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Life is a Tree	By : CGH Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > AU/AR Views: 2358 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: Beast Wars, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Life is a Tree
- 2-Ch 2
- 3-Ch 3
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 1
- 2
- 3
Firelight and early morning sun bathed the tree in which Jazz sat, his mouth drawn in a smile at his own handiwork. Two by four boards were dangling from the boughs of three trees at his right. He'd downloaded this Braille stuff--though he used his vision to read it--and decided to attempt it by using nails to form the dots. Was it a cheesy move? Yes. But Jazz always wanted to try this and no one else he knew would get it. Knowing Prowl yearned to experience it just like in the novel, and knowing he'd understand and appreciate the art behind hanging messages made the sentimentality worth it. One had to say a lot in a limited space. Humans had a similar way of writing poetry, something called haiku.
Jazz's poem was simple and straight from his Spark.
We are a rainbow.
You make the storm clouds and rain.
And I'm the sunshine.
Jazz made sure he didn't push the nails all the way into the wood. It wouldn't be the smoothest reading, but he was able to feel the nail heads when he brushed his digits over the board. He just hoped Prowl, who lacked the sight to check, would find it legible.
An engine broke the quiet. Jazz's senses returned to full alert and excitement prickled into his circuitry. He watched Prowl transform out of vehicle mode inches from the first wooden slab. There was no way he'd miss it.
Prowl reached up to move the board...but paused when his knuckles encountered the nails. He turned the two by four around and rubbed his index, middle and ring fingers down its length. Wind sent the board rocking, forcing him to recapture and feel it a second time. Not confused--confirming--his fingertips graceful as they lingered on every carefully chosen syllable.
Jazz envied those nails.
Moving on, Prowl caught the second board. His thin lips twitched in a smile and he touched the side of his face. At the last one, he looked up and the sun shimmered across his visor.
"Impressive. You're quite the poet," said Prowl. He kept his tone neutral in an obvious attempt to cover his giddiness.
Jazz chuckled, pretending not to notice as he hopped down. He grinned--seeing Prowl happy sent joyful ripples through his body. "I've got good inspiration."
"Hmph. Flatterer."
There was a silent nervousness surrounding Prowl--subtle, yet Jazz sensed it anyway.
"Feels kinda forbidden, doesn't it?"
Prowl nodded. "Isn't that supposed to make it more exciting?"
"Yup." Jazz's gaze wandered to Prowl's long, delicate neck. He leaned over and lightly brushed his lips against it. "C'mon, lemme show you where I set up camp," and he lowered his voice to a whisper, "I nicked some flux we can heat up like those um...mellow marshes."
"Marsh...mellows," Prowl said slowly, smiling. "Sounds delicious. I've been living off rations and oil shakes for so long--I hardly remember how it feels to indulge in real junk food."
"You have a junk tooth, too?" Jazz stepped to the left where he'd set up some portable berths amidst the trees with foliage pulled around for minimal shelter.
"You should see what I can do with rust sticks."
Jazz knew Prowl didn't mean it to sound dirty, but the slick way he said it heated his innards. "Maybe I will. I brought some of those, too."
He didn't miss the subdued excitement flitting over his companion's schooled expression.
Prowl slipped past him to confirm their campsite. The trees were thick enough to block the sun, so for a moment Prowl was a gold beacon next to the firelight. Jazz stood back, watching him glisten. He couldn't believe it--they were alone together. This area was so remote that it felt like no one else existed in the world.
The container of rust sticks clicked. Prowl held it up. "May I?"
"Go for it, Prowl. I got a ton of 'em."
Prowl popped the top off the container and took a rust stick. He seemed more relaxed than Jazz had ever seen him. Nervousness still surrounded him, but he wasn't ruled by it. He laid back on one of the portable berths, folded his hand behind his head and casually passed the entire rust stick over his small, black glossa.
"Wow..." Jazz sat on the other berth. First he was jealous of the Braille on the boards. Now he longed to be the flavored rust stick. "I thought I was the only one who liked to lick 'em first."
"Eating them outright wastes the flavor." Prowl licked the tip, "Rust sticks should be savored, not devoured."
"Heh, heh," Jazz scooted over so he and Prowl were spooning on the same berth. He whispered in his audio, "I know something else that's real sweet when you do it slow."
