Collaboration with pjlover666 for tf_speedwriting

The Intruder

It was unbelievable. They were in the very heart of the headquarters of the Decepticons in the middle of Kaon, surrounded by thousands of loyal Decepticons, hundreds of cameras and several dozens of other security measures. Yet, if Soundwave was right, just a few breems ago a saboteur and spy had been spotted in the mainframe room.

In Prowl's treasury.

The tactician wanted to scream in rage at the very thought that someone, anyone had touched his precious data.

With red, narrow optics he observed the running Decepticons who were all searching for the intruder after the red alert had been sounded by Ravage. So far, nothing. No sign of an Autobot anywhere.

"Saboteur: Elusive," said Soundwave next to him, confirming his thoughts.

Prowl crossed his arms, sharp claws twitching. "If he has downloaded even one of my plans, I want to see him crucified in the central plaza."

"Soundwave: Understands."

"Good." He looked at the telepath, one of the few Decepticons Prowl could truly stand. If they had both been more social, they might have been called friends. "What did Megatron say about the situation?"

Soundwave nearly winced. "Megatron: Displeased."

"Of course." Who wouldn't be? Prowl certainly was. "Did we already search sector 45?"

He would find the one who dared to touch his data. And make sure it never happened again.

Jazz sighed in frustration. Great, he had been spotted. Fragging telepaths and their stupid pets. Well, he hadn't been able to download everything, but the nasty virus uploaded was at least partially cheering him up. He would love to see the look on the Head Tactician's face once he discovered the chaos it would make out of those plans of his.

Unfortunately, Jazz was facing serious problem. How to get out?

It was near impossible, even for him, with this high level of security. The only solution was to lay low and wait, but his reserves were reaching their end and he hadn't recharged in two orns. He needed to find fuel soon, if he were to remain a guest here in the lovely company of the Decepticons. Or they would only find his grey, starved hull. Out of better options, he hit the private quarters.
~

Two orns later without any recharge, even workaholics of Prowl's and Soundwave's calibre had to admit that they couldn't find the spy. It was as if he had vanished. With a growl, Prowl leaned back in his chair. In a decaorn a big battle would come. He needed to prepare the plans for it. He needed recharge. Now.
He stood up. "I am going back to my quarters, Soundwave. If you find the Autobot, could you please comm me?" His optics flashed. "I would love to have a chance to chat with him."

Soundwave observed him neutrally. "Affirmative. Prowl: Back in four quartexes."

The tactician nodded.

He never recharged more than four quartexes, no matter what. Tired and still angry, he walked back to his quarters. Decepticons scattered in front of him, all knowing by now about his mood. And the guard which he had sent for a whipping. By Vortex.

He entered his codes and stepped into his dark quarters. With a deep sigh, he relaxed. To some his rooms might seem empty, so empty that they could've been unused, but to him this was his sanctuary. The one place in the world in which nothing made him think.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, he stumbled to his berth and let himself fall into it - and crashed into another mech.

Jazz was pleased with himself. He had landed in officers quarters that barely had been used. Nobody probably lived here. The place was devoid of anypersonal belongings and simply empty. Even if the Decepticons weren't known for their sentimentality, they at least never bothered to clean after place was spotless.

And the berth! Oh, so soft. Probably made for a winger, seeker, maybe? He couldn't resist lying down on it. On a shelf next to the bed, he found energon cubes. Emergency rations, of course, but far better than nothing.

Yep. Here he could stay.

He waited the first shift. Then, the second. When still no mech came, he relaxed. He had really found an empty quarter. A small chuckle, his friends in Iacon would call him lucky again. With that thought, he fell into a light recharge, finally defragging his from the hack strained processors. When he woke, he drank a bit more energon and stared bored at the ceiling, wishing he could already go home. But outside, Soundwave was surely still searching for him. Jazz was contemplating on entering light recharge again, when the door suddenly opened. With a start, he gripped his blaster tight and waited to see what would happen. Overreacting got more saboteurs killed than anything else. Play it cool and you would be overlooked. Only he nearly dropped his weapon once he saw just who had entered. Prowl? As in Head Tactician Prowl?

Frag.

Had he been spotted? Jazz had made sure his tracks were well hidden even from that freak of nature Soundwave. How had Prowl discovered... Only, Prowlwasn't even looking at the shadow on the berth. With dimmed optics, he watched as the Praxian made his way to it.

