Chapter Text
Prowl smirked as Jazz overloaded above him, giving another gentle tug to his lover’s node. The lithe saboteur lays back against the conference table, spinal struts arching. Testing the slickness of Jazz’s valve, Prowl is finally satisfied that he can do what he wants next.
“Are you ready for me to remove your gestation cap, Jazz?” That lovely post-overload haze is slowly fading, and Prowl can enjoy Jazz’s open expression as he registers the question and realizes the implications. The shocked realization morphs into a dopey excited grin. Rarity makes the expression all the more precious, and Prowl tucks the memory into his protected memory files.
“Yes!” Jazz wiggles into a better position for Prowl to access his valve, leaned back, aft nearly off the desk, and grips the upper edge to steady himself.
Contrary to popular pornographic media depictions, gestation caps aren’t some fragile foil seals set to rupture when you frag your partner particularly hard. It’s a thick metal plate attached to the gestation port by hooked prongs, and any force able to damage it could irreparably damage the port. At one point, gestation cap related interfacing incidents were a notable cause of permanent interface equipment damage and several City states were pressured into providing information and tools for safe sparking. The tool he pulls out of subspace is perfectly smooth, straight and long. The opening at the end is rimmed with recessed hooks, everything designed to protect the sensitive mesh in a mech’s valve. As he double checks the tool for any burrs or raw edges, Prowl applies a large dollop of lubricant to it. He makes a show of coating it thoroughly, catching with a sly glance the way Jazz’s visor brightens watching him. Finally deeming the tool safe and ready, he presses it against the edge of Jazz’s valve. Carefully, he slides the tool in, twisting and pulling back before pushing it deeper. Once he reaches the back of Jazz’s valve, he starts twirling it slowly to find and latch onto the cap. It clicks into place, and with another careful twirl he unhooks the valve cap and pulls it loose. The tool and cap are slipped into his subspace to be cleaned and stored later.
Prowl presses soft kisses to Jazz’s frame as he stands: over the interlocking plates of his abdomen, up the chest seam protecting Jazz’s spark, along the main energon in his neck. They’re pressed as close as armor will allow, and Prowl can only savor this. These secret moments were too rare before and would only grow rarer. Jazz kisses his chevron and whispers in his audial.
“C’mere, love. Take me.” Finally, he lets his interface cover open, spike pressurizing quickly. One smooth thrust seats him fully in his lover, and Jazz muffles a cry as Prowl’s spike taps against his gestation port. It’s the first time the component has been touched since the contraceptive was installed. Perhaps the first time it’s been touched at all. Most mechs had the contraceptive installed as part of their final upgrades. Prowl kissed him as his lover adjusted to the new sensation. When Jazz nodded for Prowl to continue, Prowl started a long drawn out rhythm, paying extra attention to the in thrusts and making sure to nose at the port with each one. Jazz gasps and shudders prettily each time, trying to smother any noise that might be heard outside Prowl’s temporary office.
“Ah. Prowler, please.” Jazz is close, holding out to savor this tryst.
“Overload for me, Jazz.” Prowl nipped at Jazz’s audial horn in time with a firm thrust, grinding against Jazz’s gestation port. Jazz arched, vocalizer spitting static as he cut it off to stay quiet. Prowl spilled deep into Jazz’s valve and Jazz’s visor flashed white as the transfluid pushed through the silicone seal into his gestation chamber. After just a couple breems to collect himself, Prowl pulls back.
"Ride me while we merge?" Prowl sat back in a low backed chair and triggered the transformation sequence for his chest plates. Jazz has that dopey look on his face plates again, very tender and a little awestruck. Not that Prowl looks particularly composed and indifferent when deep blue light spills from Jazz's chest to mingle with his much paler hue. A tinge of static still threads Jazz's voice as he hops off the table.
