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The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation	By : TheGatekat Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 2755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 4
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- 6
The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation 05: Making Peace

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The walked in silence, Jazz properly on Prowl's arm as he had been every orn on the way back from the evening meal for the last three orns. He removed his hand as they reached the entrance to the courting suite, turning to face his intended and thank him properly for escorting him and for his consideration - Jazz couldn't find it in himself to use the word care any more - and wish him a pleasant evening.
If he had known that refusing to join Prowl for breakfast that first orn after they had snapped at each other was going to result in this ... he still wasn't sure what he would have done different. That morning he had been too distressed with his intended to face the Praxian, and had avoided him most of the orn. By the time he had finished his training with the House's weapons master he had himself under control once more, in no small part from the stinging comments and disappointed looks he had earned and received for making raw beginner mistakes in exercises he had mastered centuries ago.
He'd returned to their quarters, cleaned up, and set up the board for Sovereign so it would be ready after the evening meal.
Only Prowl had left him at the door with only a polite good orn after dinner and never set foot inside.
The next morning it had been Prowl who had been absent at breakfast. Had, in fact, left Jazz to his own devices the entire orn until dinner time once more, where he had shown up to escort his intended to the meal and deposited him at his room as soon as it was over.
A pattern that had continued to this as Jazz bowed respectfully to Prowl. "My thanks for your consideration this evening. Good orn, Prowl."
This time he caught the movement of well-controlled sensor wings and the slight sway of Prowl's frame that wasn't normally there. A glance up and he saw ... something ... in Prowl's strong features that wasn't there before.
It took a moment for Prowl to gather himself before speaking.
"Would you join me for a game of Sovereign this evening?"
"I...of course." Jazz murmured politely, quickly burying his confusion. "Where do you wish to play?"
"Our common room," Prowl motioned to the space that had seen so little use in the past three orns.
There was a flicker of hesitation before Jazz stepped aside, allowing Prowl to enter first. For the first time in three orns, Prowl's field brushed against his. It was hesitant ... and carried a wealth of apology that had not been voiced yet.
The answering flicker of hope was quickly caught and squashed as the smaller mech followed Prowl through the entryway and across the common room to where the game board was laid out and waiting, each piece precisely in place, as it had been for several orns.
Still unsure what to make of this new development, Jazz waited for an invitation to be seated.
"Please," Prowl motioned to where Jazz usually sat, watching as his intended settled. "I believe we have both reacted excessively to words and stress. It is time to work through the issues that created it and what resulted."
Only the familiarity Prowl had developed with Jazz gave away how much thought the smaller mech was giving to those words as he sat quietly in the seat across from Prowl, field pulled in too tightly and held with too much control to be easily read and face neutral.
"If that is what you wish." Was the answer he finally got, though the tone and the slight loosening of Jazz's field undercut the formalness of the phrasing.
"It is," Prowl said firmly. "Do you wish to move first?" he indicated the game.
With a nod of acknowledgement and thanks Jazz considered the layout and made what was for him a standard opening move, the textbook placement of one of his scouts out in the field.
"Please try to explain to me why you became upset," Prowl requested as he countered with one of his ops pieces.
That made Jazz pause, his own ops agent hanging in the air as he tried to find a place to start, and finally countered with a question of his own. "Which time?" Not that he had ever truly calmed down, but he could count at least twice that his level of defensive anger had spiked in the short time.
"At the family breakfast."
Jazz vented softly, thinking, considering. He could still hear them, every comment. The ones from breakfast and those when he was not with Prowl, whispered when he passed others in the hall and uttered just loud enough to that he could overhear but still soft enough to be a private conversation when he was in a room.
His family. His history. His appearance. The fate of his carrier. Wonder that Prowl would deem him an acceptable mate, even in this time of need. Predictions of his failure. Surety that he would find a way to bring shame to the House.
"The words." Jazz started, stumbling as he realized why they had hurt so much more that morning. Why what he had always been able to brush off before had cut so much deeper. "And how you just go along with whatever they have to say."
Prowl forcefully stopped himself from a near-reflexive statement that they were not wrong and made himself consider just how much he wanted to make this bonding match his private desires for it. Was Jazz worth challenging his family? Was Prowl's own happiness worth the issues it could cause? His tactical computer informed him that there was no question. The good of the House and harmony within the war machine that gave the House its power was more important than any individual's desires.
Yet ... he did not accept that answer.
Prowl dropped his optics slightly, studying the board even though he wasn't seeing it.
"What, specifically, would you have me challenge?"