He wouldn't... Jazz thought as he watched the big frame hover over him and in the next moment a loud crash as metal crashed against metal.

Prowl didn't curse. No. Cursing was undignified, a show of unnecessary emotion and not enough control over a situation. But there had to be exceptions to every rule.

"What the frag...?!"

With a jump he was up again and falling out of his own berth, hand already in subspace searching for his blaster. There was a mech. In his berth.
And he had certainly not been invited into it.

"Who are you?" he growled and gave the command for light.

"Oh slag!" Within klicks Jazz was on the other side of the bare room, placing good distance between them, his blaster already aimed at Prowl. "What the frag are ya doing here?" he yelled.

"What I'm doing here...?" Prowl stared at the silver sleek mech as if he had grown another head. "I live here. This is my berth! What are you doing here?!"

"Wait, YOU live here? But... this place is bare!"

Prowl gritted his denta. "I like it bare." He really didn't need to talk about his decorative choices with a nameless berth-snatcher. "What is your name, soldier?" He would turn him into the lowest grunt, until he took orders from drones.

"What makes you think I'll tell ya?" Jazz had the nerve to smirk at him. Don't show fear. Keep calm. Stay cool and think.

Prowl's optics narrowed. He pulled his blaster out of subspace and pointed it at the intruder. "I will find out your designation one way or another, soldier. Be assured that not telling me will bring you pain though." He smiled darkly. "Much pain."

Jazz's processors worked at high speed, pulling everything he had on this mech, searching for what he could use as a bargain, but in the mean time, he had to keep the mech engaged to prevent him from calling for back up. That would be bad. Very much so.

"Pain?" Jazz grinned, "Good thing I'm a masochist. Tough luck mech."

"A masochist?" Prowl raised an optic ridge. "So you're a pleasure model? Who paid for you and sent you to my quarters?" Only pleasure models were built in with masochist codes and they were highly respected and sought after in the Decepticon army. After all, no one liked to have the one with whom you were just interfacing putting a dagger into your spark. The small rest who had masochistic codes tended to be unstable BlackOps operatives with a high risk for torture. Not bots with which Prowl liked to be associated.

"Who knows." Jazz shrugged, "Maybe Primus finally heard your prayers and decided to spare you the cruelty of a cold berth every night?" He quickly edited his insult into something else when he saw Prowl frown, "But tonight's your lucky night, mate! I am yours for the taking."

His Ops leader would Kill. Him. the moment he returned back to Iacon. Well, that was if he did return. Because even if the situation was already dangerous, he truly was a masochist. It was what made him so good at Ops. But if the Con found out, death was not his sentence but reprieve.

Prowl still frowned. "I don't like interfacing." He also showed no sign of lowering the blaster.

'Of course you don't,' Jazz wanted to voice out. That out would've been too easy.

"Maybe, I can offer you something else? I'm good with magnetic massages, too?"

"I didn't know that those belong to the abilities of pleasure models," said Prowl, sceptically.

"Eh... well, we all try to become better at what we do, right?"

Right. At least that was a sentiment Prowl could agree with. And he was still tired. Still stressed. Still angry. He looked at the mech in front of him, who had offered himself. "Who did you say again paid for you?"

Damn. Who had paid for him? No one. Worse, Prowl seemed exhausted, but sooner or later he would remember the very first sentences that they had exchanged and then he would shoot. After all, he was a Con. Shoot first, question later was their official motto! Who was Prowl friends with? Jazz's databanks came back empty. What the frag? He was friends with no one...? Wait... Who would be interested to do something nice for Prowl... Soundwave.

Of all mechs. Prowl had to be playing nice with Soundwave. Typical.

"See, I was told by this little mech, a cassette or so, that I should come here and stay for five shifts. Paid and all, but then the room was bare and I thought that maybe it was a joke. Until you came..."

"A cassette," repeated the tactician slowly. "How long are you already here for?"

Not saying a time that coincided with the red alert... "A quartex, give or take a few breems."

Interesting. It would explain why Soundwave insisted on Prowl having a four-quartex-rest. Even so, he needed to verify this story.

"What did you say the name of the cassette was?"

"Uhh.." Think, think! "I think he called himself... Frenzy."

