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Title: Alphabet Soup	By : Chaosdreamer Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 2419 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers and all recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I am making no profit writing these stories.

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Title: JazzxPerceptor Drabbles
Author: dreamerchaos
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I'm only playing with them.
Rating: G all the way to Mature.
Summary: Short, short drabbles, ranging from G to Mature. Be warned. Slash between two mechs. Takes place in the G1, IDW, and Shattered Glass universe. None of these drabbles are are meant to be in consecutive order.

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A is for Assessment
(G1 Universe)

“So what’s a bot gotta do to set a date, my fine friend?” Jazz smoothly wraps his arms around Perceptor’s shoulders. The scientist jerking in surprise as the mech sneaks up on him from behind, but then relaxes immensely. Leaning back into the saboteur’s arms.

“If you can help me uplink the fusion cell to the inverter core without an explosion tearing a hole in the Ark that would greatly succeed in speeding along my project.” Perceptor tilts his head, Jazz’s fingers coaxing his chin backwards. Pecking the scientist on the lips, savoring Perceptor’s upside down smile.

“I thought Wheeljack was renowned for his explosions. You trying to compete, Percy?”

“Aah, but your assessment is incorrect.” Perceptor twiddles absently with a spare link of wires, “I’m trying to upgrade this device so that when Wheeljack does get his hands on it, Ratchet will rest assured that his mate will not be carried into his Med Bay in spare pieces.”

B is for Bravery
(IDW Universe)

Jazz grunts, exerting the necessary brute force to move the heavy iron fence off the pinned mech. “You all right?”

The scientist’s blue optics are narrowed in pain. “m-my leg…I can’t feel it…” He grimaces, gesturing down towards the appendage, the angle and debris blocking the microscope from catching sight of the severed limb, his leg sheared off at the thigh. Energon pumping from the open wound, emergency shut-off valves slowly decelerating the bleed.

“My designation: Autobot special officer Jazz.” The saboteur slinks closer. Holstering his blaster, “I’m going to get you out of here and to a field medic.”

“D-Decepticons―”

“I know.” Jazz is quick to hush the mech. Trying to keep him quiet and calm. “They attacked this lab because of the Advances In Weaponry Division. Shockwave can’t wait to get his hand on you, and I’m here to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”

“n-no.” The scientist gasps. Before Jazz can shush him, Perceptor’s optics flicker a glance over the crouched Autobot’s shoulder, “..Decepticon…b-behind you..”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Jazz is twisting around. Hand snapping towards his holstered blaster.

The blast screeches across his chassis, hurling the saboteur backwards. He howls sharply as a sharp metal beam pierces his lower back, hissing against the burning stream of energy slipping down his back from the open wound. “F-Fraggit.” He curses. The wound isn’t critical, but it works extremely well in slowing him down. The saboteur wraps an arm across the blackened plating of his chassis, the angle of the shot and the breadth of his upper body allowing the blast to slide across his dermal plating rather than puncture and shatter his spark casing.

“Thank You, Autobot Special Officer Jazz.” Shockwave’s singular optic zooms in on the injured mech, scrutinizing the scowling Autobot with obvious disdain, “You Have Led Me To My Prize.”

He steps over Jazz’s stretched legs, the hulking purple mech striding towards the injured scientist.

“No. Please…I d-don’t want to…not Megatron, please..” Perceptor shrinks in on himself, whimpering as Shockwave’s broad hand yanks him off the ground, ignoring the scientist’s pained cries at the harsh treatment and sharp pull at his injured leg. The broad arm slings the microscope over a shoulder, encircling the mech’s waist to keep him steady.

Jazz snarls at the Decepticon’s back. “Hold it right there.” The saboteur thumbs the safety off his blaster. Shockwave halts at the sound of the weapon charging.

“…You Can Not Hope To Dissuade Me From My Goal.” Shockwave pierces the Autobot with a dispassionate glance over his shoulder.

“You’re not taking him.” The breath flushes from his vents as he yanks his frame off the sharp metal, sliding free from the impaled steel beam, “I’ll see you into the Pit before you set a pede out of this room.” His legs manage a shaky climb, hoisting his bleeding frame up into a stand.

Shockwave turns about, blaster hand beginning to power up in kind. “You May Try.” He warns, raising the arm to aim at the mech’s Spark. Not intending to miss this time.

C is for Craving
(Shattered Universe)

“Shh, shh, shh.” Jazz uses his thumbs to brush the teardrops of lubricant trickling from the prisoner’s optics. Cerulean optical glass shimmering with the wet film of fluid, the microscope quaking beneath his hands, “Don’t cry. Why won’t you give me a pretty little smile, huh, Percy?”

The Autobot grins toothily, ruby visor imprinting his favorite mech’s visage into his memory banks. With the practiced grace of a hunter, he straddles Perceptor, cooing in a façade of reassurance, “Come on, Perceptor. It won’t be so bad.”

“Please don’t…don’t…” Perceptor’s hands wiggle helplessly, wrists bound tight within the stassis cuffs mounted into the wall. Pulsing energon chains locked around his ankles, trapping his legs, forcing him to endure the Autobot’s roving hands and smooth words.

“Jazz.” A cool voice interrupts. The saboteur peeks over his shoulder.

Optimus Prime, arms folded across his massive chassis, glares solemnly at his soldier. “Get to it already. I want to see if Ratchet’s instillation of a reproduction chamber will prove successful.”

Jazz pouts at his leader. “Awwww, come on, Optimus. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy the show? Better yet,” Jazz traces lingering circles upon the prisoner’s heaving chassis, “You could join in.”

Optimus Prime huffs in mirth, “I doubt he would survive the trauma.” He shakes his helm with regret, “No. The mech has never been breached. I trust you with this task for a reason. Perhaps in the future when he has grown accustomed…” Ruby optics narrow, allowing his words to linger between them.

“Now you’re just teasing me.” Jazz purrs. He sighs in regret, turning away from his leader and back to the prisoner. Smiling gently as Perceptor’s vents begin to hitch wretched sobs and clicking static from his voice box. “All right, Percy. No more stalling, I’m afraid.” Jazz tenderly pats the microscope’s damp cheeks. Slipping his glossa in between unresisting lips, swallowing the mech’s pathetic mewl, black fingers clenching within the cuffs as Jazz’s mouth and hands begin to work their way down his heaving red chassis.