"You don't have to challenge them," Jazz responded quickly. Disharmony was the last thing he wanted to be the cause of, and he'd had far too much experience living in a house almost divided. "Just ... don't encourage it. Change the subject or something."
"I can do that," Prowl agreed to the middle ground that was likely to cause minimal disruption with anyone in the House that he was on agreeable terms with. "Is there anything else?"
"Not that is worth the effort to do anything about." Jazz decided quietly. "As you have pointed out, there are going to be those who are never going to like me."
Prowl reached out to place his hand gently on top of Jazz's. "I am not one of those."
Desperate hope flared in Jazz, need that he did not want to acknowledge existed but that he couldn't escape. He wanted to believe what Prowl was saying, wanted to believe that there was someone else that would accept him unconditionally.
But it was hard.
"I am not the only one here that approves of you," Prowl added. "My creators, Lady Metronome, Master Ziariace, several of my warrior kin. Mecha whose opinions carry weight in the House support you. Perhaps never enough to completely silence your detractors, but know that those with the authority to matter are not against you."
Jazz nodded. In truth it was more than he had most of his functioning. Something he was going to have to adjust to.
"Thank you." He murmured, using his free hand to move shift his priest on the board.
Prowl lightly entwined their fingers as he moved a rookie warrior. "What did I say that upset you?"
"Not the words. Just...your reaction." Steelplate had been the only mech Jazz had ever been able to trust unconditionally. The one stable point in his life that he could always turn to.
Prowl cocked his helm. "To what?"
"The gift that Steelplate left for me. What he was to me." Jazz finally admitted, wary of setting Prowl off again. The frown that crossed Prowl's features made him more uneasy.
"How did I react that you found disrespectful?" Prowl asked after running the scene through several times.
"Disrespectful?" Jazz shook his helm. "You don't approve."
"I meant no such thing," Prowl said firmly, his wings reacting to his surprise by flaring. "I disapprove of how your creator's second bonded treated you."
Jazz's hand twitched against his, tightening slightly as he looked at Prowl and shrugged. "What she did is done. Maybe with me gone things will be better."
"What did I do that made you believe I disapprove of Steelplate?" Prowl asked.
"Your reaction to the blade." Jazz shifted, clearly a little uncomfortable. "I won't wear it, if that is what you want, but carrying it around like this..."
It was disrespectful.
"I want to protect you," Prowl said softly. "This is a warrior House. There isn't a mecha here, from youngest political to lowest slave, that doesn't know what it means. It would raise unpleasant questions to carry one that was not your creator's or a Master's."
"I know." Jazz admitted, his own dilemma soothed a bit by the understanding and what he could tell was truth on Prowl's part to honestly protect him.
"A plan can be worked out so you may wear it. Just not right away," Prowl added. "When you finish your training, either your Master or House Lord will traditionally present you with a blade if you do not have the right to one. It may not be the full truth, but you will be permitted to wear it uncontested."
"I would appreciate that." Jazz commented quietly, focusing on the game enough to move another one of his warriors into a defensible position. "My Sire's is to go to his second bonded's eldest creation, and my carrier was no warrior."
"Then it would please me for you to wear Steelplate's in lieu of a new one from me, as the Lord of your House," Prowl said with the odd mix of formal and warmth that Jazz was beginning to recognize as a promise made out of affection.
A promise that was met with a loosening of Jazz's field to rest against Prowl's, full of thanks. There was still an underlying wariness, but it was a secondary note to the acceptance ruling it now.
Prowl's field replied with a soft caress, gently entwining along the edges. "Is living here, being with me, truly such a miserable fate?" He asked, addressing his own pain and perceived rejection from that night.
"It is not." Conviction slipped into Jazz's field, and a soft note of apology for having caused Prowl to feel that way. The Praxian had gone out of his way to be accommodating to someone he practically owned, something that Jazz was not going to deny or forget. Despite the anger they had parted in three orns ago, now he was back, of his own volition, trying to make things better, willing to give concessions of a very personal and important nature to make Jazz happy. It was more than Jazz ever thought an arranged bonding could be.
"It is not what I had once hoped for my functioning." Jazz admitted honestly as his hand tightened around Prowl's. "But being with you if far from the misery I had feared."
He was able to find pleasure in the small things like a quiet game in the evening with someone who wished to spend time with him. And he had not realized how dependent and accustomed he had become to the Praxian's presence and quiet attention until it was gone.
A soft reply of relief flickered back as Prowl relaxed, his long sensor wings finally, finally relaxing into the position Jazz was so accustomed to when they were alone together.