Prowl was already dialling Frenzy over the comms, his blaster still trained at the so called pleasure bot. Jazz tried very hard not to show his rising panic. He was deactivated, dead, cold and grey. He probably only had seconds now to plan his next move. Should he kill the tactician or just try to evade him? No, he needed to stop him from alerting Soundwave again. So he had to attack... but despite being an office bot, Prowl wasn't a slouch in the fighting department... it all came back to it: Jazz was dead.

::Frenzy-:: started the tactician.

::It wasn't me! Don't believe them! It was all Rumble's idea!::

::You are not in trouble, Frenzy,:: Prowl explained patiently, far too used to the cassette's antics.

::Oh, then what is it?::

::Did you send a pleasure bot to my quarters?::

There was a long pause on the other side as the little cassette thought about what he had just heard. Sending a pleasure bot to Prowl's quarters had been an idea of Rumble and him for a long time, to try and loosen up the tight aft, but so far hadn't found the mech willing to do it. It was probably Rumble's doing. He would have to ask him later. But now, he had to make sure the prank wasn't ruined.

::Yup! It's our thank-you-gift for being such a ...uhg.. logical...tactician? Yeah, that's it.::

Damn. If only Rumble wasn't on a mission spying on those stupid bots. He was missing all the fun of his prank. Plus, Frenzy made a mental note to hit his brother for leaving him out on one of their most fun prank ever.

::Never do something like this without my permission. And how did you crack the code to my quarters?::

::Uhg... we stole the code from the boss?::

Of course. Despite their behaviour, the twins were Soundwave's cassettes and as such more than capable of stealing and other nefarious deeds. They not only had a spark talent for it, but Soundwave had trained them, too. Something that Prowl had more than once questioned the wisdom of.

::It would appear I need to have a talk with Soundwave about your manners.::

::So... do you like the surprise?:: Did he? Prowl asked himself as his optics swept over the nervous mech in front of him, looking him up and down. And he was a masochist...

::I am yet to determine that,:: was the clipped reply and the line went dead.

Frenzy grinned. In Prowl-speak that was as good as a solid "yes". Prowl meanwhile looked at his 'present' again. "It seems that Frenzy has confirmed your story."

Jazz stared, not believing his luck. "He has?" He knew he was called lucky for a reason, but damn, it would seem that Primus really liked him.

"Yes." Prowl subspaced his gun. "On the berth with you. It's time you earn your credits."

Jazz was an adaptable bot. Really. But even he couldn't help and gape for an astrosecond before hastily nodding and doing as he told. He felt his processors racing. Was he really going to interface with Prowl of all mech now? It wasn't as if Jazz was a virgin. No, more baffling was the idea of one of the most smartest mechs on this planet believing his lie. Prowl really must be tired... But it's not like he wasn't forced to do deeds like this in the past. And if he was careful, he could even hack the mech.

The tactician went to the shelf at the door and selected a small tube. It was the one and only substance that could be used for a massage which he owned.

"I hope you were adequately paid for already. I have to warn you, that the cassette twins like to promise money and not to pay later. Soundwave allows them far too much." He frowned, searching for the tube that made his metal shiny. "They have tried to get me laid for four vorns now, and I've actually waited for them to sent me a pleasure mech. I think Soundwave has prevented several attempts before, but after the incident a few orns ago maybe he felt he had to reimburse me."

The 'cons, Jazz thought, are weird. He had thought his excuse was unbelievable. Now he heard that this seemed to be a common occurrence?
Before Prowl could hand Jazz the tube, he waited as the smaller mech subspaced his own gun. He wasn't surprised, pleasure mech shouldn't walk around unprotected and they were also dangerous warriors in their own right. But before he handed him the tube, he grabbed him by the chin, "If you try anything, even something remotely suspicious, you will end in pieces. Understood?"

"Crystal clear." Jazz didn't show intimidation. He wasn't allowed to. Not now.

So, maybe no hacking. After all, he did get enough data and he had really stretched his luck already. "Good." Prowl smiled and flexed his claws, nicking the cheek of Jazz and drawing energon. "Then we can have a fun time together. After all, I have reason to vent myself on somebody. And if I can't catch the pest that touched my data, then you must serve."

