Vampyre
He watched the shadows, optics searching the cluttered room. It had once been one of the laboratories of the Ark’s impressive science section. Now it was pierced by stalagmites and stalactites, uprooted worktops and stations long covered by algae, moss and rust.
In amongst all this another form was huddled, leaning against a stalagmite, panting breath giving away his position easily.
Prowl maintained his stance in the doorway, headlights glaring out into the murky dark, splashing the amber shadow of the huddled saboteur over the wall.
“I told ya...not...to follow.”
Prowl listened to the panted words, revealing the strain the saboteur was under. He carefully paced into the room, optics always on the shadow plastered across the wall, able to see Jazz’s movements, needing to be ready if this bold move didn’t pan out as his logical mind had theorised.
“Jazz, I understand what you are going through,” Prowl spoke softly, edging further into Jazz’s dark domain. Only the light protecting him.
A laugh, what could only be described as half-crazed echoed around the room, chilling Prowl. “Ya understand, Prowler?”
Prowl jumped back a step as the shadow sprung up, disappearing out of the reach of his lights, into the darkness swallowed into the clutter.
“Ya know what it’s like to have this urge...this...burning?”
Prowl turned to his right facing the voice, the illuminated spot holding nothing but dead junk.
“Ya know what it’s like to have these thoughts...these desires?”
Prowl turned in half-circle, lighting up the other half of the room, nothing moved.
“Ya know what it’s like to have this wanting...this calling...inside you?”
Prowl froze the voice coming from behind him in a whisper, breath gliding over one audio.
“Jazz,” he murmured, “I understand, I feel the burning, the desire, the wanting, the...need to be one with you.”
He was turned around, his headlights irradiating the mech before him, casting Jazz in a near angelic glow, a mocking of what Jazz believed of himself. No longer on the side of angels, now the servant of a darkened deity.
“Ya know nothin’,” Jazz spat the words, his entire frame shaking with need. A strength that Prowl admired had Jazz stepping back, out of reach. “Please leave,” he begged, “please.”
Prowl wanted to say something, but words weren’t enough in this situation, he shook his head sliding his foot forward, approaching the terrified face of the mech he knew, beyond everything else, he loved.
Trembling hands reached up to settle on those sculpted cheeks, pulling Jazz’s face closer, lips near touching.
Jazz reared back, his hands shunting the tactician away from him. “Why?” he gasped, “Why are you doin’ this?”
Jazz moved effortlessly towards the door, and Prowl knew this time he wouldn’t hide in the Ark. He’d run, and this was Prowl’s only chance to offer him the salvation Jazz so badly needed.
Pushing aside all hesitation, all his instinct to take a moment to process a plan, Prowl sprinted after the mech, and dove into him, toppling them both to the floor.
A wrestling match broke out, both trying to dominate the other, gain the winning position. It was Jazz’s now enhanced superior strength that won out and Prowl found himself slammed to the floor, the smaller black and white straddling him, bodies pressed together as Jazz stopped Prowl’s meagre struggles.
They both stared at each other, and Prowl watched the emotion flicker over Jazz’s face, the wanting, the terror, the disgust.
“Jazz,” Prowl breathed, “I’m willing.”
It was permission and the internal battle raging in the saboteur was so clear as his visor rose up, the bluish glow replaced with those ruby red optics that glared with his lust, passion, need, fear, every emotion Prowl could name cycling through in the blink of an optic.
“Don’t.” The broken voice pleaded, and Prowl wanted so much to take that pain away, make it better for his lover.
Instead, Prowl reached deeper within himself and pushed past his own fear uttering the only words he could think of to help break the resolve of the mech above him. “I trust you.”
It was as though he had stepped into the path of a whirlwind. Jazz’s lips descended to his, crushing them in a brutal kiss, he felt the fangs pierce his lips, the first taste of energon, licked and savoured by Jazz.
Prowl could only surrender to the passion of the storm, allowing hands to caress him, tugging at seams, desperate to reach every spot on his body that could arouse him. Fingers dipped in between armour grasping feverishly at cables and wires, tugging on them.
Prowl couldn’t hold back the cry of pain.
