Author's Note: So many of you have alerted this story, and I typed like a madwoman to not keep you waiting too long. So here comes part two. Hope you enjoy it :-) As always, if you find any mistakes, please let me know.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this.

Part Two

--*--

'System reboot complete. Warning: Energy levels critical. Energy reserve: 38%.'

Ever so slowly, his senses started to return to him. His whole body felt like slag, and that annoying, headache-like sensation in his CPU had seemingly decided to revisit. He groaned in distress as he tried to online his optics. His systems responded only reluctantly, but finally, his vision cleared.

He found himself tucked safely into Jazz' side, nestled comfortably close to his friend's warm chassis. The connection cables had been removed, but their energy fields were still aligned, though no longer intermingled. Jazz had wrapped both arms around him, holding him close and gently stroking one of his neck cables. Prowl realized that his head was resting on his friend's chest plates, where he could feel the warm, steady pulse of his spark.

With a major effort, he managed to lift his head.

Jazz was looking down at him with tender concern in his blue visor. "You come back to me, sweetspark?" A gentle finger traveled down Prowl's faceplates. "Ah, yes, there you are."

Prowl leaned into the soft touch unconsciously as he tried to access his most recent memory files, but the data he found there was not exactly what one would call accurate. "What happened?" He barely recognized his own voice with all that static clouding his vocalizer.

"You blacked out," Jazz replied. "Right in my arms. Gave me a pretty good scare."

The horror of this information dawned only slowly on Prowl's sluggish processor, but dawn it did. For a short, frantic moment he indulged himself in the desperate fantasy of a big hole opening up beneath him and just swallowing him whole. But of course, this was a vain hope.

Some sort of flight instinct seemed to kick in at this realization, and he started to scramble hectically, trying to get up, to get out, away, anything. He'd made enough of a fool of himself for one night; the last thing he wanted was to be present when Jazz finally lost his undoubtedly carefully maintained control and started to laugh his aft off at him. The only strategy he could think of to handle this was a quick fallback.

But Jazz tightened his embrace as soon as Prowl started to move. "Don't," he said. "You're still all shaky, don't get up yet."

There was no way Prowl could have fought him in his current state, and he knew it. Defeated, he let himself sink back down and accepted his fate as a renowned officer should, offlining his optics and waiting calmly, albeit miserably, for the laughter to start.

But Jazz did not laugh. He just settled himself a bit more firmly against Prowl and resumed his soft caresses. Prowl noticed that his friend had turned off the music, so the only sound in the room was the low rumbling of both their engines. Combined with the gentle stroking and the warmth of Jazz' body that radiated into his, it was actually quite soothing, and after some time, Prowl could feel the rapid pulsing of his spark subside - undoubtedly aided by the fact that Jazz was still not laughing. But even so, the humiliation still stung too much for him to really relax. He was just glad that his friend had not commed Ratchet to look at him: 'Okay, what happened here?' - 'I don't know; we were interfacing and he just passed out cold.' He was pretty sure that he wouldn't have lived through that.

Finally, the jelly-like feeling in his limbs began to fade, and he carefully pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Jazz let him, and followed the movement into a sitting position. "Feel better?"

Prowl could not bring himself to look at his friend. "Yes," he said, pretending to look his chassis over for any damage. "Thank you."

"You really scared me," Jazz said." I was so close to calling Ratchet," he indicated a small distance with his thumb and forefinger, "but you seemed okay 'cept for the energy drain, and I figured you wouldn't want an audience here."

"Yes," he repeated, feverishly trying to work out a plan that would allow both of them to walk out of this with some dignity left. "Thank you."

An awkward silence stretched between them. Perhaps it would be best to simply get up and leave.

He was about to do just that when Jazz rested a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Listen, Prowl, I'm sorry..."

Prowl took the time to bolster up some firewalls before he started to actually process this new information. In his current condition, a crash of his logic center would surely not be very beneficial to his health. Why on Cybertron was Jazz apologizing to him?

"I knew you were pretty wiped out; I shouldn't have talked you into this. But you said yourself, it's been so long, and I just wanted... I'm sorry, buddy, please, don't be mad at me."

"Holy Cybertron, Jazz," he blurted out. "You did not talk me into anything; I wanted it."

Oh dear. He had not meant to say that, not like this, at least, and felt a slight embarrassment creep into his circuits when his optics finally met Jazz' visor. "I think I just got a bit... overzealous," he finished lamely.

The saboteur's lips curled into a small smile. "I rather liked it," he admitted, and Prowl couldn't help but smile back in relief. "I owed you something, after all," he said.

"Owed me?"