"Sure thing, Prowler." Jazz's movement is always sultriness personified, and he doesn't disappoint here. It shouldn't look that easy to straddle someone in a chair, but Jazz does it. Legs braced against the chair arms and servos gripping the low back below Prowl's wings. The leading tendrils of spark energy tangle as Jazz hovers over Prowl's spike. Prowl grips Jazz's hips to help guide him down, into the merge and onto his spike. Positioned like this, the head of his spike is pressed firmly against Jazz's gestation port. The heat softened seal stretches around the head of his spike, threatening to give way completely as Jazz eagerly grinds into the sensation. Jazz's spark plays back echoes of the rarely touched sensors intertwined with all of his love and nervous excitement. Prowl presses back with his own love and certainty and the feeling of filling Jazz so completely.
The first mote of light brings a sudden overload with it, and it takes concentrated effort not to shut down. Not yet. They won’t have the opportunity to build the protospark up over several orns until it ignites into a new spark. He needs to give it as much energy as he can now.
They let the next overload build lazily, the protospark whirling through their combined sparks and drawing energy. With each pass around Jazz’s spark that coalescing ball of energy grew until, finally, when oversensitivity tipped past pleasure and into pain, a nova bright shock of energy tipped them both into blackout.
Prowl woke to the half joor warning ping before his next appointment, his hud pinging low energy and empty transfluid reservoir. Jazz is still slumped over him, chest plates now closed. Prowl kisses the audial horn nearest him and rubs at Jazz’s pauldron, helping his lover regain awareness before he tries to move them. They share a couple of soft kisses before Jazz pulls himself up. Prowl grunts as his limp spike pulls free, and Jazz stifles a whine as a trickle of lubricant and transfluid follows. Jazz grins as he tilts his helm, a little intentional tell he uses when he wants someone to know he’s checking his hud.
“Forge looks to be engaging properly.” The statement is too flippant for the elation in Jazz’s field. He’d likely been worried that his systems were so damaged or far off spec that he’d need to get medical assistance to spark, efforts that would have been impossible for them to hide from Sentinel long enough to get away. Prowl pulls out a cube of energon, a high energy blend with a good mix of nanites and minerals for creating, and passes it to Jazz. Then he grabs a few cleaning rags and sets to- gingerly- cleaning their equipment. Jazz curls up sideways in his lap, sipping his cube. Once Prowl is done cleaning up the evidence and the cube is about halfway empty, Jazz offers the cube back.
"I know you don't fuel enough when you're doin' a bunch of planning an' you gotta stay awake for a while yet. I can grab more fuel on the way to the station and rest on the transport." Prowl tucks Jazz close, conceding Jazz’s offer, taking a long slow sip from the cube. The armor of Jazz’s abdomen is distended by 3.1 nanometers where his filled forge is taut against it and systems in that region are 5.7 degrees warmer than the surrounding areas. Prowl took this in, memorized every little detail he could find of his lover. It will be a while before they can meet again. Officially, Jazz was heading to work communications in a small base in Crystal City. In the ops classified report, he’s taking the Crystal City route to Simfur for a multi-vorn deep cover mission. It took a lot of planning to build a minimum-contact multi-vorn mission with specifications exact enough to convince Backslide to pick Jazz for it. The mech is a jealous and paranoid Spec Ops head, and a particularly tenacious lackey of Sentinel’s. And as the Tactical head and handler for this mission, Prowl gets leeway to redirect Jazz where he needs.
“Jazz. Seventeen orns after you arrive in Simfur, take the five-zero-nine route to Praxus. My cousin Smokescreen will be waiting for you.” Jazz nods, kisses him gently, and slips out of his lap to disappear into the maintenance hatch. Prowl turned back to his desk, setting up for his next appointment.
Jazz will be safe in Praxus. Prowl can do what he needs to to resolve the rebellion without worrying about Backslide throwing Jazz’s life away in one of his ploys to protect his position. After that, Prowl can use the crisis retirement clause to end his contract under Sentinel and return to Praxus. They’ll be able to have a life together. One where they’ll be safe.