"Mm...." Warmth rippled over Prowl's frame. He chewed the tip of the rust stick. His hand reached back and cupped Jazz's cheek. "What does fire look like, Jazz?" He asked it so coyly, as if the question itself became an invitation.
Jazz took it. He rose up on his elbow, "Like--" and slowly covered Prowl's lips with his own, their tongues dancing hotly like the flames less than ten feet away. "--this."
"Oh..." Prowl flashed a brief grin and turned over so they were face to face. To Jazz's surprise, he took off his visor and set it on top of the rust stick container. "No wonder it generates so much heat."
Seeing Prowl's eyeless face didn't affect Jazz's growing excitement. Removing the visor was exposing his vulnerability, revealing his trust. Jazz retracted his own and leaned up, gently kissing the spaces where Prowl's optics should have been.
"Let me show you beautiful," Jazz whispered. He guided Prowl's hand to his own cheek.
"Jazz," Prowl's bottom lip trembled. "You--"
"Shh," Jazz kissed him again and felt wiry arms wrap around his neck.
Prowl paused to bite the tip off the rust stick. Then their mouths met once again and they tasted the gritty sweetness together. Jazz's innards boiled--Prowl was becoming a fantastic kisser. The piece of rust grew hot as their internal heat and the friction of their kiss increased its temperature.
Then Jazz accidentally swallowed it.
"Heh, woops..."
"It's fine." Prowl smiled and nibbled his throat. He was getting bolder. "Jazz..."
It felt wonderful to hold him. Jazz wished time would stand still. "Yeah?"
"I'd like to taste you...like you tasted me after our first uplink. You were amazing when you did that. But," he half-hid his face, "I'm concerned I won't be any good. I don't know the first thing about--"
"Aw, Prowl," Jazz thought the proposition was sweet in its innocence. "You're new at this is all."
"You always seem to know exactly what to do when it comes to causing me pleasure." Prowl half-smiled, "And that isn't a complaint."
"Heh, heh! Experience. I wasn't assembled knowing all the tricks." Jazz tried to keep his voice steady, but even the idea of Prowl putting his mouth on his jack made him tremble inside. Not many mechs liked to give it. "Would you...like to try?"
"Right now?"
"If you want." He leaned forward, whispering against Prowl's parted lips. "That's kinda what we're here for, isn't it? To learn about each other?"
"Indeed." Prowl's voice lowered to a steamy register, "Let's do it now. Teach me how to please you, Jazz."
.o
Prowl couldn't believe he just said that! Sex had always been something forbidden, secret and out of his reach--something no one wanted to have with a flaw like himself. Now he had access to it almost whenever he asked, and the prospect both frightened and excited him. He knew so little about his own body...to touch someone else's, someone with knowledge in this area...he almost shied away.
Almost.
"Prowl," Jazz's creamy voice oozed sensuality. He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the berth and scooted over to sit on the very edge. "Sit on the ground and give me your hand."
Prowl did so, lowering to sit on his knees between the sound shadows of Jazz's legs. He felt Jazz grasp his wrist and guide it to the jack plug located in the apex of his thighs. Other than being shockingly warm, it didn't feel much different from the everyday jacks he plugged into computer consoles and Bumblebee's media player.
"For starters," Jazz was smiling, "Build up the anticipation a bit. Fool around. It feels better when I'm already buzzin'. I really like it when people kiss and lick my thighs before they go for the gold."
"A-Alright," Prowl felt his courage wavering. He couldn't very well back out now! Leaning forward, he let his lips contact Jazz's left inner thigh. Smoothness greeted him, a smoothness not unlike Jazz's wonderful voice. Turning his head to the right, he repeated himself on the other leg. Each pass of his glossa made the servos in Jazz's thighs tense and relax. Most of his body seemed to be covered in cyber-mesh, a very flexible and expensive form of armor that, under high magnification, closely resembled the chain mail of ancient human history. It was almost as strong as plating while allowing complete freedom of motion.