"Good," Prowl smiled faintly. "I understand the resentment of loosing your chosen path. I only wish for your new path to be one that you eventually choose to embrace fully."
A prospect that Jazz would admit was rapidly growing easier the longer he spent with Prowl. His intended may be quiet, stern, demanding of near-perfection, and with an intense work ethic that alienated more than it endeared, but he was also a deeply caring, passionate and affectionate individual to those he chose to include in his intimate circle.
"Have you ever thought of revenge on your Sire's second bonded?" Prowl asked conversationally as he returned much of his focus on the game.
"Personal?" Jazz asked rhetorically, watching as Prowl made his move and working out how best to try and counter what was rapidly becoming a loosing situation for him. As much as he would like to make her pay for all of the suffering she had caused him during his functioning, he had never considered it in more than the abstract. His problems were with her, and not something that Jazz was willing to visit on the House of his Sire. "Not directly. But I would have to be honest and say that that her dislike of me by the time I left was probably well deserved. I was not always the most...obedient...of creations in the House."
And as far as revenge went, Jazz considered as he shifted his priest, seeing a route that might give his intended something to think about even if Jazz still knew that he had no chance of winning, his optics flickered to his intended. This in itself was a form of revenge, for surely his Sire's second bonded never imagined that Jazz would end up in a House with such prominence and the intended of the next Lord of the House.
Prowl hummed and considered the board. "Has it registered yet that even now you outrank her by a significant margin?"
The barest twitch of Jazz's lips betrayed him. "The thought had occurred to me, yes."
"It could be a significant revenge to visit your creation-House after our first creation is old enough to travel," Prowl suggested with just a touch of a smile himself. "Your final memory of her could be of her submission."
"That would be pleasant." Jazz admitted, the added brightness in visor a tell tale to Prowl of just how appealing his intended found the idea. "Since it would not be unreasonable for me to wish to see my Sire again, with the permission of my lord." He added with a touch of humor.
"It would not be unreasonable at all," Prowl agreed with a bit more of a smile. "I am sure he would enjoy seeing his creation and meeting his grand-creation. I would enjoy meeting your Sire as well."
Jazz was openly smiling as he continued the play he had started, moving a warrior so that the piece flanked his priest. Reassurance to his Sire that he was happy, proof to his Sire's second bonded that he was indeed worth something, and a chance for Steelplate to fawn over another sparkling. The visit was sounding more appealing the longer he thought about it.
The warm, happy and approving caress from Prowl's field made it feel all the better. There was no question to him that his intended meant for the trip to happen, and happen as described. Yes, it would not be for several vorns, but it was a prize Jazz was eager to work towards. He would even be able to show his Sire and Steelplate that he was still furthering his training.
Prowl withheld his purr at the pleasure and good mood flowing from his intended, but did nothing to hold back the response in his field as they continued to play. Both mechs fell into the familiar rhythm of the game as the came continued, ending with Jazz's inevitable defeat at the hands of his intended.
"May I join you in the berth tonight?" Prowl asked as they put the game away in its box.
Jazz considered as he lifted the box, placing it carefully on the shelf with the others and turned back to face his intended. His expression was thoughtful as he stepped close to Prowl, looking up at his intended for a moment before his field stretched out in welcome and his lips gently touched Prowl's.
A soft moan and flare of arousal greeted the boldness as Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz and pulled him closer, sharing his anticipation. The smaller mech came willingly and with a touch of relief. Their first serious conflict was over, and it felt as though it had ended with a stronger understanding rather than resentment.
"Come," Prowl rumbled with a gentle tug towards Jazz's berth room. "I wish to enjoy your company tonight."
"And I wish to spend it with you." Jazz answered, field teasing against Prowl's. The Praxian's responded with the deep crackle of desire that always promised incredible pleasure as long as Jazz trusted what his intended was going to do or ask of him.
That purring rumble of desire continued as Jazz was gently laid on the berth and Prowl leaned over him, claiming a kiss before settling above him. Jazz's hands reached up, running gently along Prowl's sides and reaching to caress the beautiful sensor wings spread over him. The shiver was an added bonus, Prowl's field flaring out in pleasure.
"What would you like tonight?" Prowl asked, his voice already deepening in arousal.
"Touch me." Jazz asked softly, wanting the kind of pleasure he knew Prowl could give and hands traveling along the wings softly, offering in return.
