Unwelcome guest, co-author silberstreif for tf-speedwriting, part 2

[pjlover666]

Title: Unwelcome guest
Beta: The wonderful Starfire201
Warnings: M
Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Soundwave
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro, and not me.
Notes: Co-written with the amazing silberstreif for the tf-speedwriting community, the prompt: Unwelcome guest.



Second part:

Jazz was an adaptable bot. Really. But even he couldn't help and gape for an astrosecond before hastily nodding and doing as he told. He felt his processors racing. Was he really going to interface with Prowl of all mech now? It wasn't as if Jazz was a virgin. No, more baffling was the idea of one of the most smartest mechs on this planet believing his lie. Prowl really must be tired... But it's not like he wasn't forced to do deeds like this in the past. And if he was careful, he could even hack the mech.

The tactician went to the shelf at the door and selected a small tube. It was the one and only substance that could be used for a massage which he owned.

"I hope you were adequately paid for already. I have to warn you, that the cassette twins like to promise money and not to pay later. Soundwave allows them far too much." He frowned, searching for the tube that made his metal shiny. "They have tried to get me laid for four vorns now, and I've actually waited for them to sent me a pleasure mech. I think Soundwave has prevented several attempts before, but after the incident a few orns ago maybe he felt he had to reimburse me."

The 'cons, Jazz thought, are weird. He had thought his excuse was unbelievable. Now he heard that this seemed to be a common occurrence?

Before Prowl could hand Jazz the tube, he waited as the smaller mech subspaced his own gun. He wasn't surprised, pleasure mech shouldn't walk around unprotected and they were also dangerous warriors in their own right. But before he handed him the tube, he grabbed him by the chin, "If you try anything, even something remotely suspicious, you will end in pieces. Understood?"

"Crystal clear." Jazz didn't show intimidation. He wasn't allowed to. Not now.

So, maybe no hacking. After all, he did get enough data and he had really stretched his luck already.

"Good." Prowl smiled and flexed his claws, nicking the cheek of Jazz and drawing energon. "Then we can have a fun time together. After all, I have reason to vent myself on somebody. And if I can't catch the pest that touched my data, then you must serve."

Jazz nodded, feeling the burn of irony against his spark. Suddenly, he doubted his luck.

"Well then." Jazz smiled sweetly. Play casual. Don't show fear, "Make yourself comfortable and let me do my magic." He flexed his own clawed hands. They were unusual for an Autobot, but allowed himself to better blend in with 'Cons. It was details like this that made him good.

Prowl nodded. "Begin." Silently, he sent a code to his door, also locking it from the inside. After all, masochistic coding or not, he didn't want his toy to run any time soon. In a couple of swift moves he was lying on the berth, wings spread widely on his back, aching for some attention.

Jazz noticed it and sighed on the inside. He would have to see this through.

Well, how bad could a stiff Head Tactician be? Even if he was angry. If he twisted enough of the story, he could make it as if he had seduced the Head Tactician. That would surely score him far more points than the truth of being forced to massage his wings. It was all about perspective.

Yep, positive thinking was Jazz's secret.

As he massaged Prowl and the Praxian slowly became mercury in his hands, he wondered who really would believe this. Prowl, the dangerous psychopathic, cold Head Tactician as a purring heap in Jazz's lap?

No one would believe the truth. It was borderline ridiculous.

And cute.

Not that Jazz would ever admit that aloud, but a relaxed Prowl was a different mech. And the small noises he made when he hid a special sweet spot, the little twitches of his wings when he wanted here or there more attention and the slow uncurling of a tense field into a flowing relaxed one... yep. It was all cute.

He had always known that he liked flirting with danger.

And that Prowl was dangerous and nothing else, was proven just a bit later.

::Soundwave to Prowl.:: The Praxian stiffened. ::Virus detected in tactical files. Virus: Stopped now. File deletion: 0.45 per cent of the last four decaorns. File corruption: 1.423 per cent of the last vorn. Soundwave: Trying to repair damage.::

Prowl's face twisted into a sudden ugly and dark mask, and his field flared with danger and barely leashed violence. ::Thank you, Soundwave. Any sign of the saboteur?::

::Negative. Soundwave out.::

His files. Hacked. Corrupted. Deleted!

Prowl roared in fury. With sharp claws he gripped the pleasure model by the arm and hurled him against the wall. "Let's test your masochistic codelines. Thoroughly."

"Well, someone's in a mood." Jazz shook his head and stood up, his codes buzzing. He hadn't expected this sudden turn from relaxed to anger, peace to violence. The field was a turmoil of red hot rage. Should he worry?

Jazz suddenly realised that this mech wouldn't let him die should he discover that he was the saboteur. Oh no. For Prowl, the virus and hack had been personal. As Prowl slowly approached him with all the grace and mercilessness of any big predator, he was living proof of the proverb that any Decepticon officer was a monster - in and off the battlefield.

Cute or not while giving him a massage.

Jazz repressed the desire in his codes to run, and concentrated on strengthening all and every positive code line he had written, doubling them, until he felt himself relax again. When Prowl reached him, he was capable of admiring the Decepticon's officers smooth control, the red flashing of his optics, the coiled violence in every inch of his frame.

Prowl was beautiful.

He smirked, "Do your worst."

"Oh," purred the Praxian, "I intend to. And you will scream for more."

Jazz believed him.