Jazz nodded, feeling the burn of irony against his spark. Suddenly, he doubted his luck. "Well then." Jazz smiled sweetly. Play casual. Don't show fear, "Make yourself comfortable and let me do my magic." He flexed his own clawed hands. They were unusual for an Autobot, but allowed himself to better blend in with 'Cons. It was details like this that made him good. Prowl nodded. "Begin." Silently, he sent a code to his door, also locking it from the inside. After all, masochistic coding or not, he didn't want his toy to run any time soon. In a couple of swift moves he was lying on the berth, wings spread widely on his back, aching for some attention.

Jazz noticed it and sighed on the inside. He would have to see this through.

Well, how bad could a stiff Head Tactician be? Even if he was angry. If he twisted enough of the story, he could make it as if he had seduced the Head Tactician. That would surely score him far more points than the truth of being forced to massage his wings. It was all about perspective.

Yep, positive thinking was Jazz's secret.

As he massaged Prowl and the Praxian slowly became mercury in his hands, he wondered who really would believe this. Prowl, the dangerous psychopathic, cold Head Tactician as a purring heap in Jazz's lap?

No one would believe the truth. It was borderline ridiculous.

And cute. Not that Jazz would ever admit that aloud, but a relaxed Prowl was a different mech. And the small noises he made when he hid a special sweet spot, the little twitches of his wings when he wanted here or there more attention and the slow uncurling of a tense field into a flowing relaxed one... yep. It was all cute.

He had always known that he liked flirting with danger. And that Prowl was dangerous and nothing else, was proven just a bit later.

::Soundwave to Prowl.:: The Praxian stiffened. ::Virus detected in tactical files. Virus: Stopped now. File deletion: 0.45 per cent of the last four decaorns. File corruption: 1.423 per cent of the last vorn. Soundwave: Trying to repair damage.::

Prowl's face twisted into a sudden ugly and dark mask, and his field flared with danger and barely leashed violence. ::Thank you, Soundwave. Any sign of the saboteur?::

::Negative. Soundwave out.::

His files. Hacked. Corrupted. Deleted!

Prowl roared in fury. With sharp claws he gripped the pleasure model by the arm and hurled him against the wall. "Let's test your masochistic codelines. Thoroughly."

"Well, someone's in a mood." Jazz shook his head and stood up, his codes buzzing. He hadn't expected this sudden turn from relaxed to anger, peace to violence. The field was a turmoil of red hot rage. Should he worry?

Jazz suddenly realised that this mech wouldn't let him die should he discover that he was the saboteur. Oh no. For Prowl, the virus and hack had been personal. As Prowl slowly approached him with all the grace and mercilessness of any big predator, he was living proof of the proverb that any Decepticon officer was a monster - in and off the battlefield.

Cute or not while giving him a massage.

Jazz repressed the desire in his codes to run, and concentrated on strengthening all and every positive code line he had written, doubling them, until he felt himself relax again. When Prowl reached him, he was capable of admiring the Decepticon's officers smooth control, the red flashing of his optics, the coiled violence in every inch of his frame.

Prowl was beautiful.

He smirked, "Do your worst."

"Oh," purred the Praxian, "I intend to. And you will scream for more."

Jazz believed him. ~ Panting, he was lying on the floor next to the berth, incapable of reaching up to it. He was exhausted, his body was littered with minor and not so minor wounds, he had been hacked (thankfully just teasing at the firewalls - but wow, he hadn't even known that hacking could be used as a kind of foreplay), taken in every position, used, degraded, beaten, whipped, sliced, slashed and kissed. Okay, this hadn't been one of his most brilliant of plans, but hey... being alive beats being dead, right? But as he gazed up at the looming Praxian, he had to wonder for how long he would stay alive.

On the berth laid Prowl, casually drinking a cube of energon and observing his toy with a smile. The violence had slowly been replaced by sadistic satisfaction that wanted more. And more. "Impressive," Prowl said as if discussing the weather.

Jazz made a snorting sound, "Glad you like me."

Prowl bent down to the pleasure model - of which he still didn't know the name, but then he really didn't want any personal connection - and set the cube at his lips. "Drink," he ordered.

Jazz did.

Rarely had energon tasted so sweet and cool. But after only three swallows, Prowl pulled the cube away again. "No, no, you have to work for it..."
Jazz wanted to scream. Damn sadist. Instead, he said: "What do I have to do..." He knew he had to add it, saw how Prowl's mouth twitched in expectation and beat down his pride. "Master...?"

