Wake up Call – Epilogue

Universe: G1
Characters: Jazz/Ratbat, Ratchet
Rating: M
Warnings: Dark, Mind fuckery, creepy shit, Sticky sex, Oral, Public Sex
Disclaimer: I don't own it… *le sigh*

An epilogue, because some expressed an interest in what happened to Jazz. Might be more if you all are int'rested. :)

Jazz was twitching again.

Ratchet watched the former CO as he sat at the monitors, the only duty he'd been allowed back on, and couldn't help his vent of frustration.

He was many things, but stupid was definitely not one of them. Ratchet knew why Jazz hadn't wanted his interface panel unwelded, and even though it went against his better judgment he'd left it alone. Jazz had been quite adamant and Ratchet was watching as closely as he could.

Still, he had no clue what was going through Jazz's processor. To have a person you trusted betray you that deeply was something that he wasn't sure would ever really heal.

So Ratchet watched, reported everything to Prime and had Jazz in with him every cycle. It broke his spark to see the once vibrant TIC turned into a glitched mess.

Jazz could barely bite back a groan as he shifted in his seat.

'They can all see you, Pet. Especially Ratchet, watching you all the time to make sure you don't do anything stupid.'

His hips rolled from side to side almost unconsciously and he savored the slide of metal against metal coming from his valve. The spike had begun to rust and rot, and he could feel the sharp edges scratch and slice his ever healing lining.

The pain was a focus, something that took his mind off of his dead friends and former clients, as well as a dirty pleasure.

'You should overload right here, right now, in this chair. It would serve them right for staring, no? Looking at what they can't have…'

Ratbat slithered out from his recharge port and rubbed under Jazz's chin. The length of his body flaring to catch as much surface area as possible as he chirred in Jazz's audio.

The voice was soothing, the deep tenor familiar even as it was the sound he hated the most. It grated and seduced and sent his processor into a whirl that was so hard to get out of it wasn't enough effort to try.

So he didn't, he just listened and rocked, gasps of pain and pleasure working their way into open air, hands curling until the sharpened points bit into his own plating.

His glossa flicked out and caught Ratbat under the chin, nudging the cassette's head higher so he could mouth and bite at the already marked neck.

Ratbat hissed when a particularly savage bite was administered and swung a wing to hit Jazz on the side of his head. Jazz only rocked with the blow and laved his glossa over the new mark before bringing his hands up to stroke the black belly.

There were grumbles in the background, but neither of them particularly cared. Jazz's charge was constant, never ending. Only overload rid his body of the excess electricity for a while before it was back and clawing at him.

Ratchet had mentioned processor damage, but even replacing his components hadn't had any effect on the charge.

Jazz knew why. It wasn't physical, he'd told them that. It was the bits of spark spinning in opposition with his own, the voice that never let him rest within his own head.

It was Prowl.

Ratchet had looked ill, had made token arguments on how it wasn't possible before nearly throwing them out of medbay. It shouldn't have been possible to have a spark bond with a dead mech.

They didn't listen.

Prowl wasn't dead, just as Jazz wasn't alive. They were two half sparks in the same body, neither willing to die just as neither was willing to give in to the other.

So Prowl talked, Jazz listened, and they saw the outside world in a new light.

'You could feel again, Pet. Use them, show them! Show them how nice it feels to never be without someone.'

Jazz swore the spike moved on its own, electricity jumping from the tip to the back of his valve, and he bounced in his seat to move it again.

Ratbat whined at the loss of attention and snicked his own panel open before crawling over Jazz's helm and presenting himself at mouth level.

Jazz never hesitated, the familiar scent touching his nose a fraction of a klick before he swiped his tongue over the array.

Ratbat keened, nuzzling and licking the black audial horns even as his tiny claws left scratches and gouges from trying to hang on, and pressed closer to the teasing pressure. Jazz brought his hands up and forced the small cassette's body flat against his face, his glossa delving deep enough into the small valve to hit the top and force a screech that rung through his audio.

He didn't stop though, not when Ratbat struggled in pleasure/pain, and not when his own rocking caused the jagged edges of the spike to cut deep enough to cause energon to seep into his valve.

'Yes Pet! See how he writhes under your attention! Press harder, make him cry in pain and come back for more.'

Ratbat's struggles alternated between true panic and glitched bliss. His shorted processor understanding/not understanding the delineation between the good attention and bad attention, he only sought sensation to replace what was lost.

Jazz's denta nipped with enough force to break the surface and he tasted energon as he continued his attentions.

There were shouts around him, but he paid them no mind. His only focus was on the voice inside his head and the body so open for his care.

Ratbat finally arched with a squeal, the sensation too much for his limited capacity, and he went limp. Jazz took no notice, mouth and glossa continuing to plunder the slick tunnel with singular intensity and it wasn't long before the cycle inevitably started up again.

He could smell the energon, the lubricant, and the fear in the cassette. It dripped from his chin and splashed on his own heated armor, the voice in his processor growing louder in his frenzy to feel.

'Don't stop, they all see you now! Watching as you take what is yours openly, they'll never question your claim.'

Jazz could swear that Prowl's spike moved on its own and all of the sudden he was flat on his back, hips arching into a phantom touch as he was pounded by the specter in his own spark. His hands never released their hold on Ratbat and the cassette was once again mewling in pleasure from the familiar movements.

Glossa in, sliding over nodes covered in his own and Jazz's oral lubricant, glossa out, twisting and playing over the rim and slick folds before driving back in.

A dance that they had perfected.

Bites and rubs to his own audio horns, Ratbat's small claws and glossa roving over the small area available to him, primed his sensors and electricity danced between their conductive fluids.

The phantom thrusts were speeding up, causing his glossa to mimic the movement and Ratbat to shrill in pleasure/pain again.

Jazz pushed further, glossa thrusting to hit the node cluster at the back of the tiny valve with each pass, and clutched the tiny body to him as he hit his own overload, shrieking and snarling before throwing the small body off of his face.

Hands grabbed his shoulder and forced him upright. Ratbat flew haphazardly back over to him and curled around his neck, hissing at the hands that tried to remove him.

'So beautiful, Pet. So beautiful and all mine, yes?'

Jazz's body twitched as the charge started to come back, stressed and burned circuits causing glitches in his motor function, and he gave a half grin to Ratchet.

"Gonna kill meh yet, doc bot?"

He asked the same question every time they came down here.

The hand on his shoulder tightened to the point of denting, but there was no answer from Ratchet.

A dark chuckle escaped him and his head lolled from side to side as it grew into full blown laughter. Ratchet had to stop and pick him up, throwing Jazz's body over his shoulder, before they could continue and he could see the scared and pitying faces of his comrades as he was carted off to the medbay.

'Always yours, Prowler.'

The voice in his spark joined him in laughter.