Run

This fic is rated P-W-V-L-P (porn with very little plot)

It has no redeeming qualities

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just doing things with them that Hasbro would never approve of.

Summary: Every frame-type has a reproductive cycle, Polyhexian's have a rut. Prowl is the subject of Jazz's. Run Prowl. Run.

Trope: Heat/Rut

Warning: M/M robots

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

Word Count: 18522

This fic is unbeta'ed because... just... no... Go read the smut now while I bury my head the dirt.

It happened after a battle. Actually, it happened at the very end of a battle. Just as Megatron called the retreat and his 'Cons started to run away, something clicked in Jazz dragging up protocols he had never experienced. He had the violent urge to chase and claim the fleeing mechs, except that none of them suited him, none of them were right. But they were running and the urge to chase was almost overwhelming. Jazz turned from the sight, as if that would silence the protocols at loose in his processor. Already he could feel components in his frame shifting, changing. And then he saw Prowl.

A ragged cry escaped the Polyhexian's vocalizer and he charged his friend. Prowl, yes, Prowl was exactly what he needed. Except the Praxian didn't run. He stood motionless as Jazz caught hold of him and stole a fevered kiss. It wasn't enough, it wasn't even close to soothing the fire in Jazz's energon lines. Understanding flickered over Prowl's field.

"What the frag?" Sunstreaker demanded. "Jazz! Stop molesting Prowl!"

Frag no, he was not going to stop. Jazz groped Prowl's aft, dragged his digits over that stoic frame, attempting to ring some sort of reaction out of the Autobot's SIC. Prowl caught his servos and held them firmly.

"Ratchet?" Prowl called. "Would you confirm something for me?"

"I'm here," Ratchet replied and Jazz felt the pulse of the scanner as it passed over his frame. The medic swore. "Yep, rut."

"Rut?" The red Twin squeaked from beside his yellow brother. "As in Polyhexian rut?"

"Yes," Ratchet confirmed. Jazz's visor flashed and his frame tensed as nearly every frame on the Autobot front began to turn, as if to run.

"Do not run," Prowl ordered, causing everyone to still. "Transform and drive home slowly. Do. Not. Run."

The Autobots obeyed their SIC and slowly moved back, away from the Polyhexian. Other than Prowl and the medic, only Ironhide and the Prime remained on the empty battle field. None of them interested Jazz. Only Prowl would do. He pulled his servos free and pushed his digits between the overlapping layers of plating on Prowl's sides. That earned him a sharp hiss from Prowl's intakes.

"Prowl?" Optimus asked softly. "What do you suggest we do?"

"Wait," Prowl replied. He squirmed free from Jazz's digits and held the Polyhexian at arm's length. "Jazz I will help you through this but first we must return to the Ark. Will you come with me?"

"I'll come," Jazz agreed in a rough voice. "You'll run for me?"

"I will run for you," the Praxian promised. "Shall we continue this in the medbay? I do not want to test his patience."

"What do we do?" Optimus asked. No Autobot or Decepticon had suffered through a reproductive cycle in vorns. War was no place for carrying mechs and femme or for new creations. All kindled reproduction had ceased not even one hundred vorns into the war.

They had come to building adult frames and giving them life with sparks from Vector Sigma. It was not an unknown method of population growth. It had been quite common for the government or military to build and preprogram mechs when they had functions to fill and no free Cybertronians who wanted to take them up. Most miners, like Megatron, had been created this way. The noble mechs of Crystal City had used Vector Sigma as well. Only they had built sparkling frames for sparks to imbue with life. They had all allowed themselves to forget about kindling. Reproductive cycles had been a thing of the past for so long. And now, there was Jazz sitting sedately, but with a distinctly predatory expression, which was focused entirely on Prowl to remind them that their frames had not yet lost their reproductive protocols.

"He and I will go to the edge of our territory, well away from the Ark," said Prowl explained. His doorwings were held high in a steep 'V' and the only outward side of his discomposure. "I will run. He will chase me. In the end, he will catch me."

"This is the only way?" The Prime asked. He kept an alert gaze on his third in command.

"Yes," it was Ratchet who answered. "Once the rut begins, Polyhexians will target a mech or a femme of their choosing. Their target is expected to flee. If the target is captured too easily, the rutting Polyhexian will dismiss him/her and find another target. Prowl will need to outmanoeuvre and to overall out smart him for at least a week, ideally longer or Jazz will come back to the Ark and find a different target. Running means capitulations. Never run from a Polyhexian in rut unless you're willing to mate."

"Prowl, are you sure you're willing to do this?" Optimus looked to his SIC for confirmation. He winced. Prowl guessed it had something to do with the knowing smirk on Jazz's faceplates and the bright glint that flashed over his visor.

"Yes," the black and white doorwinger replied, standing firm. "It would be damaging for the crew for Jazz to go on the hunt within the Ark. Especially given the misconceptions most all Cybertronians have about the Polyhexian cycle.

"Very well," Optimus sighed, excepting the inevitable. "How long should I take you both off the rooster?"

"One month, perhaps longer," monochrome Praxian said, after a moment of consideration. "The length varies from cycle to cycle from what Jazz told me. Keep all patrols out of this 100 hectare area. The Decepticons will not be a problem. Jazz will... Adequately discourage them."

"That doesn't seem like a lot of space to... avoid Jazz to a week," the white and red ambulance commented.

"It'll be enough," Prowl assured the medic. He ignored the purr emitted from Jazz's vocalizer. "There are a number of cave systems, rock formations and the like within the region. I will, naturally, be camouflaging myself."

It had to be enough. It was as large a territory as Prowl dared mark off. Anymore and the hunting field would cut too close to the edges of the Autobot territory and far too close to human settlements.

"Prowl..." the red and blue semi tried to offer Prowl and out, or perhaps some sort of support.

"I have made my decisions," the former Enforcer insisted, brokering no further arguments from his superior He had to maintain a strong front. Optimus could not know just how much Prowl wanted to beg off, to leave someone else as Jazz's intended mate. But he could not do that. Not to the Autobots and most definitely not to Jazz. He turned to the Polyhexian, his truest friend.

"Jazz, we leave in an hour. Get what you... need and meet me at the entrance of the Ark."

"If you leave me waiting..." Jazz purred the threat.

"You will hunt me down," Prowl said, blandly. "A moment Ratchet?"

"Good luck and be safe," Optimus ordered. "Both of you."

Prowl was left alone with Ratchet. The medic gestured to the berth Jazz had recently been perched on. He handed the SIC a cube of medical energon.

"Drink," he ordered. "You're going to need to be at your best. I'm going to supply you with a full two weeks ration of medical grade, as well as a fully stock field medic kit."

"Thank you, Ratchet," Prowl said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "Would you remove my inhibitor?"

"Remove it?" Ratchet asked, incredulous. "Are you trying to get sparked?"

"Jazz will remove it out there if it is left be," Prowl explained. "His goal is to kindle a newspark in me. He will not let an inhibitor stop him."

"Primus. Are you sure you can do this, Prowl?" The medic was gentle in his questioning. "Forget the Autobots, forget the war. Think about yourself and what this all means for you. Can you do this?"

"I can, I will," came the SIC's reply. He opened his spark chamber so that Ratchet could access his inhibitor. "I have to Ratchet. If Jazz took anyone else... When the rut bled away, he would never forgive himself."

"What about you and Jazz?" Ratchet asked as he removed the device from Prowl's chamber that mechs and femmes installed in the crystalline chambers of their spark to prevent kindling.

"Jazz and I have been friends for vorns," Prowl said, his voice was steady, but he knew his field and the cant of his doorwings revealed his unease. "I believe we will remain friends once this is over. Though Jazz's conscience may prove to be an issue."

"That mech's processor works in mysterious ways," Ratchet agreed. "He'll probably feel guilty and things might be tense for a while but you'll get though it. Alright, you're as ready as you'll ever be."

"Thank you, Ratchet," the Praxian slid easily from the berth. "We will see you soon."

"Yes, you will and you will come and see me first!" Ratchet called as Prowl stepped through the medbay doors. Prowl pretended not to hear him.

Prowl was waiting for Jazz at the Ark's entrance, when the saboteur sauntered up. Jazz grinned at the sight of him, and Prowl felt his fuel tank clench. He had often been the recipient of his friend's grins, but this grin was very different. It spoke of predatory lust and anticipation. If it had not been for the Jazz's rut, Prowl's reaction to the expression would likely have been more positive. No one had desired him in a long time and Jazz was a beautiful mech. Still, this was his best friend, and Prowl would never have leapt blindly into a love affair with him, no matter how attractive Prowl found him. Prowl loved Jazz with all his spark and he feared what would Jazz think about his choice in quarry, how would he feel about Prowl when he was free of this code deep need to procreate?

"No chasing until we are in the allotted area," the Praxian ordered.

"Let's get goin' Prowler," Jazz replied in a sultry voice. "I want to chase you. To 'face you. To make you scream ma name."

"Follow me," Prowl said. Damn it if Jazz's words, his voice, did not make Prowl's circuits tingle. Outwardly, he did not react, other than a quick twitch of his doorwings.

"Anywhere," the Polyhexian promised.

It was late in the night cycle when the pair began their drie through the desert to the very edge of the Autobot's designated territory. Periodically, Jazz nudged Prowl's bumper. It was playful teasing. If Prowl stopped right where he was and let Jazz tackle him, the Polyhexian would be both disappointed and likely disgusted with his chosen target. As much as Jazz's system were running hot and desperate to copulate, they were just as desperate to chase, to hunt. Prowl stopped at the base of the tallest rock formation in the designated area. He transformed, as did Jazz. When the saboteur approached him, the SIC handed him a datapad.

"This is the designated area," the Praxian said. "I will never venture beyond the borders. You will wait here for half a day while I get a head start. You may use any trick within your infinite disposal to catch me, short of shooting or otherwise damaging me. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Jazz replied. "Go on, my, Prowler. I look forward to catchin' you."

With that, Prowl transformed again and raced into the night. He knew exactly where he was going. From the moment he had made the decision to accept Jazz's proposal, Prowl had begun to run simulations through his tactical systems. There were several tall, angular formations where he could perch and blend in. Prowl had every intention of recharging perched in the various formations. While the caves would be more sheltered, and likely more comfortable, but Prowl refused to recharge or spend any significant time in any location with only one way out. This was why none of the formations Prowl had selected as his perches were too terribly high. He had to be able to jump down without damage. Eventually, Jazz would corner him, eventually. But Prowl was not going to be caught so quickly.

Well away from any of his perches, Prowl took the time to mix the red dirt that made up the local landscape with vegetable oil he had brought along with him. He painted every inch of his frame in the mixture. His doorwings were the post awkward part of his frame to disguise but Prowl had mixed enough dirt with oil to pour the remainder down his back. It felt disgusting and as the mixture dried Prowl's frame began to itch horribly. To prevent from going mad with the itch, especially from from his doorwings, Prowl dialled down his sensors. Doing this left him feeling half blind. Over the next few days he would dial back up his sensor, bit by bit, until his systems became used to the dried paint on his plating. Suitably camouflaged, Prowl left the drags of his paint behind. Armed with a broom, a several strategies, Prowl wound his way to his first perch, setting up several false trails and disguising his true path as he went.

The moon was low and the sky clear when Prowl climbed the formation he had chosen to be his resting place for the day. He carefully angled his doorwings to blend in with the formation and began to wind down his system into what would be the first of several uneasy recharges.