Prowl's probing fingertips encountered seams halfway down Jazz's thigh. Briefly tracing their shape told him they were the areas where black and white met on his legs and torso. He knew enough about body modifications to realize Jazz wasn't assembled this way. Plating had been removed from his thighs and waist and probably his upper arms, too. Bulky mechs who entered the ninja lifestyle often streamlined themselves to the bare essentials, so Prowl wasn't surprised by this discovery.
"Just like that." Jazz quivered and wiggled his feet, "Man, you are turnin' me on, Prowl."
"Glad you're enjoying it," Prowl smiled, letting his fingertips follow the invisible path his tongue just drew, "I like your cyber-mesh. It's so smooth."
"Heh, thanks. I got it done in a funky pattern since I figured going all black or all white wouldn't be very stylish."
"It certainly suits you."
Prowl resumed his explorations. Jazz had a flavor--a tangy, electrical taste that prickled excitement down Prowl's metallic spine. Deciding he wanted more, he worked his way to the curve where Jazz's leg and body joined.
"Ooh," Jazz cooed, "Ya found some sensors."
"Here?" Prowl jabbed it with his tongue. The sensors in question were tiny bumps barely detectable by feel.
"Mmhmm...Primus, Prowl...pointy tongues like yours are hot."
"I'll give you hot," Prowl whispered. He dragged his glossa slowly--millimeters at a time--over the row of sensory nubs and Jazz's intakes upped their cycle ratio. He drifted inwards towards Jazz's abdomen, kissed the tip of his jack plug and continued to give his other leg an encore.
Jazz arched his back a few times, groaning and clicking his teeth. His movements only encouraged Prowl to face the plug itself.
Here goes...
Prowl scrunched his lips in a frown and put the whole thing in his mouth, sucking on it as hard as he could, and Jazz gave a little jolt.
"Ow! Whoa...Prowl, ease up."
Embarrassed, Prowl sat back. He was so used to being perfect at everything he did that mistakes made his face burn. "I'm...I'm sorry. Did I injure you?"
"Naw." There was a reassuring smile in Jazz's voice. "I'm fine. You just pulled a little too hard--aw, it's okay. You're learning. Try it again--pretend it's a rust stick with a loose coating that spills everywhere. How do you make sure you won't trail powder everywhere? Ya lick it. Yum."
A rust stick, Prowl mused. He bent closer to the warmth of Jazz's jack plug and trailed his glossa along its length. First slow--then fast--it tasted like heat, electricity and aluminum and glided smoothly against his tongue. Was it his imagination, or did the plug become suddenly warmer under his ministrations?
"Yes...yes!" Jazz stiffened, "Oh...that's--that's nice...try sucking on the tip. Gentle...real gentle."
Prowl closed his lips around the very tip. With his left hand, he pinched the base so he wouldn't slide down and make the same mistake he made the first time. He felt Jazz cup the back of his head in a trembling hand.
"Unh...oh--Primus, Prowl...your mouth feels so slagging good--mmh!"
He could feel Jazz getting hotter against his glossa. Moving his fingers away, he slowly took more into his mouth and extended his tongue to taste the base. There was a tiny circuit bundle located where Jazz's plug and body met. He let the tip of his glossa brush it.
Jazz arched his back with a hoarse cry. "Sweet spot," he gasped, "Unnnh--right there..."
The sounds Jazz made sent heat prickling down Prowl's neural pathways. He let his hands wander over Jazz's narrow hips and smooth sides. His body was a thing of beauty, of perfection. Sometime in the near future, he hoped to explore it all with his lips. He wanted to learn all the intricacies and details that made up the mech called Jazz.
Prowl slowed his movements and kissed the jack as if it were Jazz's tongue. This was a moment to savor, not rush through. He let himself taste the electric buzz working its way through Jazz's chassis.
"Mmh, ahhh--Prowl....what you're doin' to me right now--this's what a thunderstorm looks like. Mm..."
Prowl believed him. The energy, the movement and the growing anticipation of something just over the horizon enhanced his excitement.
Jazz's other hand joined its brother. Prowl let them guide his lips and tongue. His olfactory sensors detected burning oil. Jazz was trembling exactly the way he did when he neared overload. Prowl heard his intakes straining to keep up with his rapidly heating internals. Static began to crackle against his teeth and tongue.