"Well, yes... You have been so kind all evening, even after I forgot this joy ride we planned. I figured the least I could do was to ensure that you enjoyed yourself."

Jazz frowned. "And since when do we make a competition out of interfacing?"

Prowl stared at him, speechless. All his worries, all his questions and concerns, wrapped up in one sentence and invalidated in less than a dozen words. Good old Jazz.

"It seemed like the thing to do," he replied defensively.

"Prowl," Jazz said slowly and took Prowl's hands in his, visor twinkling with barely concealed mirth. "Prowl, I'm gonna say this as your friend now: You're a glitch-headed idiot."

"Yes," he murmured, crestfallen. "I guess I am."

"Honestly, man, we've been friends for... I don't know, but you should know me better than that. If all I'd wanted was an overload, I could have fragged myself."

Prowl flinched a little. The casual language Jazz employed still managed to undo him sometimes. "I wanted it to be perfect for you," he said softly.

Jazz grinned. "Ever 'Mister Perfect', huh?" But then the grin vanished from his faceplates as quickly as it had come, and he squeezed Prowl's hands just a little bit tighter. "You know it's always special, Prowl," he said warmly. "No matter if we 'face each other senseless or if we just cuddle up a bit... it's special and it's perfect 'cause it's you."

Prowl sat quietly for a while and let the words sink in, let them warm his spark and soothe his anxiety. Jazz knew how to make a mech feel better; he had to hand that to his friend. Had anyone ever told him 'You are the best' in such sweet words?

"Anyway," Jazz continued, and suddenly the laughter was back in his voice, "I don't remember any of my berth mates ever frying their processor just to give me an overload. Now that's what I call devotion!"

Prowl had lifted his hand and tried to smack the saboteur on the head before he even knew it. Jazz dodged him with a laugh. "You are incorrigible," Prowl told him, trying - and failing miserably - to sound angry as Jazz slid off the berth giggling.

"Aw, now you really showed me what's what," he teased, and Prowl racked his still sluggish CPU for a suitable answer when Jazz returned and offered him a full energon cube. "Here, drink this. Don't want you to collapse on me again."

Prowl hesitated. He'd really appreciate another cube, but he'd already consumed a good part of Jazz' ration tonight...

"It's okay," Jazz said, pushing the cube into Prowl's reluctant hands gently. "I've had my share for today, you can take it."

Prowl's systems actually gave something like a small jump as the smell of the purple liquid reached his olfactory sensors, and he abandoned his resistance, knowing quite well it would be futile. "Thank you," he said as his friend settled down beside him, and received a warm smile in reply.

If possible, the energon tasted even better than it had before, and for a while he became so absorbed in the wonderful taste and smell he barely registered that Jazz had leaned over the edge of the berth and was rummaging around in the small nightstand next to it.

"Gotcha!" he said happily, sitting back up. Prowl saw a soft, ragged cloth in his one hand, and a small tin in his other. "You want me to give you a polishing?" he asked good-humored, glad that he seemingly could be of service after all.

"No," Jazz replied. "I want you to lie back and relax while I give you a polishing."

Prowl's good mood dropped considerably at this. "Jazz, really, you don't have to -"

"I know," Jazz interrupted. "But I want to." He opened the tin, placed it onto the nightstand and folded the cloth into a small square. "C'mon," he said, patting his thigh as if he wanted Prowl to sit in his lap. "Lemme spoil you a bit, huh?"

The thought was very tempting, Prowl had to admit that as he regarded his friend, kneeling on the berth and smiling encouragingly. It would be a favor among friends, no more, no less, and if Jazz was okay with it...

"Alright," he agreed. "If you insist..." He put the half-empty cube aside and edged a bit closer, making to lie on his front. It seemed logical to assume that Jazz would want him in this positi-

"No," he saboteur said. "Come here, lean on me."

The next moment, Prowl found himself on his back in a half lying, half sitting position, his head and shoulders supported by his friend's chest. He considered the position as a bit awkward, for, given their build types, it did not allow for as much physical contact as he would have liked, but Jazz seemed satisfied with the arrangements he'd made. "Okay," he announced softly as he dipped the neatly folded cloth into the tin. "Here we go."

The polish was an Earth product; Prowl recognized the smell of bees wax as Jazz started to gently rub the ointment-like substance into his shoulder plating. He had to maneuver around Prowl's door wings for that, but he seemed to manage fine. Where might he have gotten the polishing wax from? Perhaps Spike or Sparkplug had –

"You're still thinking," Jazz chided. "I can hear your processor rattling."

Prowl managed just in time to suppress a giggle. "My apologies," he teased instead, and received a playful tap on his nose with the polishing cloth in reply.