Prowl met every one of Jazz's expectation. Yes. The tactician was clever, devious even. All those cycles tucked behind his desk had not softened the former Enforcer's survival skills. He was the perfect choice for a mate. Any spark he carried would no doubt be a clever thing. Jazz looked forward to the moment where he would pin Prowl beneath him, sink into his hot valve and claim his spark. For now, only on the second day of his chase, Jazz had several, if not weeks yet to wait. That was alright. The wait would make the moment where he claimed Prowl all the sweeter.

The saboteur extraordinaire laid traps throughout the chase area. It really wasn't a chase; it was more of a hunt. No, the chase would come at the end when Prowl had no more tricks up his plating and could do nothing but run. Jazz was a fast model, but so was Prowl. The Datsun had an engine with far more horsepower than his simple frame would suggest. This was the nature of Enforcers. They looked outdated, boring, but their frames contained more power than most any mech would give credit. That would make the chase all the better. Yes, it was going to be delicious.

On the first night, when the hunt had begun, Jazz had found the puddle of homemade paint Prowl had left behind. Jazz made little mind to this spot. Prowl would not be back here. His quarry was too smart leave a trace otherwise. There had trails of ped prints, winding here and there throughout the chase area. Jazz had followed each trail, finding that, as he had expected, they had led nowhere. He hadn't wasted his energy hunting for Prowl that night. Instead, he had found his own perch, overlooking the entrance to a cave he had discovered was the only source of water within the grid.

In the heat of the desert sun would overheat their systems with the intake of water every few days. It was possible, even likely that Prowl had brought water with him in his subspace. But in case he ran out, Jazz would make his base camp here. Inside the cave, Jazz carefully prepared a comfortable resting space. More than comfortable, it would be luxurious. This was where he would take Prowl once Jazz had captured his prey. This was where they would spend the long days and nights as he wore through his rut. He would make it comfortable for Prowl, and hopefully a little romantic. Amongst the many thing stashed in Jazz's subspace was high grade. He was not going to 'face Prowl into the ground without care for his frame. This would be good for Prowl, Jazz would make sure of it.

On the fourth day, Jazz saw something that set his circuits burning with rage. The Command Trine was flying over his hunting ground. That was unacceptable. They could hurt Prowl. They could try and take him. They would be going. Now.

Strafing fire tore through the sky before they were even close to being within range of Jazz's weapons. The Seekers shrieked as they were hit by the unexpected attack. All three fliers transformed. Starscream's shrill voice cut through the air.

"What the frag was that?" He shrieked.

"I am the subject of a particular Polyhexian's rut," Prowl's voice called out. It was only for Jazz's audio horns that allowed him to hear his quarry's beautiful, deep voice. Jazz swivelled his helm to catch sight of the Praxian. He tuned his visor and there was Prowl, wedge within the shagged peak of a rock formation, far in the distance, his acid riffle raised and ready. Jazz watched the Seekers freeze in mid air. Prowl spoke again. "I suggest you move on before he catches sight of you."

The Seekers retreated. Jazz watched them fly off with great speed. He looked back to the formation where Prowl had been perched, the Praxian was already gone. Four days and this was only the first sighting Jazz had made of Prowl. High ground. It was an unexpected tactic. It explained why Jazz had found few signs of Prowl's presence within the hunting zone. Prowl had been keeping his peds off the ground. A Cheshire cat smile crossed Jazz's faceplates and he took an unarmed trap from his subspace.

Jazz set traps within several of the larger formations. He didn't have enough traps to cover every formation. It would be a waste, in any case. Having discovered what Prowl had been up to for the last four days, Jazz wanted to work with the knowledge, he didn't want to pressure Prowl into changing tactics. Then he'd have to figure out the Praxian's game all over again. But the hunt was coming to a close. Now that Jazz knew where Prowl was spending his time, he knew how he would herd his prey, how he would chase him. Would it be a disappointment if he got Prowl now, before seven days had past? Maybe. But not really. Prowl had only revealed himself to get rid of those pesky Decepticons. Jazz wouldn't hold that against him.

Halfway through the third week day Jazz was ready to start blowing up rock formations. Prowl hadn't triggered a single trap. Not even one of the ones that would ping his location. He hadn't brush against any of the tracking devices that Jazz had planted throughout the hunting zone in the hope of one of them attaching itself to the Praxian's plating. Where the frag was he? The rut was ravaging his higher thought process. All Jazz could think about was catching the Praxian, covering the frame with his own and fragging the painful charge that licked at his frame. Phad proven his intelligence, his stamina, enough of the hunt Jazz wanted to chase. It was time to deploy some dirtier tactics.

After one full day of that god awful music blaring through the desert and echoing off the many rock formation, Prowl was ready to tackle Jazz himself. Anything for a little quiet. This was evil. Very, very evil, and very Jazz.

"I want your sex. I want your love. I want your... Sex. It's natural. It's chemical (let's do it). It's logical
Habitual (can we do it?). It's sensual. But most of all...Sex is something we should do. Sex is something for me and you."

The worst part of it all was that the blatant lyrics were making Prowl's system's heat up. His engine had revved for Primus' sake! It made him bristle, to be stirred by this. Jazz was such an evil fragger when he wanted to be.

"Time to swing a little melody. To make you all feel something sexually. And now we're gonna get it on in the groove. The groove that makes those smooth hips move. We are pumpin' that drivin' bad rhythm. To make those pretty little pussy lips schism..."

Damn you, Jazz! Prowl felt the heat pulling in his abdomen, interface protocols almost begged to be brought online. Jazz had teased him with music throughout most of their vorns long friendship. Nothing like this. NEVER like this. It was almost worth it, just to know that Jazz was Jazz, even in his rut. But when Prowl felt lubricants begin to collect on the malleable lining of his valve, well... it was not worth it.

Worse still Prowl could not stop his fans from kicking into life. He had carved the nice little shelter underneath, and within on of the larger of the larger rock formations. It was closely surrounded by smaller formations. Prowl had used the ammunition for his acid rifle to eat away at the ground bit by bit until there was a Praxian sized hole, disguised by the surrounding formations. There was only one way in or out, and no way to even turn around but it was the best hiding place he could hope for as his systems were desperate to escape the suffocating heat of the desert in the late afternoon. Especially suffocating since Prowl had kept his systems running quiet. They refused to stay quiet now.

He was running low on water. The trick to not overheating in the desert heat without fans actively cycling air was water. Prowl required a great deal more water than was ever considered normal to keep his frame from overheating. But not his systems were threatening to overheat with the combination of lust and the desert climate. Jazz had walked passed his hiding spot just hours before and Prowl was hesitant to slink out of his cover but his systems were almost in the red zone. The former Enforcer was not amused.

It was coolant that actually regulated a Cybertronian's temperature. But water was used to as well to prevent a mech or femme from burning through their coolant. Replacing one's full coolant volume was not a pleasant experience. Prowl knew he was not in danger of this but he was getting close. His self-diagnostics kept close tabs on his many systems' functions. As it stood now, he did need to drink another gallon of water. Keeping low, Prowl slid out of his hiding place. His doorwings scrapped at the roof of the small, for a Cybertronian, hole. Scratches covered his frame, mostly hidden by the clay paint he had reapplied just the other day. Even having adjusted his sensors to the presence of the grit, it was still maddeningly itchy.

Prowl sat, just in front of his hiding place and removed a gallon jug and drained it quickly. A glint of light flashed in Prowl's peripheral vision. He turned his helm as he lowered the jug. It was his right doorwing. The clay paint had scrapped off the tip when he had wriggled from his hiding place.

"I wanna be two places at the same time. Inside you and inside your mind. Both of these ways, I wanna love you cause one without the other just won't do."

Well Frag. There was Jazz still a couple dozen meters away but there he was, standing straight and tall. Surprised to see Prowl, no doubt. Prowl probably should have been a little relieved to be getting on with this disaster, but he was not. Panic flared in his systems and one simple, urgent command blared from his battle computer.

Run.

He did. Prowl jumped over the rocks to his left and ran. When he was just a few steps from the rocks, and in the clear, he transformed. Speeding off at his alt mode's top speed, Prowl couldn't help but blare his sirens. It was a latent, code deep response. Primal fear shot through his field, along with no small amount of arousal. Was this just a reaction to Jazz's rut or did Prowl actually get off on being chased? et His tactical systems ponder this awkward question later.

There was no place to hide now, no hope of really out driving Jazz because the designated zone was truly not big enough. Besides that, Prowl needed to be caught, he had to be caught. If Jazz could not catch him, if Prowl properly escaped him, the saboteur in the throes of his rut would find another quarry. But Prowl was not going to be caught so easily.

A flash bomb exploded to the right of him and Prowl took a sharp left turn. He was no longer thinking, only reacting. Following his battle computer's urgent demands, Prowl tried to follow the quick plan his tactical systems had shot out. Traps sprung up everywhere he turned. Flash bombs, containment fields, he was being herded and Prowl was helpless to prevent it. Suddenly two fields lit up to his left and his right. Prowl couldn't turn. A spike strip came into view in front of Prowl. He transformed, landing on his hands and springing over the spikes. Then Jazz was on top of him.

"You're filthy, my Prowl," the Polyhexian purred. He brushed away the muck from that has smudged onto Prowl's lip plates and sealed the Praxian's capture with a kiss that set his intended's system's ablaze.

"Jazz," the clay covered doorwinger gasped as he was freed from the kiss. Was it going to happen here? Was Jazz going to take him here, out in the open, in the dirt? A shiver of distress ran through Prowl's frame. His doorwings quivered beneath him, and he was unable to still them. He did not want it to happen here. Please not here.

"Up," Jazz ordered, taking Prowl's servo and helping him to his peds. "You need a bath"

"Yes," it was all Prowl could find to say. Relief washed over his processor and smoothed out his field. Jazz must have felt it. He turned his helm and offered Prowl a gentle, happy smile. The Polyhexian never let go of his servo as he led him to the cave that contained a moderately sized pool. It was the water source Prowl had avoided for the entirety of this game of cat and mouse. It was obvious that Jazz had been watching it, as Prowl had expected.

Jazz had enlarged the pool, with Primus knows what gadget. It was large enough for Prowl to immerse himself. This was exactly what Jazz what him to do. Suddenly very, very excited at the chance to finally be clean, Prowl more than willingly eased into the water. Oil was not readily soluble in water, and Prowl expected to have to scrub away at his plating in order to free himself from the clay paint. But like so many other times, Jazz had a trick in his subspace to ease Prowl's troubles. The saboteur poured a solvent into the water and stirred a cloth through the water and solved before running it along Prowl's right doorwing.

"It's biodegradable," the visor adorned mech answered Prowl's unspoken question. Even if most humans paid little mind to their environment, the Autobots tended to be mindful of it. Prowl sat very still as Jazz gently cleaned first his doorwings and then the rest of his frame. While the water had had a cooling affect on his systems, Jazz ministration brought renewed heat to his circuits. The cloth found every seam, every sensor laden component and wiped the muck from Prowl's frame. Special attention was paid to his chassis, and to the plating protecting Prowl's spark. When Jazz bade Prowl sit at the edge of the pool, with only his legs dangling in, Prowl thought he would fritz. Jazz dragged the cloth between Prowl's thigh struts and over his interface panel. Before Prowl's fan picked up too much, Jazz led him just a few steps from the pool and onto a simple tarp. Prowl was carefully dried and his system revved up all over again.

Jazz made a sympathetic noise at the discovery of all the scratches that covered Prowl's frame. A med kit was taken from the saboteur's subspace a soothing, nanite filled gel was smooth over all the damaged spots of Prowl's frame. His sensors took special pleasure in the gel smoothing over his doorwings, especially the scraped tip of Prowl's right doorwing. He moaned in pleasure, in spite of himself. The Polyhexian smiled at the sound and Prowl found his faceplates heating up in a blush.