Prowl smiled and kissed him again, pressing his wings into the touch before beginning to trail kisses across Jazz's face as one arm shifted so he could rub a sensor horn. Jazz purred, leaning into the touch and hands slowing on the wings in his grasp as his entire frame relaxed. He'd missed this more than he ever thought possible to miss something for three orns. Prowl's touch was soft, affectionate ... everything he never really expected interfacing to be for the subordinate mecha.
A strong hand caressed Jazz's side, teasing seams and dancing along sensor clusters. The smaller mech moaned, shivering with each brush along the sensitive components, pleasure flaring through his field and into Prowl. The kisses along his face continued, drifting up to his visor when the wondering hand slipped inward to tease along Jazz's abdominal plates.
Jazz whimpered and moaned, openly enjoying the touch as he focused his attention once more on the sensor wings. His hands moved, teasing along the edges and then slipping into the joints to expertly stroke along the wires and cables hidden below.
It caused Prowl's field to roar with pleasure. A gasp escaped him as he found Jazz's mouth once more, his glossa delving between parted lips to stroke and lap at the surfaces inside. Jazz moaned into the contact, his field melding with the Praxian's as his pleasure soared in response to Prowl's as fingers moved to delve into the base joints where sensors and control cables concentrated.
They both nearly whined when Prowl's rapid trail down Jazz's frame made them momentarily loose that contact. Jazz's fingers found their perch about the same time as Prowl's lips found his abdominals and began to trace delicate, erotic patterns in the sensitive metal. Patterns that had the smaller mech pressing into the touch and calling Prowl's designation softly, pleadingly.
He gasped as Prowl's lips continued down until his glossa ghosted over Jazz's spike cover. Teasing, requesting. Jazz shivered as the cover slid away, trusting Prowl and wrapped in the pleasure and shared fields.
Prowl drew his helm back slightly, treasuring the rare sight of a sealed spike housing. It was nearly enough to make him moan as he recorded the sight before lowering his helm to kiss the center of the housing, enjoying the exotic feeling of thin, soft rubber.
That first light touch had Jazz gasping in surprise and squirming, pleasure flaring to push against Prowl.
Prowl smiled and pulled back to slightly to pull a small jar out of his subspace. "This, mixed with oral lubricants, will dissolve the sealant. It may still sting slightly when your spike pushes out, but it shouldn't hurt."
It took a moment for Jazz to focus on Prowl and force his processor to understand what the other mech was saying, then he nodded in acceptance. He shivered and moaned, his hips trying to buck into the contact as Prowl's cream-coated finger made a gentle circle around the outer edge of the seal, only to very slowly spiral inward, spreading the cool cream smoothly around the entire surface.
"What..." the smaller mech stumbled over the words, fingers digging into Prowl's shoulders, "do I do?"
"Relax, enjoy, don't resist any spike commands," Prowl rumbled before lowering his helm once more to trace his glossa along the path his finger had taken.
A shudder ran through Jazz's frame as he attempted to do as Prowl suggested, falling back on the berth and surrendering to the pleasure. No wonder Prowl was so fond of having his spike stimulated. This was beyond intense, and his seal was still in place.
As Prowl's glossa returned to circling the outer rim of the seal, Jazz's HUD popped up a request to extend and pressurize his spike.
The first, almost instinctive response was to deny the request, protocols that he had been ignoring for centuries teasing at the edge of his awareness. Until the next pass of the Praxian's glossa around the edge of the seal sent another surge of pleasure through his frame.
Prowl had said...don't resist. He trusted Prowl.
With that hazy conclusion Jazz approved the request. He felt the tension along the edge of the seal, the sensation of strain just before tearing began.
Then Prowl's mouth enclosed the entire housing, his lips against the rim of the seal and his glossa swirling quickly around the head of Jazz's spike as it began to emerge.
Jazz whimpered and squirmed, visor dim at the odd mixture of pleasure and discomfort coming from his spike, then moaned at the surge of sensation that pulsed through his frame from Prowl's attentions. His fingers spasmed in Prowl's wing joints, causing them to flare and their owner to moan deeply just as Jazz's spike broke free to slide between his lips, taking bits of the seal with it.
Despite Prowl's promise Jazz had been expecting some sort of pain, but all he could focus on when the seal finally gave way was the rush of new sensations from a bit of equipment that only existed to produce pleasure and the now familiar idea of it going into a warm, slick space.
A soft hum vibrated Prowl's throat, mouth, lips and glossa as he took in the rapidly pressurizing spike fully, all the way into his intake. He swallowed around the tip, relishing the unique taste of a spike that had never felt air before.
