Okay, so I finished before I went to bed.
Title: What You Don't Know.
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Mechs touchin' themselves.
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz (You know the drill with these two).
Characters: Prowl, Jazz. Mention of Chromia.
Summary: AU - Partly using Dreamwave's comics as basis. A re imagination of Cybertron's society where the line dividing slaves from nobles is so thin.
Notes: Because I've kept you waiting for this scene for a long while now.
He wanted to run. He wanted to turn around, ignore the mech sitting in the plush chair before him, and run as far away from his home as he could. He wanted these conflictive emotions to go away, he wanted his life to be simple again, to go back to being in the background and ignored by his parents. He wanted his life to be simple once more. He wanted to go back to being a sparkling, when things such as love and attraction were concepts that never crossed his processors. He wanted to go back to look at Jazz and not feel a tug in his spark, telling him he was the mech for him.
Jazz watched his master standing stiffly at the door of his quarters, his expression unreadable, and his optics dim, almost tired. The performer half wondered if his master was in the process of locking up again. Jazz shifted to stand up, intending to approach Prowl to make sure he wouldn't lock up, but his movement earned him a reaction as Prowl's wings twitched just a little and his foot shifted to his side the smallest bit. "Sir?" Jazz asked softly, still uncertain whether Prowl would be all right or not.
"Yes?" Prowl managed an answer, even though right now offlining seemed like a very, very appealing option.
"Are ya all right?" the concern in Jazz's voice made things all the more difficult for Prowl to deal with.
"I'm fine," Prowl mumbled softly and headed for his berth, doing his best to appear undisturbed by Jazz's presence, hoping against hope that his family's slave was there for a completely different reason than what he suspected. "My mother sent you?" he asked and seated himself on his berth, idly reaching for a pad containing some reading material.
Jazz nodded, confirming Prowl's suspicions. "She is worried 'bout that glitch..." Jazz trailed softly, shifting a little in his seat to look at Prowl better.
Prowl considered his options. In one hand he could understand his mother's worries, although he wished he had picked someone else for his 'training', rather than the mech he was so madly in love with. Of course, he couldn't entirely reproach his mother's choice, after all she had no idea of what his feelings towards Jazz were.
In the other hand he didn't want to go through this, if only because sharing this kind of intimacy with Jazz was making dealing with his feelings much harder for him. Heaving a sigh, and having decided earlier that orn that he intended to eventually reveal his feelings to Jazz, Prowl set his pad aside and nodded to the performer.
Jazz nodded back a little. He experienced a similar conflict during the time spent waiting for Prowl, but now that the mech was here and had given the green light to proceed, Jazz knew he couldn't back down. He only hoped he wouldn't make a fool out of himself this orn.
Jazz moved his seat closer to Prowl's berth, and once again straddled his chair. Prowl leaned back a bit on his Berth, pulling his legs up a little, spreading them enough to be comfortable. Jazz instructed Prowl to pick up where they left, and demonstrated once more the best way to stimulate his headlights.
"Don't be afraid to add a little pressure, the glass of the headlights is very resistant," Jazz cupped his own headlights with his hands again, running his hands slowly up an down. "Try ta produce a little friction, and see where it feels better." Jazz put words to action and traced the outline of his own headlights with his finger tips.
Prowl fought back a shudder and raised his hands to his chest, resting his white hands atop his headlights, he tried to remember exactly the way Jazz touched him previously, and covertly sneaked a glance to Jazz's hands and fingers groping and stroking his headlights. Prowl half wondered if Jazz was that much more resistant, since he appeared unfazed by his own attentions. The almost imperceptible purr of an engine that wasn't his own answered his own question, and Prowl found himself unable to hold back a shudder as a very soft moan escaped his vocalizer. His fingers stroked and groped his headlights, alternating the pressure he applied to the glass and the plating around the lights, bringing his own engine to rumble softly.
"Move yer hands around just a bit, begin to explore other parts of your platin'," Jazz murmured and trailed his own hands down to his sides. "like your sides, or thighs..." the performer's voice was firm despite the evident effects of his own touch over his plating. Prowl did as he was told and let a hand wander away from his headlights down to his abdomen, brushing against the vents bellow his headlights, trailing to the panel right below his grill, and then lower, as far as the material of his black sash let him.
