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Prowl wasn’t sure how this arrangement happened; he had found Jazz on a very recently demolished space station. The strange bot had proved to be a formidable ally, tearing through two titan class Quintessons before running back to where Prowl had stashed himself.
When he finally had a chance to speak with the mech he found that they couldn’t understand Neocybex, or any other Cybertronian dialect. However Jazz took to the new language like a seeker to the skies and was an exemplary learner. Jazz was also incredibly good at following commands, when he felt like it. Even though most mechs would question or be concerned about the amount of damage Prowl was ordering, Jazz simply laughed and did as he was ordered.
Until Prowl said to stay put while he investigated a terminal, and Prowl didn’t get a warning until Jazz was already flying from behind him and to his right at a previously hidden entrance which housed an acid spitter.
Jazz turned towards Prowl with a laugh and a shake of his servos, then apologised -in a tone that Prowl would later categories as joking - for not following the order Prowl had given. Prowl at the time took it too seriously and explained that while Jazz had acted against an order, Prowl was not his superior officer and Jazz had acted in a way to help. Prowl was not about to punish saving another mech. Jazz seemed confused, whether the language barrier was changing the meaning was left alone as Prowl made sure to log the way Jazz’s audial horns flicked and stayed up and pointed towards him.
After Prowl had called an extraction shuttle and the help had arrived the bots of the ark were ecstatic to hear about this new Quintesson slaughtering mech, slightly less so when it was shown that Jazz looks strikingly similar to an empurata victim.
Finally dragging them both aboard Prowl was faced with the eternal problem of being on a overpacked damaged ship, the lack of lockable rooms.
Especially with Jazz’s shown aggression -thankfully only towards Quintessons- and combat capabilities Ironhide and especially Red Alert were hesitant to let Jazz have free roam of the base. Even Jazz himself seemed understanding after Prowl communicated the situation to him.
Understanding however does not solve problems.
Prowl isn’t sure what caused him to do it, but he offered to have Jazz stay in his room. It was more than spacious with a berth room and separate unused office -since he spends his time at his official office- that was easily turned into a room for Jazz, which could be locked from the inside and outside.
-/-
Jazz was a curious creature by nature, as Prowl learned. Always flicking his audials towards the newest gossip and even marvelling over Blaster’s music, offering some of his own collection as well.
So when Jazz asked if he could touch Prowl, Prowl deemed it the same curiosity. But Prowl was not about to let Jazz try without rules in place, expecting push back Prowl prepared a threat, listen to the rules or no contact. Jazz however once again showed his good behaviour, listening intently and only asking one question about if his chevron was sensitive in the same way his door-wings were.
After this Prowl was expecting Jazz to move quickly after Prowl had finished giving him the rules, simply being to not touch his doorwings or touch his bumper. Jazz simply waited on the edge of Prowl's berth silently, after a couple seconds he did tilt his helm. But no movement to move forward or backwards.
Loud in the quiet room a “you can touch” slipped from Prowl’s vocalizer after realizing what Jazz had been waiting for.
Jazz moved slower than Prowl thought he could, as if Prowl was an easily spooked mecha-beast and not the seasoned tactician he was.
Jazz’s servos traced over his first, comparing Prowl's five digits to his three. Tracing up his arm and glancing over the transformation seams there, Jazz seemed particularly interested in what he called the “easily grabbable bits” of Prowl's kibble.
Jazz traced over his shoulder and around his neck, and up to map his faceplate. Jazz seemed especially interested in Prowl’s optics, understandable considering he had mentioned that everyone back home had visors. placing both digits underneath them and watching as the tiny mechanics shifted and spun. At the clear wonder Jazz was showing through his audials and his thruster covers Prowl started flickering through his sight options, sending his gaze out as far as he could and pulling it back, even switching what wavelengths he was seeing.
