[FIC] Can’t Say No, 2/? (Transformers, Jazz/Prowl, NC-17)
Title: “Can’t Say No”
Author: Lola Hard
Beta: StormDracona
Pairing: Jazz/Prowl (G1 universe)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bad language, violence, slash (mech/mech), graphic sex (of a sticky and spark-merging kind), dub/non-con, bondage
Genre: Romance/Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Summary: How do you know if it’s real love when your malfunction simply doesn’t allow you to say ‘no’? Prowl has a big problem, and Jazz’s affection for him isn’t helping things… A challenge fic written for the Transformers Kink Meme.
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, and only partially own the plot… Not much, but still, I’m a happy writer :)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Prowl had honestly thought he had everything under control. He had been absolutely sure he could deal with any challenge his life as a second-in-command could throw at him.
Then the first bomb dropped.
Because, how do you call a situation where you find yourself away from your base, in a deserted canyon, with your hands magnet-cuffed above your helmet to a rusty fuselage of a crashed human airplane, and your team’s third-in-command looming over you?
Waves of arousing heat were coming from Jazz, and Prowl didn’t need to see past that visor to know the saboteur’s optics were wild with desire and focused only on him, their faces inches from each other.
“I have a theory, Prowl, correct me if I’m wrong,” Jazz began in a low hoarse voice that sent shivers down Prowl’s spine cord. “You ain’t a social figure. Ya snap at every living spark that crosses the threshold of yer office. Ya seem ta be a lone cyber-wolf… But are ya really one? How come a handsome mech like you has no lovers?” Jazz’s hands brushed Prowl’s chest plates, making his knee joints grow weak. “Maybe ya just haven’t met a mech yet who’d give ya what ya really want?” The saboteur’s body leaned into Prowl, pushing him slowly and firmly against the discolored side of the broken machine that would never fly again. “The way I see it, ya just don’t want cautious an’ ya don’t want courteous- Ya want someone who’d come and take their prize, and that prize is you… Am I right?”
The last sentence was barely a whisper, and Prowl felt his spark pulsing inside his chest rapidly, frantically, madly. He could feel Jazz’s mouth lightly tracing his jaw line, but couldn’t produce even a small sound, his systems unable to function straight. What the slag was Jazz talking about? This was insane; he wasn’t making any sense...!
“Say no…” Jazz’s lustful voice caressed Prowl’s audios, and those excruciating lips were on his throat, cutting off the air circulation in his vents with only the faintest of touches. “Just one word, Prowl, an’ I’ll back off.”
Slag, no! The tactician’s processor screamed mutely.
But he couldn’t bring this sound into existence.
“Ah-!” his vocalizer hissed. To Prowl’s utter shock and embarrassment, his hips rocked forward pleadingly, making Jazz moan into his neck. This couldn’t be happening… And yet it was.
“…Yes…” the tactician finally breathed.
Next thing Prowl knew, Jazz was all over him.
Those hands were maddening, running circles on his sides, and Prowl growled heatedly, pressing closer into that hot body, crazy and hungry. Now he was kissing, and Jazz was gasping against him, opening that sweet mouth and offering his glossa to play with. Oh, Saint Matrix, this wasn’t right, he couldn’t be doing this…! And yet he was.
Jazz gripped Prowl’s hips with strong hands and tugged them to himself possessively, pushing their cod-pieces even closer together. With a desperate moan, Prowl wrapped his legs around the saboteur, meeting him halfway. Jazz’s mouth formed a silent shocked ‘oh’ at the sensation, and his head fell back for a moment in bliss, the action erotic and breathtaking. Yesss…
They were now grinding against each other and scratching the front of their armor in a savage excuse for foreplay. Two black palms cupped Prowl’s aft and gave it a squeeze that made his entire lower half tremble as a hot wave of lust rolled through him. Prowl’s valve wanted to be filled with this mech that had dominated him; his spark craved for that energy that was pulsing under the saboteur’s chest plates.
As though reading his thoughts, Jazz broke their hungry kiss to rasp out shortly and demandingly, “Open up.”
It was as if Prowl’s processor had been programmed to obey each and every order that fell from those lips. Before he could react, his chest plates slid apart, exposing the soft blue glow of his pulsing and twitching center. Jazz mirrored his actions, and they both were engulfed in the combined light of their sparks. Not loosing another moment, Jazz pressed their chests together, causing the first electric charge between their sparks, before their energies started merging and twining. Simultaneously, the saboteur gripped Prowl’s hips tighter, holding him in place with Prowl’s legs firmly wrapped around his hips, and let his spike extend, smoothly entering the submissive mech’s valve in the same movement…
They both stilled for a second, finally connected with each other, and then the two pleasure filled groans ripped themselves from their throats in chorus.