Jazz watched Prowl do this, shuddering shamelessly in response to the soft sounds of pleasure Prowl was inadvertently producing. The slave bit back a moan as his own hands wandered a little lower. The fingers of a hand tracing the joint of his hip and leg, while the other hand stroked his thigh slowly.
Prowl's optics dimmed to a dark blue, following every movement of the performer's hands and fingers. Prowl's legs spread out just a little wider and one hand came to rest over his knee while the other disappeared in between his legs.
Jazz couldn't quite see what exactly the other hand was doing because Prowl's leg was in the way of his field of view. Regardless, he was certain Prowl found a particularly sensitive spot somewhere, for he gasped and tensed visibly, powering down his optics and tilting his head back, his mouth agape. Jazz called upon all his might to hold back a needy whimper.
The sight was almost too much for Jazz to bear, he powered down his optics and leaned better against the chair, bringing a leg up enough to run his hand over its length, over its side, and then the underside, drowning in the delicious sounds Prowl was producing, almost ignoring the noble was there with him. Jazz wanted nothing more than bring himself to overload right there for Prowl to see, to let him know how much his own explorations were arousing him. How much he wanted Prowl. How much he wanted Prowl to touch him.
But Jazz knew he couldn't. He tried to remind himself he was teaching the other mech, and forced himself to look that way outwardly. To make sure Prowl would understand he was teaching him what he had to do, not that he was pleasuring himself, thinking his own touch over his plating was Prowl's. Jazz powered up his optics and tilted his head to look back at Prowl, the hand on his leg never stopped stroking.
One of Prowl's hands had come to rest again over his headlights, groping, rubbing and stroking almost desperately, his other hand still hidden by his legs. He was groaning and moaning softly, his mouth hung open in silent cries of pleasure as the young noble worked himself to overload. Jazz could tell Prowl was close, and it wasn't a surprise that he was so worked up so fast.
"J-Jazz...?!" Prowl's call almost wrung a moan from the slave's vocalizer, but Jazz forced himself to sit up as straight as he could.
"What is it, sir?" Jazz stopped stroking his leg, forcing all the need and lust out of his voice as he spoke.
Prowl addressed a questioning look at him, evidently asking what he was supposed to do now. Jazz flung his leg over the chair and stood up, taking a moment to make sure his legs would support him before he took a few steps towards Prowl's berth. The hand that Jazz hadn't been able to see reached for Jazz's black one, and the young slave held it tight, giving Prowl something to hold onto as he worked himself to overload. Jazz reached his free hand to brush a finger along the edge of his master's wing. Prowl hissed and tossed his head back, gritting his dental plating together as overload hit him unexpectedly.
Jazz gripped the edge of the Berth tightly, feeling himself overloading almost at the same time from the sight alone, muting his vocalizer to keep himself from crying his master's name. Jazz felt Prowl collapsing on the berth, and the slave performer barely managed to lower himself tiredly to his knees by the recharging platform.
About a breem later, Jazz moaned, disoriented, trying to regain his focus. Prowl's hand in his own had gone slack and the slave assumed Prowl offlined due to his overload. Struggling to his feet, Jazz confirmed his suspicion and moved the Defensor noble a little on his berth so he could rest better. The visored mech smiled a little sadly as he realized Prowl had been exhausted prior to their activity, thus offlining him immediately when overload hit him.
Jazz brushed his fingertips along Prowl's face plates and lip components lightly, and resisted the urge to steal a kiss. "Rest well, Sir," he murmured softly and pressed his lips to the golden crest on his master's helm. Jazz stood up and vacated the room, heading for his own quarters in need for some recharge of his own.
Prowl shifted a little on his berth, deeply in recharge, mumbling the slave's designation as he did.
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For the record, in case you didn't get it, Prowl found out that red arrow of his has quite a lot of sensors. Now I goes to beds. I'll reply to stuff when I'm coherent enough.