"It drove me crazy lookin' for you," Jazz said in a low voice. "I've been thinking about nothin' but your sweet frame for weeks."

Prowl's blush intensified, he turned his helm, avoiding meeting Jazz's optics. He stood and followed Jazz to the resting place Jazz had prepared. Warmth tingled in Prowl's chassis. The temporary berth was cushioned and covered with pillows (the best invention of humankind). Jazz had planned for his doorwings, for his comfort.

Prowl's revery was broken by Jazz claiming another another kiss. His systems tingled with a pleasant heat from Jazz's earlier attentions. The kiss added another gentle wave of heat to the pool in Prowl's abdomen and he moaned softly. Jazz swallowed the moan and deepened the kiss. Their glossas duelled before Prowl surrendered and allowed Jazz to taste and to explore every component, every crevasse in his mouth. They broke apart, both mechs' intakes hissing as they sucked in much needed air to cool their heated frames. That much was a futile endeavour.

The Polyhexian guided his soon-to-be mate down onto the makeshift berth. Prowl was prepared for Jazz to pounce on him, for it to begin, but he was surprised once again. Instead of getting on with his rut, Jazz handed him a cube of high grade and began to play Mozart's Serenade No. 13 on his sound system. This music Prowl enjoyed. It flowed over his audios and lulled him into a calm, comfortable mood. A cube of pink high grade was placed into his servos. Was this what it was like to be seduced by Jazz, Minus the rut that loomed over them? Soft lip plates brushed over the side of Prowl's chevron. It was achingly perfect, really. Sweet, thoughtful, romantic.

Melancholy wriggled itself way into Prowl's processor. If Jazz had done this for Prowl, at any other time, the Praxian would cherish the moment. He would let his spark flutter with nervous anticipation and simply enjoy the unexpected attention. But without the rut, they were only friends. Close friends who loved each other more than anyone else, but never anything more.

There would never be anything more than this damnable rut between them, as far as romance went. If Jazz had felt that sort of flame in his spark for Prowl, he would have done something about it long ago. The handsome saboteur was forward when it came to his romances and most certainly never shy. Prowl found himself feeling disappointed in this. Had he ever considered having Jazz for a lover? His dearest friend had always been beautiful to him and Prowl had loved him as such for vorns but he had never considered him as a potential love interest. Their friendship had always been too valuable to Prowl to risk even the briefest affair.

Fine. This was not entirely true. There had been a time when Prowl would have sung from the roof tops to be the object of Jazz's affection. But Prowl had mercilessly crushed his infatuation with the stunning visor-clad mech. His battle computer did not see reason in pointless crushes. Jazz had never shown even a hint of interest in a dalliance with Prowl. In the end Prowl had found satisfaction in their friendship. He had long thought that he had moved on from his early infatuation. Had he been wrong?

"Give your processor a rest," Jazz scolded Prowl, drawing him, at least briefly from his anxiety. "Drink your high grade."

"That command sounds familiar," Prowl countered. It was, of course. Jazz was often on Prowl's case to recharge, refuel, rest. And yes, to even consume a little high grade. Jazz looked out for Prowl. From the moment they had met, Jazz had always been intensely focused on making sure Prowl took care of his frame.

The chase had burned through much of Prowl's energy reserves. High grade's extra quick promised to addle Prowl's processor a bit, not a bad thing in this situation Prowl drank the pink fuel. It was slightly spicy, and a little earthy. Sideswipe had gotten better it would seem. Prowl felt his face plates flush as e took his first taste of the high grade. It was more potent that Prowl had been expecting. Mingled with the music, Prowl's slightly over-energized state left him relaxed. He listen as Jazz played several of his favourite human songs. Classical, Latin and the music that best translated into the Polyhexian's name. The Praxian relaxed into the wall of pillows, offlined his optics and just enjoyed the music.

Then Jazz sang. Not a recording, not a radio broadcast, he sang. It was an old Cybertronian ballad, written long before the Golden Age had even begun. The musical style most closely resemble the humans' Celtic music. Jazz sang it beautifully.

His EM field sang with him. Desire. Longing. Need. Beautiful. You are beautiful.

A shy pulse ran through Prowl's spark when he realized that Jazz was calling him beautiful. No one but his carrier had ever called him that with any sincerity. Jazz's field was sincere. Prowl dialed up the sensors in his doorwings so that he could feel the ballad as well as hear it. The sensation of Jazz's field and off the words running over Prowl's doorwings made them flutter in an uncharacteristic display of pleasure.

Prowl always kept his doorwings dialed down so that he was not susceptible to such unconscious reactions and so that he was less susceptible to being stunned with pain due to minor, accidental damage. Nothing stopped the pain if the doorwings were truly injured but keeping their sensors at a mid range kept them from truly being a hindrance. The soft pillows behind him teased the heightened sensors as Prowl's doorwings moved languidly to the beat of Jazz's song. Along with the lyrics that glided over them, the sensation of the fabric brought Prowl's charge up, making his circuits tingle.

When the ballad ended, Prowl onlined his optics. As he did, Jazz placed his servos on Prowl's faceplates and kissed him tenderly. Music of the human variety return to the air. Prowl placed his servos on Jazz's hips and let himself enjoy the kiss. Slowly, sinfully, Jazz's servos traced down Prowl's neck and down his chassis. They glided over his black and white frame, over his windows and sought out the seams in his armour. The skilled digits teased the smooth metal, never going so deep into the seams as to touch the protoform beneath.

Interface protocols came to life first in Prowl's central processor and then in the rest of his frame. The teasing touches drew heat and charge to Prowl's plating and a renewed trickle of lubricants in his valve. These reactions from Prowl's frame was rewarded with a moan of approval from Jazz. Prowl tasted the moan, the approval, in the kiss. Jazz's hip plating was scorching under Prowl's servos and the Praxian felt the Polyhexian's charge zap at the sensors in his palms and digits. There would not be much foreplay; Jazz's systems were already overcharged and overheated from the chase. He needed to interface to free himself over the pent up charge.

Once again, Prowl was wrong. Jazz must have been desperate to relieve his systems but he took it slowly. He firmly, but gently drew up Prowl's charge until the monochrome Praxian was writhing, nearly incoherent, under him. His talented digits slid over the rims of Prowl's doorwings and the former Enforcer keened. Pleasure, burning, charge-laden pleasure saturated every circuit and every system. Prowl felt his primary interfacing plating slide aside before Jazz even touched the blistering plating. Another moan of approval and Jazz was touching there.

Despite what many of his subordinates might have believed, Prowl was not untouched. It had, however been vorns since Prowl had interfaced. The last time had been before he had met Jazz, before he'd become an Autobot, before his present battle computer had been installed. Vorns or not, Prowl's frame had not forgotten how to respond. He felt his spike pressurizing, untouched and copious lubricants leaking from his valve, staining his plating. Never before had he been so slick. No past lover had ever wanted him like this, on the edge, soaking, burning, wanton.

Jazz cocked his helm to the side and watched Prowl as he tested his valve with long, elegant digits. He didn't penetrate the soft, malleable component, but swept up a sampling of the lubricants oozing from it. The Polyhexian's optics offlined and his visor went black as he tasted Prowl's lubricants,

"You're delicious, Prowler," Jazz hummed with appreciation. His optics came online again, making his visor glow.

Prowl felt that raging need in Jazz's field. As close as Jazz was, Prowl could feel the charge that ran through the saboteur's frame. It was going to happen. Now. Anxiety return, both to Prowl's spark and to his field, even as he ruthless tried to suppress it. His frame was tingling with the high charge Jazz had already teased out of him and his valve was beginning to physically ache for penetration. He focused on these sensations and not on the ramifications this whole episode could have for their future.

There was no doubt that Jazz felt the anxiety in Prowl's field, despite how quickly Prowl buried it under his own arousal and anticipation. The need didn't fade from his field but in was joined with gentle encouragement and reassurance that wrapped around Prowl's frame. Prowl's spark fluttered as he was reminded again that Jazz was still Jazz, even in the throes of a rut and Jazz was still looking out for him. Soft lip plates pressed once again against his own and Prowl offlined his optics as he returned the tender kiss. Quickly, the kiss deepened into one of great passion as Jazz seemed to be intent on devouring Prowl. Servos urgently drew the charge and heat up even higher in Prowl's systems. A digit returned to his valve, this time pressing in, teasing the sensory nodes at the rim into life.

Prowl arched his helm back and gasped. His doorwings sent a great shock of charged pleasure down his spinal struts as was pressed back to the pillows. Chassis to chassis Prowl felt Jazz's systems revving. The vibrations rattled through his frame in a most pleasant way and his own systems revved to match.

"Beautiful," Jazz murmured when he broke the kiss. Slowly, he slid down Prowl's frame, kissing and tasting his new lover as he went. He focused his amorous attentions on the plating shielding Prowl's spark. The essence of who and what Prowl truly was pulsed behind the smooth black and white alloy. The Praxian's tactical components may have been Prowl's most valuable resource as far as the Cause went but it was the spark that lit the often somber mech's frame that held the most value to Jazz. It was the spark the made Prowl strong enough not just to support those tactical systems but to endure what they forced him to do and to decide. This was an impossibly strong spark; the perfect spark to kindle a new life in.

Every component in his frame burned at a near agonizing heat. Charge crackled over his plating. Jazz was almost powerless against his frame's driving need to bury his spike in the hot, soft valve that fluttered instinctively around his questing digits. But he was not powerless to resist, and for Prowl's sake, he would. Prowl may not have been sealed but his valve was so very tight and reacting more instinctively to the first penetration of Jazz's digits than he would expect from a more... practiced mech.

Barely audible mewls escaped Prowl's vocalizer and involuntary shivers ran through his frame underneath Jazz's glossa and servos. The sounds were music, the movements a dance. Jazz wanted to join the dance desperately. He groaned and nipped the rim of Prowl's bumper as the Praxian began to shyly, move back against Jazz's digits. Oh frag. He wasn't going to be able to hold back much long. Prowl was too sweet, too perfect.

With renewed urgency, Jazz added another digit to those already testing the lining of Prowl's sweet valve. He twist his wrist, rotating the digits around within Prowl. Triumph soared through his heated circuits as, with a surprised cry, Prowl came undone under and around Jazz's digits. Shiny lubricants gushed from between Prowl's trembling leg. Jazz licked his digits clean.

"Your voice is music to my audios," Jazz said, with true reverence. He knelt tall between Prowl's spread thigh struts, drawing the other mech's legs around his hips. One servo slid around Prowl's back and cupped that sexy black aft. The other servo plunged back into Prowl's valve, digits spreading it open again. Prowl arched his backstruts and made a strangled sound. Something between a moan and a gasp. Jazz coated his painfully charged spike with Prowl's shiny, clear lubricants before he lined it up with the sensor laden opening. Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz's shoulders as the Polhexian eased the head of his spike home.

"Jazz," Prowl cried softly. His helm fell back as he shook around the mech set on claiming him. "Jazz."

"Never stop sayin' my designation," Jazz groaned tightly as he resisted the temptation to bury his length in its entirety within Prowl's too hot, too tight frame. Prowl clung to him, moaning and panting as gravity and Jazz's insistent servos dragged him carefully down until he was fully seated on Jazz's lap.

Whatever else Jazz remembered from his rut, he would remember this, the first rippling squeeze of Prowl's slick, soft valve hugging his spike, the heady jolt of charge as sensors with that valve lit to life and connected with those sensors doting his spike. He would never forget the look of rapture on Prowl's faceplates as he came undone.