It was when he switched his wavelengths to a much more concentrated set that is when he noticed the paint, the bots of the ark had deduced Jazz’s paint to be generic if high quality. But this was not something that came with a generic paint job, swirls of bright and dark blues swept over every plate. Further refining the wavelengths used showed the shiny black to in fact be a dark blue and purple mix, with flex of white and gold reminiscent of stars mixed in.
Distracted by his own examination Prowl missed with Jazz’s servos crept higher until they swept over his chevron, despite his earlier statement there were extra sensors in his chevron. However something about how Jazz was touching the cold metal was sending way more signals into his sensory net than it should. His fans fired up from their normal background state, and Prowl hoped that the natural differences in their frame language would be enough to hide the meaning behind it.
Jazz finally gave up on his examination of Prowl’s chevron, after a few minutes of making Prowl confused by his own sensor net, and slide his servo’s down to trace his neck once before lifting and then before sliding down his Prowl’s arms. Making sure no parts of himself made contact with Prowl’s bumper.
Jazz made contact again on his waist, tracing along the ample transformation seams there. Normally Prowl would have much more composure however once again Jazz’s servos continued to elicit a much stronger response than previous encounters. His vents kicked up again and he felt his vent covers clicking open to their middle setting.
Claws dipped into his transformation seams and Prowl couldn’t help but choke down a noise building in his vocalizer. Sliding along the interior walls and scraping away dirt and debris that Prowl didn’t even know were there, Prowls vocalizer was getting tighter by the tick, feeling as if a rock was stuck in his intake.
Jazz’s claws made contact with his protoform, the slender claws picking away a particularly stuck rock that never failed to make Prowl annoyed when it was still stuck come wash day. Rubbing against the sensitive protoform again Prowl couldn’t help the bleat of static that slipped from his vocalizer.
Jazz quickly looked up at Prowl’s face, watching for a couple ticks before seemingly seeing something causing his audials perked up and flap slightly.
Jazz dug his claws slightly deeper, just enough to make the pressure on his protoform a rub and not a brush. Watching intently as Prowl’s face contorted with the new sensation. Prowl hadn’t even noticed how his plating was clattering slightly with his vents, until Jazz swept his other servo along his arm.
Jazz seemed to understand a bit what he had been doing, Prowl could see how his audials flicked down and up and to the sides slightly, settling finally on pointing towards Prowl.
Jazz applied his other servo to the other side, letting their paths differ only slightly as Jazz dragged his claws within Prowl’s far too sensitive transformation seams. Prowl couldn’t help shifting his hips side to side as charge built up behind his interfacing array, every dip and press of those claws on his protoform was bringing him higher and higher.
Jazz’s servos traced lower and lower, until they were almost touching his codpiece. In a moment Prowl would later refer to as a moment of incredible lack of self control he felt his codpiece click and split in half, sliding to the side to expose his spike still tucked in its housing and dripping valve.
Jazz appeared shocked, his servos still and his engine stuttering out of rhythm. Prowl could see how Jazz panted through his vents, the diaphragmic breathing registering as odd. Jazz ever so slowly placed his servo above Prowl’s valve, careful not to touch but close enough to feel the heat drifting off it. Jazz once again held still, waiting for the Prowl to tug the invisible leash.
Prowl didn’t respond with words, just bent his knees and pushed his valve onto those deadly claws.
Jazz took to the offering with ease, slipping his digits in to slide against the interior mesh. He was surprisingly careful with his claws to not make any cuts, but that didn’t stop the odd rush of having something so sharp in his valve.
Prowl arched into the contact as Jazz explored, teasing the outside before plunging in while adding another digit. Spreading out a bit and watching how Prowl’s plating rattled in its spot.
Then Jazz pulled back, digits slipping out with a squelch.
Before confusion could set in Prowl found himself grabbed by the hips and pressed into the wall, careful to not slam him. Prowl moved his door-wings out of the way before Jazz fully pressed him into the wall. Prowl’s servos splayed wide across the wall to steady himself.
