Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within, nor am I making any money off of this story. All I own are the twisted ideas floating around in my head.

When a fantasy turns you on, you're obligated to God and nature to start doing it - right away
--Stewart Brand

Mirage had been looking for his captain for almost three straight breems now. Jazz wasn't in his quarters, the rec room or any other place he could think of, so the youngest member of Special Ops finally resorted to pinging Jazz's locater beacon--only to find out his commander was in one of the lower storage rooms.

'Why would he be there?' Mirage wondered with a puzzled little frown. Normally he wouldn't even consider the idea of going down into the lower storage area. It was a dank, confusing maze of rooms filled with clutter and discarded junk. Hardly the type of place a former resident of the Towers should be seen visiting. But unfortunately, he really needed to talk to Jazz about this latest mission and the slagger wasn't answering his comm. It if had been any other mech, Mirage would have been worried but Jazz had a habit of appearing and disappearing at will.

By the time he tracked Jazz down, sheer determination and annoyance were driving the young mech, and when he heard what sounded like a muffled cry coming from where Jazz's supposed general location, Mirage engaged his electro-disrupter and slunk forward warily.

He didn't know what he expected to find lurking around the corner but he most certainly had not been expecting to see Jazz sprawled across a couple of crates carefully manipulating the delicate circuitry of the servos in his right hip. If possible, Mirage's optics would have popped out of his head in shock and he was dimly aware of his jaw dropping open in a slack-jawed idiotic expression of mortified shock.

'Holy Primus, is he... he is--!!!' Mirage of course had heard rumors of mechs stimulating themselves into overload without the aid of a partner. He might not be as old or as experienced as some of the mechs in Special Ops but he wasn't a complete innocent. Even in the Towers, rumors like that had permeated even to the highest echelons.

Usually, it was considered a mark of shame and failure if a mech had to resort to taking such a measure into his own hands. If a Towers mech was incapable of finding someone to share his berth even in the most casual of manners, he was viewed as a social failure. The only thing that could have been worse was getting caught interfacing with one of your staff or household members.

The ingrained prejudices that Mirage had been brought up with warred with the sudden realization that Jazz was really... quite desirable. The former noblemech had been wresting with unseemly thoughts and a totally inappropriate attraction to his commander already and it was sheer insanity to find him like this. Logically, Mirage knew that it was disgraceful, dirty even, to desire a commoner but it was hard to remember social distinctions when Jazz made another whimpering sound and moved to trace the edge of one headlight.

It was all Mirage could do to not make a sound as his optics were drawn to the delicate way those clever fingers glided and caressed Jazz's torso. 'You shouldn't be watching this! It's disrespectful and disgraceful!' the logical and stiflingly noble part of Mirage's processors was screaming at him. That particular inner monologue always seemed to speak in the voice of his creator and never failed to make Mirage quail in shame at his inappropriate actions. Logically he knew it was wrong to spy on his commander like this, but Primus help him... he couldn't stop watching.

Jazz's optic visor flickered erratically as his head fell back. Gasps and sighs escaped the Special Ops leader and the tension cables in his neck tightened and corded as Jazz valiantly tried to stifle the sounds of his pleasure.

Unconsciously, Mirage's hands had started to move over his own frame in mirrored movements to what Jazz was doing to himself. A shudder ran through the conflicted mech. This was wrong on so many different levels but he couldn't seem to help himself. Each sound Jazz made, each whisper of metal tracing metal had him shaking like a Sparkling discovering interfacing for the first time. The illicit nature of his voyeuristic actions only added to the excitement and Mirage knew he wouldn't be able to last very long.

"Ah! Oh yes..." Jazz groaned, yanking Mirage's attention back to reality and the delectable sight.

Mirage continued to mirror Jazz's movements until it felt almost as if the saboteur was guiding his hands. The blue and white mech had to bite down on his lower lip component to keep himself firmly in the here and now as pleasure started to course through his chassis. He didn't want to make a mistake and accidentally let loose a groan or a sound that would give his presence away. According to his internal chronometer, Mirage had less than half a breem before his electro-disrupter had to shut down anyway, and he set an internal alarm to warn him long before that embarrassment could occur.