D is for Duty
(G1 Universe)

“You don’t have to explain.” Perceptor’s smile is resigned. He moves out of range before Jazz can reach forward to attempt to engage what they believe to be their last embrace. The gesture too painful for words to describe. He can’t possibly endure Jazz’s touch when knowing it would be the last. “Your duty to the Autobots comes first. There’s no place for a bondmate in this war.”

“I wish I could change the circumstances that have led us to this.”

Perceptor’s smile is as brittle as synthetic, the tattered silk-thin strand of their bond snapping to shredded pieces as he whispers, “No you don’t.”

E is for Entertainment
(IDW Universe)

The rest of the Autobots are curious, avid spectators as Ultra Magnus and his crew disembarks the landed shuttle, the soldiers saluting Prime as the semi-truck embraces the Enforcer. “It is good to see you and your team.” Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus savor the reunion before taking a step back.

“Your team is eager to step onto land.” Optimus Prime comments as Ultra Magnus’ squad step off the platform. Shifting restlessly, holding back from joining the planet-based Autobot squad. Waiting for a signal or gesture from their company to show an affirmative to intermingle, “But they don’t seem too sure about socializing.”

“We’ve been bound to a small ship. For a long time in the silence and vacuum of space,” Ultra Magnus nods his head in the direction of Optimus Prime’s team. Silently bidding his team forward, “I’m not surprised if it will take a few solar cycles for their restlessness to fade.”

“I’m sure my men will help ease them into our ranks.” His words proven correct as Jazz steps forward. The saboteur’s buoyant steps carrying him towards Ultra Magnus’ team.

Optimus Prime’s optical ridge quirks in surprise then admiration as Jazz saunters up to a red and cobalt microscope ― Perceptor, if he correctly remembers the mech’s designation ― sliding into the reserved mech’s personal space, “Missed you, Percy.” The saboteur rumbles his engine to match his purr.

Ultra Magnus’ team moan underneath their breath. The mechs familiar with Jazz and Perceptor’s history.

So they’re not nearly as surprised as Optimus Prime’s team when Jazz pounces, dipping the microscope and sealing their reunion with a thorough smack on the lips, regardless of the crowd that is gathered around them.

“..Guess they know each other.” Bumblebee’s comment met by smirks and laughter from Ultra Magnus’ team. Prime’s men not sure whether to be stunned or impressed by the impromptu entertainment. Especially when Perceptor berates the saboteur for manhandling him, scolding words and insistent hands a weak deterrent as Jazz sweeps the microscope off his pedes, spinning him around in his arms as the the Autobots clap and cheer.

“I do agree that they’ll work together just fine.” Optimus Prime’s battle-mask hides his proud, delighted smile as the Autobots are at ease for the first time in many solar cycles. Sharing laughter and open arms in greeting with their fellow compatriots and new friends.

F is for Freedom
(Shattered Universe)

“Going somewhere, my fine friend?”

Perceptor instinctively jerks away from the too familiar voice. “Jazz!” The Autobot scowls at the saboteur. “I’m busy!” Snapping waspishly at the mech.

Jazz, sitting on top of the large pile of metal scrape and refuse, kicks his pedes, patiently waiting while Perceptor mutters and sorts through his treasures. “Didn’t think skulking around in the trash was your sort of thing,” The red visor skimming a passing of a glance over the scientist and his small pile of findings.

“Don’t you have anyone else to bother?” He despises the whiny pitch in his voice, but is fast losing patience with the mech scrutinizing his activity.

“Mmmm..not really.” The Autobot pushes off his pile, hopping on one pede when he lands. “I’m bored with entertaining the prisoners. And it’s so dull keeping Prime amused with the antics of his soldiers.”

“How sad for you,” Perceptor’s optics roll skyward, “To think that you feel compelled to honor me with your presence. Truly I am not worthy.”

Jazz chuckles. Scooping up an anonymous damaged part from Perceptor’s small pile, juggling the innocuous bundle of wires and red paintwork between his hands.

Perceptor nearly shrieks in terror, “Give that back!” He snaps, diving forward to catch the device.

He’s done exactly what Jazz has wanted and planned. The saboteur drops the part carelessly onto the pile. Capturing Perceptor’s wrists, he spins the Autobot around, pinning him against a pile of metal. The scientist kicks at Jazz, cursing as the metalwork scrapes against his plating, “Unhand me this instant, you brute!”

“Nooope.” Jazz leans in, teasing the scientist with a sinuous tongue. Laughing as Perceptor twists his head away to avoid the sensual kiss that the saboteur attempts to initiate. The red-visored Autobot squeezes Perceptor’s wrists, pushing his chassis forcefully against the microscope’s, “What, you think freedom is the right of all sentient beings? Don’t tell me that you’re falling for that Decepticon slogan and propaganda slag. You’re an Autobot. You gotta fight tooth and nail for the prize…or if you don’t want to be ‘faced against the nearest sturdy surface.”

“Haven’t I made it clear more than once that I’m not interested?” The scientist gripes. His body betraying him as Jazz manages to dampen his lips with a successful swipe of his glossa. Teasing the seam of the microscope’s trembling mouth, “It’ll take more than a kiss to convince me that you’re worthy of fucking me.” Perceptor sneers.

“Don’t tell me you got a date with Blaster tonight.” Jazz’s smirk is cold and calculating, “Pity. Heard he’s been sent on a long reconnaissance mission. Somewhere about the skeleton of Iacon, if I remember correctly.”

“I’m sure you whispered a few choice words into Prime’s audios to ensure the officer was out of your way.” Perceptor’s optics shutter. Ruby gaze narrowing thoughtfully before he smiles reminiscently, sighing in feigned regret, “That’s too bad. He always knew how to please a mech. And that mouth of his…” The scientist tremors at the memory of quite a few enjoyable tumbles with the officer.

Perceptor shivers for another reason at the low that trickles from Jazz’s twisted lips, “I’d like to hear you complain after I’m through with you.” He sets forth to make due on his promise. Denta snagging and bleeding tiny droplets of energon from Perceptor’s lips as he attempts to devour the mech from the outside in.

Primus, he’d like to see the little fragger be able to walk back to base after he was through with him.