The edges Prowl's doorwings dragged against the wall of pillows as the Praxian was pulled down and Jazz arched up. It was not the first time a hot, hard spike sought admission to his valve but it had been close to an eternity since Prowl's first clumsy interfaces. They had never improved beyond clumsy. When Prowl had been accepted into the Tactical Unit of Praxus' Enforcers, he had left such things behind. It had not been an intentional thing. Simply put, the complications that had resulted from the installation of his battle computer into his already quirky logic processor had taken stellar-cycles to improve. When he had recovered enough, the consequences to his personality subroutines had been off putting to his berthmate and that had been the end of that.

No mech since had spared Prowl a glance. This included Jazz.

"Jazz!" Prowl cried as the head of Jazz's spike met the top of his valve. A sharp pulse of pleasure/pain shot through his valve as that long dormant sensor flared into life.

A growl of gratification reverberated through Jazz's engine. Both servos cupped Prowl's aft now as Jazz held the Praxian firmly up against the soft wall. As the entire back surface of his doorwings connected with the soft cloth, a tidal wave of agonizing ecstasy charged down his spinal struts and straight through his valve. His scream was hoarse as a far stronger overload flooded his circuits. Still untouched, his own spike released a second torrent of fluids, further staining his abdomen.

Jazz's thrusts up into Prowl's spasming valve gained in power and speed now as his frame began to act on instinct to free itself of the charge and need. Prowl clutched to Jazz and sobbed with the intensity of the pleasure that wracked his frame. His overload did not end but seemed to grow and grow until it threatened to destroy him.

Without warning Jazz plugged a data cable in the side of Prowl's neck and broke a hole through the first set of firewalls therein. Even in the height of rapture, Prowl was fully aware of the invasion. Before his tactical systems could launch counter measures, Prowl allowed the defences around his code to fall. He knew what was coming. Nanoseconds later, Jazz drew a specific command line from within Prowl's code and activated it.

Carrier protocols initiated.

The roar of Jazz's engine was deafening even as that notification flashed across Prowl's diagnostics. Highly charged transfluids flooded Prowl's valve. Prowl screamed as the charged fluids lit every sensor with his already sensitive valve on fire. His own spike retracted back into his frame as his reproductive systems became focused in their entirety upon his carrying. Something contracted within Prowl and he felt the head of Jazz's spike seem to press through the top of his valve. Another scream and another overload and Prowl fell offline.

He came to in a few kliks. There was a request waiting at the head of the queue in his processor. It did not come from his Comm but from within. Oh yes, Jazz was still connected though the datalink. Prowl took a sluggish look at the message.

Open your chest plates.

Of course. His processor felt slow, more than a little muddled but Prowl was not that slow. It was not enough for Jazz to interface with him. The rut drove him to merge sparks. There was no other way to kindle. In the haze of numerous powerful overloads, Prowl was not even anxious as he answered the request by sending the appropriate command to his spark's armour. Joy and gratitude swam over the one way connection. Prowl onlined his optics as the emotional stream flowed into his spark and he looked into Jazz's fevered optics as the other monochrome mech's visor slid away. Not for the first time, Prowl thought of just how stunning Jazz was.

Thanks, Prowl.

Ah yes, the data cable. Prowl felt a tinge of embarrassment. With his firewalls more or less completely down, no active thought was free from Jazz's sight. Only the firewalls around his memory banks and his tactical centres remained active. But of course, Jazz would never violate the sanctity of either of those systems.

Such faith in me.

Faith earned many times over. Prowl could not help it as love for Jazz swam in his spark as he spread his chest plates wide and bared the very essence of his self to the first mech who was not also a medic trying to save his life.

"First?" Jazz spoke aloud. Both his voice and the sense of himover the datalink were filled with awe. "You're ma treasure, Prowl."

Everything that was Jazz flooded Prowl's senses and the corona of their two sparks met. The outer flares tangled together as Jazz wrapped his arms around the Praxian's lower back and pulled him close. There was no sound, no sight, nothing but the sense of one and the other as their sparks merged together into one. Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz's neck. Suddenly, he was aware of Jazz's spike moving within him again and his valve clamped down around his lover's girth as another flood of highly charged transfluids filled him. His spark flared within the merge as his reproductive pump sucked the transfluids through the small orifice at the head of his valve and charge fed directly into his spark. With each rush of charge caused his spark to flare and grow to swell.

He felt full. Too full. Prowl did not know how or when it happened but he was flat on his back now. His spark was no long pulsing in the merge at just at the outer edge of its crystaline chamber but now within it. Their merged sparks scraped the crystal walls. The girth within him strained the too sensitive wall of Prowl's valve and the Praxian moaned as his lover ground into him.

Prowl shook his helm weakly from side to side. It was too much. It was all far too much. A final rush of transfluids filled his already full valve. There was no place it could go but into his reproductive systems. His spark surged again and as it did, the merged sparks seemed to explode within Prowl's chassis.

Jazz woke before too long. He found himself sprawled over Prowl's limp frame. His discharged spike buried to the hilt with Prowl. Languidly, Jazz pulled himself up, off and out of Prowl. His rut was satiated for the moment and Jazz thought his first clear thoughts time in over two weeks. Horror quickly filled his processor.

Prowl. Oh Primus, Prowl. Of course he'd chosen Prowl. Slag it all. Guilt surged through him in a black wave. Why Prowl? Why had he chosen Prowl?This was the mech he loved most in this world and the next and Jazz had rutted him into the ground, the very thing had promised himself he would not do. A silvery mixture of lubricants and tranfluids stained the monochrome mech's white thighs and black abdominal plating. Mercifully, there was no energon. By some miracle, he had managed to exercise a modicum of self restraint. Paint scrapes marred Prowl's finish, especially around his chassis and hips. Thankfully, his plating didn't appear terribly dented.

He felt hideous, selfish. He'd fragged Prowl offline and he hadn't even touched his spike, hadn't cared. Rutting was focused on sparking the other mech but the least Jazz could have done was offer him some attention. But no. Following the tradition of generations of Polyhexians before him, Jazz had hacked his quarry and forced his carrier protocols online. Nothing was left to chance with his frame time. It made him sick with guilt. No wonder other frame-types thought Polyhexians were uncivilized, savage.

The rut would allow him to do nothing for it. As much as he wanted to go back into Prowl's code and take that string offline, Jazz's own latent code would not allow it. He would spend the rest of his rut doing everything in his power to spark Prowl. There was nothing else for it. Releasing a vent of frustration and ennui, Jazz stroked Prowl's slack faceplates. He would make it up to Prowl, if he could ever figure out how.

Taking up a cleaning rag, Jazz gently wiped the mess of fluids from the slumbering Praxian's plating. With special care, he cleaned his lover's interface components. Though Jazz couldn't see any tears, he smoothed a layer of medical salve over the rim and just within Prowl's valve. A spark of lust lit his circuits as he rubbed the self gently into the lining. Prowl shifted under his ministration; he made a soft sound that could have been either a moan or a whimper. Jazz frowned. His guilty conscience chose to interpret the sound as a whimper. He slid the covers to Prowl's equipment back into place and took care of cleaning his own frame.

Once he had the berth and both their frames more or less cleaned, Jazz pulled Prowl into his arms before laying on his back with the Praxian cradled against his chassis. Prowl hated recharging on his doorwings. Jazz sighed audibly. Another inconsiderate act against Prowl, Jazz had had him on his back or against the wall for far too long. A cursory glance told hold him the doorwings were intact and not leaking energon from any abrasions but that didn't mean he hadn't pushed Prowl into sensory override.

Jazz smoothed his servo down Prowl's back struts and nuzzled his chin against the top of Prowl's helm.

Prowl came online slowly. As always, his battle computer and logic processor came online first. They analyzed not just the events of some hours ago but also the ramifications of these events. Jazz had hacked his code. It had not been an act of malice but one that was clearly the result of the rut. Rather than interface and hope that Prowl's carrier protocols were activated on the whim of Prowl's frame, Jazz had made it a certainty. It was all for the best and Prowl found himself not feeling particularly put off or violated by it. There were worse ways for those protocols to be brought online.

When he turned his focus away from his tactical systems, Prowl noted the orientation of his frame had changed since he had fallen offline. Someone, Jazz no doubt, had turned him onto his side. A soft breeze walfed through the cave. The light caress of the air shocked Prowl's doorwings. Primus! His sensors were still set to high. He dialled them down to their lowest setting immediately and sighed with relief as he did. It would take a few hours for the sensors desensitize. Until then, Prowl would keep himself half blind.

What an idiotic mistake. With a degree of caution reasonable given consideration to his doorwings abused sensors, Prowl shifted his doorwings, forcing them through their full range of motion. Though they moved with adequate ease, they were certainly stiff and the joints ached. He had definitely spent too much time on his doorwings. Prowl did not want to think how he would be feeling if Jazz had not rolled him off his sensory wings. Laying against musician's frame, with his helm nestled into the crook of the other mech's neck, was certainly more comfortable.

Without bringing his optics online or moving a centimetre, Prowl assessed the rest of his frame. His spark felt swollen. That would be the carrier protocols pulling charge from Jazz's transfluids into his spark in hopes of triggering the creation of a newspark. It had not happened yet, Prowl did not think so, at the very least. He was fairly certain that his spark would not feel quite so enlarged had kindling occurred. Prowl wondered how long this sensation would last if he did not spark.

Very slowly, Prowl shifted. A pang between his thigh struts brought Prowl's attention fully back to the activities of the hours before. He had been thoroughly fragged. At the very least his valve did not particularly hurt. It felt well stretched and perhaps a bit tender. Upon further consideration, Prowl decided that it was the head of his valve, where the component had dilated open into order to feed Jazz's fluids into his reproductive system ached slightly. His self-diagnostics proclaimed no damage had actually been done. The ache would fade in due time

Actually, this was not such a bad way to wake up. Prowl let a relaxed sigh escape his vents and he bade his frame relax back down into a state just below true awareness. Rarely, did Prowl ever allow himself to luxuriate in berth when his recharge cycle was done. He did not remember ever drowsing against another frame. It was, he was discovering, a very pleasant experience.

A hint of a smile crossed Prowl's lip plates and he let his frame go strutless, melting against the saboteur's frame. The hum of Jazz's systems at rest lulled Prowl back into recharge. He woke again not long after to Jazz's arm tightening around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Prowl," the visor-clad mech whispered.

"What for?" Prowl asked. His voice was little more than a whisper as his systems followed his tactical systems online one by one. He heard Jazz's vents hitch and felt the mech lurch beneath him. Clearly, Jazz had not expected a response.

"I never wanted to hurt'ya, never," was the reply. Jazz's voice was laced with guilt. The words were rich with implications.

"You did not hurt me," the Praxian countered, lifting himself up on his arms, suppressing a grown as his doorwings voiced a minor complaint. He tilted his helm to get a good look at his friend faceplates. His swollen spark clenched at the contorted expression on Jazz's faceplates.

"Don't lie to me, Prowl," Jazz hissed. He wrapped a servo around upper arm. Guilt/ No. Worse than guilt, self loathing radiated like a sickness in the Polyhexian's field. "Ya cried. I hurt ya!"

"Jazz, no," Prowl sighed. He rubbed his digits in small circles against the blue decay on his friend's chassis in an awkward attempt to offer comfort. Jazz had always been more tactile than he. The Praxian pressed his own field against his friend's and flooded it with reassurance. "The experience was overwhelming, yes. But I am not hurt, neither mildly nor badly."

"Trying to sooth my conscience, Prowl?" Jazz asked. His expression was unreadable with his blue visor firmly in place over his optics.