Prowl caressed the sensor horns of his toy, earning a low groan. Jazz hadn't overloaded once so far and his charge was so high, that everything would be able to set him off. "You know, I've seen that you're very flexible." He gave the ropes which had been used very extensively a considering look. "But so far I've always guided you. Show me what you can do by yourself."

"You want a show," dead panned Jazz.

"Yes."

He was hurting everywhere, low on energon, and the damn mech wanted a show. He was not even getting paid for this! "You broke my leg strut," he lied.
"Then endure," said Prowl, smile not changing.

Sadist. He was so placing Prowl on the top hit list once he got home.

But he had to get home first. And that meant obeying. Which meant giving Prowl a show... and that meant he needed more energon first. And the tactician knew that. Damn him to the pit. "Please, Master, can I get a bit more energon?"

"Mmh, just once. Drink more and you will regret it." He put the cube on Jazz lips again and let him swallow, once. "And now dance, my little toy."
Top hit list wasn't enough. Jazz himself would change his profession and turn assassin.

He danced.

But everything had to end, and after three and a half quartexes even Prowl's impressive anger calmed down. Soundwave's report that many files had been repaired had helped to please him, too. Not so much Jazz though, but then he hadn't been able to show his emotions on that matter.

The last few breems, Jazz massaged Prowl again, until the tactician suddenly sat up.

"Time is over."

Jazz nearly gaped. They really took contracted time seriously here, right?

Prowl stood, shiny, relaxed and with a calm field and walked over to the nearly empty desk. There he took a datapad and wrote a few things on it. Then, he gave it to Jazz, who was dirty, tense and his field radiated exhaustion:

"Here. This is the confirmation that you've concluded your services. Also, it's the permission slip to enter and leave the officer quarter's corridor, once. With this you can walk through all unrestricted areas in Kaon for one joor." A short smile. Then, Prowl leaned behind the desk and threw Jazz a med kit. "You can patch yourself up with it."

"Thanks."

A flicker of the doorwings. "You've served good and well." He walked to the door. "My shift starts in less than one breem. I suggest that you leave in the shortest way possible in two breems at the latest."

"Understood."

"Good." Prowl opened the door and left.

Jazz let his helmet fall back on the berth with a clang. He lived. He actually lived.

Unbelievable. When he finally had had been allowed his overload, he been convinced that it would tear him apart first in a moment of pain - and then in the most intense pleasure which he had ever experienced. Remembering alone brought shudders to his whole frame.

Slowly and painfully he cleaned and patched himself up. Then, he grabbed his permission slip and walked outside. Nervously, he expected that at any time someone would scream "Intruder" or "Autobot" and jump him, but nothing happened. He waved his permission slip and all the guards stepped aside with a polite nod. Polite - he was not even exaggerating! Obviously, pleasure models really had a higher standard here than in Iacon. He left the fortress, and walked into Kaon as if nothing had happened. Actually, now with a dirty frame he fit in even better with the people here than before. He found his way back to Iacon. It was only in his own quarters, after a heavily edited report that for the first time in his life downplayed what really had happened by a large margin, that he took the permission slip into his hand again and found a small notice at the very end:

Comm-Nr.: 23235088365 - if you ever need a berth again, call me. Prowl.

He couldn't help but laugh. It seems he had convinced the Head Tactician of the Decepticons of his qualities as a pleasure model.

Just the career he had always wished for.

Prowl stared at the photo. And stared some more. Then he shuttered his optics and asked without looking at Soundwave: "Are you sure that this is the saboteur?"

"Affirmative."

Prowl gritted his denta, feeling the familiar rage again. This saboteur had dared to enter his treasury, his data pool - but then he remembered the same saboteur at his knees in front of him, begging for energon, screaming in pain and pleasure.
And his virus hadn't done much damage after all. Soundwave had been able to repair nearly everything. Also, reports showed that Ravage had disturbed the saboteur before he had downloaded any significant data.

All in all...

For an unwelcomed visitor, this had been four very satisfying orns. He was almost anticipating the next time the saboteur would pay them a visit. Maybe he would use the comm number, maybe not. Whatever his saboteur would do, Prowl had already a few ideas for their next round of games - in the berth and out of it.