Title: Forced Hand (1/2)
Verse: G1 AU
Rating: PG-13 (ish?)
Warnings: Angst, fluff
Characters/pairing: Prowl/Jazz, random unnamed mechs and femmes

This is part of To Love a Stranger. Timeline is somewhere just before Someone Once Cared. Please shred or enjoy as you will.

Jazz slipped through the compound, keeping to the shadows. If one more individual stopped him to ask his opinion on this or that he was going to snap. Granted, this was the first official reception since his public bonding with Prowl. Yes, it was a big deal, and yes, the entire event was supposed to revolve around him and his mate, but he was starting to loose his patience.

He didn't care about the decorations. He didn't care about what was going to be served for refreshment. He'd already had his say about the music, about the dances, about the ceremony, and he just wanted this to be done.

If he'd had his way about it there wouldn't be any party at all. Resources were slim enough as it was that they didn't need to be squandered on a political statement. To the same tune, there were expectations to be met and traditions to be upheld. This reception had a duel purpose.

It was time for his sparker to publicly acknowledge him as the heir to the title of Lord of Polyhex and Prowl as his bonded Consort. It was all political maneuvering, making the announcement in front of the gathered nobles and representatives, but it was something that had to be done.

It was more of a formality than anything else, since Jazz had no siblings that could be alternatives for the position. Jazz frowned as another thought occurred to him. In light of the fact that he had no siblings his second cousin on his carriers side would actually be the next in line for the title. With this announcement Jazz was sure there would now be a push for an heir.

He and Prowl hadn't even spark merged yet, and he was going to have to find a way to shield Prowl from that pressure. If Prowl perceived that pressure as duty Jazz knew the Praxian would start pushing their relationship faster then either of them were ready for. The teasing hints and veiled remarks at the small recent clan gathering had almost been too much for the Praxian to process. Jazz had noticed him shutting down and pulled him from the gathering until he had seemed like he was coming out of it.

Jazz slipped into their quarters, sighing with relief. No one should disturb him here. This was a place where he and Prowl could go and be disturbed for anything short of an emergency. Leaning back against the door he allowed his optics to go offline until a soft laugh reached his audios.

"I do not see how that can be comfortable."

"Ya'd be amazed what a lack of doorwings allows ya to do." Jazz shot back, visor still dim as he strained his audios. Even at his most careful he barely heard Prowl cross the room, wasn't entirely sure were the mech was until gentle hands touched his face. A gentle, chaste kiss was followed by a tug on his arm.

"Several of the servants were by today."

"Oh?" Jazz allowed himself to be led across the room, still not bothering to look where he was going. He trusted Prowl.

The mech turned him gently and pushed him back. Jazz grabbed hold as his knees went out from under him, surprised, until he landed in a chair, and laughed, pulling Prowl with him. "They brought my chair over."

"I thought you had said you would rather have it here…"

"I did and I do." Jazz kissed him, not quite the same chaste kiss he had been given earlier. "And while I think eventually I want it by the window, right here will do fer the moment, seein' as how I've no intention of lettin' ya up any time soon."

Prowl laughed with him, a sound that quickly melted into a moan as Jazz smoothed a hand over a wing. It hadn't taken the smaller mech very long to discover how sensitive those were and turn the sensitivity to his advantage. Not that Prowl had protested very much. In the span of a few minutes he was quivering mess in Jazz's lap.

The weakness would have frightened Prowl if he did not trust Jazz so much. It had taken a while for his processor to assimilate the fact that touches from Jazz did not hurt, and never would. Jazz would never strike him or attack him maliciously. Jazz would never mean to bring him harm, physically or mentally.

Jazz had forgiven him without hesitation when Prowl had struck him in unconscious self defense and had promptly set about desensitizing his mate to his touches. He had been effective to the point that Prowl came seeking cuddle time when worried or stressed. A desire that Jazz was more than pleased to indulge.

The smaller mech looked at the dim optics, stealing a kiss as he shoved other issues that needed to be addressed to the back of his processor for later. Much later.

Prowl offlined his optics in an attempt to center himself. He replayed the scene from earlier, trying to find that mindset again. He hadn't had a problem during the formal presentation, standing in front of the assembled mechs and femmes as Preceptor had publicly named Jazz the heir to the title of Lord of Polyhex.

Traditionally Prowl was supposed to wait behind Jazz until he was also acknowledged. But Prowl had discovered, once everyone was not worried about constantly being on their best behavior, that Jazz had a cheeky nature, and a stubborn streak as wide as Prowls. Jazz was not above thumbing his nose at tradition and the system when it did not suit him and when such snubbing would not cause any serious ramifications.

So when he had insisted that Prowl was going to be at his side through the whole ordeal his creators had gone with it. And when the time had come for Prowl to be acknowledged he had taken the Praxians hand in his own and held it possessively. The lord of Polyhex had managed to keep a straight face throughout the ceremony but anyone close enough had noticed the extra glint in the mechs optics as he had acknowledged Prowl as Jazz's mate and the consort of the next lord of Polyhex.

Then the reception had then turned into a social event, and that is when Prowl's problems had begun. Separated from Jazz, trapped in the middle of a large number of bots he had never seen before his life, Prowl started to shut down. Every little noise was too loud, from the music playing to the low tones of the conversation just a few feet away.

The light was too bright, no matter how much he dimmed his optic sensors. All around him it felt like the room was closing in on him, pressing on him from the outside even as he was sure he was going to explode from the inside, and he it was all he could do to keep his feet planted firmly on the floor as yet another stranger approached him, highgrade in hand.

The femme stopped before him, entourage looking him over from head to foot as she did. The silence as she took a drink from her cube of highgrade was almost worse than the noise as Prowl felt trapped by the scrutiny.

"Well, you still take after you carrier well enough. The family resemblance is certainly there."

"Lady?" Prowl's voice was strained, even to his own audios. He struggled to remember his manners as he wished to Primus that he was somewhere else.

She sniffed a little. "Of course you wouldn't remember me, not after that scene at the presentation reception all those vorns ago. Song was never above making a spectacle of herself, given the chance, and you apparently take after her." She looked at those gathered around her. "Nice to have one's suspicions confirmed after all this time."

The words brought back the memory of another time and place and Prowl felt his processor locking up. His whole frame started to quiver uncontrollably and his optics shorted out. For a moment he thought he heard Jazz, thought he felt strong hands grab on to him, before the world went dark and blessedly quiet.