"D-don't stop," Jazz gasped and Prowl could hear the tension in his face by the strain in his voice. He began to coo softly, his voice light and insubstantial like the mourning doves in the park. In any other context it'd be a ridiculous sound, but here, it indicated extreme pleasure. "Ooh...P-Prowl...almost there...ooh! Ooh, you're so good at this...ooh..."
Prowl wanted his lover to keep making those beautiful noises. Jazz was extremely vocal during sexual activity, and Prowl loved hearing how good he made him feel. He tipped his head on its side, taking the whole jack into his mouth and rolling it around on his tongue. Jazz mewled and doubled over. His legs stiffened under Prowl's palms and his heels slid backwards to clank against the berth.
"Unh!" Jazz sucked air in like a drug. His voice was pinched, "I'm--on the edge...ooh...r-right on the edge...oh...Prowl...faster--faster!"
Prowl became aware of hotter sparks crackling in his mouth. He sped up his motions until the discharges exploded into the continuous electrical bombardment of sensory overload.
"Oh! I'm g-going...Prowl, I'm--I-I--ahhh, Pr--OH!" Jazz's entire body tightened and Prowl shivered as quivering lips kissed their way across his sensitive engine nozzles. Excitement blasted his sensors. Knowing he caused Jazz to climax made him feel powerful. His mouth worked faster, deepening the sensation, and Jazz emitted that stunning moan-sob he loved to hear.
It seemed like an eternity of trembling and breathy moans before Prowl felt Jazz relax. Shuddering hands raised his head and soft lips replaced the hard jack plug.
"That was the best oral I ever got." Jazz panted.
"Really?"
"You bet." Those glorious lips smiled, "I'll be tinglin' and shakin' for hours."
Prowl grinned back, elated. "I'm glad that I pleased you."
"Heh, heh! Now..." Jazz eased Prowl to lie on his back and settled down beside him, "There's one really important thing you gotta learn about when it comes to this stuff." He took Prowl's hand and slid it down, down, down...and Prowl shivered when he felt his own port plug slide under his fingertips. "Your own body. Touch yourself. Get to know yourself. Learn what feels good to you. Contrary to what they say at the academy, self-serving ain't shameful. Now...look at yourself. Explore."
How was it that Jazz made the dirty things Prowl heard whispered about in the Academy halls seem so enticing? The views of sex on Cybertron were extreme--some were all for it and others treated it like something filthy. It was often believed the Decepticons were depraved barbarians who practically raped each other.
Prowl explored his own port, something he honestly never did before in his life. It extended from his body as much as Jazz's jack plug. The tip was hollow with an opening exactly the diameter of Jazz's jack. Was this where the sentiment "we were made for each other" came from? He discovered the opening was sensitive, and shuddered under his own touch. Sparks snapped against his fingertips. His thumb traced the smooth fold from which his port emerged. Something there...right at the base...sent jolts of electricity shooting straight into his Spark chamber.
"Unh!" he writhed, instinctively spreading his legs slightly wider. A few weeks ago, when Jazz performed oral on him, his tongue spent several moments on that little bump. "What in the world is that?"
"It's your sweet spot--the sensor that tells your body whether the port is in or out. The sensory wiring goes from there to your Spark chamber. Every mech has one, but not all are sensitive. Guess you and I are lucky." Jazz whispered smoothly in his ear. "Play with it a bit. See what feels best...you'll be teachin' me what you like too."
Prowl nodded and tested different strokes and pressures. Knowing Jazz was watching added to the thrill and forbidden nature of this act. He quickly discovered how rubbing that little bump like a Braille dot made his whole body clench. Then he realized stroking it while pressing his thumb into the tip of his port felt even better, like a river of magma flowing straight across his Spark.
"When I do this...it--it tingles," Prowl grunted and licked his lips, "My engines...they're prickling..."
"Are they? Ooh," Jazz shifted and Prowl felt a warm glossa outline each nozzle. Oh, Primus and all that was holy, it felt amazing, and he couldn't bite back the moans flooding from his throat.
"Oh, Jazz...mmh!"
"What else is tingling?"
"My chest...my throat..."
He felt Jazz's hands caress his chest. Soft lips teased his throat. "Like this, Prowl?" More kisses, "Or this?" The lips gave way to teeth gently nipping his outer armor--ooh--he loved that.
