Ok, its been…what…forever since I touched this? Well, maybe not that long but still…

Thank you to those who have sent me little prods and pokes along the way. And for the reviews! This has been sitting on the back burner and I hadn't planned on Chapter 2 forming so quickly, just kinda came together. Go figure.

Also, Gatekat and Flybystardancer have started a very wonderful story based on the first chapter called "Trials of an Ambassador". It's sexy! And a good read.

Warning for this chapter: AU, total Crackverse, Mech on mech, slavery

Chapter 2

Ownership

He.

Was.

Exquisite.

In all his time, from his earliest memory to this very moment, he had never set optics on a mech so handsome, so enchanting, so intoxicatingly smooth and exotic as the Praxian Ambassador.

His Master.

Whose shiveringly smooth voice did so much more than just command. An exceptional tone that sent hot thrills chasing through his systems. Made his insides clench with anticipation and melt for the very same reason. Made his knees feel weak and heat pool in him as the sweetest little fleeting fantasies played out on the edges of his mind.

Were he not already a slave, he would have gladly become one just to hear his Master's voice directed at him, every day. And when his Master had spoken his name... Jazz hadn't been able to contain the shiver that started at the base of his back strut and flared outward. He could've melted, becoming a liquid pool of need hugging his Master's feet.

His Master. His to serve. His to please.

Jazz paused once he reached the top of the stairs, looking down the hall. His Master had given him the task of choosing a room and setting it up for himself. The task felt like a challenge, a test. And Jazz wanted to do right, wanted to please his Master. Show him….something, anything that would prove to his Master he was capable and eager to take on any task, anything his Master could or would ask of him.

But the command had been vague, leaving much to interpretation. Had the Emperor made such a request, Jazz would've known what to do. He'd been taught long ago what pleased and displeased the Emperor. But what pleased or displeased his Master? It was information he didn't have yet. He would have to rely on what little he knew so far and guess the rest, carefully. To displease his Mater so soon would be shameful.

Walking slowly, quietly down the hall, Jazz opening every door he came to and looking in. Curious at each rooms contents but careful not to over step any boundaries. Half way down the hall to his right, he finally happened upon his Master's room.

Standing in the doorway, not daring to set foot in his Master's private quarters without permission, he looked over the room, drank it in. His Master rested here. That thought alone sent a heady rush of want through him.

But the room...

In it the berth was made, the satiny top sheet perfectly smoothed out, the soft helm rest placed neatly at the head of the berth. There were shelves and stacks of book files, some organized, others in the process of. Every surface was neat, tidy, and clean.

Jazz frowned, finding it most despairing his Master had done all this himself. This was slave work. His work. It was wrong his Master had used his time, valuable, important time, to perform such menial tasks. He wished he would've been sent here sooner.

Closing the door softly, Jazz continued his explorations down the hall. Opening a door to his left he found a fairly nice sized room. At the moment, it held only a berth and dust. A quick glance back down the hall at his Master's door and Jazz decided this room was perfect. Far enough from his Master's room to give him ample privacy, yet close enough to hear should his Master call for him.

Smiling, Jazz entered the room and set to work.

Prowl sighed, wearily tossing aside what he had decreed his last box of the evening. The rest of the unpacking could wait till tomorrow. He was tired. Mentally and emotionally drained. And he was procrastinating, his mind grasping at anything that would hold off the eventual encounter with Jazz. But, he'd have to face the poor mech some time.

He looked over toward the elegant staircase. Jazz had been gone for a good while. Maybe...just maybe, the slave had made a run for it. Escaped the house and was, at this very moment, racing toward his freedom.

So very unlikely, but he could wish.

It was with slow, almost agonizingly reluctant steps he climbed the staircase. He felt weighted down, even as an illogical urge to just make some wildly mad dash for his room surged through him. It was quickly squashed. That would be totally inappropriate. He was an Ambassador and would behave like one. He wouldn't go running from this territories' customs like a sparkling would a shadow. He also had a strange feeling that no matter how fast he could run, Jazz would be able to keep up with him...easily.

He dreaded those last few steps, knowing, just knowing what he'd see when he got to the top. He hadn't heard anything, no sound, saw no shadow move against the wall, but he knew.

And he was right.

That crystalline blue visor flashed bright as Jazz caught sight of him. The slave stood outside his berthroom door, hands clasped in front of him, positively beaming. Prowl had to force himself to continue on, to take those next steps leading him down the hall, toward his room, toward Jazz.