"I suppose," the former Enforcer replied. "However that does not make my statement any less true. I. Am. Not. Hurt. It is my own fault that I was overwhelmed. I left my doorwings sensitized to a degree I have not risked in vorns and the volume of sensory data was overpowering."

It was clear to Prowl that Jazz did not entirely believe him. But at least the self-loathing was starting to fade from his friend's field.

Jazz sat up, dragging Prowl up with him. He drew Prowl to his side, encouraging the Praxian to lean against him. Prowl did exactly that. Venting a sigh, Jazz reached into his subspace and brought out a pair of cubes, both medical pressed one into Prowl's servos.

"Drink up, Prowl," the music-loving Polyhexian said with an air of defeat. "I'm not sure how long we have before I lose my helm again."

It always felt good to cuddle with Prowl, better than Jazz would ever have expected. They had spent many hours over their friendship refueling together, watching a show or listening to music. Much of that time had been spent touching but never quite like this. The only occasions were Jazz had ever had his arm wrapped around Prowl's frame, as he had now, was when either he or Prowl were so damaged the they needed of the support of another frame.

Jazz let his processor drift off into fantasy as he slowly drained his cube. In his processor he pictured cuddling Prowl in his quarters, recharging with the Praxian in his arms every night, refueling in the commissary with Prowl on his lap and no one around them batting an optic. The rut was driving these fantasies. It had to be. He would never fantasize about something so crazy and having Prowl willing refueling on his lap if he were in his right processor.

Never before had Jazz considered that sort of relationship with Prowl. His romances were always brief and they were never with friends. Jazz was a serial monogamous. While he never took more than one mech or femme to his berth at a time, he never kept the same mech or femme there for long. Even though Jazz always warned his lovers that he was not willing to commit to a life time bond, his relationships often ended less than cordially. The best of reasons to never 'face with a friend.

This made the situation of his choice of quarry all the more disastrous. There was no mech or femme that Jazz loved more. The Praxian had an unequalled processor, beaming with wit and warmth. Most mechs missed these traits in Prowl. All they saw was a drone who would sacrifice their lives for the sake of the war without a twinge of regret. They were wrong and not even Prime knew how wrong. Only Jazz had been trusted to witness the guilt and the grief that haunted Prowl when a battle went south. As much as it broke Jazz's spark every time Prowl felt apart in his arms Jazz had been fairly rewarded. He was one of only a servo-full of mechs to have ever heard Prowl laugh. The only mech outside of his family. Yes, Jazz had been well rewarded.

In turn, Prowl was the only 'Bot Jazz had spoken to off the Polyhexian rut. Other mechs had their idea about the mating cycle of his frame-type. Polyhexians were infamous for chasing down would be mates, fragging them into the ground and then leaving them once they kindled a newspark in the unlucky mech or femme's spark. There was a reason few Polyhexians had joined the Autobots. Their frame type was considered savage, devoid of honour. Maybe those beliefs weren't so far off. Jazz's own sire had done as much as the stories said. He had chased down Jazz's carrier, an Altihexian frame-type, amd had kept him for weeks 'facing him with no concern for his comfort until the newspark that would become Jazz had been created. Then he had gone. Jazz's carrier, who had had no desire to carry or to raise a sparkling, had been left with the burden that had been Jazz. Turnabout made certain his creation know what a trial he had had endured to conceive him and what a suffrage it was to raise a Polyhexian spark. Maybe it would have been better if the spark that had been kindled had been Altihexian but Primus had not been so kind.

Though Jazz knew his distaste for his own frame-type was illogical and self-hatred was unhealthy, it didn't stop Jazz. The distaste sewed in him by his carrier from the moment of his creation was not going away. Only Prowl knew the truth. The real reason Jazz never dared keep a lover long term. He never wanted to subject any lover to a rut. Primus had a lousy sense of humour. Jazz would have mated to Shockwave if he had known that his rut would lead him to claim Prowl as his temporary mate. The Polyhexian prayed that Prowl would not conceive; he was already asking too much of his friend and Jazz didn't want to force a sparkling onto Prowl along with everything else. Except that wasn't exactly true. Jazz was literally of two processors about it. The parts of his processor dominated by his rut wanted desperately to sire a newspark in Prowl. After all, that was the point of the while chase and capture.

He could barely summon the will to resist his rut's demand but Jazz grit his denta and smothered his urges. There was still the matter of taking care of Prowl. While the Praxian finished his cube, Jazz rearranged the many pillows he had transported to the cave so that there was a stack of pillows three layers thick along the head of the berth. Taking the empty cube from the Praxian, the musician turned saboteur nudged his new lover back against the pillows.

"Better?" He asked.

"Than?" Prowl inquired. He did lean back into the pillows, as if testing them, but he did not fully relax.

"Are ya comfortable?" Jazz sighed and chuckled before asking his question. Prowl could be obtuse in the oddest moments.

"Yes," Prowl replied. He still did not fully relax, rather he kept his wings at a severe angle.

"Liar," Jazz chastised Prowl. With a stern expression on his lip plates, he tapped Prowl on his nasal ridge. "Ya know I can tell when you're doorwings are buggin' ya."

"They are not particularly stiff," the Praxian assured the other mech. Jazz saw a telltale flush of embarrassment cross Prowl's faceplates.

"Turn around," the largely monochrome mech ordered. "I'll set ya right."

"They are still sensitive..." Prowl warned. He moved hesitantly but nonetheless turned around and granted Jazz access to his sensory appendages.

"Shh," Jazz soothed. "I know. Relax Prowler."

Activating the magnets in his servos, Jazz gently ran his specialized components down Prowl's back. He smiled as Prowl pushed back into his touch. This was hardly the first time Jazz had massaged the kinks from Prowl's often overworked frame and Jazz knew exactly how much pressure to use, how high a setting of his magnets to use and just where to touch. Before paying any mind to Prowl's doorwings, he concentrated on the Praxian's spinal struts, sending soothing pulses into each interlinked strut. Prowl became mostly limp as Jazz did this, relaxing against the pillows. He remained pliant, his system practically purring with relaxation, while Jazz gently wriggled his magnetized digits under Prowl's plating and around every joint. The exercise was therapeutic to Jazz. It took his processor away from his rut and it assuaged his guilt. Before long, Prowl vented a long sigh and his doorwings sagged and shifted. A sure sign that they had been soothed.

Jazz kept going, however, massaging his servos down the sides of the Autobot SIC's sides and over his hips and pelvic girdle. He smiled when Prowl gasped and the Praxian's fan revved a touch louder. Arousing Prowl was not the point of this activity but it was certainly an added bonus. His quarry shifted under his touch, moving into his servos and then away again. Finally, Jazz deactivated his magnets and let his servos come to rest over Prowl's hips.

"Better?" He asked.

"You know the answer to that, Jazz," Prowl scolded without any real temper. Still, Jazz felt the plating under his servos shift, spreading apart just so and closing again as Prowl made minute attempts to find a comfortable position in which to kneel.

"Maybe," the saboteur replied. He brought one servo down of Prowl's hip and touched the plating over Prowl's interface equipment. "What's wrong here?"

"Nothing!" Prowl almost shrieked as Jazz's touch caught him off guard. "No damage."

"But uncomfortable, hmm?" Jazz said. His internal temperature was rising and his plating must have felt blistering against Prowl's cooler metal covering. Anxiety trickled over Prowl's field. Of course, he must have thought Jazz was going to 'face him again.

Well, he was. But not quite this second.

"Perhaps mildly," the Praxian admitted. He had stiffened again, not quite prepared to relax his lower plating into Jazz's servo.

"I'll kiss it better," Jazz offered.

"If you must," Prowl sputtered, his doorwings swung high on his back, tension intermixed with arousal in his field.

"Ya don't have to open for me if ya don't wanna," Jazz assured him.

"I know, Jazz" Prowl said. The panel slid aside and the saboteur's spark contracted. "I trust you."

Jazz couldn't respond. Trust meant more to Jazz than love, at least with Prowl it did and at the moment he didn't feel particularly deserving of Prowl's trust, though he was grateful for it. The saboteur kissed down Prowl's spinal struts. He laid on his chassis behind Prowl's upturned aft. Prowl inhaled slowly at the first touch of Jazz's glossa to his valve. Soon he was shaking, moaning and chanting Jazz's designation. Lubricants leaked continuously from his valve and into Jazz's mouth. Jazz eagerly drank every drop. Soon, the saboteur circled digits over Prowl's spike housing, coaxing his lover's spike to pressurization in spite of the mech's carrier protocols. Prowl groaned, biting his lip plates to stifle his cries.

"Don't you dare silence yourself," Jazz ordered his voice was thick with static and lust. "I love every sound you make."

"Jazz," Prowl moaned. It sounded like a plea. For overload? For mercy? For more?

"You taste so sweet, baby," Jazz purred. "I'm gonna drink you up."

"Oh Primus," Prowl gasped. Jazz eased one digits and then another deep into Prowl's slick valve. He curled his digits, stroked the walls as he stretched them apart. His glossa delved up into Prowl, between his long digits. In time with his teasing of Prowl's valve, Jazz stroked up his lover's spike, caressing the black and silver shaft, running his thumb digit over the sensor laden tip. An ecstasy filled cry was his reward. Prowl overloaded when Jazz activated his magnets at their lowest setting and sent pulse after pulse along the soft, rippling walls. Transfluids erupted from Prowl's spike, covering Jazz's servo, as overload washed over the Praxian in waves.

Prowl panted, both his primary and secondary vents desperately sucking air to cool his boiling circuits. He sagged forward, bracing himself against the wall plush pillows with strutless arms. Before he dragged himself back into the sitting position, Jazz cleaned up the small mess of fluids. It was for messes like this that all the 'Bots had had their pillows made with Cybertronian fibers. They wiped clean with more ease than human cloth. Jazz sat back on his knees behind Prowl and drew the other mech down onto his lap and leaned his forehelm against the back of Prowl's neck, between the spread of his doorwings.

"Thank you, Jazz," Prowl murmured. His field broadcasted his contentment. Good.

"'M glad," Jazz muttered into Prowl's neck cables. "I'm sorry Prowl."

"Please stop, Jazz," Prowl asked. "I know you would never have chosen to go through a rut. I blame you for none of this."

"Still," Jazz grumbled, not yet lifting his helm. "'M still sorry."

"It is unnecessary," Prowl insisted. "I am relieved you selected me as your quarry over any other Autobot."

"Seriously?" Jazz asked, he perked up resting his chin plate on Prowl's shoulder, giving his friend a sideways glance.

"Of course," Prowl replied. "I alone knew what to expect. Besides that... It is flattering."'

"Is it?" Jazz chuckled. "Thanks Prowler. You always know what to say to me."

"I try," the response was said in Prowl's classic deadpan tone. Jazz laughed, hearing it for the joke that it was. For a time, Jazz was content to just sit there, hugging Prowl to his scorching frame as he luxuriated in the knowledge that Prowl, while if not celebrating their predicament, was not precisely suffering either.

Far too soon, Jazz felt his spike pressurizing behind his panel. His fans had long kicked on to high as his rut sent liquid fire through his circuits. He wanted to resist his rut and his urges for just a little longer.

"Jazz, do not harm yourself on my account," Prowl said as he felt Jazz tense behind and around him.

"'M not," Jazz replied. His tone was petulant. "Just delaying the inevitable. 'Cause I know I'm gonna take you again and again. Relieve myself with your frame. Could hurt you and I don't know if I'd be able to stop."