"The biting," Prowl gasped, pinching the tip of his port and making himself shiver and moan.
"Hm-hm-hm," Jazz chuckled in his ear and those glorious teeth grazed his jaw, trailing conflagration in their wake, "You like love bites, do ya?"
"Mm..."
"When you're doing this," Jazz trailed a fingertip over Prowl's cheekbone and nipped the base of his throat, "sometimes it helps to fantasize about what excites you."
Not really necessary when my fantasy is right beside me, but... Prowl decided to humor himself. He recalled the sounds Jazz made during overload and gasped when a new layer of arousal slammed through his body. His sweet spot became a boiling button that set off tiny explosions each time he stroked it. He tensed, baring his teeth in a pleasured snarl.
"You're sexy when you touch yourself," Jazz whispered in his audio, "I wanna see you overload."
That wouldn't take much longer, if Prowl went by the memory of his first orgasm from their encounter at the warehouse. He grew acutely aware of the tingling concentrating around the opening to his port. Like a tiny ember, the sensation built bigger and bigger, an electric rose unfurling its petals. Hot static snapped against his fingertips.
"Awesome," Jazz purred, and Prowl found himself encircled in warm arms. "You're close. I can see it--what's it feel like?"
"It's--" Prowl gritted his teeth. The tingling in his port backwashed into his abdomen and his body went rigid. "It's--hot. Aches...t-t-tension--unh!"
"Good. Enjoy this moment, Prowl." Jazz stroked the engines on his shoulders.
Prowl came to the edge of eternity. The tingling filled his body to capacity. Then Jazz nipped his neck, and the prickly sensation became a tickling ache that nearly doubled him over with a sharp cry. He plunged into a chasm of lightning, flames and bliss driven by his own hand. At the bottom he felt another part of himself jolt to awareness--a self who craved touch, closeness and the simple satisfaction of the servo-jarring rapture he was currently experiencing.
"Ah! Primus! Jazz...unh! Jazz..." Prowl jerked his head back and cried out to the treetops. It was loud and he didn't care. His body clenched in exquisite agony. He turned his head and Jazz kissed him deeply, the sweep of his tongue heightening his ecstasy. The overload went on and on until Prowl thought he'd implode. He didn't care how he looked or sounded--right then all that mattered was this transcendental moment of self-discovery.
"I love how you say my name when you go off." Jazz whispered.
Prowl felt a rust-coated fingertip caress his bottom lip. He took it into his mouth and suckled--the overload left all of his senses heightened--and the gritty sweetness flooded his burning tongue. His lips didn't let go until he'd cleaned the rust off Jazz's fingertip. Then he kissed it and turned his head to kiss the lips hovering near his cheek.
"It seems like the perfect thing to say," he breathed. "That...that felt amazing. I had no idea one could cause themselves so much pleasure."
"Ya see? Self-serving ain't wrong."
"Whoever said it was is a fool."
"Heh! And, just a heads up--that won't be the last overload you have during this trip," Jazz told him, brushing his lips over the spaces where his eyes should have been. "That's a promise."
"Mm...I like that idea." Prowl responded drowsily.
They rested together in silence, Prowl drifting in and out of light recharge while his systems cycled down to normal power. He felt Jazz's gentle gaze on him. When people stared, he usually hated it, but he didn't mind being admired. It felt nice to be seen as something more than a silent, unassuming maintenance bot.
Prowl reached up and traced Jazz's face. His visor was off. He explored the outlines of his lover's optics. They were such a beautiful shape--like spindles that turned up in the outer corners.
"Would I be beautiful with eyes?"
"Yeah...but you're still gorgeous to me without 'em." Jazz nuzzled him. He was chewing on a rust stick, trying and failing to be quiet about it, "The world is kinda bent on appearances. Sometimes I think you're lucky--you don't get hung up on how somebody looks. You can see what's the most important--the insides of people. Guess bein' blind is more like X-ray vision, eh?"
Prowl laughed. He never thought of it that way before. Even though Jazz put it in a humorous light, he sensed the seriousness curling underneath. It was the truth. His attraction to Jazz wasn't based on his looks. He really couldn't name what drew him to this loud, larger-than-life spirit of a mech who gazed at him in complete adoration. Was it his voice? How he was treated? Knowing his secret was safe? They seemed to just...fit together like the teeth in a zipper.