~

Panting, he was lying on the floor next to the berth, incapable of reaching up to it. He was exhausted, his body was littered with minor and not so minor wounds, he had been hacked (thankfully just teasing at the firewalls - but wow, he hadn't even known that hacking could be used as a kind of foreplay), taken in every position, used, degraded, beaten, whipped, sliced, slashed and kissed.

Okay, this hadn't been one of his most brilliant of plans, but hey... being alive beats being dead, right? But as he gazed up at the looming Praxian, he had to wonder for how long he would stay alive.

On the berth laid Prowl, casually drinking a cube of energon and observing his toy with a smile. The violence had slowly been replaced by sadistic satisfaction that wanted more. And more.

"Impressive," Prowl said as if discussing the weather.

Jazz made a snorting sound, "Glad you like me."

Prowl bent down to the pleasure model - of which he still didn't know the name, but then he really didn't want any personal connection - and set the cube at his lips. "Drink," he ordered.

Jazz did.

Rarely had energon tasted so sweet and cool.

But after only three swallows, Prowl pulled the cube away again. "No, no, you have to work for it..."

Jazz wanted to scream. Damn sadist. Instead, he said: "What do I have to do..." He knew he had to add it, saw how Prowl's mouth twitched in expectation and beat down his pride. "Master...?"

Prowl caressed the sensor horns of his toy, earning a low groan. Jazz hadn't overloaded once so far and his charge was so high, that everything would be able to set him off.

"You know, I've seen that you're very flexible." He gave the ropes which had been used very extensively a considering look. "But so far I've always guided you. Show me what you can do by yourself."

"You want a show," dead panned Jazz.

"Yes."

He was hurting everywhere, low on energon, and the damn mech wanted a show. He was not even getting paid for this! "You broke my leg strut," he lied.

"Then endure," said Prowl, smile not changing.

Sadist. He was so placing Prowl on the top hit list once he got home.

But he had to get home first. And that meant obeying. Which meant giving Prowl a show... and that meant he needed more energon first. And the tactician knew that. Damn him to the pit. "Please, Master, can I get a bit more energon?"

"Mmh, just once. Drink more and you will regret it." He put the cube on Jazz lips again and let him swallow, once. "And now dance, my little toy."

Top hit list wasn't enough. Jazz himself would change his profession and turn assassin.

He danced.

~

But everything had to end, and after three and a half quartexes even Prowl's impressive anger calmed down. Soundwave's report that many files had been repaired had helped to please him, too. Not so much Jazz though, but then he hadn't been able to show his emotions on that matter.

The last few breems, Jazz massaged Prowl again, until the tactician suddenly sat up.

"Time is over."

Jazz nearly gaped. They really took contracted time seriously here, right?

Prowl stood, shiny, relaxed and with a calm field and walked over to the nearly empty desk. There he took a datapad and wrote a few things on it. Then, he gave it to Jazz, who was dirty, tense and his field radiated exhaustion:

"Here. This is the confirmation that you've concluded your services. Also, it's the permission slip to enter and leave the officer quarter's corridor, once. With this you can walk through all unrestricted areas in Kaon for one joor." A short smile. Then, Prowl leaned behind the desk and threw Jazz a med kit. "You can patch yourself up with it."

"Thanks."

A flicker of the doorwings. "You've served good and well." He walked to the door. "My shift starts in less than one breem. I suggest that you leave in the shortest way possible in two breems at the latest."

"Understood."

"Good." Prowl opened the door and left.

Jazz let his helmet fall back on the berth with a clang. He lived. He actually lived.

Unbelievable. When he finally had had been allowed his overload, he been convinced that it would tear him apart first in a moment of pain - and then in the most intense pleasure which he had ever experienced. Remembering alone brought shudders to his whole frame.

Slowly and painfully he cleaned and patched himself up. Then, he grabbed his permission slip and walked outside. Nervously, he expected that at any time someone would scream "Intruder" or "Autobot" and jump him, but nothing happened. He waved his permission slip and all the guards stepped aside with a polite nod. Polite - he was not even exaggerating! Obviously, pleasure models really had a higher standard here than in Iacon. He left the fortress, and walked into Kaon as if nothing had happened. Actually, now with a dirty frame he fit in even better with the people here than before.

He found his way back to Iacon.

It was only in his own quarters, after a heavily edited report that for the first time in his life downplayed what really had happened by a large margin, that he took the permission slip into his hand again and found a small notice at the very end:

Comm-Nr.: 23235088365 - if you ever need a berth again, call me. Prowl.

He couldn't help but laugh. It seems he had convinced the Head Tactician of the Decepticons of his qualities as a pleasure model.

Just the career he had always wished for.

~

Prowl stared at the photo. And stared some more. Then he shuttered his optics and asked without looking at Soundwave: "Are you sure that this is the saboteur?"

"Affirmative."

Prowl gritted his denta, feeling the familiar rage again. This saboteur had dared to enter his treasury, his data pool - but then he remembered the same saboteur at his knees in front of him, begging for energon, screaming in pain and pleasure.

And his virus hadn't done much damage after all. Soundwave had been able to repair nearly everything. Also, reports showed that Ravage had disturbed the saboteur before he had downloaded any significant data.

All in all...

For an unwelcomed visitor, this had been four very satisfying orns. He was almost anticipating the next time the saboteur would pay them a visit. Maybe he would use the comm number, maybe not. Whatever his saboteur would do, Prowl had already a few ideas for their next round of games - in the berth and out of it.