When an agitated Optimus came up on the screen, Megatron had told him Jazz had died during the interrogation and that there was very little left that was salvageable.

All of the Decepticons believed him to be dead.

Just two knew different.

Hook had agreed to fixing Jazz in private for Prowl, and promised that he'd keep his mouth shut. What Prowl wanted Prowl got, and the lengths he would go to were astounding. So, now that he was entirely repaired and all of his internal organs replaced and functioning, Jazz stayed in Prowls quarters.

Prowls' quarters wasn't a place people went willingly. They were either kicking and screaming as they were dragged in, or incredibly overcharged and shoved in by mechs with a vengeance. Prowl made sure that Jazz couldn't leave. He had put a collar around his neck, full of explosives that were rigged to blow if he tried to take off the collar or walk out of the door to his quarters. It was black and thick, and it made Jazz look incredibly cute in Prowls opinion. He almost felt dirty with what he did to Jazz.

Almost.

He enjoyed what he did immensely, and the fact that it was his and his alone to enjoy just made it all that much better.

Prowl kept Jazz well fuelled, the third time Jazz went into stasis from low energy was just insulting, and gave him free movement through his quarters (which, due to him being an officer, were his and his alone and rather large) and regular overloads.

Jazz still acted like Meister did, curling up to Prowls side while they were in berth together, and he made no attempts to escape (the first time the collar detonated told him loud and clear that it was not a good idea and was in fact rather painful and traumatic). He complied with Prowls wishes and spent most of his time recharging and reading datapads from Prowls shelves.

It was currently day time, so Prowl was in his office ploughing through datapad after datapad and absorbing data to formulate a plan to get the energy they needed. His mind was wandering towards the black and white mech in his quarters who, right now, was probably still in recharge. He purred and licked his lips, the taste of the other mechs energon still on them. Did he feel guilty for biting him so hard he drew energon? No. Absolutely not. The sound Jazz made just served to excite him further and he drew energon in more than just one place. After, Jazz was understandably annoyed with him however he simply went to recharge instead of swatting him around the head. The last time he'd done that he'd waved goodbye to his hands. The only reason he got them back was because he had gotten down on his knees and begged.

Begged and pleaded like a mech pleaded for his life.

Jazz was well aware that he would only live as long as Prowls interest in him did. The moment it started to wane was the moment Jazz would see his life flash before his eyes. He would be cast aside like a spoilt child threw away a broken toy.

Right now, however, he was curled up on Prowls berth in recharge. When he woke up again, he knew that he wouldn't want to move (and he couldn't – Prowl had made sure of that earlier) so he'd indulge himself in some well-earned laze in time.

When Prowl returned from his shift, Jazz was laying on the berth in a way that showed off his frame and he was tracing shapes onto the berth surface. The thick black collar made the 'look' for Prowl and he couldn't stop the rev of his engine. Jazz shyly glanced upwards before flicking his optics back down again. His visor was long gone, shattered when the collar first exploded and Hook didn't replace it. Prowl saw every single that his scarred optics made, and he was one of the only living mechs that had ever seen them. Jazz hated that he was without his visor, as he had spent the vast majority of his life with it permanently in place, however he didn't want to be punished by Prowl for asking if he could have it back. So partially blind he stayed.

The datsun advanced towards his captive, slipping into the berth next to him. He reached out and stroked a hand down Jazz's thigh, watching with hooded optics as Jazz shuddered and his tracings faltered slightly.

Jazz looked up at Prowl and spotted a doorwing. He leaned forwards and started tracing patterns on it, pressing his thigh into Prowls hand and gently kissing him like one would a long-time lover. Prowl shuddered under the attention, still not quite used to having anyone touch his doorwings tenderly, and pushed back into the kiss, biting down on Jazz's bottom lip harshly, taking care to avoid the wound he had made earlier. Jazz gasped and Prowl stole the opportunity to tangle their glossas together, quickly rolling over so that Jazz was underneath him.

Just where he wanted him.

Jazz stopped tracing designs on his doorwings in favour of running his hands along the span of them, utilising the mag pulses in his hands over the more sensitive areas. Prowl groaned into the kiss, pressing his doorwings into Jazz's talented hands and tightening his grip on Jazz's thigh so that the metal crumpled under his hand. The mech growled out but did nothing more. Prowl smirked and with his other hand he started stroking the mech's audial horn, relishing in the moans he drew from the mech beneath him. Primus, but he couldn't get enough of them. When he began to grind his hips against the others, he was delighted to find that Jazz grinded back against him. Purring into his mouth, he removed his hand from the audial horn and began slowly sliding it down his body towards his panel, tapping on it in a silent order. Open.

Jazz obliged with only a seconds hesitation.

Prowl wasted no time in ravishing the exposed area, but not quite giving Jazz what he needed to be pushed over the edge. This frustrated the mech, who was reduced to a whimpering mess that could only beg and plead for release. Prowl loved it when Jazz did this and so he, obviously, did not give the mech what he wanted until he'd had his fill.

By the time the black and white pair lay side by side, exhausted by their activities, Jazz was panting heavily as his cooling fans worked over time, desperately trying to expel the heat in his frame to a more manageable level. Prowl wasn't much better, however he wasn't sporting dents and bite marks on his hips, thighs, waist and neck. There was a stray bite mark on his berthmates shoulder, and he didn't remember inflicting it. How troublesome – he'd have to correct that.

Despite the fact his thighs and hips were still stained, wet and sticky with different fluids, including energon from a place energon should not be coming from, Jazz was content to just roll over and, as usual, snuggle up to Prowl and fall into recharge.

Originally requested by Lair of the Twisted Muses, and MoonWallker asked for more!