Jazz, obviously well immersed in his private fantasies, was beginning to squirm and shudder on his precarious position on the crates. His legs fell open in an almost wanton sprawl as dark fingers traced the inner part of his thigh before wiggling in between the armor platings at the juncture of hip and thighs once again. Mirage had seen those very same fingertips gracefully wire and set explosives with fluid ease.

That had been what initially drew Mirage to Jazz. For a commoner, the saboteur had beautiful hands. The fingers were graceful and dexterous. Watching his commander wire and plant explosives with the ease of one of the Towers' pleasure bots had fascinated Mirage. For a short period, he'd even considered the idea that Jazz might have once been one of the various Tower-brats' whimsical, decorative servants but the mech's rough speech and commoner mannerisms quickly dissuaded the young noblemech of such a notion. Sometimes, even commoners were lucky enough to be gifted with the innate grace and superior aesthetics that defined the Towers.

"Right there, yes..." The husky whisper brought Mirage back from the hazy tangle of his wandering thoughts and he focused on the saboteur's writhing chassis and the way his lips curled up into a smug, pleased little smirk. The noise of Jazz's vents frantically cycling air and the revving of his engine drowned out most of the noises slipping accidentally from Mirage. All the same, Mirage could tell Jazz was getting close to overloading by the pitch of his cooling fans and the strained sounds coming from his engine.

"Oh! Oh, Primus... Mirage!"

Mirage jerked in surprise—it was as if someone had poured a bucket of cold lubricants on his head. At that same moment, his internal alarm went off, warning the cloaked spy that his electro-disrupter was about to offline and he stumbled back. He almost crashed into a few crates in his frantic movement. Thoroughly mortified, Mirage beat a hasty retreat.

After Mirage's not-so-quiet footsteps were gone, Jazz let his head fall back and he groaned with mingled frustration and annoyance. "Fraggit. What does he wan'? An invitation and me all wrapped up in a slaggin' bow?" The Special Ops agent grumbled as his vents cycled air raggedly to cool off his core and bring his racing systems under control. "I'll get you yet, you sorry slagger. Even if I hafta tie ya up an' molest ya till you come around."

And with that grim, frustrated grumble, Jazz powered down his visor and let himself bask in the after-glow of a nice, quick and dirty overload.

A few breems later, Jazz was on the prowl, in search of Mirage. The former noblemech had disappeared as if he'd engaged his electro-disruptor and just vanished into thin air. He wasn't in the rec room or in his quarters, so Jazz finally pinged his locator beacon. It was a trick he'd taught Mirage and the other Special Ops members. Technically it was against regs, but Jazz knew ways of getting around Red Alert's security system. Jazz had taught Mirage how to do that. What he didn't teach the younger mech was how to write a program that logged and registered every time someone pinged your locator beacon.

Jazz had known the instant Mirage pinged for his location and thus had plenty of time to… prepare for the spy's arrival. The saboteur had been trying to get Mirage to make a move for deca-cycles now. He would've had to have been blind to miss the way the Mirage looked at him. Jazz hadn't been all that adverse to the idea either but the sorry slagger just never seemed to get it through his thick cranial unit that Jazz had been sending him signals.

"I swear, I think I really am gonna haveta tie him down before he fraggin' comes around," Jazz muttered to himself. He tracked Mirage's locator through the base until he finally found the spy in one of the abandoned old blast labs Wheeljack used to use for explosives testing and the like. It was in one of the most remote parts of the base and Jazz couldn't understand why the spy would come here.

When he sneaked into the old lab, however, Jazz realized just why Mirage had chosen this particular lab… this particular sound-proof lab.

Mirage was a moaner.

Jazz carefully moved forward when he heard the first husky sound the former noble-mech made. When he crept around the edge of the blast plating guarding the door, he was both surprised and turned on at realizing how much his little show had affected the younger mech. A sly smile curved his lips as he watched Mirage, and Jazz was pleased to note that the blue and white mech had his optics offline.

No doubt Mirage had assumed he'd be utterly safe and alone to indulge in his own fantasies here in the abandoned wing of the R&D department. If Jazz hadn't been such a determined mech, he probably would have been right.