G is for Greed
(G1 Universe)

“Nnnn…Jazz…” Perceptor pants, bent over his workbench. Arms straight, shaking as he leans over the saboteur sprawled over the table with his legs wrapped tight around the microscope’s waist.

Jazz sighs, rocking against the microscope. Drinking down every soft cry, greedily lapping up the words and gasps that spill from those succulent lips, “Feel just right, Percy.” He purrs, moaning as his valves squeezes tight around the microscope’s interface spike.

“It-it’s too much!” The mech gasps. Rocking helplessly against the seductive mech spread alluringly underneath him, “I don’t think I can f-finish. I’m sorry! I don’t deserve―”

Given his impish pose and their activity, the saboteur shouldn’t have been able to move as he did.

“Don’t you dare,” He snarls. They are now sprawled across the floor. Jazz straddles the staggered mech, pressing down to reestablish their connection. Moaning in bliss as he sinks down upon Perceptor’s spike, “You’re mine. Just as much as I’m yours. So don’t you dare finish that sentence. I don’t want to hear a word from you about not deserving any of this.”

“Jazz!” Perceptor’s hands slap against the floor, bracing himself as Jazz begins to lead once again. Helm and throat arching back as he moans softly, thrusting in cadence into Jazz’s every up and down glide.

“That’s the word I want to hear.” Jazz approves. Sliding his hands up and down, tweaking wires and hot spots, coaxing a variety of whimpers and moans, “I also enjoy ‘more’ and ‘please don’t stop’, but I’m willing to compromise.”

H is for Hands
(IDW Universe)

“You are nearly obsessive in your compulsion.” Perceptor allows his berth mate to caress every nook and square line of his fingers and hands. “I must confess that I don’t understand your fascination.”

Jazz kisses the center of Perceptor’s palm. Embracing the microscope lying sated, limp and trusting upon the saboteur’s chassis.

“Pretty easy to understand,” Jazz swivels the scientist’s wrists, kissing the ends of his fingers, “You create an infinite number of gadgets and assist Ratchet with minor field wounds. You design and mend.” A frown mars the saboteur’s lips, thoughtful within his dark reminiscing, “My hands have performed unimaginable horrors. Soaked countless of times in the fluid of my enemy. I’ve ripped apart an untold number of enemies by digging and severing cables and wires. And I can never wash that taint away.”

Perceptor clasps Jazz’s hand, bringing the slightly resisting appendage to his lips. “Then let me replace those marks with my own.” He kisses a small patch of metal skin, “I have all the time in the world to interchange that stain with my emblem.”

I is for Interloper
(Shattered Universe)

“You better have a good reason for interrupting.” Optimus Prime’s ruby optics narrow in disapproval as Jazz glides into the main hall, “I’m not in a forgiving mood. Not even for you.”

The interruption has shifted his focus from his newly acquired pet. The smaller Decepticon prisoner tugging at the chain connected to the steel collar encircling his throat. Perceptor flinches when the Prime’s hand yanks on the coiled shackle, pulling the microscope towards him once more, forcing the mech to tumble awkwardly onto his knees, helm butting against the Autobot leader’s shins.

Jazz tactfully bows his helm towards his leader, seated upon the high throne, lips twitching in mirth, “Bumblebee nurtured my curiosity when he happened to mention our latest guest.”

Optimus Prime’s optics pulse, signaling his amusement, tilting his helm as he assesses his soldier, “I’m sure Bumblebee divulged that information, since I have only had this prisoner in my possession for less than two joors.”

The saboteur shrugged one shoulder in feigned bashfulness, “I’m good at what I do.”

The Autobot is certainly amusing. Enough to ascertain that he will remain online for a while longer. The Prime’s temper mollified, “Perhaps you can be of some use to me.” He tugs harder at the chain, pulling the struggling prisoner towards him, reeling him in, “My Perceptor is proving a bit difficult to train. Annoyingly stubborn for a Decepticon.”

“Oh?” Jazz dares a few steps up the dais, only approaching closer when his leader beckons, “What lesson are you trying to demonstrate?”

“Apparently something too complicated for him to grasp,” Optimus Prime grasps the microscope’s chin, pinching the metal flesh, forcing Perceptor to look him in the optic, “Address your superior as Commander or Sir.”

The Decepticon pounds his fists against the Prime’s chassis, the blows affecting the leader no more than half-hearted taps, “No!” Perceptor jerks his captured jaw as much as he is allowed in refusal, “I won’t!”

“Stubborn.” Jazz rests his chin on the head of the Prime’s throne, kneading the tense shoulders, his leader rumbling in approval at the confident handling. Smiling toothily as the prisoner’s blue optics flicker to meet his, “I like a little fight in them.”

“Then by all means,” Optimus Prime captures the saboteur’s slender hand, leading him to circle around the throne. Nudging his soldier to accept the loop of chain, “Show Perceptor how persuasive an Autobot can be.”

J is for Joined
(G1 Universe)

None of the Autobots are shocked that Jazz and Blaster are accomplished musicians. Their smooth moves, choreographed dances, and skilled voices were infamous; many times the two mechs would go out to observe, even participate, in the organic’s concerts. The thrill of the crowds and the lights and the music too much of a lure for the Cybertronians.

Imagine the two mechs’ surprise when they learned of Perceptor’s own talent, a stray file from Teletran’s systems supplying brief backgrounds each of the Autobots aboard the Ark.

“Perceptor used to be a singer?” Cliffjumper and Brawn scoff at the notion. “I can’t begin to imagine the caterwauling that would come from that mouth.”

“I can’t begin to understand the words coming out of your mouth.” Blaster’s voice could strip paint, “You bots keep ragging on Percy for no good reason. Getting to be a bit of a sore subject to listen to.”

The Minibots gripe and scowl, but back down under Blaster’s glare.

Once they are gone from the Rec Room, Jazz can’t help but to ponder, “Wonder why I never heard anything about him on Cybertron?”

“Maybe he was too young to perform on stage.” Blaster shrugs, “Sometimes the sire and creator don’t want to introduce their younglings to the hype of the clubs until they’re processors are upgraded enough to handle everything without a sensory overload.”

Jazz’s helm tilts, visor turned to the other Autobot, “Can you remember any musicians that stepped out of the spotlight because they were in the process of rearing a sparkling? Any that we didn’t get a glimpse of?”