Prowl was a tad confused when Jazz dropped down to his knees, the odd joints in his legs making the action surprisingly smooth. This confusion was quickly cleared up when Jazz slunk two digits into his valve and Prowl realized the view that Jazz had given himself. Staring right as how his digits were swallowed up by the glistening protoform.
Jazz was exceedingly careful with his claws as he pressed in all the way to the knuckle, pulling his digits apart to create a small stretch deeper inside that had Prowl’s processor swimming.
Jazz’s other servo swept along his leg, sliding down along transformation seams and flattening out over his larger plates. The combined assault of stimulation had his processor driving in circles with the fresh data.
Jazz carefully eased a third clawed digit into Prowl’s valve; the slight stretch burned for a tick before his calipers got used to it.
Jazz’s other servo reached his heel wheel, sliding his claws along the soft rubber he gave it a spin just to see if he could.
A particularly rough swipe against one of his interior nodes left Prowl unable to control his vocalizer, a short moan slipped from his intake. Spurred on by this sound Jazz wasted no time in rubbing against it again and again.
Prowl’s servos dig grooves into the wall, helm thrown back as Jazz pulls music from his vocalizer. The electric heat from the sensations ran up Prowl's back-strut and made him squirm against the wall, held in place by Jazz’s surprisingly strong grip.
Opening his intake automatically to pant, steam billowing out, trying to release some of the lancing heat. Prowl noticed something odd, small, soft clicks emanated from the mech below him.
Any thoughts of investigating were tossed as his anterior node was rubbed, the edge of Jazz’s claws making for the perfect cocktail to turn his processor off. Panting hard with lubricant threatening to drip from his mouth Prowl couldn’t help but rut down onto the sharp digits, wishing them deeper.
A rather threatening sounding thunk rung out, Prowl had just enough processor space to shift his legs slightly and look down. That is before something definitely not a claw swiped along his valve.
It cleaned up the dripping juices and pressed into his anterior node with enough texture to make his vision glitch. It swiped again, and again, and again. Delving out and around, swiping up the lubricant dripping down in globs.
Two large, clawed servos gripped his thighs, their sharp points leaving small chips in his paint. A harsh swipe has him instinctually thrusting down and those servos prove strong enough as he doesn’t move an inch, twitching harder at the knowledge that he is trapped at this other bot's mercy.
A thought in the back of his helm rings out, if Prowl gave the order Jazz would stop. Watching Jazz wait for specific permission to touch him and then touch his valve had solidified it.
With this realization something in Prowl slips, his intake opens wider, his vocalizer loses its restraints, and he does his best to press his valve down into the molten pleasure.
All of this is good timing, because Prowl can feel the swipes pressing into his valve opening harder and harder. Dipping in ever so slightly deeper with every stroke.
A pause for a tick, and then the thing that's been turning his processor off slips in.
Prowl’s servo twitches when he pulls it from the wall, it lands on Jazz’s helm with a click and Prowl can feel the vibration of Jazz’s moan in his valve.
The tip is thin, thin enough to not be an issue at all. Pressing against the first set of callipers its plenty slickened.
More feeds its way in, slowly thickening as it does so, like a tapered spike. Prowl’s vocalizer is ringing a constant stream of sounds, mostly open noises but with the occasional “yes” thrown in.
The intrusion is starting to thicken, pressing against his callipers the same as Jazz’s two digits did earlier. It even proves to be much more controllable than a spike, bending and curling to press against his pulsing walls.
More slips in, pulsing deeper and deeper as his valve pumps lubricant. The more that fits in the bolder it gets, flattening out and swiping back and forth along his walls. The opening to his valve is starting to stretch, as more and more gets fed in he can feel the ache begin to rise. Far thicker than the three digits in him before.
The stretch is just on the wrong side of too much, the pleasure ratcheting up faster than his fuses can handle. Not even realizing it Prowl pushes on Jazz’s helm, down and away so as to escape the heat.
Jazz moves, pulling out slightly ripping whines from Prowl’s vocalizer as the torrent of pleasure slows. But the reprieve is welcome.