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Mechs touchin' themselves.
Pairings: Prowl x Jazz (You know the drill with these two).
Characters: Prowl, Jazz. Mention of Chromia.
Summary: AU - Partly using Dreamwave's comics as basis. A re imagination of Cybertron's society where the line dividing slaves from nobles is so thin.
Notes: Because I've kept you waiting for this scene for a long while now.
He wanted to run. He wanted to turn around, ignore the mech sitting in the plush chair before him, and run as far away from his home as he could. He wanted these conflictive emotions to go away, he wanted his life to be simple again, to go back to being in the background and ignored by his parents. He wanted his life to be simple once more. He wanted to go back to being a sparkling, when things such as love and attraction were concepts that never crossed his processors. He wanted to go back to look at Jazz and not feel a tug in his spark, telling him he was the mech for him.
Jazz watched his master standing stiffly at the door of his quarters, his expression unreadable, and his optics dim, almost tired. The performer half wondered if his master was in the process of locking up again. Jazz shifted to stand up, intending to approach Prowl to make sure he wouldn't lock up, but his movement earned him a reaction as Prowl's wings twitched just a little and his foot shifted to his side the smallest bit. "Sir?" Jazz asked softly, still uncertain whether Prowl would be all right or not.
"Yes?" Prowl managed an answer, even though right now offlining seemed like a very, very appealing option.
"Are ya all right?" the concern in Jazz's voice made things all the more difficult for Prowl to deal with.
"I'm fine," Prowl mumbled softly and headed for his berth, doing his best to appear undisturbed by Jazz's presence, hoping against hope that his family's slave was there for a completely different reason than what he suspected. "My mother sent you?" he asked and seated himself on his berth, idly reaching for a pad containing some reading material.
Jazz nodded, confirming Prowl's suspicions. "She is worried 'bout that glitch..." Jazz trailed softly, shifting a little in his seat to look at Prowl better.
Prowl considered his options. In one hand he could understand his mother's worries, although he wished he had picked someone else for his 'training', rather than the mech he was so madly in love with. Of course, he couldn't entirely reproach his mother's choice, after all she had no idea of what his feelings towards Jazz were.
In the other hand he didn't want to go through this, if only because sharing this kind of intimacy with Jazz was making dealing with his feelings much harder for him. Heaving a sigh, and having decided earlier that orn that he intended to eventually reveal his feelings to Jazz, Prowl set his pad aside and nodded to the performer.
Jazz nodded back a little. He experienced a similar conflict during the time spent waiting for Prowl, but now that the mech was here and had given the green light to proceed, Jazz knew he couldn't back down. He only hoped he wouldn't make a fool out of himself this orn.
Jazz moved his seat closer to Prowl's berth, and once again straddled his chair. Prowl leaned back a bit on his Berth, pulling his legs up a little, spreading them enough to be comfortable. Jazz instructed Prowl to pick up where they left, and demonstrated once more the best way to stimulate his headlights.
"Don't be afraid to add a little pressure, the glass of the headlights is very resistant," Jazz cupped his own headlights with his hands again, running his hands slowly up an down. "Try ta produce a little friction, and see where it feels better." Jazz put words to action and traced the outline of his own headlights with his finger tips.
Prowl fought back a shudder and raised his hands to his chest, resting his white hands atop his headlights, he tried to remember exactly the way Jazz touched him previously, and covertly sneaked a glance to Jazz's hands and fingers groping and stroking his headlights. Prowl half wondered if Jazz was that much more resistant, since he appeared unfazed by his own attentions. The almost imperceptible purr of an engine that wasn't his own answered his own question, and Prowl found himself unable to hold back a shudder as a very soft moan escaped his vocalizer. His fingers stroked and groped his headlights, alternating the pressure he applied to the glass and the plating around the lights, bringing his own engine to rumble softly.
"Move yer hands around just a bit, begin to explore other parts of your platin'," Jazz murmured and trailed his own hands down to his sides. "like your sides, or thighs..." the performer's voice was firm despite the evident effects of his own touch over his plating. Prowl did as he was told and let a hand wander away from his headlights down to his abdomen, brushing against the vents bellow his headlights, trailing to the panel right below his grill, and then lower, as far as the material of his black sash let him.
