried to catch their breath but only ended up laughing harder. Sideswipe sat next to his brother, slumped over the table, his head resting on his arms as he laughed into the table top, unable to look at his brother without cracking up all over again.

Sustreaker chuckled and took a long drink of his high grade before clearing his throat.

"Ok, ok. Ummmm, Jazz!"

Jazz looked up at Sunstreaker, even as his vision gave a funny waver. Sunstreaker grinned, "Jazz! Your turn! Truth or Dare?"

Jazz gave a small laugh before clearing his throat and took a sip of his high grade, using that moment to access himself. Primus knew, he was in no condition to stand and do any kind of dare. So, he chose the former.

"Truth."

Sideswipe finally sat up in his chair, looking disgustingly disappointed as he faced Jazz.

"Awwww, come on! That's such a cop out, Jazz! Think of something good, Sunny."

Sunstreaker looked at Jazz and tilting his helm to the side, thinking. "You know, Jazz, you have to answer truthfully…to whatever question I ask."

Jazz smiled right back. "Oh, Ah' know how the game's played. Ask away!"

"Ok. Who's the best frag you've ever had?"

"OH!" Sideswipe grabbed his brother's arm, shaking him vigorously. "Make it so it has to be the best he's had from, wait, wait….from here. Here! The Ark. On Earth."

Sunstreaker smirked. "Who's the best frag you've had whose on the Ark?"

Sideswipe's grin was huge.

"Yes!"

Ratchet gave a snort.

"What? You looking for lessons, Sideswipe?"

Everyone around the table cracked up again. Sideswipe just sneered at everyone.

"Ha ha ha, very funny. Shut up."

Sunstreaker turned his attention back to Jazz.

"Well, Jazz?"

Jazz grinned into his drink.

"Prowl."

All laugher came to an abrupt halt as six pairs of shocked optics looked at Jazz, who simply smiled back. The mechs at the table then looked at one another before erupting into laugher. Sideswipe pressed a hand to his side, feeling like he was about to split a seam, as he looked at Jazz who was laughing just as hard.

"Ja….Jazz, come on, you…you have to be…be serious."

"Ah' am."

All the mechs around the table practically doubled over with laughter.

Ironhide shook his head.

"Ah'…..Ah' don't believe it!"

Mirage leaned an arm on the table, trying to keep himself upright.

"It's the truth. Prowl's real good."

Ratchet laughed and looked at Mirage questioningly, "An….and how would you know?"

"I've used my cloaking device and watched them!"

They all laughed harder. Jazz, laughing hard, stood and leaned forward against the table.

"You…you fragger!"

One hand balled onto a fist, Jazz swung and landed a swift punch to Mirage's face, causing the spy to topple back in his chair and crash to the ground. Still laughing even as he cupped his cheek and struggled to stand up. When Jazz make a move like he was going to go toward Mirage again, Hound stood and held up his hands in a placating manner.

"Ok, ok,…hahahaaa!…I..I think we're done for the night. C-come on, Mirage."

Mirage laughed as he rubbed his cheek and with Hound's help clumsily stood. They exited the rec room, Hound practically carrying Mirage, both still giggling. Jazz laughed and shook his head.

"A.h'…Ah' think Ah'm done for the night too. Thanks for the fun guys!"

Jazz laughed and staggered out the rec room and slowly down the hall to his quarters. He barely was able to type in the code and make it to his berth before he succumbed to sweet high grade induce oblivion.

Rumor Has It

(KO/BD This came about after a few conversations and influences of the kink meme. It was intended to be a short story of rumors going around about how Soundwave was interested in BD because now that he had only one eye he kinda reminded Soundwave of Shockwave. The rumor finally finds Knock Out and Knock Out throwns a fit as only Knock Out can. It was never intended to be a BD/SW fic, just the more the rumor gets out of hand, the more Knock Out gets out of hand.)

The med bay doors opened, Knock Out nearly tripping over the threshold in his haste to enter. He was fuming, anger and agitation rolling off him in waves as he looked around the room.

"Where is he? Is he here?"

Breakdown glanced up from his report to see Knock Out seething where he stood. "Who?"

Glaring around the med bay, the medic ground out the words. "Was he here? He was here, wasn't he?"

"Who?" Breakdown turned in his chair as Knock Out's voice rose in volume.

"Soundwave." Knock Out spit the name out as though it were a curse. Breakdown frowned, while he knew Knock Out had never been fond of the Communications Officer, he couldn't imagine what the masked mech had done to bring about this surge of hostility.

"Uh, yeah. He stopped by earlier."