The wax quickly turned into a thin, oily film on his warm plating, creating a nice shine on the metal and making the cloth glide even more easily. Jazz slowly worked his way down Prowl's right arm, paid special attention to a transformation seam at the wrist, and then he took Prowl's hand in his and started to rub his fingers gently.

The soft touches instantly triggered recent memory files, pictures of the little scene back in his office, of light caresses and of the affection, the gratitude and, yes, the desire they had aroused. Pleasurable warmth suffused his circuits at the thought, and he savored the sensation, basking in it and smiling a little bit to himself. If Jazz wanted him relaxed, he just had to keep this up for a while...

His hand was placed back onto the berth gently as Jazz dipped the cloth into the tin again and switched sides. Prowl's left shoulder and arm received the same tender treatment as the right one, and so did his left hand. He was dimly aware that his optics had flickered offline all on their own as he let himself sink deeper into his friend's embrace. Ah, he loved this feeling, this slow, warm, gentle longing, sweetened even more by the knowledge the sensation was shared...

The soft click of his cooling fans activating brought him out of his reverie and his optics back online rather abruptly. His core temperature had risen again, and his circuits were tingling with a mild charge. Oh, this wasn't good; his energy reserves still weren't too stable, and the last thing he wanted was to pass out in Jazz' berth twice in one night. Apart from the humiliation, emergency shutdowns were not a very healthy thing to do to one's processor, not to mention the fact that a second attempt at interfacing was clearly not what his friend had intended. He tried to sit up a little. "Jazz..."

"Shhh..." Jazz slung both arms around him tightly, holding him down. "I know," he breathed into Prowl's neck. "It's okay, sweetspark, just relax. Let it happen."

He had extended his energy field, Prowl realized in astonishment, had wrapped him into it so gently he had not even noticed. Now his friend had him in a cozy double embrace, carefully rubbing some more wax into his chassis and concomitantly sending slow, tender pulses of energy through his field signature.

A small, involuntary sigh came out of Prowl's vocalizer. It just felt so good, and he longed to share the sensation, sent a small amount of energy through his own field – and was surprised again. For instead of absorbing it, Jazz caught the little pulse in his field as if in a net, held it for a moment and then sent it back, twice intensified now by his own energy. Prowl shuddered and gasped softly at the unexpected sensation. "What are you – "

"If you don't shut up this instant," Jazz growled, "I swear I'm gonna short-circuit your vocalizer."

"You wouldn't dare."

The polishing cloth traveled down his chest plates slowly, mapping out his insignia while warm fingers first teased his grille and then stroked one of his headlights tenderly. "Try me," Jazz whispered.

Even if Prowl had wanted to, he was no longer in a state to try anything except for lying back and taking what was offered to him. Ever the improviser, Jazz had obviously come up with a way for them to enjoy some physical pleasure without risking to strain Prowl's depleted energy reserves too much: Instead of exchanging energy, he seemingly had decided to share his own reserves; slowly, tenderly charging Prowl's systems with pulse after pulse of warm electricity. And, oh, it felt so wonderful, all that tingly heat streaming into his circuits in a slow, steady rhythm. It became a physical impossibility to hold back the small groans that were spilling from his vocalizer, for Jazz had not neglected his polishing duties and was now shamelessly exploiting every hot spot he could find. His free hand crept back up slowly to caress the edge of one of Prowl's door wings for a moment before he started to gently draw invisible patterns onto the smooth surface with two fingers.

Oh, holy Primus, this was too much. Prowl's one hand gripped the edge of the berth tightly while the other reached up and behind, seeking purchase and eventually taking hold of Jazz' shoulder as he arched into the skilled touches.

"That's it," Jazz murmured. "Just let go, let me do the work."

Prowl did not like the word 'work' in this context, but he couldn't find it in himself to protest in view of the unreserved tenderness that was bestowed on him. So warm, so good... He felt all his circuits tingle as they greedily absorbed each pulse of energy his friend sent him, slowly but relentlessly pushing him to a point where nothing mattered anymore but the pleasure. He couldn't lie still any longer; his body reacted on its own, gently writhing and undulating to meet every touch, to make sure not to miss even the slightest caress...

Jazz leaned a bit closer to stroke the cloth over Prowl's hip plating tenderly, and as he did so, Prowl could feel the heat pouring off his friend's chassis, could hear and sense the staccato revving of his engine and the prickling electricity that had charged his field signature. Poor Jazz was getting quite worked up himself, it seemed... he might not be taking any energy from Prowl, but all of Prowl's emotions, all those feelings and thoughts and sensations, were vibrating through his energy field, and – consequently – into Jazz', too. And still, the saboteur managed to somehow keep them on the edge, in a state where there were no expectations, no pressure, no striving or struggling to reach the finish line. All Prowl wanted at this moment was to bask in this wonderful, tender pleasure for the rest of his existence. His fingers stroked Jazz' neck softly as he turned his head as best as possible in his current position, nuzzling his face against his friend's throat.