“Well, Richter and Quickstep had a femme. Think her name was Flare.” Blaster ticks off the names with an extended finger, counting “Then there was Skyclash and Siren…but I don’t think their sparkling ever onlined. Its Spark gave out. They never did try to have another sparkling; they never truly recovered from losing him.”

“Quicksilver and her mate Clash got together. Had a sparkling.” Jazz adds.

“Yeah. But I think they were in Kaon when the Decepticons rose and struck out for the first time.” Blaster’s shoulders droop, “None of them probably survived.”

“…We’re forgetting someone.” Jazz taps his fingertips on his chin. The mystery teasing his CPU, the saboteur wracking his memory files for some sort of clue, “Slag! There was another pair that had a sparkling, but he was too young to be introduced to the other musicians.”

“I remember now.” Blaster perks up, “Yeah!” He smacks his fist into his palm, “Discord and Harmony! They were teased about what designation they would give their sparkling, since their names were complete opposites of one another.”

“And Harmony’s alt. mode was a small telescope.” Jazz grins, remembering the ivory and white femme and her larger azure mate, “Not too much difference between a microscope and a telescope.”

“So…what next?”

“Next, we have a talk with Percy.” Jazz rises to his pedes, “Hopefully he’s willing to enlighten us with the reason why he never bothered to use his voice for the reason his kin raised him.”

“I am not willing to discuss this with either of you.” Perceptor frowns at the interlopers who dared to venture into his labs.

“Come on, Percy!” Jazz cuts the mech off before he can retreat to the back of the labs. Hands raised in surrender as the scientist levels his glare at the saboteur, “Why are you ignoring your basic programming? Discord and Harmony created you to carry on their legacy―”

“And look where that tradition got them!” Perceptor surprises them both by baring his denta in a sharp snarl. “My sire and creator are dead because they went against their basic programming, refusing to submit and sing words of praise for their Decepticon captors after a successful raid. The Decepticon squad and commander wanting their infamous prisoners to share the exquisiteness of their voices, Discord following Harmony in tandem…commanded to deliver a song of glory and tribute to the victors.”

“Percy…” Blaster, stunned by the microscope’s admission about the fate of his kin, tries to reach a hand forward in condolence.

Perceptor shoves the hand from his shoulder, scowling at the mech and his diffident gesture, “Do either of you have any idea what it is like to be so young, held back within the hands of a Decepticon soldier while the rest grabbed my parents…I watched what they did to both of them! This accursed voice of mine is spawned from their legacy, and look at what their legacy brought upon them!”

“They stood up for what they truly believed.” Jazz argues.

“Perhaps their intentions were virtuous.” Perceptor hushes, then fiercely shakes his helm, “but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re gone and I’m the only thing that’s left.”

“But that’s what makes you so wonderful.” Blaster mutes Perceptor’s words of denial by laying his hands upon the microscope’s cheeks, forcing the blue optics to delve into his. Trapping the darkly painted face within his broad hands, “Their union created you. You represent the best of Discord and Harmony’s qualities. It’s all right to grieve for them. But…maybe instead of punishing yourself and stuffing away what memory files that remain of them, possibly you could focus on sharing the gift that they left within your programming.”

“……” Perceptor’s chin and bottom lip tremble, azure optical glass shimmering with condensation.

“…Hey.” Jazz finishes the circle by sliding up to the scientist, nestling against his back strut and boxing the microscope in, wrapping his arms around Perceptor’s waist. The Communications Officer and saboteur holding the mech’s weight between their chassis’ and within their encircled arms, “You’re not alone, remember? We have the same programming, too. Now you don’t have to remain alone in the background. The stage is lit and ready. All it needs is you.”

“…I…I can’t remember how…” Perceptor crumbles into a aching sob.

“Don’t worry.” Blaster’s smile flashes as bright as the planet’s revolving sun, “You’ve got us. We’ll remind you why our songs come from the Spark.”

It feels as if a thousand vorns have past, shifted aside like the grains of sand upon a desert sand-duned landscape.

On Cybertron, in front of a sea of familiar and new faces, the lights flicker on.

Jazz and Blaster beam to the crowd, the strobes of light dancing across their gleaming paint. “We welcome the new era! Casting aside our badges. Neither Autobot or Decepticon!” Jazz’s words stir a roaring boom of approval from the crowd.

“Together we are one!” Blaster sweeps his hand towards the crowd, “And together we greet Cybertron. Alongside us is the youngest musician that has been gifted to us! Sired by Discord, delivered by Harmony, let me hear your voice as we greet our youngest star! Perceptor!”

The strobe lights turn, lighting the third figure upon the stage that had insisted to remain hidden in the shadows. Optics flickering as the harsh light caresses his dark features; Perceptor timidly waves, earning another roar of approval from the crowd as he steps forward to join his fellows.

Jazz and Blaster meet Perceptor in the middle of the stage. “You ready?” Jazz whispers.

Perceptor’s lips twitch in an unconscious smile. “No other choice now, is there?”

Blaster rests a hand on the microscope’s shoulder. “Welcome home, brother.” He switches on the microphone curved around his mandible, the speaker suspended in front of his lips. Jazz and Perceptor mirror him.

Together they greet the crowd, the lights, and the sound of Cybertron alive and together as one.

K is for Kids
(IDW Universe)

“Sire! Sire!”

The exultant cry of a youngling draws Jazz’s attention.

On the next metro-station platform, a cobalt and ruby youngling races on unsteady legs, jumping into the white telescope’s embrace.

The tall mech laughs, pumping his arms up high above his helm, taking a good look at his offspring, “You’re going to drive your Creator insane if you keep running off like that!”

The youngling waves his arms, squealing as his sire swings him around, much to the amusement of his fellow scientists and engineers waiting alongside for the train.

Jazz chuckles at the image of the small family and crowd of friends enjoying the beaming laughter and uplifting presence of such a tiny innocent Spark among them. There were too few sparklings and younglings, with the threat of a civil war hanging above every Cybertronian.

It was nice to see a glimmer of normalcy amongst the dark cloud of fear and foreboding.

“Jazz!” Perceptor bursts through the doors of the Med Bay, and throws himself into the saboteur’s open arms, attempting to strangle his mate with the firm grip about the black and white mech’s neck, “Jazz, you’re all right!”