Prowl was experiencing an intoxicating feeling of finally coming home. The places where their bodies were touching seemed to burn. It had been so long since he’d been this close to another mech; he’d forgotten what it felt like. He’d wanted to cry, to stop it, to get his hands free and push Jazz away - but this felt so good, he couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to do all that in the first place…
And then Jazz pulled out of him, and entered him again, starting a slow rhythm.
Primus…
This feeling of being filled completely, in more than one way… He could feel the energy from Jazz’s spark flowing through his circuits, tingling teasingly in the smallest knots of his nervous grid; he could feel tremors going through Jazz’s hips each time he went so deep into him; he could feel Jazz’s teeth grazing his neck so, so carefully, and he couldn’t help the desperate whines and moans that were being ignited in his throat.
“Sweet Matrix, yer so hot like this, Prowl…” Jazz whispered huskily into his audio, and the tactician found himself drowning in another wave of arousal at that intimate sound. “Yer drivin’ me crazy… can ya feel it?”
Prowl’s chest was on fire, his body penetrated and charged with Jazz’s energy and ready to explode, and now every stroke of Jazz’s spike was sending small electric shocks into the deepest part of his valve. “Ooohhh…” Prowl half-groaned half-cried at the feeling, unable to hold back.
Jazz growled softly into his neck, his mouth attached to the sensitive wiring there, pushing harder and faster into him. “Make that sound again, Prowl… please…”
And Prowl couldn’t not do it. He moaned, and mewled, and cried, until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Together… now,” Jazz muttered, and after two more thrusts they became an electric unity, buzzing and crackling, screaming and shrieking their almost painful dual release, their optics unseeing, bodies spasming…
The electrical surge shorted Prowl’s magnetic cuffs, and his arms fell limply to his sides. The two mechs sank to the ground, Jazz still pressing Prowl to himself with the last remnants of his strength.
In a tangle of weakened limbs, they both off lined immediately.
* * *
Jazz had honestly thought he had everything figured out. He had been absolutely sure he knew his teammates better than they knew themselves.
Slag.
On his lonesome way back to the Autobot base he’d been wondering what in the Pit had made Prowl run away from him. Was he that bad of a lay, or had Prowl forgotten to turn off the energon machine in his office...?
Jokes aside, this was not cool. Not cool at all. After the fantastic overload he and Prowl had experienced before, one would think something would change between the two of them for the better. And yet, when the saboteur had regained his consciousness and on lined his optics, he’d found the second-in-command lying on top of him with an unreadable look on his handsome face. Jazz had decided he could really get used to waking up like that…
“Hey, baby,” he’d whispered with a smile, and reached one hand towards Prowl’s cheek. But before he could touch the warm metal of his lover’s skin Prowl had bolted to his feet, trembling, his body language speaking of panic and fear. This was not the reaction Jazz had been aiming for. The saboteur had opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Prowl was already transforming and racing away in the unknown direction as if the entire fleet of Decepticon seekers were shooting all their arsenal at him.
Before he knew it, Jazz had been left in the desert alone and confused before heading on his way back to the base.
He kept guessing sullenly until he reached the Ark, and ran into Bumblebee in the hall. The minibot looked at him strangely, then grabbed him with both arms and practically hauled him into the yellow Autobot’s private quarters.
“’the slag’s with ya, ‘Bee?” Jazz grumbled, not in the best of moods for any kinds of pranks or jokes.
The minibot closed the door and turned to the black-and-white ‘bot; there was no usual peacefulness in his gaze.
“A better question, Jazz,” he muttered. “’the slag’s with you? It’s rare that you and Prowl get a mission assignment together from Optimus, but it’s even rarer that Prowl cuts his duty short with no particular reason. He came back from your pair patrol not fifteen breems ago, and without his partner, might I add,” the way Bumblebee said it made it clear he meant Jazz. “He was lucky I was the only one to see him barge into the base with wild optics and scratched chest plates, and his state actually made me question his well-being. And you know what? I think I know what happened,” he poked an accusing finger into Jazz’s chest.
The saboteur was speechless. He raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. “Now, wait a click, bud. I’m not followin’ ya here.”
“How far did you go?” Bumblebee quickly asked.
“Huh?” The black-and-white mech tried to understand what was going on. “Whatcha talkin’ about, ‘Bee?”
“Did you interface with him? Yes or no,” the minibot demanded.
“…Yes, I did!” Jazz finally said with irritation, his voice getting a bit louder. “But this ain’t yer business, an’ I don’t see how-”
The usually cheerful ‘Bee suddenly swearing a blue streak cut Jazz’s words off.
A pause followed, and then the explanation. Bumblebee told him everything.
