Mission - Catch and Release
Title: Mission - Catch and Release
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: M
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz supposed it really only was a matter of time before someone dug up the file. They’d managed to get most of the copies out of circulation immediately after the event recorded in the vid occurred, but there would always be one or two lurking about somewhere. And while he was sure no one on the Ark had a copy or even knew of the vid’s existence, with the reestablishment of contact with Cybertron that would no longer necessarily be true.
Sighing, he prodded the mech sitting frozen on the berth. Sideswipe. Of course. The Ops mech was thankful that the accompanying info on the file had been enough to persuade the Lamborghini frontliner to view its contents in the privacy of his quarters before disseminating it to the general population.
Glancing at the vid screen, Jazz sighed again and pressed replay. He didn’t want to go get Ratchet and explain why the mech was fritzed, and it would take some time for Sideswipe to come out of it on his own. Might as well occupy himself while waiting.
= = =
“What are you doing?”
The mech whirled ‘round to stare at the chevroned mech glaring at him. “Wha- How did you get past the guards, for that matter, how did you find us?!”
“Let Jazz go and I won’t take my annoyance out on you.” The black and white mech ignored their question, folding his arms, expression cold and tone brisk. When no one moved, he growled as the other black and white snickered in his bonds. “In case you didn’t realise it, I’m not about to answer you. Now release him.”
“We can’t, we need the information from him first. We can’t fail in this.”
“… And information retrieval warrants chaining a mech up and molesting him? Is that what they’re calling it now?”
“… I think he just called you kinky.”
“Wha- Take that back!”
“There is nothing wrong with admitting to alternative tastes.”
“I’m not!”
“Yet Jazz is still tied up.”
“Only because he won’t give us the info! Mech’s a slagging drone, he didn’t react to anything we did!” His captors snarled and the bound mech chuckled dryly.
“Hey, I’ve gotten more revved up from playing tech chess than getting groped by you voyeuristic glitches. Don’t blame me for your inability to rev a mech. Now, if you’re quite done feeling me up, do as he asks and let me go. Got better things to be doing than be strung up in front of a buncha pervs.”
Stung, one of his would be interrogators snapped. “Maybe we’d be better if you were a little more attractive. Hard to seduce a mech if his faceplates make you want to purge your tanks.”
“Riiiiight. No shame in admitting to being inexperienced. You’ll pick up a few things eventually. Won’t they, Prowl?”
“Oh, like he did? I’ve heard that name, he’s a drone for real and everyone knows it.”
= = =
Sideswipe roused, rebooting his optics repeatedly and shuddering, then letting out an undignified squeak when he realised Jazz was in the room and watching him, expression less than cheery. Anything the red Lamborghini could have said next was derailed when he caught sight of the screen behind the Ops mech and whimpered.
= = =
All in the room, Jazz included, startled when the sensor panelled mech spoke, voice going from businesslike to dangerous in a sparkbeat. “I do believe a demonstration is in order, just so the next individual they have to work on isn’t put through this… ineptness.”
“Prowl, wha-” The visored mech shivered, silencing mid-word when Prowl stalked to stand behind him, trailing a hand over abdominal plating before coming to rest on a black hip panel. A kiss was brushed up the back of his neck, then briefly against an audio before a smouldering look was directed at their stunned audience. “Be a good mech for me, hm?”
“… ‘kay.” Was Jazz’s breathed reply, and the tactician rumbled his approval, smiling faintly when the mech quivered against his frame from the sensation, helm dipping forward, visor dimming.
Denta nipped at the exposed cables, prompting a mewl from the dark helmed mech’s vocaliser, and as pale hands wandered across Jazz’s frame, the mech undulated, arms still bound above his helm, chassis arching as if on display. “Prowler!”
“Jazz.” The Ops mech shivered again at the tone used, as did the rest of his watchers. “This information they want, what is it?”
“Mmm, nice try, but I can’t tell you. Not supposed to, you know that.”
“I do know.” Jazz gasped as he twisted in his bonds, panting, visor flickering as Prowl caressed a sensor horn, his other hand ghosting over a headlight. His watchers shifted, growing unaccountably warm, engines starting to turn over and rev. “I also know you want to overload. That’s not going to happen until I get what I want.”
“Bet I can get you to overload me without it.” A soft, sighing litany of pleas followed, punctuated by barely stifled cries. A faint, heady subsonic pulse reverberated through the suddenly claustrophobic space, and the bots fixated on the pair shivered as they distantly registered the flare and brush of energy fields across their plating.
The tactician murmured coaxingly in a low counterpoint to the visored mech, making insinuations, suggestions of where he’d touch him next, and what he’d do after, all if Jazz would just talk. Suddenly, bringing a piercing, predatory gaze to focus on their spectators, Prowl spoke just two more words. “Overload. Now.”