Knock Out inhaled sharply, red optics flashing bright and dangerous. "He came here while I was gone, didn't he!"

Obviously or Knock Out wouldn't be asking.

He gave a small nod. "Yeah. He dropped off this data pad." Reaching over he lifted the data pad so Knock Out could see it. Which, he realized a little too late, may have been the wrong thing to do as Knock Out's hands curled into fists. The anger intensifying, not dissipating.

"Did he hand it to you?"

"I…uh...what?"

"Did he hand it to you?"

"Uh…" He thought back. "Yeah…yes, he handed the data pad to me. Why -"

"That son of a glitch!" Knock Out roared, "I knew it! I knew it!"

Breakdown watched, confused, taken aback at the sudden out burst as the medic stormed the length of the med bay, back and forth, ranting, muttering swears. Looking back at the data pad in his hand, Breakdown was unsure how a simple hand off was causing so much commotion.

He decided to try logic.

"Knock Out, you hand me data pads all the time."

Knock Out rounded on him, indignant. "That's right! That's how it should be!" A snarl pulled at the medic's lips. "You shouldn't be getting data pads from anyone but me!"

"I…" This wasn't working. Knock Out wasn't making sense. He was unsure of what the problem was exactly. He looked at his riled up partner, holding up the object of trouble once more. "It's a….it's just data pad…."

Knock Out stared at him a moment before scowling, giving an agitated sigh. "You have to read in between the lines, Breakdown."

Looking at the data pad in his hand, Breakdown shook his head as he looked back at his riled up partner. "Knock Out, I haven't even had time to activate it yet."

"No!" An exasperated sigh. "Not the lines on the data pad!" As if it were soooo obvious Breakdown should have known. "I mean metaphorically!"

Breakdown looked at Knock Out for a moment, then back to the report on the computer he'd been typing up, down to the data pad in his hand, then up again to Knock Out. His remaining optic narrowed slightly as he leaned forward in his seat. "We're not talking about the same things here, are we?"

"I don't see how you can be confused, Breakdown, it's all very clear to me!"

Uninvited

(Prowl/? This is a dark rape-ish piece. I have no memory of what spawned it but it's all from Prowl's POV and I don't think he ever sees his attacker/molester)

He had been sitting at his desk, working and the next thing he knew; darkness. He couldn't believe he'd fallen offline…then again he hadn't had any energon or recharge since before the fight and for several orns afterward he had sat at his desk doing reports. Still sitting comfortably in his chair, he was now leaning across his desk. His helm resting against the solid surface, his arms resting on either side of his head. He hadn't even onlined his optics yet and his systems were already sending him warnings his energy reserves were almost dangerously low, and Prowl was feeling it.

He was weak and still sore all over, his internal repair systems had been hard at work fixing all the minor damage he had sustained in the fight. Well, ok, so it may have been more than a little minor damage but Prowl didn't want to lay in a med bay berth for orns. Despite low energy, recharge would be good for him….so what had brought him online?

Then Prowl felt it, fingers tracing lightly over his shoulders then down his back, then up again. Fingers softly teasing along his doorwing joints making black and white shiver a little. The fingers gently journeyed up to Prowl's neck, massaging the pliable metal skin for a moment before tracing down again to his doorwings. The hands lightly grasped the top edges and teasingly caressed their length.

Prowl moaned quietly, giving himself over to the sensations. Oh, it felt so good when Jazz did that. The hands caressed over the edges, fingers splaying along the broad side of his door panels, caressing in toward the hinge joints, a thumb pressed lightly in each joint caressing downward. Prowl curled his hands into weak fists, pressed his face into the surface of his desk, moaning, arching his back into the caress.

Primus, Jazz was good at this. But why was Jazz being so quiet? Jazz was usually much more vocal. Jazz liked to talk. Jazz -

Everything suddenly came to a screeching halt in Prowls processor.

Jazz was in med bay…offlined and would remain offline until Ratchet could fix his torn knee and shoulder joints and that would take at least a cycle or two. Jazz was in the med bay…..so who the frag was touching him? The only other name that came to his processor was Ironhide, but he too was in the med bay having taken a few too many hits in battle.

Jazz and Ironhide were both in the med bay, the only two bots Prowl could think of who would try to touch him this way. Fear and panic surfaced in Prowl's processor as the hands caressed down the tops of his doorwings to gently began to caress the joints again.

Primus almighty..…who was touching him!