"You will not harm me," Prowl insisted. He turned his helm to the side and looked over his shoulder at Jazz, levelling a stern glare in his direction. "And I am hardly helpless. If I feel you are a danger to me, I will stop you. Do not doubt that for an instant."

Ruckus laughter erupted from Jazz's vocalizer. He revved his engines against Prowl's back. Primus he loved this mech. Loved and wanted him. Jazz parted his knees, forcing Prowl's legs further apart. He reached down and cupped Prowl's interface panel and sent a quick magnetic pulse through the smooth black plating. The Praxian arched, pressing his lower plating into that teasing servo and curving his back so his helm fell back against his suitor's shoulder.

"Frag, I love the way you move," Jazz swore. He dipped two digits into Prowl's valve. Finding it still slick with lubricants and still moderately stretched. Finding himself desperate to sate his lust, Jazz worked quickly to prepare Prowl for his spike. Moaning softly, Prowl rocked down against the digits as another was soon added. Jazz curled his digits and then stretched them apart as Prowl's valve clenched and rippled around them.

"Please," Prowl groaned squeezing his valve firmly down around those clever digits.

"Yes," Jazz hissed, removing his digits, taking a firm grip on Prowl's hips before sheathing his tumid length deep with Prowl in one fluid move. Prowl clamped down hard around him and Jazz bit back an oath. His digits dug into Prowl's plating as he held the mech flush with his lap. The Praxian's elegant doorwings swept up and back, nearly hitting Jazz in the faceplates. Jazz released one hip and caught the offending appendage in a gentle grip. He kissed along on smooth edge before releasing the doorwing and once again taking of Prowl's hip. The kisses continued across Prowl's shoulder. As Jazz covered Prowl's shoulders and neck with kisses and love bites, he kept his lower body perfectly style. Prowl's valve rippled around his spike the sensors within the supple lining coaxing Jazz's charge up.

"Would you move?" Prowl growled as he flexed his valve around his lover's girth. Jazz bit down that much harder on the cable between his denta. He sucked the dented cable as if to apologize.

"Pit, yes," Jazz exclaimed. He didn't release Prowl's hips but eased his grip encouraging Prowl into action. The former Enforcer rolled his hips as he road Jazz.

Jazz matched every downward motion Prowl made with an upthrust of his own. He let his servos wander over Prowl's frame as the Praxian rocked back on his rigid spike, squeezing it each time it bottom out against the head of his valve.

This interface was so much better than the first. Without the frantic charge that had grown first from the hunt and then from the chase, Jazz could take his time and savour every motion of Prowl's smooth hips and every keen and cry the normally stoic mech made. He was still chasing his overload but it was not such and urgent thing. Eventually, the languid pace ceased to be enough and Jazz urged Prowl to ride him faster. The Polyhexians own thrusts began rougher, harder. With every upward motion, he dragged Prowl down. His lover's valve rippled down tighter around him as Prowl came closer and closer to overload. Holding Prowl's hips with denting force, Jazz came undone with a roar. He ground his pelvic armour against Prowl's aft as the Praxian's valve clamped hard around his erupting spike, signalling his own overload and milking the transfluid from Jazz's length.

"Primus," Jazz groaned. He could barely hear his own voice over whirl of two sets of fans and the roar of two engines. His spike was still pressurized, ready for more, still seated in Prowl's hot little valve. It almost hurt to release Prowl's hips and to pull out. But it wasn't for long. Jazz moved quickly around Prowl so that his own back was against the soft bedding. In less than a second he was pulling the other mech towards him. He lifted the beautiful Praxian onto his lap and guided Prowl back down onto his throbbing spike.

Prowl looped an arm around Jazz's neck as sank down. A shaky, static filled moan broke over Prowl's vocalizer as he impaled himself on his friend and lover's length. He gasped the thick spike dragged over every highly hypersensitive sensor in his valve. Jazz stayed perfectly still. The rippling heat around him was maddening but he dared not move as long as Prowl was quite literally shaking around his spike. His lover's field pressed into his own. Pleasure bordered on pain as the charge that crackled over Jazz's spike lit each of those thoroughly sensitized sensors on fire. Not everyone enjoyed the sharp burn that came from being 'face just after and overload, while when their sensors were still primed. The saboteur didn't think Prowl yet knew if he enjoyed it or not.

"Oh," Prowl gasped. Static crackled through his vocalizer. He flexed his valve around the impaling spike and shudder as charged bolted over his sensors. Then he moved. A low keen escaped the Praxian and he clung to Jazz's shoulders as he rocked up and down, rising almost completely off the Polyhexian's spike before sinking back down. Jazz resisted as long as he could but he was soon bucking up into Prowl's heat.

Jazz slid a servo behind Prowl's helm and pulled him forward into a demanding kiss. He swallowed every cry tasting every crevasse of Prowl's mouth. Prowl dug his digits into Jazz's back plating, denting the metal as he met every upward thrust from Jazz with a downward thrust of his own. Their chest plates slid apart of their own volition and Jazz lowered his servo to the centre of Prowl's back and he slammed their chassis' together. His spike engorged with the great rush of transfluids his coming overload promised and Jazz wrapped his other arm around Prowl's waist, locking his lover flush against his plating.

"So... good," Prowl broke the kiss to sob his pleasure. He arched his neck, exposing the cables to Jazz's mouth. Their sparks tangled together and Jazz swore into Prowl's neck as he released a flood of transfluid within him. Charge burst over his sensory grid and into his spark. Jazz felt Prowl's spark pulse violently as it swelled and they overloaded together.

Prowl did not want to move. Never. He was quite happy to stay like this, he helm buried in Jazz's shoulder and his frame slack in the other mech's loose grasp. The normally fastidious mech could not have cared less about the sticky fluids beginning to dry on his legs. No one could convince him that moving was a good idea. Unfortunately, Jazz appeared to have other ideas.

"You aren't gonna be happy if that dries in your platting," Jazz teased. He slipped out of Prowl before lifting the indolent Praxian of his lap to sit down beside him. Prowl offered him a tired glare before melting back into the pillows. The series of strut melting overloads had left him one step out of recharge. His spark felt even larger, even more swollen and Prowl was certain that his reproductive tank was getting full. All he wanted to do was recharge.

"Perhaps," Prowl replied. He vented a quick sigh before rousing himself enough to take up a cleansing clothe and to wipe the reproductive fluids from his plating. Jazz chuckled as he cleaned his own plating and the mess of a berth. Modesty plating set right, Jazz laid down on the berth. Prowl remained seated; he really did not want to move a strut.

"You gonna recharge sitting up, Prowl?" Jazz asked with a chuckle. His visor positively glinted with merriment and he offered Prowl a fond smile.

"I suppose not," Prowl sighed. With his optics dimmed almost black, Prowl dragged himself on his servos and knees over to the berth and promptly dropped down on his chassis, next to Jazz. Now he was not moving. He onlined one optic when he felt Jazz shift and Prowl was just about ready to snarl when the former musician slid under his doorwing to snuggle into his side with one arm draped over the Prowl's lower back.

"G'night, Prowl," Jazz murmured as he dialled his systems down in preparation for recharge.

"Goodnight Jazz," Prowl replied. "I warn you know. If you wake me before I am ready, I will kill you with fire."

Prowl fell in recharge with Jazz's laughter ringing in his audios.

The remainder of Jazz's rut passed very much in the same way. After the first few days of near constant interfacing the rut had quieted enough to allow the mechs real rest in between bouts of passion. But finally, one month and a day after Jazz's rut had begun he had finally woken with the rising of the Earth's Sun to find his procreation protocol silent. His rut was over and his relief was immeasurable.

Yet still, there was apprehension. He had managed to burn through his rut without causing serious harm to Prowl but that did not mean irreparable harm had not been done to their friendship. How did they go back to their old lives after this? Jazz would never be able to see Prowl without the memories of 'facing, of the privilege to touch and to take that he normally had no right to. The desire to 'face Prowl outside of the rut was certainly there. Primus only knew what was going on in Prowl's processor.

"You ready to get back to your datapads?" Jazz asked. The bright humour in his voice was fake, a well practised mask. They would be heading back to the Ark in a matter of minutes, just as soon as they finished clearing out the cave. Jazz had already made a sweep of the "zone," making sure that none of his gadgets had been left behind.

"I suspect there will be a good many more waiting for me than when we left," Prowl replied. His optics seemed to see too much. There was no ignoring the tension between them. Though they were both trying their damnedest.

"I guarantee it," Jazz managed a genuine chuckle. Behind his visor, his expression was one of weary fondness. "Prowl... Are you... Did I...?"

"No," Prowl replied. The relief that passed over Jazz as the pronouncement was almost immediately quashed. There was something in Prowl's almost perfect monotone that drew Jazz to turn and watched Prowl's back. Laying low on the Praxian's back, the angle of Prowl's doorwings told Jazz everything his controlled tone could not. Regret.

"You sure?" Jazz asked. He reached out to touch Prowl was pulled his arm back when Prowl looked over his shoulder.

"I am," Prowled replied. His tone was perfect now and he was consciously drawing his doorwings up to their neutral position centred on his back. "Nothing has split apart from my spark. You picked the wrong partner..."

"Never," Jazz interrupted. Did Prowl really think he had failedhim? "Neve think that. Nothin' about'cha could ever be wrong."

The mechs transformed and began the familiar drive to the Ark. They drove close together. It was Jazz who had manoeuvred his alt mode to almost touching Prowl's. It didn't seem to bother the Praxian. His field radiated fondness and Jazz tuned his to match. He had developed a powerful desire to be close to Prowl over his rut. Jazz had blamed this need on his rut, however with his rut gone Jazz still found himself wanting to remain close to Prowl. If he had been deluded, Jazz would have claimed that he had always liked to be close to his friend but the Polyhexian was not so fool-helmed.

Interfacing with Prowl had confirmed a few things for Jazz. The love Prowl felt for him and the love he felt for Prowl was not naturally a platonic one. Vorns of suppressing the romantic aspect of their love had made it easy to deny for the most part. But Jazz had seen into Prowl's processor and felt his spark and he knew. Romantic love for Jazz was close to the surface in Prowl's spark, as was the fear of rejection and mournful acceptance of the status quo.

Jazz should have been celebrating, for Primus' sake he loved Prowl. Still, he held back and still he doubted. Was Jazz actually capable of being a good partner? A good mate?

Was he brave enough to try?

They transformed side by side when they arrived at the entrance to the Ark. Mercifully, they were alone. Jazz briefly resisted the urge to touch his friend. His resistance only lasted a few seconds and Jazz placed a servo between Prowl's shoulder struts. They took in the sight of their Earth-based home, savouring the moment.

"'M gonna report to Optimus," Jazz said after a moment. "Get yourself checked out by Ratchet and I'll see you in a few hours."

"Make time to see Ratchet yourself as some point," Prowl urged.

"I will," the saboteur promised. "

As a rule, Prowl did not believe in miracles. It did, however seem rather miraculous that he not see a single Autobot at any point as he made his way deep into the Ark, towards the medbay. Red Alert, who would generally be monitoring the camera at this time of day, must have given word of their return to the Prime, or to Ratchet. Either mech would have ordered the halls cleared in consideration for the returning officers. Given the scuffed and tended nature of his plating, Prowl appreciated the thought. While he was clean there was no denying that he looked like a mech who had been interfacing day in and out for weeks. Which was an accurate description of what had happened.

He touched a servo to the centre of his chassis. His spark still felt terribly swollen. While it was not a painful sensation, Prowl did not enjoy it. The sensations from his reproductive tank were not all that much better. Like his spark chamber, it felt full and it seemed to contract periodically. Ratchet would no doubt be able to tell him how long these symptoms would last.