Jazz chuckles, ignoring the painful sting of the patchwork of welded plates holding his torso together, “Take more than a few Seekers to drag me away.” Ratchet snarling in the background, but the medic not having the Spark to separate the elated microscope from Jazz. The microscope working himself into exhaustion, worrying about his mate, frequently watching the entrance of the base, waiting for Jazz and his team to return from combat.

The saboteur and the remaining of his squad literally scrapped themselves together long enough to crawl through the doors, leaking fluid and oil across the floor. The battle had been intense, and no one had escaped unscathed.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily…” Jazz kisses Perceptor’s cheeks, drying the faint drops of lubricants that trickle from the mech’s optical seams, the microscope crying tears of happiness once reunited with his mate, “And once Ratchet tosses me out, we’re going to have a little talk about you keeping secrets from me.” The saboteur gently runs his hand over the microscope’s chassis, pointedly tapping his knuckles against the warm plates.

Perceptor blinks, a hand unconsciously rising to settle atop his chassis, “Y-you…how long have you know?”

Jazz smiled, leaning up to kiss his mate on the lips, “Our sparkling likes to kick and fuss while you’re recharging. Had to sing him a lullaby to get him to settle down.”

The saboteur relaxes, smiling at the stunned look the microscope hasn’t managed to drop, overwhelmed by Jazz’s return and the revelation that his mate had known for a while that he was with sparkling. Chuckling as Ratchet rounds on Perceptor, heatedly scolding the cringing scientist for not divulging that he was carrying. “You little―!! I should lock you in your rooms until your sparkling is delivered! Of all the foolish, thick-headed!!―”

“Sooooo…” Jazz dares to try, “Does that mean Percy and I can lock ourselves in our rooms for the remainder of the sparkling’s development stage?”

“Fragger! As if you’ll keep your hands to yourself! You’ll be lucky if I don’t tie you down to the berth you’re resting on until that sparkling is a fully grown Cybertronian!”

L is for Love
(G1 Universe)

It spoke of Perceptor’s unwavering love when he willingly took Jazz’s hand, the shy scientist sliding into the saboteur’s arms, hiding his face against the back and white chassis, but allowing his body to follow Jazz’s lead as the mech leads them into a slow song. Nimble footwork and guiding hands stealing away Perceptor’s fear that he would make his mate and himself look like utter fools with his stumbling and lack of confidence on the dance floor.

He didn’t feel out of his depth for too long when Blaster literally dragged a sputtering Red Alert onto the impromptu dance floor in the Rec Room. The Communications Officer spinning his partner, grinning to the hooting approving crowd as he began to waltz with the red and white Lamborghini.

M is for Monster
(G1 Universe)

“…’t hurtzz…it hurts zzoooo much…”

“I know, baby.” Jazz squeezes the microscope’s hand, refusing to remove from his seat at the patient’s berth-side.

First Aid, Swoop, and Ratchet are working at another table. Restlessly organizing and reorganizing the medical instruments and spare parts, whispering their plans for the surgery that would take place in a few breems.

The black and white saboteur can not pull his gaze away from the black holes where Perceptor’s optics used to be. A few tangled strands of wires hanging from the jagged wounds. A large chunk of his shoulder missing as well, the scope torn from its mount, the few pieces they could find resting on a small silver table near Perceptor’s resting helm―

Vortex is laughing. Primus, the sound of his rumbling laughter like a mountain-slide, the steady grumble of mirth intermingled with the scream of metal shearing apart. The Autobot struggling fruitless beneath his hands stiffening, staring in numb horror as the helicopter dangles the crunched red scope in front of him.

Perceptor howling in agony as the Decepticon shoves his thumb through the azure optical glass, “Cerulean is such a boring color,” He chuckles, dragging his forefinger over the microscope’s right optic before casually punching a hole through the weak glass. Oil and lubricants smearing the Decepticon’s hands, “I like a little bit of oil and carnage. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jazz is racing across the battlefield, ignoring Prowl’s shouts to fall back. Leaping onto Vortex’s backside, ignoring the scraping of the mech’s rotors digging into his sides. Clawing at the Decepticon’s ruby optics, hanging on tooth and nail as Vortex roars, spinning around and trying to throw the Autobot off him, “I’ll kill you!!” Jazz drags Vortex to the ground with him, tearing into any seam and splitting every wire that he can reach while the Decepticon’s teammates attempt to drag him off, slamming their fists down, gouging painful grooves into the saboteur’s metal skin when he refuses to let go―

“Jazz.” Optimus Prime’s hand startles him. The Autobot leader pleading with the saboteur, “Please. You need to let Ratchet’s team start repairs. You need medical attention.”

One of Jazz’s horns is missing, snapped off by Swindle. Visor cracked, black and white painted a watercolor of black viscous oil and drying energon. One small doorwing dislocated, hanging by a few strands of wires.

He lifts his battered helm, silver and gray bodywork peeking through the scuffed paintwork and torn plating, “N-not until Ratchet takes care of him first.” The statement comes across more like a plea.

“He’s fine.” Optimus Prime takes Jazz’s shoulders, “He will be repaired…but he’ll need you once he is out of surgery. You can’t do that if you’re in emergency stasis from energon loss and untreated injuries.”

“……’kay…’f you say so…” Jazz needs Optimus’ help to stand on his pedes. Swoop chirping in alarm as a fresh spill of energon erupts from the open gash in his side. The large Dinobot procuring the saboteur from the Prime’s arms, rushing him into the surgery room where First Aid waited while their creators Ratchet and Wheeljack would wheel Perceptor into the next room to begin repairs.

N is for Never Again
(G1 Universe)

“No, I don’t think Percy’s gonna to show for the party. Oh come on, Sideswipe, don’t look so disappointed. It’s your fault really that he got his hands on a cube of high grade instead of the regular fuel. I don’t think he can look at me or Blaster without nearly blowing a gasket, or his dermal plating overheating. Wheeljack still hasn’t managed to coax him out of his labs.”

O is for Opposition
(G1 Universe)

“Primus, what do you see in him? He’s a dork. A nerd. A recluse. Has no social skills. A coward on the battlefield. Hardly anything to look at. You would be better of making a play for someone like Tracks or Mirage.”