“I’m sorry,” Jazz pleaded, repeating the litany, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me.” Those last words spoken in a sob, as Jazz continued to invade Prowl’s body with his masterful touch.
Prowl reached up grasping the face of his lover, he canted his head, exposing the thick cable that was his main energon line in his neck, gently he pulled Jazz down to him, burying the saboteur’s face against his throat.
“I love you, I trust you,” Prowl murmured.
He held in the moan as lips began to nip at his throat, a glossa snaking out, licking at him. Prowl braced himself, pursing his lips trying to stop any noise from breaking free. He flinched at the first tentative scrape of those fangs over the cable, before he couldn’t help but tilt his head back and scream as those fangs penetrated through pliable rubber.
He could feel his own energon, the liquid of life for him, being sucked from his body. A heady rush streaming through him as the pain dissipated leaving a curious sensation of utter relaxation and arousal.
He’d never imagined this, he’d never believed that this could feel good, and as more of his life-blood was taken from him, the storm reached its shattering crescendo and Prowl cried out as overload raced through him.
His body bucked, as Jazz bit down harder, static arcing along his body, reaching out to the mech above him. The fear that had always been present warned Prowl that perhaps his trust had been misplaced, he was losing too much energon, he would die if this were not stopped.
As if knowing, the fangs withdrew and Jazz’s glossa flicked over the cable, and Prowl felt the burning pain in the cable numbed. The energon stopped flowing and above him, he was granted the beautiful scene of watching Jazz throw back his own head and allow his own overload to race through him, unable to keep his passion contained anymore.
The immense energy ploughed into Prowl’s body setting every circuit ablaze as another overload was granted him, sending him spiralling into the vortex that was Jazz’s love.
Foreheads pressed together they both slowly cycled down from the euphoria, panting. Neither could barely move from the experience they shared.
When finally sanity retuned to them, Prowl gazed into those ruby optics, “I knew you wouldn’t take too much,” he reaffirmed his faith in Jazz.
Jazz allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth, before a solemn expression crossed his faceplates, “No you didn’t Prowl, I could taste your fear,” the lowly growled words were warning enough that Prowl could hide nothing from Jazz now.
In amongst all this another form was huddled, leaning against a stalagmite, panting breath giving away his position easily.
Prowl maintained his stance in the doorway, headlights glaring out into the murky dark, splashing the amber shadow of the huddled saboteur over the wall.
“I told ya...not...to follow.”
Prowl listened to the panted words, revealing the strain the saboteur was under. He carefully paced into the room, optics always on the shadow plastered across the wall, able to see Jazz’s movements, needing to be ready if this bold move didn’t pan out as his logical mind had theorised.
“Jazz, I understand what you are going through,” Prowl spoke softly, edging further into Jazz’s dark domain. Only the light protecting him.
A laugh, what could only be described as half-crazed echoed around the room, chilling Prowl. “Ya understand, Prowler?”
Prowl jumped back a step as the shadow sprung up, disappearing out of the reach of his lights, into the darkness swallowed into the clutter.
“Ya know what it’s like to have this urge...this...burning?”
Prowl turned to his right facing the voice, the illuminated spot holding nothing but dead junk.
“Ya know what it’s like to have these thoughts...these desires?”
Prowl turned in half-circle, lighting up the other half of the room, nothing moved.
“Ya know what it’s like to have this wanting...this calling...inside you?”
Prowl froze the voice coming from behind him in a whisper, breath gliding over one audio.
“Jazz,” he murmured, “I understand, I feel the burning, the desire, the wanting, the...need to be one with you.”
He was turned around, his headlights irradiating the mech before him, casting Jazz in a near angelic glow, a mocking of what Jazz believed of himself. No longer on the side of angels, now the servant of a darkened deity.
“Ya know nothin’,” Jazz spat the words, his entire frame shaking with need. A strength that Prowl admired had Jazz stepping back, out of reach. “Please leave,” he begged, “please.”
Prowl wanted to say something, but words weren’t enough in this situation, he shook his head sliding his foot forward, approaching the terrified face of the mech he knew, beyond everything else, he loved.