Prowl onlined his optics and was met with darkness. His office lights were off and so were the monitors. It was pitch black. Prowl moved to sit up in his chair but was stopped by a hand on his helm and he was gently forced back into the position he'd been in, his head, chest, and shoulders laying against the surface of the desk. Prowl gave a weak struggle, raising a shaky unsteady hand to try and pry the hand that rested on his helm off. But the mech used his free hand to gently but firmly press Prowl's hand and arm back onto the desk.

Why…why had he insisted he work without refueling? If he had refueled he'd be nowhere near this weak. And he wouldn't be in the position he now found himself in. Frag it all, he couldn't believe he'd been so stupid as to put himself in such a vulnerable state. But then again, he was suppose to be safe, surround by friends.

Who was this?

His already weak struggles began to subside and a sickening dread crawled under his plating. The mech holding him down must have noticed some of his distress as he leaned onto Prowl's back some, bending over him, and softly hushed him. The thumb of the hand holding his head down began to lightly caress his cheek. The voice sounded familiar but he couldn't place it, it could be any mech, he needed an actual word or two to pinpoint someone. The mach straightened again and with Prowl's struggles now ceased, the hand that had held him down now caressed over his helm to the back of his neck, fingers once again teasing seeking out and teasing doorwing joints.

No...no...

To Those Who Missed

(J/P, Blaster, Ironhide. This is an angsty piece. Blaster wishes Jazz (who at this point in time does out rank him AND while they are friends, aren't as close of friends as they will be in the future) would notice him. And Ironhide, once again, sits in the background wishing he could trade places with Jazz. I still have this soft spot for Ironhide/Prowl...)

Blaster sauntered into the rec room, stretching stiff joints as he did. Primus, that had been a long shift. He need some energon bad and not the regular kind. He gave the rec area a quick glance. He was surprised to see the Second in Command working over a data pad with several other data pads scattered on the table. It was fairly late and hardly anyone around, perhaps it was a habit of his to come here to work or unwind, well, unwind as much as the Second in Command would allow himself to anyway. That mech was always tense. Looking around further, Blaster could see that Ironhide was also there, tucked away in a booth toward a corner of the room. Blaster walked toward the energon despensers, greeting Prowl as he approached him.

"Evening, Sir".

Prowl glanced briefly at him. "Good evening, Blaster."

Blaster grinned down at him. "Didn't know you were one to enjoy working in the rec room."

"I don't. Sideswipe thought it would be cute to prank me. Wheeljack is currently on task trying to remove all of a sticky substance from my desk and chairs."

Blaster let out a small chuckle. "How do ya know it was Sideswipe?"

"Because when I came back to my office, he was stuck to my desk. Aparently, he thought he heard me coming down the hall and in his haste to vacate my office he tripped and landed on my desk."

Blaster openly laughed. "That mech is crazy!"

Prowl continued to work. "Hmm, indeed".

Blaster walked on to the despensers, still chuckling over the thought of Prowl walking into his office with Sideswipe stuck to his desk, that mech never learned. And Prowl, wow, he'd never seen a mech with less of a sense of humor. Did he know how to laugh? Slag, could the mech even smile. Blaster had his doubts.

Snagging a good sized cube of high grade, Blaster looked to sit down. No way he was sittin' with Prowl and a glace at Ironhide's face as he sat in his corner told Blaster he wouldn't be too welcomed there. So, Blaster opped to sit at a table by himself. Despite the lack of company, it felt good to just sit back and enjoy some high grade. After about a third of the cube, Blaster lounged back against the chair more, one arm slung over the top, his optics dimmed, and he let his thoughts wonder.

And his thoughts inevitably wondered to and remained on a certain black and white mech. One very sleek, graceful, charming, and wild mech. Jazz. Blaster felt himself grin just at the thought of him. What it would be like to be in a room alone with him. To have all of Jazz's attention all to himself. To have Jazz wanting him, touching him, kissing him. To have Jazz invite Blaster into his berth. The very thought had Blaster heating up.

Blaster had just let his thoughts drift to what Jazz would be like in the berth, when the very object of his fantasies walked through the rec room door. Blaster sat straight up. He looked down at himself quickly. Slag, slag, slag, why hadn't he stopped by the wash racks on his way here. In no way did he look filthy but he could have looked better. Slag! Still, he wasn't going to let that stop him from hopefully having a drink with Jazz.

Blaster put on his best grin as Jazz went to walk by his table. "Good evening, Sir!"

Jazz grinned and inclined his head toward him and gave him a soft, "Evenin'" and continued on. Blaster turned and watched as Jazz walked toward the despensers. He decided he'd wait till Jazz had his drink in hand then he'd invite him to sit down and join him.