Instead, the former noblemech was giving his commander an unexpected and erotic show. Jazz's visor brightened with excitement as he watched the way Mirage's hands skimmed and tested out the various contours and planes of his own body. Judging by the slightly hesitant and restless way Mirage was exploring his body, Jazz was willing to bet the young noblemech had never touched himself like that before. Such a thing would have no doubt been frowned upon in the Towers.

The saboteur was both turned on and felt a little guilty for having driven the blue and white mech to this. But then Mirage moaned when his fingers found the underside of one of his front spoilers and all thoughts of guilt fled. Jazz shivered and unconsciously took a step forward before self-control reasserted itself.

Primus, but he wanted to be the one touching those elegant limbs, wanted it to be his fingers wringing those impassioned moans from the normally self-contained mech. Each sigh and sound Mirage made just enticed him more and Jazz found himself inching closer until he was mere steps from the spy.

Thankfully, Mirage was too wrapped up in his own world to notice and he lay there on one of the left-behind tables with his head thrown back in ecstasy. "Oh, Primus," Mirage groaned and arched off the table when he found a particularly sensitive node along his inner thigh. The steady revving of Mirage's engine told Jazz how keyed up the spy was and it was all Jazz could do to stop from touching himself as well.

"Jazz…" Mirage moaned, calling out for his imaginary lover as he writhed impatiently once again.

"Yes…" It came out before Jazz could stop himself. He was shocked at how rough and needy that single word could sound.

Mirage jerked and almost fell off the table as he sat up and powered up his optics to stare at Jazz in unmitigated horror. "J-Jazz!" he cried and scuttled away from the saboteur. "What are you doing here!?!"

"Enjoyin' the show. Please, don' stop on my account." A slow, suggestive smile curved Jazz's lips. He slunk across the few feet that remained between he and the noblemech. "It's a little late fer shyness, ain't it, Mirage? I know ya were there earlier." Jazz's voice dropped to a low, purring whisper. "Watchin' me. I liked it. I was kinda hopin' ya'd join in, but this'll work too."

The blue and white mech shuddered and watched his captain with confused and dark optics. "Sir?"

"I want you to touch yourself, Mirage." Jazz ordered silkily. He enjoyed the mingled look of shock and apprehension on the younger mech's face. "You're so sexy like that. Thought my jaw was gonna hit the floor when I saw you laying there."

"I…"

"You can do it, Mirage. Just offline your optics and just let yourself feel. Start where you left off. It's okay, I'll keep my hands to myself." Jazz smiled an encouraging little smile as he tried to coax the other mech into laying back down.

"You're insane."

"No, I'm not--I'm turned on. Though if ya keep teasin' me like this, I jus' might go insane. Come on, Mirage. You know there's somethin' there. We wouldn't be sneakin' around like this if there wasn't. So what's the problem?"

He wanted Jazz's hands on him, that was the problem. With a shiver, Mirage lay back down and powered down his optics.

"There you go," Jazz's voice came from somewhere to the right of him. "Just start with your right hand."

It was easier when he didn't have to look at his captain. Some of the shame and uncertainty faded away and he could just concentrate on stroking his fingers along the seam he'd found earlier. It took a little longer to get excited by the stimulation but Mirage slowly felt the flickers of pleasure fire through his synapses. A shudder raked through his chassis when his fingers found an especially sensitive bundle of wires beneath his hip servos.

"Yes, right there. Just linger there for a moment, let it drag out," Jazz whispered huskily, jolting Mirage out of his impassioned state. "Don't online your optics. Keep them off," he ordered firmly. "Just trust me, Mirage. Alternate the pressure you're using and don't be afraid to explore a little bit. Our bodies aren't that delicate."

Mirage complied and cried out when his movements caused two wires to connect, shooting a jolt of electricity through his body. It was both pleasurable and painful at the same time.

"Easy, just go slowly. We've got all the time in the world."

Mirage shivered at the silky tone in his commander's voice—but he followed Jazz's orders like a good soldier. He explored the inner workings of his own body, finding what made him shudder and what made him involuntarily cry out in pleasure. Mirage learned more about his own body in two breems with Jazz than he'd ever known before.