Trembling hands reached up to settle on those sculpted cheeks, pulling Jazz’s face closer, lips near touching.
Jazz reared back, his hands shunting the tactician away from him. “Why?” he gasped, “Why are you doin’ this?”
Jazz moved effortlessly towards the door, and Prowl knew this time he wouldn’t hide in the Ark. He’d run, and this was Prowl’s only chance to offer him the salvation Jazz so badly needed.
Pushing aside all hesitation, all his instinct to take a moment to process a plan, Prowl sprinted after the mech, and dove into him, toppling them both to the floor.
A wrestling match broke out, both trying to dominate the other, gain the winning position. It was Jazz’s now enhanced superior strength that won out and Prowl found himself slammed to the floor, the smaller black and white straddling him, bodies pressed together as Jazz stopped Prowl’s meagre struggles.
They both stared at each other, and Prowl watched the emotion flicker over Jazz’s face, the wanting, the terror, the disgust.
“Jazz,” Prowl breathed, “I’m willing.”
It was permission and the internal battle raging in the saboteur was so clear as his visor rose up, the bluish glow replaced with those ruby red optics that glared with his lust, passion, need, fear, every emotion Prowl could name cycling through in the blink of an optic.
“Don’t.” The broken voice pleaded, and Prowl wanted so much to take that pain away, make it better for his lover.
Instead, Prowl reached deeper within himself and pushed past his own fear uttering the only words he could think of to help break the resolve of the mech above him. “I trust you.”
It was as though he had stepped into the path of a whirlwind. Jazz’s lips descended to his, crushing them in a brutal kiss, he felt the fangs pierce his lips, the first taste of energon, licked and savoured by Jazz.
Prowl could only surrender to the passion of the storm, allowing hands to caress him, tugging at seams, desperate to reach every spot on his body that could arouse him. Fingers dipped in between armour grasping feverishly at cables and wires, tugging on them.
Prowl couldn’t hold back the cry of pain.
“I’m sorry,” Jazz pleaded, repeating the litany, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me.” Those last words spoken in a sob, as Jazz continued to invade Prowl’s body with his masterful touch.
Prowl reached up grasping the face of his lover, he canted his head, exposing the thick cable that was his main energon line in his neck, gently he pulled Jazz down to him, burying the saboteur’s face against his throat.
“I love you, I trust you,” Prowl murmured.
He held in the moan as lips began to nip at his throat, a glossa snaking out, licking at him. Prowl braced himself, pursing his lips trying to stop any noise from breaking free. He flinched at the first tentative scrape of those fangs over the cable, before he couldn’t help but tilt his head back and scream as those fangs penetrated through pliable rubber.
He could feel his own energon, the liquid of life for him, being sucked from his body. A heady rush streaming through him as the pain dissipated leaving a curious sensation of utter relaxation and arousal.
He’d never imagined this, he’d never believed that this could feel good, and as more of his life-blood was taken from him, the storm reached its shattering crescendo and Prowl cried out as overload raced through him.
His body bucked, as Jazz bit down harder, static arcing along his body, reaching out to the mech above him. The fear that had always been present warned Prowl that perhaps his trust had been misplaced, he was losing too much energon, he would die if this were not stopped.
As if knowing, the fangs withdrew and Jazz’s glossa flicked over the cable, and Prowl felt the burning pain in the cable numbed. The energon stopped flowing and above him, he was granted the beautiful scene of watching Jazz throw back his own head and allow his own overload to race through him, unable to keep his passion contained anymore.
The immense energy ploughed into Prowl’s body setting every circuit ablaze as another overload was granted him, sending him spiralling into the vortex that was Jazz’s love.
Foreheads pressed together they both slowly cycled down from the euphoria, panting. Neither could barely move from the experience they shared.
When finally sanity retuned to them, Prowl gazed into those ruby optics, “I knew you wouldn’t take too much,” he reaffirmed his faith in Jazz.
Jazz allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of his mouth, before a solemn expression crossed his faceplates, “No you didn’t Prowl, I could taste your fear,” the lowly growled words were warning enough that Prowl could hide nothing from Jazz now.