Blaster watched as Jazz suddenly deviated from the direction of the dispensers and went around the table Prowl was sitting at. Walking up behind the Second in Command, he watched as Jazz suddenly drapped himself over Prowl's back. Blaster's smile disappearing completely when Jazz slid his arms over Prowl's shoulders and crossed them, hugging Prowl to him. The whole time Prowl seemed to ignore him, continuing to work. Jazz nuzzled at Prowls audio, whispering to him. Whatever he said made the tactician look up toward Jazz. And as Prowl turned his head, Jazz leaned in and placed a kiss on the corner of Prowl's frowning mouth.

"Jazz! We are in the rec room! This is a public area!"

Blaster could clearly here the disapproval and reprimand in the tactician's voice. But Jazz just snickered. "So, ain't no one here."

That cut through Blaster. I'm here! I'm here, you saw me! Please say you saw me…

Jazz leaned in and kissed Prowl's neck despite the glare Prowl was sending Jazz's way.

"Jazz! I'm not telling you again!" Prowl practically hissed at him. But Jazz just chuckled and went back to nuzzling Prowl's audio again, whispering to him. Prowl gave an exasperated sigh and started collecting all his data pads from the table as Jazz removed himself from the tactician's back, his grin seeming to grow. Prowl stood and looked at Jazz, who flashed him a smile that could light up a room. Prowl's face, however, remained blank and emotionless.

It was beyond Blaster's comprehension. Why would Jazz be in any kind of relationship with a mech like Prowl? They walked toward the door together, passing Blaster. If one of them would have noticed Blaster, it would have been Prowl since Jazz was too busy beeming a beautiful smile at Prowl to noticed anything. Blaster was in disbelief, how could Jazz be so taken with a mech who seemed to pretty much ignore him. He watched them leave, unable to wrap his processor around it. He shook his head staring at the empty doorway,

"Slag, he deserves so much better than that."

"Yer right." Blaster jumped at the voice and looked up at the tall red mech who suddenly appeared at his side, a look of sour distaste played on his face. "He does deserve better."

It's all of what he said but how he said it. Blaster gave him a confused look. "How do you mean -" but Ironhide walked away, out the rec room door, leaving Blaster confused over the older mech's cryptic meaning.

To Do What's Right Can Be So Hard

(Ironhide/Prowl This angsty little piece was planned to go into a story but never got fit in. Maybe it will be one day but for now, it goes here.)

Prowl rounded a corner, stumbled a bit, before falling against the wall. He pressed a hand to his head. He was more than a little over charged, he was very over charged. What the frell did the twins put in their high grade mixes? Prowl tried to focus on the corridor before him, silently grateful there were no other bots around. For them to see their SIC in such a state would be shameful. On the other hand, Prowl found himself wishing he had asked Jazz to join him….at least Jazz could have helped hold him up. Prowl resorted to using the wall to steady himself and walked a few steps.

"Prowl?"

Prowl stopped, leaned back against the wall, and gazed in the direction his name had been called from. His optics refused to focus correctly and he could only see a tall blurred red figure coming toward him.

Sideswipe?

"Prowl? Yah ok?"

No, not Sideswipe, Iornhide. The accent and the closer he came to Prowl, and therefore the more in focus he became, confirmed that is was indeed Ironhide and he had a worried expression on his face.

"Yeahsss, Ironnn…hide. I'm jussss fine…fine."

Slag, that sounded slurred and choppy even to Prowl's over charged audials. Ironhide raised an optic ridge at that.

"Okay…..would ya like some help back to yer quarters, Prowl? Ya' seem a little….unsteady"

Prowl stared at him for a long moment. "Yes."

Ironhide nodded, "Come on, Prowl"

The larger mech gently grabbed Prowl under his arm and pulled him away from the wall. Prowl stumbled some then steadied himself. Ironhide began to slowly walk him in the direction of his quarters, Prowl swaying and stumbling with every step. Even stumbled enough he crashed into Ironhide. Wrapping an arm around Prowl's waist, Ironhide held Prowl to his side, steadying him.

"Ssssorrry."

"Don' worry bout it, Prowl." Ironhide glaced down at Prowl. "What exactally did ya drink? Normal high grade we got ain' gonna do this to ya."

"Sssidesswipe gave…me ssome of his own…own brew"

"Say no more, Prowl, I understand. Ya gotta be careful with that stuff, it'll knock a bot out."

"I didn't….think anything of it. Jazz was drinking it fine -"

"Yeah, well, that's Jazz."

Prowl looked up at Ironhide. "You…you don't like Jazz."