Jazz flung his helm back and moaned a half choked sound of pleasure as the command shot through his audios, and the bots surrounding them dropped as the force of their overloads overwhelmed and offlined them.
= = =
The image onscreen flickered and went black as apparently even the recorder fell victim to overload. Sideswipe was still staring.
“Wha- How- When?!”
Jazz snickered, turning off the screen and pulling out the vid chip. “Lemme let you in on a little secret. Most mechs are perverted, horny fraggers with too much free time on their servos. Back when this file was made, certain bots were ‘good material’, so to speak, and the producers of such wares thought it’d be good business to cater to their tastes. So they got a few actors kitted up to look like them.”
“I… I can’t believe it. Who’d find Prowl attractive?”
“Well, glad to know you think I’m pretty. Lots of bots have a thing for our SIC, apparently, judging by how long it took to get most of the ones ‘starring’ him squished. By the way, this had better be the only copy you got, Sides’.” He waved the chip at the frontliner, who nodded frantically at the Porsche’s suddenly cool tone. The visored mech smirked, then subspaced the chip, demeanour returning to his usual friendly one.
“You should see the one they made of Optimus and the… well ‘tentacles’ is the only word I can think of to describe them, of the Matrix, that’s still making the rounds.”
“But… that makes even less sense than this!” Sideswipe stuttered, processors still reeling. The Ops mech laughed as he left the room.
“Mech, since when do you watch porn for the plot?”
= = =
“Prowl.”
“Jazz?”
“Someone found another copy of that file. Sideswipe.”
“Ah. I always expected it to show up again. Even with your colleagues suppressing it. How did he take it?”
“Well, they didn’t want anyone to find out just how we knocked them out, have to admit, s’kinda embarrassing for them. Anyway, them that saw it think it’s an ‘entertainment vid’. You are so lucky you got a rep as the most frigid mech in the universe.”
“I see no reason to correct their impression.”
“I’m glad. Was one of the best overloads I ever experienced. I’m not sharing with anyone else not in the know.”
“You do realise that was almost half of Ops before we left Cybertron?”
“We can keep a secret.”
“Hmm.”
“That time don’t count, Prowler.”
= = =
Sagging against the chains and the steady, comforting presence of his roommate (though he wouldn’t admit it, the whole situation had been rather unsettling, up until Prowl showed up, whispering a near inaudible ‘Trust me’ into his audio before working him and his captors over), Jazz sighed, drained.
“I apologise, I did not think I could handle all of them if they rushed me. I should have tried to reason with them further.” The mech shifted hesitantly, and the Ops trainee shook his head.
“S’alright, Prowl. They’re from the new batch, supposed to get some info out of one of us more senior trainees, discrete like. This group botched their entry, and decided to make sure I wouldn’t report their fumble by getting some blackmail while they got the data. They wouldn’t have listened to you.”
Prowl huffed air quietly as he reached up to pick Jazz’s cuffs. “They disabled your transmitter?”
The visored mech’s wrists came free, and he rubbed at the sore plating, nodding. The tactician trainee grumbled. “A basic tactic, but unwisely used. They aren’t very good at this, are they?”
“Well, no, not really. But s’why they’re learning. Are you hurt? How’d you find us?” Jazz checked his friend over for any damage as they left the area, not putting it past the other to brush off anything less than a torn off sensor panel. The other mech endured his scrutiny, shaking his head and sounding disgusted.
“They were careless, one of your comrades saw them grab you, but let it pass since they knew of the exercise. If this had been a real mission, they’d have been caught in breems.”
The visored mech chuckled. “Well, like you said, they aren’t very good. They just got lucky when picking their target. Not many’d be bothered if I fell off the face of the planet.”
“You do have someone who’d come looking for you, kindly remember that.”
A pause, and the Ops trainee replied, smiling. “Yeah, I do.”
More silence, then Jazz smirked. “At least I got an overload out of it. And I didn’t even have to tell you anything, you softy. … What’s that look for?”
“The coordinates are 06789.04857, and 85470.20547.”
“… Okay. How?”
“Jacked in while you were distracted, drew the data to the forefront of your processors by asking for it, and took the info once you were unable to defend against the process.” As the Ops mech stared at him, Prowl shrugged. “I could show you, if you like.”
Jazz chuckled, then rubbed at his plating with a put on grimace. “Later. Now, I need a long shower. And I want you in that shower with me.”
“I’ll contact Hound then?”
His chuckle morphed into a laugh at the tactician’s innocent look, belied by the mech’s smirk. “Maybe next time, Prowler. M’done with audiences for the cycle.”