"That's it, yer doin' great," Jazz coaxed from his left this time. The slagger kept moving on Mirage, startling him unexpectedly when his voice came from a different location. "Ah, 'Raj, I wish ya could see yourself," the saboteur's voice was low and rough with desire. This was affecting him more than he thought possible. Something about watching the normally poised and self-sustained spy fall to pieces in front of his optics was dizzying to the senses.

Mirage always surrounded himself with an air of cool composure and control so it was a definite treat to watch him writhe and squirm across the table without an ounce of hesitation or self-consciousness. Another whimper broke free of Mirage's vocalizer and it was all Jazz could do to keep from touching him. This was torture for the both of them and a test of their own self-control. Instinctively, Jazz knew that if he gave in and touched the noblemech that this would be over and that he might not get another opportunity to indulge in this surreal, addictive experience.

Once the spell was broken, Mirage might go back to remembering he was a Towers creation and that he had no business debasing himself by allowing a commoner like Jazz to get this close to him. Judging by the skittish way Mirage had acted, there was a very good chance that Mirage would just run away once he came back to his senses.

So Jazz set out to make an impression on him, one that would last and help fray some of that stubborn noblemech pride.

The breems crawled by as Jazz shifted and provided advice and orders on where Mirage should touch himself next. He offered encouragement and continued to clutch at his own tatters of self-control as the blue and white mech explored his chassis. Every sensitive spot, Jazz memorized and filed away for future reference as Mirage repeatedly built up to overload and was then told to back off.

This roller-coaster of sensation and pleasure continued until Mirage's engine was whining in exhaustion. "Jazz! Please, ugh..." Mirage finally pleaded. He was cycling air through his vents at a furious rate, trying to cool off his already overheated core temperature. His systems started sending him warnings telling him that this strenuous, constant revving of his engine was going to cause him to overhead and send him into emergency stasis lock. "I can't take anymore--" he moaned desperately and his hands fell away limply to clatter across the table.

"Shhhh..." Jazz's voice came right beside his audio and Mirage could swear he felt the other mech's lips just barely brush his helm. "Just let go, Mirage." And cool lips covered his, enticing him into a kiss as wonderfully cold hands suddenly touched his overheated chest-plate. There was nothing erotic in Jazz's placement of those soothing hands but it was enough to send him over the edge. The spy cried out in surprise and overloaded on the spot. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt in his whole life. Pleasure so sharp and overwhelming he thought he'd forgottten who and what he was. Mirage cried out but couldn't hear it as his audio sensors shut down. The strain was too much for the poor noblemech's overheated frame and his systems gave one last whining grind before he was knocked offline into stasis-lock.

When Mirage came back online, he was surprised to realize he was in medical. The former noblemech had been in here enough times during his stint with the Autobots enough to recognize the dull blue-grey metal ceiling.

"Welcome back," Jazz murmured from Mirage's bedside.

Startled optics turned to the saboteur as dawning horror stole across Mirage's features. Acute embarrassment flooded him and Mirage wondered if it was possible to die of mortification.

"Guess we might've overdone it, huh?"

"You think?!" the blue mech snapped and covered his optics, half hoping this was just a horrible over-loaded induced hallucination.

"If Ratch' asks, we were practicing and you overheated because of the survival exercises."

"He'll never believe that," Mirage hissed and looked around warily, but the infamous medic was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, would ya prefer th' truth?"

"Ohhh... I hate you."

Jazz smiled brightly and leaned over to brush his lips briefly across Mirage's. "No you don't. Now rest up and we'll continue our 'survival' exercises later." When the former noblemech made no protest of the kiss or the offer, Jazz felt his spark jump just a little in its chamber.

"What about the mission?"

"Mission?" A puzzled look.

"The mission you wanted to talk to me about."

"Oh! Well... I'd say mission acc'plished, wouldn't ya?"

Mirage got a sharp gleam in his optics as he eyed his commander. "You mean to tell me...this 'mission' of yours was to seduce me?" he asked carefully.

"Yeah, 'sentially. Like I said, I was kinna hopin' ya'd join in. An' I think it worked out jus' fine m'self," Jazz grinned in an unrepentant manner.

"...You're incorrigible, sir."

"Yep."