Jazz slams his cube onto the table. Leaning over the silver countertop to spear Gears and his cohorts with a barbed look, “For one thing, Tracks has a thing with Raoul. And Mirage and Hound are good for each other. And if I hear another word out of you, I’m gonna weld your afts onto the ceiling and let the twins have some fun; Sunny still hasn’t figured out who swapped his water with axle grease while he was in the washracks. Then I’ll let the Dinobots have a piece; I’m sure Grimlock is eager to discuss with you bots how annoyed he is about that prank you pulled on Sludge. Maybe after than I’ll be merciful and finish you off myself. You get my drift?”

“G-Got it.”

“Good.” Jazz abandons his half-empty cube, stretching and popping his stiff back strut, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a fine mech and we’re gonna go to a concert. Don’t wait up.”

P is for Pensive
(G1 Universe)

His CPU wanders into dismal places, ‘What did I do to ever deserve him?’

At a very inappropriate time, with the scientist mewling, wiggling in his lap, arms coiled around the saboteur’s neck as he sinks down and impales himself on Jazz’s spike

“Ooh!” Perceptor pants, condensation dotting his lips as the pulsating heat pours off his frame, misting the air, and lubricating their mouths as the two mechs eagerly share the fierce heat and throbbing interface parts.

“S-so good, Perceptor…” Jazz gasps. Hands guiding the microscope into a slow dance, reverently following the rise and fall of the mech’s port, as his spike disappears into Perceptor, the microscope’s lubricant easing the way.

Perceptor shivers, whimpering in disapproval as Jazz insists on maintaining a slow pace, savoring the pleading of his mate, “Please please oh Jazz please I can’t take it please!” The microscope begs with his hands braced on Jazz’s shoulders. Pinching and kneading the sensitive wires and small doorwings, mouth chasing Jazz’s poised smile.

Jazz hums his enjoyment, the thrum of his engine stirring another pleasured whimper from the microscope. Vibrations wrapping the mech within a blanket of subsonic caresses, “You should see yourself, Percy.” Jazz pants against his neck. Rolling his hips to thrust a tad faster, only heating his partner up with the increase in friction, dancing the lure of overload just beyond his fingertips. “I want to keep you like this all night long. Right on the edge…just think of all the things I can do to you…” He hums into Perceptor’s audio, “You’re so wet…so eager…who would have thought that my shy, introverted Percy was such a dirty little mech. You’re aching for this. I could spread you on this berth, hold you down and eat you up. Sink in again and again…wrapping your legs around me…”

Perceptor quivers as Jazz whispers lewdly into his audio. Excitement trembling up his capillaries, suffocating his mainframe with the bawdy arrangements that Jazz teases to place him. “I-I’d like to see you last long enough to go through with your threats.” Perceptor is quick to answer with his own tease, capturing Jazz’s hands, sliding their intertwined fingers up his arched chassis. Moaning softly at the caress, licking his lips coyly as their fingertips scrape the sealed hatchway of his chassis. Jazz groaning at the heat of Perceptor’s Spark pulsing beneath the fastened plating, “Poor Jazz…you look ready to burst…”

“I think that’s a challenge.” Jazz growled. Toppling Perceptor onto his back onto the berth. The microscope wails in sharp ecstasy as Jazz pushes into him again, the change in position offering another degree of friction. Lavender lubricant trickling down the wide spread seams of his thighs, Perceptor moaning and whimpering, hands digging into Jazz’s back strut, imprisoning him between his legs.

“Oh oh oh oohhhh Jazz please―” The saboteur suckles the desperate pleas, savoring each syllable.

‘What do you see in me, Percy?’ He wonders. ‘What’s a good mech like you see in a special Ops mech with too much energon staining his hands?’

“Mmmm…” Perceptor mumbles in between lip-lock. Sucking in atmosphere through his overworked vents, “Jazz…Jazz…my Jazz…l-love you..love you so much..” He manages to pant, echoing Jazz’s thrusts with a cry and sincere endearment into the saboteur’s horn.

‘Ah. That’s it.’ He remembers every time Perceptor whispers those words into his audio. Their shouts intermingle as overload finally overtook them, the coupling Cybertronians writhing together, the microscope supine beneath his partner.

“Love you too, Perceptor.” Jazz kisses the microscope’s cheeks, energon flushing underneath the heated metal skin. The scientist moaning softly, limbs still firmly ensnaring the saboteur, although the mech would be hard pressed to leave his mate.

“And don’t you forget it.” Perceptor boasts proudly, voice rough from overstressing his vocals during their…engagement.

Jazz snickers at his mate’s confidence. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

Perceptor’s arms tighten around his neck. “I think something else is rubbing off on me.” He thrusts his hips, and Jazz’s spike sinks and rises. Both mechs moaning softly as pleasure pulses through their capillaries once more.

“Oh, you’re a tease, all right.” Jazz swoops down, eager to see how many rounds they can go before one or both of them off-lines from exhaustion.

Prowl is none too pleased when Jazz doesn’t report for duty the next day.

Ratchet even more displeased when he has to scold the two mechs, cursing beneath his breath as he tends to the scuffed paintwork and low energon readings. Perceptor can’t look at the medic for several days without his face burning in embarrassment.

Jazz just beams when Prowl demands to know what kept him.

The SIC doesn’t bother to ask what is the cause of the saboteur’s sickeningly sweet grin.

Q is for Question
(G1 Universe)

“Hey Percy, are your legs tired?”

The scientist blinks his big blue optics. “Ummm. My diagnostics do not indicate any sort of problem. Why?”

The black and white saboteur wraps his arms around the shy mech’s waist, “’Cause you’ve been running through my mind aaalll day.”

R is for Recharge
(IDW Universe)

Perceptor softly ran his fingertips over the recharging mech’s dark horns.

Jazz muttered, shifting restlessly, visor lacking its usual azure glow. Burrowing deeper into Perceptor’s arms, sighing against the microscope’s shoulder.

The scientist’s Spark warmed, knowing that Jazz showed unwavering trust to willingly shut down and rest while in Perceptor’s company. He dropped a kiss upon the black and white saboteur’s forehead, missing the slight twitch of a smile on his mate’s lips before Jazz nuzzled closer.

S is for Sparkling
(G1 Universe)

“He’s absolutely precious, Percy.” Jazz trills to their tiny sparkling. The white and cobalt sparkling squealing in delight as his sire tickles his outstretched little palm.

