Chapter Text
Blindly he stumbled through the dimly lit corridors of the Ark, not caring where he was going. Above him a light dimmed and flared.
He licked his lips. The mission was supposed to be simple. Straight in and out. But he had lost two rookie agents.
Silent screams filled his processor as their faces faded. His spark pulsed rapidly. My fault. All my fault.
He took a corner and his guilt-ridden processor vaguely recognised the path his pedes were taking him.
He should stop now, he shouldn’t go. It was dangerous to go there.
But he paid no heed to the warning his processor gave. His sinking spark was pulling him there. Pulling him to the lifeline that was always there. Always ready to pull him out.
He stopped in front of a non-descript door. He lifted his hand, digits trembling as they lingered...then coded the door open.
Prowl stood from his desk as he heard someone tamper with his door. It was already deep into the dark cycle, and he was not expecting visitors. His doorwings flared as he attempted to recognise the sparksignature, but even though his acute sensors could detect a mech, he couldn’t read a signature.
He onlined his battle protocols and waited, ready to defend himself if the mech turned out to have harmful intentions. He squared his feet, feeling the thrum of the Ark's engines reverberate through him. He was ready.
The door slid open and a visored, shaking mech stumbled in.
“Jazz?” Prowl asked as he watched the saboteur slump against the wall, his normally pristine blue visor almost white. His vents flared as they sucked in air; his fists spasmed next to his sides.
Doorwings arching, Prowl disabled his battle protocols and rounded the desk. These were his private quarters, and though it was not unusual for Jazz to visit him on occasion, this certainly didn’t fit his normal amorous mood. Something is wrong. Prowl narrowed his gaze as his friend kept staring ahead of him. "Jazz, what is wrong?"
Jazz didn’t answer. Instead he pushed off the wall and marched towards Prowl. Grabbing Prowl, he pulled him flush against his own frame, his mouth hungrily devouring Prowl’s as his hands roved over the lithe tactician. His field washed over Prowl, guilt warring with desperation. It was sickening.
“Jazz…What…mmm…are you…doing?” Prowl gasped in between Jazz’s passionate kisses as he tried to push Jazz away.
“Mmm…need you…” Jazz moaned, ignoring the Praxian’s struggles. The only thing that mattered to his frazzled processor was the steadiness and comfort that was Prowl combined with a dangerous feeling he refused to acknowledge. His field pressed deeper into that fathomless, steady field.
“Jazz!” Prowl gasped as Jazz pinned him to the wall, his normal gentle ministration having an edge of desperation to it that worried Prowl. Fear started to well in him as he writhed against Jazz.
Jazz broke the kiss and nipped at Prowl’s neck. “Need you.” He repeated as he ran his hands over Prowl’s doorwings, tweaking the sweet spots he knew revved Prowl. He pressed against Prowl as his hand slid down towards Prowl’s interface panel. The steady field wavered, ripples upsetting the calm that usually reigned. Jazz ignored it. He needed his lifeline.
“Jazz, stop!” Prowl half-commanded, half-pleaded as he tried to pull away.
Jazz froze, his processor catching up to his wild spark. He drew in ragged vents as he stared into Prowl’s concerned optics. What was he doing? Slag, what was wrong with him? “Prowl…” He drew a shaky vent as he stepped beck. “I...I'm, I’m sorry…” He rasped and shook his helm, backing towards the door.
Prowl swallowed as he stared at the retreating form of Jazz, struggling to get his vents to even out. His spark squeezed as he watched the silver form shrink in on himself. That bold, brave persona...looked so alone in that moment, so lost. Pity welled in him as he watched Jazz turn at the door. “Wait!”
The silver mech stopped, outstretched hand curling into a fist.
Prowl drew in a calming vent and walked towards the mech he considered his friend. Reaching him he laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, pressing as much calm into his field as he could manage. Something had obviously upset the saboteur enough for him to act irrationally. And he had come here, for comfort. “Jazz? Talk to me. What happened?”
Jazz turned his helm to stare at Prowl. Shouldn’t be here. His processor screamed at him as his optics fell to Prowl’s mouth before looking back into those blue optics. “I lost two agents.” He heard himself say and felt the guilt come crashing back. He turned his helm away from Prowl, ashamed to look at the tactician and the calculating coldness, but also understanding he would see in those often-guarded optics. He had to leave. Now. He was too vulnerable around Prowl.
Instead he felt Prowl’s hands slide over his shoulder and down his chassis as a warm frame pressed against his back. He shuttered his optics as warmth spread through him, pooling inside of him.
“I am sorry.”
Jazz’s resolve crumbled at the softly whispered words, knowing the rarity of such open display. He turned around, mouth once more searching for the other’s. This time Prowl didn't resist, but moved with him, mouth inviting, field open. His spark spun faster. He moaned into the kiss as he pushed Prowl towards the berth. Gently he laid Prowl down and settled between his legs, never breaking the kiss.
Prowl moaned as Jazz’s fingers dipped into seams and tweaked wires, his movements steady but considerate. The desperation that had characterised his earlier actions were gone, and Prowl felt his core temperature rise along with his arousal. This was the Jazz Prowl knew – a caring and considerate lover, and the reason why Prowl allowed him back time and again.
He gasped in pleasure at the steady thrusts, his pleasure steadily growing to the point of overload. He reached above Jazz’s helm to caress the sensory horns.
Above him Jazz groaned in pleasure as his thrusts gathered speed, his overload quickly approaching as Prowl moved with him. His mouth nibbled on Prow’s neck cables, biting, then kissing.
Prowl heard the click of Jazz’s chest plates and felt his own open in response, too caught up in passion to realise what was happening. His frame was bathed in a bright blue light and he moaned at the sight, his own spark reaching for the one so close to his.
He cried out as their sparks touched, the feelings of passion magnified tenfold as he felt Jazz overload in him. It was enough to push him over the edge and he fell blissfully into a sea of pleasure.
They came down from the overload panting hard. Their chest plates closed and Jazz rolled off of Prowl and stretched out next to him, his visor offline.
Prowl continued laying where he was. That had been intense, and it was beginning to dawn on him exactly what they had done.
They had merged. They had never merged before.
Coldness replaced the warmth, coiling around his spark. We...merged.
Prowl swallowed his suddenly dry throat and turned his helm towards Jazz, but by the sounds of his vents he was already cycling down into recharge.
Prowl sighed and initiated his own recharging protocols, forcing down the sickness that rose in his throat.. They would need to talk about this in the morning. It was one thing to be occasional lovers, but spark-sharing was reserved for relationships. And Jazz simply did not do relationships.
And there was one, other, big danger to merging that Prowl refused to consider.
He shuttered his optics, but it was a long time before he fell into a troubled recharge.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Prowl slowly came out of recharge and dismissed his internal alarm. His chest ached. Grimacing, he reached out to his side, feeling for Jazz.
Instead, the cold padding of the berth met him.
He opened his optics and sighed.
This was nothing new. He had never woken with Jazz by his side, but somehow he had hoped that this time would be different.
He had been wrong.