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: M
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz supposed it really only was a matter of time before someone dug up the file. They’d managed to get most of the copies out of circulation immediately after the event recorded in the vid occurred, but there would always be one or two lurking about somewhere. And while he was sure no one on the Ark had a copy or even knew of the vid’s existence, with the reestablishment of contact with Cybertron that would no longer necessarily be true.
Sighing, he prodded the mech sitting frozen on the berth. Sideswipe. Of course. The Ops mech was thankful that the accompanying info on the file had been enough to persuade the Lamborghini frontliner to view its contents in the privacy of his quarters before disseminating it to the general population.
Glancing at the vid screen, Jazz sighed again and pressed replay. He didn’t want to go get Ratchet and explain why the mech was fritzed, and it would take some time for Sideswipe to come out of it on his own. Might as well occupy himself while waiting.
= = =
“What are you doing?”
The mech whirled ‘round to stare at the chevroned mech glaring at him. “Wha- How did you get past the guards, for that matter, how did you find us?!”
“Let Jazz go and I won’t take my annoyance out on you.” The black and white mech ignored their question, folding his arms, expression cold and tone brisk. When no one moved, he growled as the other black and white snickered in his bonds. “In case you didn’t realise it, I’m not about to answer you. Now release him.”
“We can’t, we need the information from him first. We can’t fail in this.”
“… And information retrieval warrants chaining a mech up and molesting him? Is that what they’re calling it now?”
“… I think he just called you kinky.”
“Wha- Take that back!”
“There is nothing wrong with admitting to alternative tastes.”
“I’m not!”
“Yet Jazz is still tied up.”
“Only because he won’t give us the info! Mech’s a slagging drone, he didn’t react to anything we did!” His captors snarled and the bound mech chuckled dryly.
“Hey, I’ve gotten more revved up from playing tech chess than getting groped by you voyeuristic glitches. Don’t blame me for your inability to rev a mech. Now, if you’re quite done feeling me up, do as he asks and let me go. Got better things to be doing than be strung up in front of a buncha pervs.”
Stung, one of his would be interrogators snapped. “Maybe we’d be better if you were a little more attractive. Hard to seduce a mech if his faceplates make you want to purge your tanks.”
“Riiiiight. No shame in admitting to being inexperienced. You’ll pick up a few things eventually. Won’t they, Prowl?”
“Oh, like he did? I’ve heard that name, he’s a drone for real and everyone knows it.”
= = =
Sideswipe roused, rebooting his optics repeatedly and shuddering, then letting out an undignified squeak when he realised Jazz was in the room and watching him, expression less than cheery. Anything the red Lamborghini could have said next was derailed when he caught sight of the screen behind the Ops mech and whimpered.
= = =
All in the room, Jazz included, startled when the sensor panelled mech spoke, voice going from businesslike to dangerous in a sparkbeat. “I do believe a demonstration is in order, just so the next individual they have to work on isn’t put through this… ineptness.”
“Prowl, wha-” The visored mech shivered, silencing mid-word when Prowl stalked to stand behind him, trailing a hand over abdominal plating before coming to rest on a black hip panel. A kiss was brushed up the back of his neck, then briefly against an audio before a smouldering look was directed at their stunned audience. “Be a good mech for me, hm?”
“… ‘kay.” Was Jazz’s breathed reply, and the tactician rumbled his approval, smiling faintly when the mech quivered against his frame from the sensation, helm dipping forward, visor dimming.
Denta nipped at the exposed cables, prompting a mewl from the dark helmed mech’s vocaliser, and as pale hands wandered across Jazz’s frame, the mech undulated, arms still bound above his helm, chassis arching as if on display. “Prowler!”
“Jazz.” The Ops mech shivered again at the tone used, as did the rest of his watchers. “This information they want, what is it?”
“Mmm, nice try, but I can’t tell you. Not supposed to, you know that.”
“I do know.” Jazz gasped as he twisted in his bonds, panting, visor flickering as Prowl caressed a sensor horn, his other hand ghosting over a headlight. His watchers shifted, growing unaccountably warm, engines starting to turn over and rev. “I also know you want to overload. That’s not going to happen until I get what I want.”
“Bet I can get you to overload me without it.” A soft, sighing litany of pleas followed, punctuated by barely stifled cries. A faint, heady subsonic pulse reverberated through the suddenly claustrophobic space, and the bots fixated on the pair shivered as they distantly registered the flare and brush of energy fields across their plating.
The tactician murmured coaxingly in a low counterpoint to the visored mech, making insinuations, suggestions of where he’d touch him next, and what he’d do after, all if Jazz would just talk. Suddenly, bringing a piercing, predatory gaze to focus on their spectators, Prowl spoke just two more words. “Overload. Now.”