"Jazz," he whispered. "Jazz, Jazz, Jazz..." Oh, how beautiful this name sounded. As long as his spark pulsed, he would never tire of speaking his friend's name like this...

His overload, when it finally came, nearly took him by surprise. It happened so gently and tenderly, like energon being poured into a full cube and softly flowing over the edge. He trembled and moaned and writhed, vents cycling hard to cool his heated systems as the resulting current of electric energy rushed into their combined fields. And this time Jazz took it, letting himself be pushed over the edge as well. Prowl felt him shudder and jerk, and then he gave a soft cry of surprise as the backlash of Jazz' overload streamed into his circuits and coaxed him into an unexpected second climax. His whole body quivered with the startling sensation, and Jazz was quick to react, sealing off his field frequencies and thereby creating some kind of force field so the released energy would not be dispersed, but had no choice but to slowly sink back into Prowl's systems.

He could not move any more, just lay trembling and dazed, and as the returning energy suffused his circuits in a strangely refreshing warmth, Prowl knew that he had never and would never in his life be more glad to have left a maintenance report unread.

--*--

"You know," Prowl said, "as beautiful as this was," he stroked one of Jazz' sensor horns fondly, "I'm in your debt at least five times now. How shall I ever make this up to you?"

They were lying stretched out on the berth, arms around each other, Jazz curled into Prowl's chassis as closely as possible. He laughed softly at the last words and leaned back a little to look up at his friend. "Aw, here we go again..."

He looked tired, Prowl thought. Happy, contented, satisfied – but tired. He felt a slight tinge of remorse as he thought of as to why Jazz was so worn out, and why he himself was feeling so awake right now. He checked his energy reserves briefly – 76 per cent.

"Come on, Jazz, there must be something I can do for you."

Jazz looked uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment. "Well..."

"Yes?"

The saboteur shook his head. "No, that wouldn't be fair on the other guy... forget it."

"Just tell me."

A sheepish grin flashed over Jazz' faceplates. "Well, you see, I'm on early shift tomorrow... you might have noticed that I didn't get too much recharge tonight. And it's already past three in the morning, so... You couldn't perhaps find someone to... cover for me? Just this once," he added quickly.

It was such a touching request Prowl had to restrain himself not to crush his friend in his embrace. "Oh, now I found you out," he teased instead. "This whole night was a clever little special ops scheme of yours. Bribing a senior officer with sexual favors to get a day off, that is what you're after!"

Jazz' visor glinted mischievously as he took up the game. "Aw, frag it, and here I've been so close to nailing it."

"I could have you court-martialed for this, you know."

Jazz was giggling harder by the minute. "Oh please, Commander, mercy!"

"Begging won't help you now," Prowl said in the sternest voice he could manage. "Commander Jazz, I hereby place you under arrest in this berth."

"On what ground?"

"Seducing and overloading a superior officer."

"And twice, even," Jazz replied with barely contained laughter. "You are firm but fair."

Prowl pulled him a little bit deeper into his embrace, and Jazz came willingly, snuggling up to him like a trusting sparkling. It felt nice, Prowl thought, to hold him like this. "Just leave it to me," he said softly. "I will take care of it."

Jazz cycled a small sigh through his intakes. "Thanks." And then he raised his head again with a tender look in his visor. "Stay with me?"

The question was not completely without reason. As rare as their intimate encounters might be, they had always needed to be prepared for the possibility that they would not be able to spend a complete night cycle together. Mostly it was because of different shift rotations, or because one of them would be called to duty unexpectedly – not to mention impromptu Decepticon attacks.

But that had been back on Cybertron, and was not very likely to happen here, and Prowl had absolutely no intention to leave. "Of course," he said. "I arrested you. I have to make sure you don't get away."

This earned him a low chuckle as Jazz settled down again and started to slowly power down his systems. Prowl reached for the panel embedded into the nightstand to switch off the lights, but suddenly a thought popped up in his processor.

"I have to see Ironhide in the morning," he said hesitantly. "You know, because of those reports. I may not be here anymore when you wake up."

Jazz had already offlined his visor, but a tiny smile tugged at his lips at Prowl's words. "Ah, that's okay," he murmured. "I'll know where to look for you."

*Fin*