Jazz watched Prowl do this, shuddering shamelessly in response to the soft sounds of pleasure Prowl was inadvertently producing. The slave bit back a moan as his own hands wandered a little lower. The fingers of a hand tracing the joint of his hip and leg, while the other hand stroked his thigh slowly.
Prowl's optics dimmed to a dark blue, following every movement of the performer's hands and fingers. Prowl's legs spread out just a little wider and one hand came to rest over his knee while the other disappeared in between his legs.
Jazz couldn't quite see what exactly the other hand was doing because Prowl's leg was in the way of his field of view. Regardless, he was certain Prowl found a particularly sensitive spot somewhere, for he gasped and tensed visibly, powering down his optics and tilting his head back, his mouth agape. Jazz called upon all his might to hold back a needy whimper.
The sight was almost too much for Jazz to bear, he powered down his optics and leaned better against the chair, bringing a leg up enough to run his hand over its length, over its side, and then the underside, drowning in the delicious sounds Prowl was producing, almost ignoring the noble was there with him. Jazz wanted nothing more than bring himself to overload right there for Prowl to see, to let him know how much his own explorations were arousing him. How much he wanted Prowl. How much he wanted Prowl to touch him.
But Jazz knew he couldn't. He tried to remind himself he was teaching the other mech, and forced himself to look that way outwardly. To make sure Prowl would understand he was teaching him what he had to do, not that he was pleasuring himself, thinking his own touch over his plating was Prowl's. Jazz powered up his optics and tilted his head to look back at Prowl, the hand on his leg never stopped stroking.
One of Prowl's hands had come to rest again over his headlights, groping, rubbing and stroking almost desperately, his other hand still hidden by his legs. He was groaning and moaning softly, his mouth hung open in silent cries of pleasure as the young noble worked himself to overload. Jazz could tell Prowl was close, and it wasn't a surprise that he was so worked up so fast.
"J-Jazz...?!" Prowl's call almost wrung a moan from the slave's vocalizer, but Jazz forced himself to sit up as straight as he could.
"What is it, sir?" Jazz stopped stroking his leg, forcing all the need and lust out of his voice as he spoke.
Prowl addressed a questioning look at him, evidently asking what he was supposed to do now. Jazz flung his leg over the chair and stood up, taking a moment to make sure his legs would support him before he took a few steps towards Prowl's berth. The hand that Jazz hadn't been able to see reached for Jazz's black one, and the young slave held it tight, giving Prowl something to hold onto as he worked himself to overload. Jazz reached his free hand to brush a finger along the edge of his master's wing. Prowl hissed and tossed his head back, gritting his dental plating together as overload hit him unexpectedly.
Jazz gripped the edge of the Berth tightly, feeling himself overloading almost at the same time from the sight alone, muting his vocalizer to keep himself from crying his master's name. Jazz felt Prowl collapsing on the berth, and the slave performer barely managed to lower himself tiredly to his knees by the recharging platform.
About a breem later, Jazz moaned, disoriented, trying to regain his focus. Prowl's hand in his own had gone slack and the slave assumed Prowl offlined due to his overload. Struggling to his feet, Jazz confirmed his suspicion and moved the Defensor noble a little on his berth so he could rest better. The visored mech smiled a little sadly as he realized Prowl had been exhausted prior to their activity, thus offlining him immediately when overload hit him.
Jazz brushed his fingertips along Prowl's face plates and lip components lightly, and resisted the urge to steal a kiss. "Rest well, Sir," he murmured softly and pressed his lips to the golden crest on his master's helm. Jazz stood up and vacated the room, heading for his own quarters in need for some recharge of his own.
Prowl shifted a little on his berth, deeply in recharge, mumbling the slave's designation as he did.
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For the record, in case you didn't get it, Prowl found out that red arrow of his has quite a lot of sensors. Now I goes to beds. I'll reply to stuff when I'm coherent enough.