"I suppose that's true." Prowl said. "Sari once watched a very old movie about a human with a terrible facial deformity--his name was Rocky Dennis, I believe. Sari said he looked horrible, but when I listened to the movie from my room, I learned he had a wonderful voice and an entertaining personality. And...he found love in a blind woman who didn't care about his appearance. Beautiful movie."
"Sooo..." Jazz murmured in his audio, "You'd still be attracted to me even if I was a rusty old thing?"
"How do I know you aren't a rusty old thing now?" Prowl grinned.
Jazz laughed, gently slapping his side. "Good point."
Again, silence settled between them. It bore no awkwardness.
Then Prowl spoke up.
"Jazz, I have a question. It might be a little odd."
"Shoot."
"You're supposed look people in the eye when you talk to them, but I lack optics. Where do you look when you talk to me?"
Jazz chuckled, "Sans visor? I look at your mouth, 'cause it's what expresses your emotions. But when you're visor's on, I look at that. Eyes...they tend to express what people feel whether they want them to or not. It's really subtle, something you have to see to understand. It's pretty funny--people have no problem reading me even though I wear my visor. Guess the rest of my face tattles. Anyway..." Jazz moved his face closer, "I like your smile."
Prowl chuckled, but couldn't avoid a self conscious shiver. Body language and gestures he could understand, but facial expressions were lost on him except at extremely close range. He never learned to fully mimic them, which was why he often came across as stoic. When he smiled, it was never forced. He could remember the first time he was close enough to see another mech smile through his oscillators--and it scared him. It took him years to realize the expression was supposed to be pleasant.
Now he had a sighted person who could explain all these little things to him. Someone who did not care that he was basically oblivious to the subtleties of social interaction. This someone could teach him those things.
"So..." Prowl smiled, "You...like my smile?"
Fingertips grasped his chin. Jazz pecked his lips, "Yeah. It's gorgeous 'cause it's so real. Guess that means I'll look for every excuse to make ya do it."
"You're terrible!"
Jazz chuckled, a smile obvious by the sweetness in his voice. "I know."
Prowl let his fingertips slide down to Jazz's mouth. A grin greeted him and his own smile grew in response. For the first time in his life, he realized he was genuinely happy.
"In your case, it won't take that much effort."
Jazz crunched a rust stick and the smell of it wafted off his breath when he replied, "Sweet."
Chuckling, Prowl turned over onto his side, inviting Jazz to spoon again. He liked that feeling of closeness and safety. When Jazz took the invitation, Prowl snuggled his chest and relished the plump lips that nuzzled his throat. Their fingers interlocked like intertwining vines. Prowl began to realize that closeness wasn't his enemy. All he had to do was say a word and he could have as much space as he needed. He had control--even in the moments where he felt he gave it up, he still had it, and that made him relax.
"I feel like meditating."
"Mm?"
Prowl sat up abruptly. He still hadn't grown accustomed to long periods of physical contact--he liked it, but he needed to build up his tolerance. Being in constant conflict within himself left him a little irritable. Meditation always cleared his head.
"It...helps me maintain my inner balance."
"Ah, the ancient arts."
"Which requires utter stillness."
"Which I can do," said Jazz. "What's our focus sound?"
It felt incredible to have someone who did not mock him. While Bumblebee proved entertaining, he was irritating when he came up with one-liners like "that stillness garbage? Puh-leeze!" right before turning on obnoxiously loud music, which made meditation impossible.
Jazz wasn't that way at all. Jazz understood because he lived this life.
Without a word, Prowl slid off the berth to sit cross-legged with his hands folded in his lap. The campfire crackled a mere foot from his knees. Its warmth seeped into his servos and calmness descended through his neural relays. He heard Jazz settle down across from him and then...nothing. Perfect stillness and silence, and nobody in shouting distance to spoil it.
Paradise...I'm in paradise!
Prowl felt himself smiling. His internals slowed to the bare minimum--controlled to behave as if recharging while his mind remained alert. He imagined his worries as smoke rising off the fire while each crackle let him contemplate the future. One he hoped included him and Jazz together.
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Life is a Tree