The slave ratiated an almost quivering happiness as he neared. He wasn't use to anyone being this happy to see him...save for his little brother.

Jazz gave a smooth bow as he approached. "Master."

Prowl tried not to flinch at the title. "Jazz. Did you found a room suitable for you and to your liking?"

"Yes, Master." And he gestured to the door just down the hall.

Of course. He really should have guessed.

"If Master wishes to inspect -"

"No! No, no, that's fine. I trust your judgment. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He went to walk past Jazz, full intending to lock himself in his room, but the slave spoke up, stopping him. "Would Master like some energon or high grade before recharge."

"No, thank you." That was the last thing he needed.

Jazz's smile turned soft, his visor dimming as he bowed his head, his demeanor becoming almost shy. "Will Master be partaking of my services this night?"

What? Prowl frowned, arching a brow ridge as he looked at Jazz, confused. Services? What other services could he possible partake in this late at night? He was tired, he wanted to recharge. Primus, this place was confusing.

"No, thank you. Recharge well, Jazz." He moved to enter his room when Jazz stopped him again.

"What time should I rise for Master?"

Rise? Why? At Prowl's confused expression, Jazz continued, "If Master could please tell me what time Master prefers to take his morning energon and what kind, I shall have it ready for Master."

Oh.

He looked at Jazz and was actually...irritated. Not at Jazz, but at the whole slavery concept. It seemed overly lazy and disgracefully arrogant of these mechs that thought they needed, wanted, or deserved another to fetch for them something simple as their morning energon. They didn't have servants or staff that required payment for the services they rendered, who also had the choice, the freedom, to stay or leave their place of employment as they wished. No. They chose to have slaves, individuals trained to bend to the whim of a Master. Their wants and needs, their happiness muted for the sake of another's selfishness and self indulgence.

Unbelievable, just unbelievable.

Prowl shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Jazz. I'm perfectly capable of retrieving my own energon in the morning. As far as what time you should rise, I leave that entirely up to you. You may recharge for as long as you like and rise whenever you choose."

Jazz looked...shocked, confused, a little lost and unsure even. Prowl wasn't surprised, the mech has spent his entire life bowing to the whims of others. Freedom to chose for himself probably felt strange and foreign to him.

"Have a good recharge, Jazz." He swept past Jazz, even though he could see questions, protests wanting to form on the mech's lips. "I'll see you in the morning." He closed the door quickly behind him, then leaned back against it.

This was exhausting.

He slumped forward, pushed off the door, quickly crossing the room to sprawl out over the berth. Venting a tired sigh, he knew what he needed. A plan. Everything was better when he had a plan. And a schedule. Everything was better with plans and schedules. But Jazz threw a wrench into all that.

If he made plans and schedules that included Jazz, he was essentially perpetuating the slave system by telling Jazz what he was going to do. If he didn't include Jazz in his plans and schedules, Jazz would become a loose variable that could, unintentionally, hinder his plans and schedules, which meant Jazz would require his instruction and then he'd STILL be essentially perpetuating the slave system by telling Jazz what he wanted him to do.

With a groan, Prowl rolled over and buried his face in the soft material of the helm rest. He'd have to think more on it tomorrow. He'd plan to work on a plan tomorrow. That was the best he could do right now.

Expelling another sigh he made himself comfortable on the berth, letting his systems wind down, falling into a deep, if not slightly troubled, recharge.

Jazz stared at his Master's door. The shock he'd felt at his Master's words had melted away into a pained sadness.

He walked slowly back to the room his Master had gifted him. Glance over his shoulder at his Master's closed door.

His poor Master. His words proving just how ill treated and neglected he was.

Had been.

Had been because Jazz would certainly not allow such mistreatment, such neglect to continue. The slaves in Iacon or Praxus may not take pride in their Master's happiness and quality of life but things were different here. He would show his Master, prove to him that he deserved to be treated with the utmost honor, dignity, and respect.

Pausing in the doorframe of his room, Jazz glanced back one more time at his Master's door, feeling a renewed sense of determination. He realized now it was going to take time to undo the vorns and vorns of mistreatment and damage his Master had undoubtedly suffered at the hands of selfish, lazy slaves. His Master's expectations were far too low. He deserved more, so much more.

It was in Jazz's hands now. It was now his responsibility to take care of his Master. To ensure his Master's happiness. To help him understand.

He would not let his Master down.

Authors notes -

Notice Jazz views Prowl as his Master. Not so much assignment as ownership in that train of thought. *wink wink*
Reading and review is always loved and appreciated.