With the fog of pleasure clearing Prowl has just enough focus to lean his helm down from where he had kept it pinned to the wall. The servos on his thighs are leaving streaks of thick lubricant, and his paint job will definitely need a retouch. But overall not as bad as he was expecting, considering the lack of paint transfers.
More importantly he gets a look at the intrusion still sitting partially inside his valve. It's thick and made of interlocking plates to allow for the mobility it's proven to have. A dark glossy blue with glowing nodes along its sides, what's visible is lit with a pulsing glow.
This is when Prowl's blissed out processor makes a little important discovery; the long prehensile intrusion meets Jazz’s face. And once Prowl’s optics can cycle properly, a new detail becomes very apparent.
Jazz has a mouth, and thats where the intrusion has been coming from. Right below Jazz’s visor sits an open maw, the jaw split down the middle and rows upon rows of various sized mandibles covered with sharp teeth line the insides. At the centre, the glowing glossa coils in the air, what Prowl recognizes as his own faintly blue tinted lubricant lines the inside of the maw.
Tilting his helm to the side best he can, Prowl tries to imitate the stop chirp that Jazz so often used. It comes out staticky and with the wrong inflection but Jazz reacts to it anyways.
Keeping both servos on Prowl’s thighs he leans back, pulling the last pieces of his glossa from Prowl’s valve.
Finally coiling in the air Prowl sees the size of what was just in him, it's definitely large with the tip being more pointed that he felt. Its absolutely dripping with lubricant, and Prowl feels a flush of heat in his faceplate as he realizes that its all his own.
Jazz whimpers, a small and almost choked thing as his glossa bobs in the air trying to curl around something. Prowl notices the amount of steam and condensate pouring off Jazz’s frame, a constant ring of pinging metal and fans being run hard.
The servo that was on Jazz’s helm reaches out, open palm up. Jazz nearly flings himself onto it, helm pressing heavy and his glossa coiling around his wrist. The plate covering his wrist ports pings his HUD, the idea of opening it is far too tempting.
But Jazz is relaxing and his glossa is slowing in its laving watching the simple motions breaks Prowl out of the pleasure spiral.
Jazz’s venting has calmed slightly; his plating isn’t streaming like mad like it was before. And he takes the time to tuck his glossa into his maw, Prowl watching with rapt attention as those mandibles scrape at it to wipe the lubricant off, what gets removed is pulled into the back of his intake and down.
Jazz’s helm is seemingly getting heavier; Prowl has to tilt his servo to better hold him. The shift has Jazz’s visor brightening, looking up at what must be a very disheveled view, if Jazz doesn’t like it then he’s not showing it with how Prowl can feel a slow rumble vibrate through his servo.
Prowl watches as Jazz’s helm shifts, slowly pointing towards his valve again. His glossa laps out, dull with seemingly no oral lubricant.
Jazz turns his helm back up; a whine pulls from his vocalizer. He nudges forward, pressing his helm into Prowl’s servo.
A comm blips over to Prowl “apology, caused harm, question.” Jazz had seemingly been done in by the same pleasure-soaked processor as Prowl, resorting back to the clicking language that Jazz was fluent in.
Prowl froze, looking down at Jazz. Kneeling on the floor apologising thinking he has done wrong when he had been close to blowing out his processor with the pleasure from his sensor net.
Speaking through static “no you’re good-” a ragged gush of hot air spills out “-you’re good”
Jazz looks up fast, audials snapping forwards as his venting sped up for a tick, and then slowed almost to normal levels.
“you were… too good,” at this Jazz somehow sat up even more, pressing his helm into Prowl’s servo even harder. His venting increasing slightly with the motions.
Jazz’s vocalizer made its usual crackling noise before his voice could come out, “extreme positive, question?” the weight on Prowl’s servo continued to stay steady even as Jazz’s glossa seems intent on investigating the seams
Taking time to wrangle his glossa from where it was stuck down his intake lines, “you were, very good… but my systems charged too fast-“ a slower vent this time “-not your fault.”