Perceptor kisses Remix’s helm, the sparkling squeaking, nuzzling his creator’s chin. Cerulean face split by a joyful grin in recognition, white helm a gleaming contrast against Perceptor’s darker paint.

Blaster and Bluestreak jostle closer for another look. Their grins can’t stretch any bit further, the two Autobots ecstatic to finally lay optics on Perceptor and his precious bundle. The creator and sparkling remaining in the Med Bay under Ratchet’s careful watch and healing hands until the medic felt secure in allowing them both out of the sanctuary of his workroom.

Bluestreak clicks in wonder, smiling as the sparkling chirps in greeting. “Its really nice…seeing a sparkling again.” The young bot kneels at optic level with Remix, not wanting to unsettle the little being with so many large strangers hanging about.

Blaster rests his hands on Jazz’s shoulders, leaning over the saboteur to smile and tilt his helm at the curious bundle of little limbs and expressive blue face fussing about in Perceptor’s arms. Eject and Rewind pop up from behind the Communication Officer’s huge legs, curiosity peaked by the strange squeals and trills coming from the scientist’s arms.

Jazz, the wonderful protective sire that he is, wraps an arm around Perceptor’s waist. Leaning against his mate, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. Smiling at Rewind’s demanding chirr, and laughing, smacking a loud kiss on the sparkling’s helm. “Can’t be anything better than having my family right here with me.” The saboteur can’t wait until the other Autobots are off-duty, the black and white mech eager and proud to show off his glowing mate and their bouncing, inquisitive sparkling.

T is for Turnabout
(IDW Universe)

“Please, I truly do not have any credits on me―” The timid voice in muffled by the crack of metal against metal. Jazz’s helm raised by the sharp cry of pain and surprise, the sometimes musician ― and free-lance thief for hire ― frowning in disapproval as he follows the angry curses and sound of too many bodies in too small of an area. The back of a decrepit building offering the best protection during a mugging.

“What’s this, then?” Jazz’s presence causes the gang of thugs to halt.

He recognizes the group. Stunticons. And there’s Motormaster, suddenly in his face.

“Back off.” The leader snarls. Wildrider and Drag Strip holding their victim by his arms, the red and cobalt microscope hanging from the tight grip, “This isn’t your concern, little thief.”

Jazz smiles, shrugging his shoulders innocently. Not put off in the slightest, “May be a thief, but I don’t approve of roughin’ up a civilian who’s in tha wrong place at tha wrong time.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Dead End moves to stand beside his leader in support, “The Stunticons have moved in. We own this sector. Anyone dense enough to walk the streets should be ready to pay a toll to continue unscathed.”

The thief hums. “Seems you mechs are enjoying yourselves a bit too much…Feeling all pumped up after Megatron’s little speech and shindig at that not so secret rally. Think you bots are taking his message to Spark? Take everything for keeps that ain’t nailed to the street?”

“He talks too much.” Breakdown mutters. Optics shifty, laying a glare upon the thief before flickering away, eyeing the intruder with suspicion, “I don’t like the way he’s looking at me…” The paranoid Stunticon growls.

“You hear that?” Motormaster purrs, fingers stretching, curling into eager claws, “My men don’t seem to care for you. What do you think? Should I do something about that?”

“You could.” Jazz’s calm infuriates the Stunticon leader.

Motormaster’s large hands snaps forward, ready to break the thief’s mandible. Curled fingers angled to crack and tear out his optics.

The leader gasps, then bellows in agony as the thief nonchalantly slips around his attacker, moving so fast that Motormaster appears to move as if running through thick syrup. With a sharp twist, Jazz dislocates the large Stunticon’s shoulder, kicking out and this time dislocating a kneecap.

Motormaster crashes to the ground on his knees, grunting as his sparking knee digs into the unforgiving ground.

At his back, Jazz lays a slim blade against the tender metal skin of the Stunticon’s throat. Impassively running his optics over the four taken aback mechs, their prisoner looking at Jazz in reverent awe, “Hands off the mech. Take your trash with you.” He purposefully slides the sharp edge of the weapon against the dermal skin, dragging small beads of energon from the scrapped surface, “You bots don’t make a move on me or the microscope, and I promise not ta give your leader a big smile.”

Cautiously, Dead End and Breakdown approach. Heaving Motormaster up onto his one working leg, the Stunticon leader snarling as his dislocated limbs are carelessly manhandled. Drag Strip and Wildrider carefully lower the microscope. Their gazes promising a lingering deactivation as the team backs away, dragging their injured leader away, focusing on licking their wounds rather than risk any more teammates falling at the thief’s skilled hands.

Once he is certain the thugs are gone, and not likely to launch a surprise attack once his back in turned, Jazz sheaths the blade in the cleverly hidden compartment in his wrist. Kneeling and curling his hands beneath the microscope’s shoulders, “You all right?”

Blue optics blink in startled surprise. Clearly, he did not anticipate the thief to stick around after the standoff, “Y-Y-yes.” He laughs shakily, wincing as he raises a hand and runs trembling fingers along the oil-slick paint scrape upon his face, the cruel scuff a gift from Motormaster, “I-I didn’t think…I…” His bruised plating flushes, shyly tilting his optics up to his rescuer, “t-thank you…”

Jazz grins, expression beckoning ‘come on, let’s be friends’. “Name’s Jazz.” He helps the microscope onto his pedes.

“P-Perceptor,” The cobalt and red mech accepts the hand held out in greeting, “m-my designation is Perceptor.”

Just when Jazz opens his mouth to ask what a shy little thing such as himself is doing in a sketchy place like this, there is a flurry of raised voices, shouting the microscope’s designation in obvious panic. “Perceptor!!”

“Sounds like I need to be somewhere else.” Jazz regretfully steps away from his impromptu acquaintance, “Guess I’ll see you some other time, Percy.”

“But w-wait, please wait―” The microscope beseeches him with an outstretched hand.

Jazz can’t allow himself to buckle and weaken in front of those big blue optics. He fades into the shadows, stepping out of sight just as the Security Team busts down the barrier separating the next street from the rear of the building.