"Good to see you Prowl," Ratchet said, greeting the SIC at the medbay's entrance.

"It is good to see you too, Ratchet," Prowl's reply is devoid on inflection and emotion. It offers no hint to the tangled emotions and thoughts at war in Prowl's processor.

"On to the berth with you," the medic ordered. "You look to be in good repair but I'd like to make certain."

"Off course," the SIC replied, He sat on the first berth, closest to the door. Prowl heard a click as Ratchet locked the medbay doors.

"Figured you'd like the privacy," Ratchet explained as he walked around the berth, examining Prowl's frame as he went.

"Thank you, I appreciate your consideration," Prowl said. He forced himself to sit perfectly still as Ratchet first performed a visual exam and then began a scan. His spark pulsed violently in its chamber. The Praxian and never felt this nervous during an exam in his entire function.

"Use your intakes," the medic ordered quickly. He rubbed Prowl's shouldered and spoke gently. "Deep breaths. That's it. Good. Alright Prowl, tell me how you're feeling."

"Physically or mentally?" the Praxian asked in a voice that was not quite a monotone.

"Both," the red and white mech replied. "Mentally first."

"Unexpectedly nervous... Embarrassed," the SIC said as he analyzed his overly dramatic response to Ratchet's exam. "I apologize..."

"Don't you start with that slag," Ratchet growled. "Or I'll have to dent you're helm. You might think your reactions are irrational, but they aren't. You're feeling exposed and a might bit vulnerable. Prowl... It's normal."

"Thank you," Prowl replied, a hint of sheepishness in his voice and his faceplates heated slightly. "I'm grateful to be... home... but I feel out of sorts, out of my element."

"Makes sense," Ratchet hummed. "Tell me what your self-diagnostics are saying."

"I am suffering low level dents to plating on my thighs, hips, aft, and back," Prowl fell back to his standard monotone as he summarized the information offered by his self-diagnostics. "Cosmetic damage, scratches and pressure damage on my chest plates. There are largely healed micro-scratches to my doorwings. The various components of my valve are over-stressed, most specifically the sensor nodes."

"This matches my scanner," Ratchet replied. "Your sensors will normalize with disuse, that should only take a week or so. I think you'll feel better if all the visual damage is repaired. No need to feel like anyone is looking at you funny."

"Yes, please," the SIC said, cheering inwardly at the idea. "Ratchet, I realize no newspark formed... Can you tell me when this sense of... Fullness will fade?"

"No newspark?" Ratchet asked and then chuckled mirthlessly. "No, Prowl. There's a newspark."

"But I did not feel it split off," Prowl stammered. "My spark..."

"Easy Prowl," Ratchet soothed. He took hold of Prowl's shoulder and eased him back. "Lay down before you fall down."

In shock, Prowl obeyed automatically. He laid flat on his back, to the irritation of his doorwings. His processor was overheating as a storm of emotion and thoughts raged through him. It felt as though he was drowning in the conflicting reactions. His spark clenched and Prowl took a ragged intake.

"I'm not all that surprised by your confusion," Ratchet said, drawing Prowl's attention away from his internal conflict. "It's too early for your self-diagnostics to detect the newspark but you probably already knew that. You would have had your lessons in interfacing and kindling from Praxians. Frag, outside of a rut Polyhexians don't work so differently. There are different views by scientists as to how this behaviour developed but as it stands, during the rut, a Polyhexian releases abnormally high amounts of transfluids into their partner. The charge from the transfluids feeds immediately into the spark and the sheer amount causes the receiving spark to engorge. Because carrier protocols are always activated, and you know doubt know how, the remaining materials within the transfluids, code-carrying-nanites specifically, are held in the reproductive tank. They are released a fraction at a time into the receptive spark and channelled into the newspark should a newspark successfully form. As you well know, in most frame-types, this amount of reproductive material would not be released to be stored. What it means is that the sire does not need to stick around to guarantee the newspark receives the ideal amount of his code written to their developing spark. Should the rutting mech leave and not return, even if a new mate is taken, the former's stored transfluids will still be what is shunted to the carrier's spark instead of the new mate's."

"That explains the fullness," Prowl murmured weakly. "How did I note feel it happen?"

"Your spark was swollen at the time of kindling," Ratchet explained gently. "It's not surprising you didn't feel the newspark split off. At most you may have felt a brief bit of relief as your spark shrank minutely."

"My spark is not smothering it?" The newly carrying mech asked cautiously. Prowl placed a servo on his chassis, over his spark.

"Not at all," the medic reassured him. "He's happily tucked into your spark's corona where he's going to feed off your sparks energy until separation. There is a benefit to the engorgement of your spark. Many carriers find the first stellar-cycles to be taxing as their newspark absorbs the greatest amounts of their spark energy. You've got an excess."

"The engorgement is not especially comfortable," Prowl said, rubbing his chestplates and frowning.

"No it isn't," Ratchet agreed. "It'll go down in time. Until then, you'll get used to it."

"That is reassuring," the SIC replied.

"Relax for a bit," the red and white mech suggested. "I can repair you're plating just as well with you laying down."

Prowl nodded and dialled off his optics. So he was carrying. Jazz would no doubt be discomfited by the knowledge, after all Prowl had assured him that he was not carrying. At least Jazz would forgive his mistake, the Polyhexian had never yet held a grudge against him. For now, Prowl focused on his own feelings. Just moments ago he had been nursing regret over not conceiving. The time was not remotely ideal; the war was raging around them. Certainly it would have been better to wait for peace time. It would have been better to kindle with a bondmate. Still, Prowl could not think of any mech or femme in all of creation that he would want to carry for, other than Jazz. He could not think of anyone he could take for a bondmate, other than Jazz. So he was carrying under less than ideal circumstances but he was carrying Jazz's creation. That more or less made up for the circumstances, at least so far as Prowl was concerned.

"You're all set," Ratchet announced, waking Prowl from a light recharge. "I'm not much of a detailer as you well know. You could use a thorough buffing and repaint. If you'd like I can get Sunstreaker to meet you in the washracks."

"Actually, I would appreciate that," Prowl replied. He rather liked the idea of being especially put together when he saw Jazz again.

"Will do," the medic said. He offered Prowl a crooked smile. "Go on, get off the 'racks and have a good soak before Sunstreaker comes by. You're frame will thank you."

"That is an excellent suggestion, thank you Ratchet," the SIC agreed. He sat and slid off the exam berth. "Thank you for your delicate care."

"Don't mention it," Ratchet grumbled and he picked up a wrench. "Don't think for one second I won't hit a carrying mech if he does something stupid. Take care of yourself. I expect you to recharge like a normal mech for the first time in your function. Purified mid grade with mineral supplements. You won't like it if I find out you've skipped a cube. I know where you recharge."

"I will take care," Prowl promised. Jazz had gotten him into the habit of refuelling regularly during their time away from the Ark. Now if Prowl could just make sure he refuelled as ordered instead of losing himself in datapads. Well, he would have to make it work.

"You're planning on visiting Optimus first?" Ratchet asked before Prowl could leave.

"Yes," Prowl replied. "Is this a problem?"

"Have a soak first, Optimus can wait," the medic suggested. "Scratch that, Optimus would prefer to wait."

"You have him on comm?" The SIC asked, though he knew the answer.

"Maybe," Ratchet replied. "Now get."

Jazz knew he was a bit of a sight. His paint was scuffed in more than a few places and his plating had a few dents but he felt duty bound to report to the Boss 'Bot first. Duty bound to Prowl, not to Jazz. Had Jazz not said he was going to see Optimus first thing, it would have been Prowl going to see the Prime now, and not Ratchet. Prowl could be predictable.

It seemed someone had cleared the halls because Jazz didn't run into a single mech. A broad smile formed on his faceplates. Prowl would appreciate the kindness; Jazz certainly did. He was looking forward to diving helm first back into his life but as he reacquainted himself with the familiar halls of the Ark, Jazz enjoyed the privacy and the quiet. A playful mood struck Jazz as he arrived at Optimus' office. Rather than knock, he employed his masterful Ops skills and hacked the door. With a whoosh, it opened and Jazz sauntered in.

"Afternoon, Big Boss," Jazz cheered. "Miss me."

"It's good to see you, Jazz," Optimus replied with a chuckle. "I can see you are back to your old self."

"That I am," the Ops mech confirmed. He sprawled in the chair opposite of the Prime. "It's good to be back."

"Everyone will be grateful to have you back," the Prime said. "You've been sorely missed. Smokescreen is a tad too creative in his punishments for the Twins."

"I wanna hear all about it," Jazz laughed. "Prowl's seein' the Hatchet now. Do me a favour and keep'm off duty for another week. He needs some time, even if he won't admit it."

"I will and I will keep you off duty as well," Optimus replied. "You could no doubt use sometime to decompress."

"You ain't wrong," the TIC admitted. "Been slackin' for so long 'm gonna have to get my processor back to workin'."

"You are as much a workaholic as Prowl," the Prime lamented. "Though you hide it better."

"I admit nothin'," came the retort. A sigh quickly followed and he leaned forward in the chair. "Can we not pussy foot around? I took out my rut on Prowl. I ain't gonna talk about what went on. Me and Prowl've got the right to some privacy... Frag if I know how this is gonna affect us in the long run. Frag if I know just what Prowl'n me are now."

"You are Prowl and Jazz," Optimus pronounced with a wisdom that could only have come from the Matrix and all the Primes before him. "Old friend, you have loved Prowl for hundreds of vorns and he has loved you the same. One rut will not change that, expect perhaps to deepen it."

"Do I even wanna know how ya know?" Jazz asked. "Considerin' we both thought we were hidin' it so well."

"You two interact with all the quiet intensity of sparks bonded for vorns, save for the physical intimacy," the Prime explained.

"H'uh," Jazz hummed. "Never thought we were actin' any different than 'Raj'n Hound."

"It may not have been noticeably to the average optic," the Prime admitted. "But to mine, and too others I will not name, it has been obvious for a long time."

"You never tried to knock some sense into our helms?" Jazz asked and he wondered just how many 'Bots had come to the same conclusion as their Prime.

"I considered it," Optimus said, he great shoulders shrugged. "But in the end I could not condone it. And in truth, I could not risk it. You are a remarkable team, stronger together than apart and if a romance between you soured..."

"I hear ya," the saboteur replied, nodding. "Would ya have any objections if we try somethin' now?"

"No," the Prime shook his helm as he spoke. "You have my blessings and my hope. We've all stopped living just to survive this war. It's time we got back to living."

The Autobot SIC found himself in his office as the dark cycle reached its peak. His new paint was shiny, bright. It had not been so perfect since Prowl had accepted the promotion to Second-in-Command. Briefly, he wondered what Jazz would think of him. He had not been present for Prowl's promotion and any time since then that Prowl had been required to repaint his frame, he had always chosen a matte finish. Now he was glossy, as flashy as his simplistic style would ever get. Prowl hoped that Jazz liked what he saw.

Optimus had been bemused by the sight. He had guessed, before Prowl could say anything, what Prowl was planning. That the Prime had readily approved had come as a minor surprise. More surprising had been the level of enthusiasm with which Optimus had expressed his approval.

"I had wondered if you would wait until your sparks returned to the well," his commander had said.

The reaction had made Prowl sheepish. Surely he had not openly been mooning over Jazz over all these vast years? He prayed not. If the mutual infatuation had been so obvious to the Prime it was frighteningly possible that Smokescreen had noticed. And if Smokescreen had noticed... Prowl rather hoped that the older Praxian did not have a betting pool going.