“Confirm, negative harm, question?” Jazz nuzzles his helm into Prowls palm, open maw catching onto his digits before looking back up with a combination of audial and intake movement that made him look almost pitiful despite his lack of other facial movements.
Jazz’s language was thankfully simple to decode and speak back, “confirm, negative harm, statement” more complex knowledge was difficult to pass on without adding a large amount of additions but it was suitable for this. Prowls venting had decreased, and the charge running rampant through his systems was being funnelled into his heat sinks effectively.
But that didn’t stop the lance of charge that ran through Prowl when Jazz looked up so hopeful and relaxed, kneeling on the ground his own interface array still tucked away.
“confirmation, negative harm, extreme positive, statement” his venting had mostly evened out, even if having his valve out and on display was sending a rattling charge through his systems.
Jazz tilted his helm, towards where Prowl’s valve still sat uncovered. A small bead of lubricant was teetering on the edge. Jazz opened his maw a bit more, and clicked out in the strange language that Prowl had been trying to learn for his sake. “positive, question”
Prowl racked his processor banks for the correct way of wording his response, taking slightly longer with how the echoes of pleasure still sung. “positive, statement”
Flicking his glossa once again over the ports on Prowl’s wrist Jazz seemed oddly content to simply continue his exploration. The glossa dipped into his seams and wrapped around the edges, tucking gently into the larger ones and leaving flitting touches into the smaller ones.
Following the motion Prowl put aside the base code fear baring his ports so openly caused and before his Tacnet could protest the cover snapped open. Quickly lavished with attention curtesy of the glossa which continues to leave no lubricant behind.
The sensation of having his ports fondled but not entered is an odd one, definitively not enough charge to make him overload but enough to cause a welcome buzz.
Servo still on Jazz’s helm Prowl gently nudged him forward, Jazz was hesitant but seemingly less worried now he knew he hadn’t hurt Prowl. Jazz inched forward, his outer mandibles clicked against each other. Prowl had a moment of realization that he was letting those massive teeth nuzzle against his valve, but the lingering pleasure still humming in his circuits was enough for him to override it easily.
Jazz’s servos and their adorning claws find perch on the sides of his thighs, before sliding up to latch onto the larger panels that made up his aft. Prowl nearly squeaked when he felt Jazz’s claws dip into the transformation seams there.
Jazz’s glossa once again pressed against his valve, tacking its time to lick over the anterior node still glowing at the apex of Prowl’s valve. Helm thrown back to the wall again as Jazz wraps his glossa around his anterior node with zero hesitation, the edges of the sharp teeth graze against the blinking node and Prowl is sent straight to teetering on the edge for a few seconds.
Until Jazz shifts back and slides the tip of his glossa right back into Prowl’s dripping valve, all of the extended sharp teeth grazing his codpiece and outer labials as Jazz’s glossa licks deeper and deeper; has Prowl’s hips moving on their own accord. Thrusting down into the sheer heat without a hint of softness other than his own slickened lubricant dripping trails down his legs.
Jazz sinks down until his visor hits Prowl’s codpiece, the lights within directing up to make optic contact as he presses as hard as he can against Prowl’s inner node clusters. Every mandible, tooth, and hook scraping against his array all at once mixed with the sudden pressure against his anterior node is enough to drag Prowl over the edge. Charge lances up his spinal strut, doorwings flaring out and smacking against the wall, his valve releasing extra lubricant in globs that get eagerly lapped up by Jazz’s still wiggling glossa.
Prowl’s vision is blurry shapes and colours, his spark spinning so rapidly in its casing that he worries his sparkchamber is going to burst. Drool drips down from the corners of his mouth from the sheer strength of the overload, his vocalizer fried enough to only produce a slurry of static when he tries to say something to tell Jazz how good he is.
Despite the charge rattling through Prowl’s frame and the sudden clamp of his calipers Jazz keeps moving, his glossa pressing deeper until the pointed tip presses against his ceiling node and Prowl is dragged into a forced reboot.