And Jazz found out just how much he didn’t know about his teammates, especially Prowl. And he found out he might have just forced himself onto the person he was in love with…
Slag…
End of Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Author: Lola Hard
Beta: StormDracona
Pairing: Jazz/Prowl (G1 universe)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bad language, violence, slash (mech/mech), graphic sex (of a sticky and spark-merging kind), dub/non-con, bondage
Genre: Romance/Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Summary: How do you know if it’s real love when your malfunction simply doesn’t allow you to say ‘no’? Prowl has a big problem, and Jazz’s affection for him isn’t helping things… A challenge fic written for the Transformers Kink Meme.
Disclaimer: Don’t own the characters, and only partially own the plot… Not much, but still, I’m a happy writer :)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Prowl had honestly thought he had everything under control. He had been absolutely sure he could deal with any challenge his life as a second-in-command could throw at him.
Then the first bomb dropped.
Because, how do you call a situation where you find yourself away from your base, in a deserted canyon, with your hands magnet-cuffed above your helmet to a rusty fuselage of a crashed human airplane, and your team’s third-in-command looming over you?
Waves of arousing heat were coming from Jazz, and Prowl didn’t need to see past that visor to know the saboteur’s optics were wild with desire and focused only on him, their faces inches from each other.
“I have a theory, Prowl, correct me if I’m wrong,” Jazz began in a low hoarse voice that sent shivers down Prowl’s spine cord. “You ain’t a social figure. Ya snap at every living spark that crosses the threshold of yer office. Ya seem ta be a lone cyber-wolf… But are ya really one? How come a handsome mech like you has no lovers?” Jazz’s hands brushed Prowl’s chest plates, making his knee joints grow weak. “Maybe ya just haven’t met a mech yet who’d give ya what ya really want?” The saboteur’s body leaned into Prowl, pushing him slowly and firmly against the discolored side of the broken machine that would never fly again. “The way I see it, ya just don’t want cautious an’ ya don’t want courteous- Ya want someone who’d come and take their prize, and that prize is you… Am I right?”
The last sentence was barely a whisper, and Prowl felt his spark pulsing inside his chest rapidly, frantically, madly. He could feel Jazz’s mouth lightly tracing his jaw line, but couldn’t produce even a small sound, his systems unable to function straight. What the slag was Jazz talking about? This was insane; he wasn’t making any sense...!
“Say no…” Jazz’s lustful voice caressed Prowl’s audios, and those excruciating lips were on his throat, cutting off the air circulation in his vents with only the faintest of touches. “Just one word, Prowl, an’ I’ll back off.”
Slag, no! The tactician’s processor screamed mutely.
But he couldn’t bring this sound into existence.
“Ah-!” his vocalizer hissed. To Prowl’s utter shock and embarrassment, his hips rocked forward pleadingly, making Jazz moan into his neck. This couldn’t be happening… And yet it was.
“…Yes…” the tactician finally breathed.
Next thing Prowl knew, Jazz was all over him.
Those hands were maddening, running circles on his sides, and Prowl growled heatedly, pressing closer into that hot body, crazy and hungry. Now he was kissing, and Jazz was gasping against him, opening that sweet mouth and offering his glossa to play with. Oh, Saint Matrix, this wasn’t right, he couldn’t be doing this…! And yet he was.
Jazz gripped Prowl’s hips with strong hands and tugged them to himself possessively, pushing their cod-pieces even closer together. With a desperate moan, Prowl wrapped his legs around the saboteur, meeting him halfway. Jazz’s mouth formed a silent shocked ‘oh’ at the sensation, and his head fell back for a moment in bliss, the action erotic and breathtaking. Yesss…
They were now grinding against each other and scratching the front of their armor in a savage excuse for foreplay. Two black palms cupped Prowl’s aft and gave it a squeeze that made his entire lower half tremble as a hot wave of lust rolled through him. Prowl’s valve wanted to be filled with this mech that had dominated him; his spark craved for that energy that was pulsing under the saboteur’s chest plates.
As though reading his thoughts, Jazz broke their hungry kiss to rasp out shortly and demandingly, “Open up.”
It was as if Prowl’s processor had been programmed to obey each and every order that fell from those lips. Before he could react, his chest plates slid apart, exposing the soft blue glow of his pulsing and twitching center. Jazz mirrored his actions, and they both were engulfed in the combined light of their sparks. Not loosing another moment, Jazz pressed their chests together, causing the first electric charge between their sparks, before their energies started merging and twining. Simultaneously, the saboteur gripped Prowl’s hips tighter, holding him in place with Prowl’s legs firmly wrapped around his hips, and let his spike extend, smoothly entering the submissive mech’s valve in the same movement…
They both stilled for a second, finally connected with each other, and then the two pleasure filled groans ripped themselves from their throats in chorus.