Jazz would have to make his way to Prowl's office soon, or Prowl would be forced to track him down. The Praxian preferred to do this in his office, his safe place. Few Autobots would be surprised to learn that it was in his office that Prowl felt most at home, not in the berth room he rarely visited. He was fidgeting, though had anyone been there to notice, Prowl would have coolly denied it.

"Prowl?" Jazz asked as the Praxian's door slid open. Prowl watched shock, amusement and arousal cross over Jazz's faceplates. No doubt intentionally, Jazz brushed his field against Prowl's. It conveyed his very physical approval of Prowl's shiny frame. The Polyhexian walked quickly over to Prowl, whistling as he did. "You're a stunner, ya know."

"Thank you," Prowl replied. He did not keep his tone neutral or his expression schooled intentional. Those would be side effects from his improperly integrated tactical systems. It took far more emotional stimuli to get an outward response from the former Enforcer than it should. None of this stopped his faceplates heating with pleasure and bashfulness at the tone in Jazz's voice.

"Did ya do this for me, Prowler?" Jazz asked. He ran a thumb digit down Prowl's jaw line. "Here I was thinkin' we were gonna dance around each other all awkward and the like before we finally came to our senses.

"I do not believe in wasting time," Prowl explained. He offlined and onlined his optics, the barest smile formed at the edges of his faceplates. Jazz could not fathom what an affect he had on Prowl.

"I guess not," Jazz chuckled. "'M gonna take this pretty paint to me ya don't want to pretend like none of this happened. 'M I right?"

"We cannot, Jazz," Prowl replied. He swallowed reflexively and stood at his straightest, doorwings spread wide and tall on his back. The lessons of his younglinghood came back and Prowl mirrored the posture his instructors had drilled into his helm. It was a physical display of confidence. It was a lie. "Not only because it would be a waste or because it would hurtbut because something did indeed happen, Jazz. But I was mistaken. What I said early today... Ratchet corrected me... I... Slag it, why can I not find the words."

"What are ya sayin'?" Jazz curved his servos around Prowl's shoulders and stared through his visor, into the other monochrome mech's optics, into his spark.

"I am with spark," the former Enforcer stumbled over the words as he spoke, as he just blurted it out. Prowl scowled inwardly. Really, he had no had this much trouble speaking since his first allocution lessons. Then he froze, his spark froze, as he realized Jazz had not responded, was not responding. He pulled his field inward, as tight as he could so that Jazz would not sense he fear and the first trickles of betrayal. Finally, Jazz rebooted his optics and spoke.

"Are ya?" Jazz asked in a weak voice. A strained chuckled rattled his vocalizer. "Are ya really?"

"Yes," Prowl replied. It had been a long time since he had felt so vulnerable, completely at the mercy of another mech. He looked down, away from Jazz, without realizing what he was doing.

"Are ya okay?" Jazz asked. Venting a sigh, the Polyhexian took hold of Prowl's chin and tilted his helm back up, forcing the Praxian to meet his optics. "Prowl? Don't hide from me. I can't bare it."

"I am surprised," Prowl rambled. All those lessons from his younglinghood lost on his glossa. "Mildly shocked, perhaps? I should not be. I knew the risks..."

"Prowler," Jazz sighed, a teasing smile on his lip plates. "Are ya okay with this?"

"Does it matter?" Prowl asked, gaining back some control over his speech. "I have carrying and I am not prepared to do what is necessary to change that fact."

"You're scared out of your processor, hmm?" Jazz crooned the question. His field wrapped around Prowl, revealing to him Jazz's disbelief, panic, regret, anticipation and awe. The conflicting emotion eased their way through Prowl's defences. "I wouldn't ask you to get rid of'm, Prowler. Ain't gonna say 'm not scared myself. But that's normal, isn't it?"

"Yes," Prowl agreed. A brief glimmer of hope broke over his optics before he ruthlessly pushed the all too powerful emotion down.

"I love ya, Prowler, ya know that, right?" The saboteur said, drawing his arms around Prowl and pulling him close. Prowl's spark fluttered. He could not resist the urge to hide his face and buried his helm in Jazz's shoulder.

"Yes," Prowl's reply was muffled by the Polyhexians armour. "I love you as well."

"Somethin' I'm grateful for," Jazz murmured. "There aren't words... I wouldn't wanna live without ya, Prowl. I hate goin' even a day not seein' ya 'n I've gotten used to onlining every light cycle with my arms around ya. Primus help me, Prowl I don't wanna lose that."

"Are you asking to become lovers?" Prowl asked as he lifted his helm from Jazz's shoulder.

"Ya, I am," Jazz confirmed, nodding slowly. "Down the road, I want a bond. Y'already own a piece of my spark. Why not make it official?"

"Yes, yes," Prowl replied. Tears well in his optics and he wrapped his arms around the musical mech's neck, smiling as he did. "We have wasted enough time."

Jazz whooped and spun Prowl in a quick circle before claiming his mouth in a smouldering kiss.

"Is there a reason you have drawn me onto your lap?" Prowl inquired a, taking the moment to look up from his datapad. The rec room was a ruckus place to work but technically Prowl was not working; he was refuelling... He just happened to have taken a datapad along with him.

"Sure," Jazz replied, grinning broadly. He kissed Prowl's cheek plate before during his attention back to his cube. "I've always wanted to refuel like this."

"Have you now?" Prowl asked, the corners of his mouth plates curl. "I suppose I will tolerate it then for your sake."

"Prowler, you're too good to me," his mate proclaimed. If the crowd of mechs in the rec room noticed the spectical, they saw fit to ignore it.

Sixty Years Later.

The sparkling landed on the ground by his containment berth with a soft thud. He was getting quieter at it. His carrier had raised the walls of the berth again just days ago and the little mech couldn't help but beam with pride that he had already figured out how to escape his prison. It wasn't as though the berth was not comfortable but there were better places to recharge than in a cage. With his creators was best but this was only a nap and not the dark cycle so he made do with burying himself in the great pile of plush animals piled in the corner of his room. Many attempts had been made to organize the soft toys but they always became a pile in the corner before long. He liked it best this way.

A loud clang of metal startled the sparkling awake and he almost cried with fright. Then he saw it, a black felinoid Cybertronian jumping down from the vent in the ceiling of his room. The clang had been the vent tile falling to the floor. Excitement soared over the sparkling and he sat perfectly still, watching, waiting as the felinoid walked quietly over to the empty containment berth. A soft huff of the Cassetticons vents was the only sound to be heard. Yes, he knew what this was, Blaster had them. But this one was new. It was almost too much for the sparkling to remain still as the black felinoid sniffed and otherwise surveyed his room. His patience was rewarded when the new Cassetticon made his way within a few steps of the hiding sparking. He turned his back and the sparkling pounced.

"Kitty!" The sparkling squealed as he wrapped his arms around the felinoids neck.

"Mreow!" A shrill cry echoed through the room as the Cassetticon tried to, dislodged him. Just like Blaster's symbiotes, this one did not buck or thrash viciously. Seconds later the door to his room swung open and the sparkling's carrier filled the doorway.

"Momma!" The sparkling exclaimed, letting go of the struggling felinoid and rolling onto the floor. He had gotten very good at landing off his doorwings. Another howl, and the Cassetticon shoved his way between the sparkling's creator's legs and he ran from the room. The sparkling reached his arms up, an unspoken demand to be picked up, his creator indulged him and he curled into that familiar, warm frame. He looked out into the greater room his opened onto and laughed. "Kitty!"

"Yes, Mezzo, kitty," his creator intoned with only a hint of exasperation and humour. "You were supposed to be recharging, my spark."

"Is everythin' okay?" The new mech on scene was Mezzo's sire. He wore a blue visor that matched Mezzo's. Or rather, Mezzo's matched his. The sparkling cooed happily as his sire stroked his small back, right along his back struts, between his doorwings.

"Ravage paid a visit," Momma explained. "I do believe your sparkling chased him off."

"My sparklin', is he?" His sire chuckled and scooped Mezzo from his carrier's arms. "Well, Mezzo, are ya mine?"

"Da Da Da Da!" Mezzo cheered and giggled as Dada tickled his doorwings.

"Given his propensity towards escape and mischief, yes I would say he is yours," Momma said before gently running two digits over the back of Mezzo's helm. The sparkling chirped. There was nothing he loved more than behind held between his creators.

"Just keepin' you on your toes, Prowl," Dada teased. Mezzo felt his systems dialling down into recharge. Perfect. He barely heard Momma's response.

"I do not have toes, Jazz, and you know it."

Days after the Casseticon's encounter with the young sparkling a large box was carried into the Ark by a pair of postal workers. They assured the crowd of Autobots examining the package that it had been carefully screened. There was nothing dangerous inside, only a life-sized stuffed animal. Still, once the humans left, Red Alert and Wheeljack did their own screening. They called the command team into Wheeljack's lab not long after they had opened the package.

"It looks like Ravage," Wheeljack said. The lights on his headfins flickered with humour.

"We've checked, double checked, triple checked," Red Alert explained. "I've taken fabric samples and there is nothing abnormal about it... It's just a stuffed animal... It makes no sense."

"Actually, I think it makes enough sense," Prowl commented, picking up the plushie-Ravage. "The tag did say it was a gift for Mezzo."

Prowl and Jazz walked together to their creation's berthroom. In the years Prowl had carried Mezzo, the Ark had undergone renovations. What had been two sets of officer's quarters had been turned into a private living space, a large berthroom for the mated officers, a small one for their creation, private wash racks and a living room. None of the rooms were especially large but they were enough for the new family. Their sparkling was under Bluestreak's care at the moment. The gunner was sitting on the couch as Mezzo scribbled on a large tablet. Mezzo chirped at the sight of his creators. Then he saw the plushie, and froze. Clearly, he wanted the new toy but he already knew better than to try and snatch anything from his carrier.

"This is for you, Mezzo," Prowl said, holding out the plushie-Ravage. "A gift from a mech called Soundwave."

"Kitty!" Mezzo squealed with glee and clutched the plushie, which was somewhat bigger than he, to his frame.

"I don't get it Prowl," Jazz murmured, shaking his helm. "Why give Mezzo a gift?"

"I suppose Soundwave simply likes sparklings," Prowl replied.

"Some how I don't think Ravage shares that feelin'," the Polyhexian laughed. After watching their creation play for a moment, Jazz wrapped an arm around his mate's hips and drew him in and claimed a kiss. "Primus I love you two."

"And we you."

The End.

AN: The lyrics in the order in which they appear.

George Michael: I Want Your Sex

Red Hot Chili Peppers: Sex Rap

Ray Parker Jr: Two Places at the Same Time

There you have it. This has been the longest single thing I've written in a long time. It got carried away. Apparently I cannot just write PWP. It's damnably annoying. This has been an annoying project started I don't even know how long ago while I looked at old kink-meme requests. When I got to the smut though, my muse shut off. This has happened with EVERYTHING I've been writing, thus the lack of updates on pretty much anything. Plus THIS was what my fool brain wanted to play with. But BotCon brought my muse and my inner smut peddler back to life and I wrote the better part of this fic during my time at BotCon, at the airport and on the plane.

The original thought in writing this was that the different frame-types have different reproductive cycles.

I decided Polyhexians have a rut. Old Iaconians (henceforth my name for Ironhide and Ratchet's frame-type) have a heat, Praxians have a courtship dance, Minibots build a burrow, Seekers build a nest and Insecticons? Well, they need a Queen.

I've plots formed for the above cycles. Whether I ever write them, I don't know. For now? For now I am going to try and write that last chapter in Ring Around the Rosie and put the fic to bed at last.