Ironhide looked down at Prowl then forward again. "There are things about Jazz I don' like"

Prowl frowned at that. "He'sss a good mech-"

"I'm sure he is, Prowl"

They walked in silence for a few moments.

"What don't you like-"

"Don' worry about it, Prowl. It's not important."

Prowl was beginning to really sag against Ironhide now. When they reached Prowls quarters, Prowl stared at the key pad like he'd never seen it before. It took four tries but he finally remembered the right code. The door slid open and Ironhide almost had to carry the SIC in. Prowl was leaning his full weight against the weapons specialist and could hardly walk. His blue optics where barely online. He tried to move with Ironhide but couldn't. Then everything went black.

Ironhide felt Prowl slump heavily against him and managed to catch him before he slid to the floor. Gathering Prowl in his arms, he carried the lighter mech further into his quarters, the door sliding shut behind them. He gently lay Prowl down on the berth, arranging him so his doorwings would lay flat so he would be comfortable. Ironhide sat on the edge of the berth and looked down at him.

Poor Prowl.

Fragging Jazz. Why didn't he stop Prowl from drinking so much of Sideswipe's brew? He shouldn't have let this happen.

Ironhide wouldn't have let this happen.

He reached out and softly trailed a finger down Prowl's cheek. He watched Prowl's face but there was no response. Ironhide leaned over Prowl, bracing himself on one hand, he used his other to continue his exploration. He caressed down that smooth cheek again, playing his finger tips lightly across Prowl's lips, caressing up that white helm to his chevron. He caressed the broad side of the bright red metal with his thumb in firm strokes.

Prowl let out a soft moan.

Ironhide stopped.

"Prowl?" Ironhide whispered to him.

No response.

"Prowl? Are yah awake?"

Prowl's optics remained off and he made no movement. Ironhide carefully and gently slide his arm under and around Prowl's shoulders, lifting him up off the berth. Prowl's head fell back to rest against his forearm. He carefully pulled Prowl toward his chest.

"Prowl?" Ironhide leaned in till he was a breath away from Prowl's face. "Prowl? It's me. Ironhide".

He got no response. Ironhide held him tighter and brought up his other hand to cup and caress the side of Prowl's face and helm. Ironhide's optics roamed over that beautiful, youthful face a moment more before he dipped his head and placed a soft chaste kiss on Prowl's lips.

Breaking the kiss, he curled around the mech in his arms, kissing softly up Prowl's shoulder. He just wanted to lay Prowl back and slip onto the berth with him. He kissed up to Prowl's neck, caressing the soft malleable metal skin there with his glossa.

"Jazz..." Prowl moaned the name softly.

Ironhide stopped cold.

That was not the name he wanted to here from the lips of the mech he was kissing. Jazz wasn't even in the fragging room and he still managed to irritate him! He gently lowered Prowl back down on the berth, disentangled his arms, then leaned forward and rested his head against Prowl's shoulder.

It wasn't fair.

For one dark moment, Ironhide actually wished Jazz wouldn't make it back from a mission. And once the thought crossed his processor he quashed it, immediately feeling guilty and selfish. Jazz and his teams had helped out the Autobots and himself in many times. Jazz was an important member. He had soo much; he had his position, his own branch of operations to lead, he had valuable skills, he had a friendly personality, a good sense of humor, an ability to boost morale just by talking to mechs, he had Prime's unwavering trust.

Slag it all, did he have to have Prowl too?

He clutched the slighter frame to him, a hand gliding down the white helm. "Please, Prowl, please say my name. Ironhide. Just once. Just one time."

His larger hand reached out and finally, finally, touched a coveted doorwing. Blunt fingertips moving carefully across the surface before pressing flat, stroking firmly along the glossy panel, earning him a delicious whimper. A small smile pulled at his lips. He brought his hand back, running fingertips along the doorwing joint.

Prowl moan, arching slightly into the touch. "Jazz..."

Ironhide froze. His optics squeezed shut as he pressed his face into a white shoulder, lips trembling, gritting his dentea as his hands curled into fists. Collecting himself, he pulled away, carefully laying Prowl down.

"I'm sorry." He whispered the choked apology as he stood, adding distance to temptation. "I'm sorry...I..." His gaze still continued to drink in the beautiful form lying on the berth. So welcoming.

But not his.

Never his.

He turned, quickly exiting the room, locking the door behind him.

Author's notes

I told you there was a lot in this one! Hope no one got bored. :)

Reading and reviewing is always loved. And if you have any ideas or want to grab one and run with it, let me know!