Prowl was experiencing an intoxicating feeling of finally coming home. The places where their bodies were touching seemed to burn. It had been so long since he’d been this close to another mech; he’d forgotten what it felt like. He’d wanted to cry, to stop it, to get his hands free and push Jazz away - but this felt so good, he couldn’t remember why he’d wanted to do all that in the first place…
And then Jazz pulled out of him, and entered him again, starting a slow rhythm.
Primus…
This feeling of being filled completely, in more than one way… He could feel the energy from Jazz’s spark flowing through his circuits, tingling teasingly in the smallest knots of his nervous grid; he could feel tremors going through Jazz’s hips each time he went so deep into him; he could feel Jazz’s teeth grazing his neck so, so carefully, and he couldn’t help the desperate whines and moans that were being ignited in his throat.
“Sweet Matrix, yer so hot like this, Prowl…” Jazz whispered huskily into his audio, and the tactician found himself drowning in another wave of arousal at that intimate sound. “Yer drivin’ me crazy… can ya feel it?”
Prowl’s chest was on fire, his body penetrated and charged with Jazz’s energy and ready to explode, and now every stroke of Jazz’s spike was sending small electric shocks into the deepest part of his valve. “Ooohhh…” Prowl half-groaned half-cried at the feeling, unable to hold back.
Jazz growled softly into his neck, his mouth attached to the sensitive wiring there, pushing harder and faster into him. “Make that sound again, Prowl… please…”
And Prowl couldn’t not do it. He moaned, and mewled, and cried, until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Together… now,” Jazz muttered, and after two more thrusts they became an electric unity, buzzing and crackling, screaming and shrieking their almost painful dual release, their optics unseeing, bodies spasming…
The electrical surge shorted Prowl’s magnetic cuffs, and his arms fell limply to his sides. The two mechs sank to the ground, Jazz still pressing Prowl to himself with the last remnants of his strength.
In a tangle of weakened limbs, they both off lined immediately.
* * *
Jazz had honestly thought he had everything figured out. He had been absolutely sure he knew his teammates better than they knew themselves.
Slag.
On his lonesome way back to the Autobot base he’d been wondering what in the Pit had made Prowl run away from him. Was he that bad of a lay, or had Prowl forgotten to turn off the energon machine in his office...?
Jokes aside, this was not cool. Not cool at all. After the fantastic overload he and Prowl had experienced before, one would think something would change between the two of them for the better. And yet, when the saboteur had regained his consciousness and on lined his optics, he’d found the second-in-command lying on top of him with an unreadable look on his handsome face. Jazz had decided he could really get used to waking up like that…
“Hey, baby,” he’d whispered with a smile, and reached one hand towards Prowl’s cheek. But before he could touch the warm metal of his lover’s skin Prowl had bolted to his feet, trembling, his body language speaking of panic and fear. This was not the reaction Jazz had been aiming for. The saboteur had opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Prowl was already transforming and racing away in the unknown direction as if the entire fleet of Decepticon seekers were shooting all their arsenal at him.
Before he knew it, Jazz had been left in the desert alone and confused before heading on his way back to the base.
He kept guessing sullenly until he reached the Ark, and ran into Bumblebee in the hall. The minibot looked at him strangely, then grabbed him with both arms and practically hauled him into the yellow Autobot’s private quarters.
“’the slag’s with ya, ‘Bee?” Jazz grumbled, not in the best of moods for any kinds of pranks or jokes.
The minibot closed the door and turned to the black-and-white ‘bot; there was no usual peacefulness in his gaze.
“A better question, Jazz,” he muttered. “’the slag’s with you? It’s rare that you and Prowl get a mission assignment together from Optimus, but it’s even rarer that Prowl cuts his duty short with no particular reason. He came back from your pair patrol not fifteen breems ago, and without his partner, might I add,” the way Bumblebee said it made it clear he meant Jazz. “He was lucky I was the only one to see him barge into the base with wild optics and scratched chest plates, and his state actually made me question his well-being. And you know what? I think I know what happened,” he poked an accusing finger into Jazz’s chest.
The saboteur was speechless. He raised both hands in a peaceful gesture. “Now, wait a click, bud. I’m not followin’ ya here.”
“How far did you go?” Bumblebee quickly asked.
“Huh?” The black-and-white mech tried to understand what was going on. “Whatcha talkin’ about, ‘Bee?”
“Did you interface with him? Yes or no,” the minibot demanded.
“…Yes, I did!” Jazz finally said with irritation, his voice getting a bit louder. “But this ain’t yer business, an’ I don’t see how-”
The usually cheerful ‘Bee suddenly swearing a blue streak cut Jazz’s words off.
A pause followed, and then the explanation. Bumblebee told him everything.
And Jazz found out just how much he didn’t know about his teammates, especially Prowl. And he found out he might have just forced himself onto the person he was in love with…
Slag…
End of Chapter 2
Chapter 3