“Found him!” The large Security officers surround the smaller mech. Their gleaming uniformed armor encircle the shaken civilian in a towering wall of shelter, “He’s been injured.” One of the soldiers ―personally, Jazz can’t discriminate one from the other, they all look like carbon-copies poured from the same factory mold ― reports into his handheld radio. Gold bullion optics flashing, masks replacing any expression with the blank canvas of solid black.

“Perceptor!!” A femme, unusually tall, standing well over Perceptor and the Security Guards, shoves past. Sweeping the mech up in her long, thin red arms, “My dear child! I was so worried when those horrible thugs carted you away…oohhh, your Sire will be filled with joy at your return!”

“M-Mentor Fireheart!” Perceptor gasps, the atmosphere stolen from his vents as the femme hugs him tighter.

Jazz grins, chuckling softly as the microscope’s designated guardian attempts to smother her helpless victim. ‘Percy’s gotta be the offspring of some bigwig if Security is up in arms to find him.’ He wondered if the microscope’s sire was a Senator or scientist for the military, given the hullaballoo and fuss.

‘Guess I’ll have to visit Percy in the near future and find out for myself.’ He promises to keep a close tab on his new friend. It would be a sweet challenge to track down the mech and slip past his squad of loyal guards and mentor.

He immensely enjoys the look of astonishment on the Perceptor’s face nearly a quarter of a metal cycle later when he scales the tall tower, hopping onto the gilded terrace and grinning gaily at the mech through the open balcony windows. “Hey, Percy!” He greets the flabbergasted microscope, striding into the room as if he has visited many times before, “What’ s shakin’?”

U is for Ultimatum
(G1 Universe)

“I bet you couldn’t go a solar cycle without your dermal plates flushing.” Jazz tickles the scientist’s cheek. Earning the responsive flush, grinning in success at his accomplishment.

The microscope arches an optical ridge. Leaning forward and purring, “And I bet you couldn’t go half a solar cycle without pulling me into a storage closet or spreading me on my work table for some…private research.”

“…” Jazz snaps to his pedes, capturing the mech by the hand, answering the red and cobalt scientist’s Cheshire grin, “You know, I believe one of Red’s security cameras is on the fritz down a couple of levels. If you’re up for a little bit of intensive study.”

“Keep talking like that and I just might let you prove your theory with some thorough examination.”

V is for Victory
(G1 Universe)

It’s a battle of patience and fortitude. A small victory to charm the recluse scientist out from the catacombs of his labs.

Jazz is hardly ready to wave a white flag, especially when the microscope straddles the white and black Porsche, “All right, Jazz, clearly you want something. Where did you put the plant specimen I had gathered?” The scientist’s interrogation does little to give Jazz cause to surrender.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Percy.” He rests his clever hands on the scientist’s waist, reeling him in tight, “If you want, you can search me for any evidence.”

Face impassive, the microscope tweaks Jazz’s shoulder. Holding up a fragile, tiny leaf, allowing it to hover between them, an optical ridge arched in disapproval―

―But he hasn’t tried to break free just yet.

“Well, will you look at that!” Jazz gasps, “Now who put that there?”

W is for Wicked
(Shattered Universe)

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Hot Rod’s hands squeeze his aft. Rocking the scientist against his firm thigh.

Perceptor tilts his helm back, laughing tremulously while the Autobot drags his denta up his submissively bared throat, “He thinks he’s so clever…” Purring into the domineering kiss, the two mechs leaning into the shadows of the alcove, “Just because he can have any mech that he wants doesn’t mean I’ll jump into a berth with him when he shows the least bit of interest.”

“Seems to me he’s showing more than a moment of interest,” Hot Rod’s gaze flashes over the balcony opposite. The red visor not concealed the seething gaze. Jazz’s lips tight with frustration and disapproval.

“I thought you enjoyed causing a scene now and again.” Perceptor pouts. Hot Rod bends down, suckling the tempting bottom lip, “D-don’t you enjoy prodding his patience…t-the cool, collected saboteur admired and feared by all.” The scientist pants, moaning softly, Hot Rod doing such wonderfully wicked things with his hand rubbing the sealed hatch of his port.

“Got me there,” The young mech chuckles. Smiling deviously, meeting Jazz’s gaze across the hall, purposely grinding Perceptor hard enough to drag a squeal of pain and delight, rocking their codpieces together, “Smokescreen’s already placing bets on when the Porsche will snap, and whether it’ll be me or Jazz who’s going to end up in Ratchet’s Med Bay first.”

X is for X Marks The Spot
(G1 Universe)

Jazz whoops out loud, laughing as the shot nails its mark. “That’ll teach ya to keep your hands off my mech!” Skywarp shrieking as his wing tears apart, flames and smoke pouring, forth, engine sputtering as he spirals down into the canyon.

“Jazz!” Perceptor pops up from behind a shelter of boulders, “Was that really necessary! The Autobots are on their way. All we need to do is remain under cover.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Jazz takes aim as Thundercracker veers around, heading for Skywarp’s position, “Not a fan of watching my mate being hauled off by some Decepticon. It’s uncalled for. A gentleman can’t accept such a brazen insult.”

“Well I’ve certainly never been able to reason with you.” Perceptor sighs, “But if you insist on taking pot shots at Seekers, could you please take down Starscream first? His shrieking and curses are giving me a migraine.”

Y is for Yield
(IDW Universe)

“Arrr! Yield, you cur! And hand over that chest full of gold!”

“Perceptor?”

The scientist yips, whipping around to face the saboteur. Countenance dropping with relief, “Jazz! You must assist me! There is this online program called ‘interactive gaming’, and this obnoxious long-haired organic male with yellow teeth and a parrot is threatening to steal my treasure!”

“…I knew we shouldn’t have gotten internet.”

Z is for Zen
(G1 Universe)

Jazz gazes down upon the stunning face, Perceptor panting, arching forward. Their open chest plates bumping together, and bared Sparks merging. The white and black special ops moans, and the red and cobalt microscope hitches a low whine.

Jazz tangles their hands together, his mate…his Spark…answering the beating hum of its partner, Perceptor entwining around him, arms and legs clinging, “Jazz!”

The saboteur’s vents shudder, “Love you, Percy. Love you..” Sharing breath and stifling Perceptor’s shout of euphoria as their Sparks begin to churn in a maelstrom of white fire and nova stars pulsing at the core.

Jazz finally knew what it was like to taste paradise.
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Title: Alphabet Soup