And then it didn't even turn out as cracky as I was expecting! The nerve! ;P
Title: Reasons Jazz Is A Lucky Mech, #248
Author: Moonbeam's Predilections
Fandom: Transformers G1
Genre: Humour, Romance
Word Count: 1,052 words this part, 2,921 words total (so far)
Part 1: In which Jazz learns what the Decepticons are getting up to when they're not causing trouble.
Part 2: In which Jazz learns that Seekers ain't the only ones with quirky programming.
Reasons Jazz Is A Lucky Mech, #248: Part 3/7
When the heat hit the Praxians, they still weren’t ready for it despite spending the last orn and a half getting prepared. Bluestreak had been outside shooting target practice when it came over him, and as predicted, he wound up hunting down the twins in his search for a mate. Unfortunately, the twins happened to be in the common room playing games with some other mechs when he did. The resulting commotion would surely be recorded and replayed for vorns to come, if only for the expression on Sunstreaker’s face when the grey Praxian came running in and pounced right onto him with a full-body tackle.
Or it would have, had anyone been manning the security cameras in the control room. Smokescreen, however, had been overcome by his own heat period just astroseconds before and, in a surprising turn, had snagged Inferno along the way and was even now avidly distracting the Security Director from his duties.
Jazz, on the other hand, was easy to find when Prowl succumbed to his demanding coding. The special operations commander had made it his personal mission to never be too far away from the tactician while they waited for the breeding cycle to begin. He was in Prowl’s quarters at the time, working with the Second-in-Command on long-term plans for dealing with the inevitable upcoming sparklings.
The heat cycle kicked in quickly. The first thing Prowl noticed at its onset actually had nothing to do with either the nagging arousal or subsequent temperature control problems that were such classic symptoms of a Vosian or Praxian ready to breed. Rather, it was the sudden sharpening of the sensory receptors in his doorwings as they locked on to Jazz’s presence. The narrowing focus of his sensory network to what had always been familiar background stimuli was intense enough to draw him out of his work.
He lifted his helm and immediately sought out Jazz in the chair across the desk from him. The moment his optics lit on the other black and white, all other thoughts faded.
It was like he’d never seen the mech before. The white in his plating gleamed it was so bright, while the black dazzled like a night sky full of stars. Prowl could not tear his optics away. Every feature, every angle, every long smooth line drew his gaze hungrily until he’d traced every inch of his prospective mate’s form.
More than anything though, was how he’d never before noticed how much Jazz glowed.
A brilliant glittering aura encompassed the oblivious Ops mech. Seeming to shine with strength of Jazz’s lifeforce, it flared brightest right over his spark. Prowl was captivated! He quivered with the desire to touch that technicolour field, to immerse in the promised light and warmth of Jazz’s coveted spark.
Without any conscious control, Prowl felt his own electromagnetic field shifting to harmonize with that of his mate’s.
Jazz stilled, pausing in place as he suddenly became aware of the changed atmosphere. Then he looked up.
Prowl’s internal fans kicked on with a thunk. The blue glow behind Jazz’s visor, normally already bright with mischief and the joy of life that so embodied the spy, seemed to be amplified until it lit his entire face from within. The effect was beautiful (he was beautiful!) but Prowl felt a moment’s disappointment. He longed to see Jazz’s optics, to see his desire reflected back in those so expressive crystals as he’d become used to since that fateful conversation just over an orn ago.
As if he was reading his mind, Jazz’s visor retracted and the mech smiled. Wide, open, welcoming – that smile invited Prowl to anything he wanted with the assurance it would be given freely and happily.
With a moan wrenched from his spark chamber, Prowl was up out of his seat and clambering across the desk before his cortex finished giving the order to move. Heedless of the clank of his chair falling over, of the datapads being crushed under his knees, he crawled right into Jazz’s lap.
“Oh, Prowler, “ Jazz’s voice grated out rough with want. “If this is what heat always feels like, no wonder no one can resist you mechs. Can I...? I want to touch you...”
His plating itched, it longed so desperately for Jazz’s touch. “Please!” he cried. And then arms were around him, Jazz’s hands gripping his waist and holding him tight.
Prowl struck. He curled his arms around Jazz’s neck and yanked him into a scorching kiss. Jazz responded eagerly, his hands sliding sinuously up his back and going straight for his doorwings. He brushed teasing caresses all over the extremely sensitive sensory panels and bent his head to nip his neck.
Prowl writhed with pleasure. His whole body was on fire, the very energon in his lines aflame with need. He pressed as close as possible to the other mech, grinding their chests together as he sampled whatever part of his mate he could reach with hands or glossa.
Jazz, too, was not idle. Clever fingers skipped and skated along his body, dipping into crevices and creases to flick and fondle. Each touch sent an arrow of pleasure straight to his spark, simultaneously soothing his need for contact and making him burn with greater want for more. Prowl encouraged it all, leaning into each stroke and returning it for one of his own. Their synchronized electrical fields mingled and mixed around and within them both, enhancing the experience like nothing they’d ever felt before.
Jazz groaned as Prowl rubbed against him, his dextrous hands seeking out and stimulating all the hidden sensory nodes within and just under his flexible plating. It felt good to Prowl as well, this giving of pleasure back to the mate who was so talented at eliciting it from him. He was proud to be able to return the affections, to kiss and lick and touch his mate, and mark him worthy. As he himself was being marked.
“Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, Jazz...” Nothing else mattered to Prowl in this moment, nothing but getting closer to his mate. Closer than even the solid press of their bodies, the tangle of their electromagnetic fields. There was something else he needed, something he was missing. Something, the only thing that would complete him and salve the heat cycle.
To Be Continued... in Part 4!