Jazz flung his helm back and moaned a half choked sound of pleasure as the command shot through his audios, and the bots surrounding them dropped as the force of their overloads overwhelmed and offlined them.
= = =
The image onscreen flickered and went black as apparently even the recorder fell victim to overload. Sideswipe was still staring.
“Wha- How- When?!”
Jazz snickered, turning off the screen and pulling out the vid chip. “Lemme let you in on a little secret. Most mechs are perverted, horny fraggers with too much free time on their servos. Back when this file was made, certain bots were ‘good material’, so to speak, and the producers of such wares thought it’d be good business to cater to their tastes. So they got a few actors kitted up to look like them.”
“I… I can’t believe it. Who’d find Prowl attractive?”
“Well, glad to know you think I’m pretty. Lots of bots have a thing for our SIC, apparently, judging by how long it took to get most of the ones ‘starring’ him squished. By the way, this had better be the only copy you got, Sides’.” He waved the chip at the frontliner, who nodded frantically at the Porsche’s suddenly cool tone. The visored mech smirked, then subspaced the chip, demeanour returning to his usual friendly one.
“You should see the one they made of Optimus and the… well ‘tentacles’ is the only word I can think of to describe them, of the Matrix, that’s still making the rounds.”
“But… that makes even less sense than this!” Sideswipe stuttered, processors still reeling. The Ops mech laughed as he left the room.
“Mech, since when do you watch porn for the plot?”
= = =
“Prowl.”
“Jazz?”
“Someone found another copy of that file. Sideswipe.”
“Ah. I always expected it to show up again. Even with your colleagues suppressing it. How did he take it?”
“Well, they didn’t want anyone to find out just how we knocked them out, have to admit, s’kinda embarrassing for them. Anyway, them that saw it think it’s an ‘entertainment vid’. You are so lucky you got a rep as the most frigid mech in the universe.”
“I see no reason to correct their impression.”
“I’m glad. Was one of the best overloads I ever experienced. I’m not sharing with anyone else not in the know.”
“You do realise that was almost half of Ops before we left Cybertron?”
“We can keep a secret.”
“Hmm.”
“That time don’t count, Prowler.”
= = =
Sagging against the chains and the steady, comforting presence of his roommate (though he wouldn’t admit it, the whole situation had been rather unsettling, up until Prowl showed up, whispering a near inaudible ‘Trust me’ into his audio before working him and his captors over), Jazz sighed, drained.
“I apologise, I did not think I could handle all of them if they rushed me. I should have tried to reason with them further.” The mech shifted hesitantly, and the Ops trainee shook his head.
“S’alright, Prowl. They’re from the new batch, supposed to get some info out of one of us more senior trainees, discrete like. This group botched their entry, and decided to make sure I wouldn’t report their fumble by getting some blackmail while they got the data. They wouldn’t have listened to you.”
Prowl huffed air quietly as he reached up to pick Jazz’s cuffs. “They disabled your transmitter?”
The visored mech’s wrists came free, and he rubbed at the sore plating, nodding. The tactician trainee grumbled. “A basic tactic, but unwisely used. They aren’t very good at this, are they?”
“Well, no, not really. But s’why they’re learning. Are you hurt? How’d you find us?” Jazz checked his friend over for any damage as they left the area, not putting it past the other to brush off anything less than a torn off sensor panel. The other mech endured his scrutiny, shaking his head and sounding disgusted.
“They were careless, one of your comrades saw them grab you, but let it pass since they knew of the exercise. If this had been a real mission, they’d have been caught in breems.”
The visored mech chuckled. “Well, like you said, they aren’t very good. They just got lucky when picking their target. Not many’d be bothered if I fell off the face of the planet.”
“You do have someone who’d come looking for you, kindly remember that.”
A pause, and the Ops trainee replied, smiling. “Yeah, I do.”
More silence, then Jazz smirked. “At least I got an overload out of it. And I didn’t even have to tell you anything, you softy. … What’s that look for?”
“The coordinates are 06789.04857, and 85470.20547.”
“… Okay. How?”
“Jacked in while you were distracted, drew the data to the forefront of your processors by asking for it, and took the info once you were unable to defend against the process.” As the Ops mech stared at him, Prowl shrugged. “I could show you, if you like.”
Jazz chuckled, then rubbed at his plating with a put on grimace. “Later. Now, I need a long shower. And I want you in that shower with me.”
“I’ll contact Hound then?”
His chuckle morphed into a laugh at the tactician’s innocent look, belied by the mech’s smirk. “Maybe next time, Prowler. M’done with audiences for the cycle.”