Jazz moaned and keened as his hips moved, reflexively attempting to thrust into the pleasure around his spike. His lover moved and relaxed into the uncoordinated movement, easily taking it as he worked the virgin spike with intake, mouth and glossa. He soon had Jazz reduced to a helpless pile of pleasure, the smaller mech gasping, keening, and occasionally able to from Prowl's designation around the pleasure that was a mouth on his spike. Skilled fingers delved into Jazz's hip joint, caressing wires and cogs as deep inside while Prowl sucked and swallowed all around the delicious length.
The combination was enough to push Jazz over the edge in his first experience of this pleasure; frame arching off the berth as all traces of conscious control left him. Hot transfluid rushed into Prowl's throat, then mouth as he backed off just enough to get a good taste before diving forward again to bury the pulsing spike deep in his throat and swallowed convulsively around it.
Pride, pleasure, arousal and joy all poured off Prowl in waves, flooding into Jazz like a deep tide. A flood that in the middle of the overload sent the smaller mech into a second one, his vocalizer shorting out from the strain as he keened and lost himself in the swirling tide of pleasure-emotion.
Jazz sank down as the overload faded, his frame going completely lax, beyond spent. He barely managed to retain enough awareness to feel Prowl licking him clean and the intense pleasure-satisfaction radiating from his intended before he sank into oblivious recharge.
Prowl hummed, pleased with the success, even as his systems began to complain of the lack of results for him. With a soft sound of resigned annoyance he looked down at the sated and solidly unconscious mech under him. As satisfying as being the first to bring pleasure to a mecha was, it did have the unpleasant side effect of leaving him with a high charge and no one to finish with more often than not.
His hand, or was this worth going to his quarters?
His valve answered for him. He wanted a thick, hot spike pounding into him, wanted to feel the rush of transfluid.
With fluid grace Prowl stood, gently ensuring that Jazz was tucked away and clean before heading for his side of the suite where his personal slaves lived in attached quarters.
When the door slid closed behind him, Prowl called out for them.
Keenly in tune with their surrounding, the pair appeared as soon as Prowl spoke, moving with silent grace to kneel before their master, optics on the ground as they waited for direction, though they both knew simply from the cant of his wings and the timing what he wanted. One had been a warrior of a House that had been foolish enough to rebel against an edict of the Prime, and mocked the chance they had been given to reform. The other was his bonded, spared as he had been when the House was overturned and razed to the ground.
Prowl had commanded that campaign, his first, and the warrior had caught his optic during the battle. When they had come face-to-face Prowl had been sure the mech would fight to the death, only to have the warrior surrender his weapon when it was clear he had no chance, dropping to his knees in the manner of one begging for his life.
Curious Prowl had sought him out later, lined up among the prisoners as they were being sorted, and found him comforting a smaller mech of much lighter design.
Separated from his mate Surestrike had conducted himself honorably. Answering Prowl's questions and managed to impress the Praxian. A carrying mate was an honorable enough reason to surrender, and Prowl had proposed a deal. His mate would be allowed to carry the spark to term. Upon separation the sparkling would be surrendered to the House, to be raised as a warrior of the House of the Shining Sun. In return for their lives and the life of their sparkling Surestrike and his mate would belong to Prowl, by the Conquerors Laws.
Both had agreed, and though Surestrike had been harder to bring to heel than his peaceful mate, the warrior held his honor dear, and their training had been more teaching than breaking. Though they had little choice in the matter, centuries later they were unquestionably loyal to their master.

Without a word Prowl swept by them, allowing his field to do the talking for him. It was far from an unusual demand as they were his preferred berth warmers when he was not with a more suitable lover. Despite the vast difference in status and legal standing, Prowl trusted them. Not just with not extinguishing him in exhausted recharge, but to tend to the other's charge should he be unable to bring one or both to overload.
The pair rose in unison, following their lord and master in the direction of the berth room, working out between them how best to please Prowl with the ease of mechs long familiar with each other and what was being asked of them. By the time they reached Prowl's large, soft berth Softlight was ready to spread his legs for the Praxian, and Surestrike's spike was pressurizing.
They fell into the familiar dance with ease as Softlight slid onto the berth, displaying himself to appeal to his master. His hands came up as Prowl joined him, hands trained to offer the perfect touch sliding along the Praxian's frame as Softlight nuzzled submissively at his master's neck and chest.
A low moan escaped Prowl, both his covers snapping open. He sank fully into Softlight's valve as soon as his spike pressurized, his own valve slick and ready for Surestrike.
Behind them Surestrike waited until his mate and his master were settled before reaching for the sensor wings on Prowl's back and running his hands down them as he sank his spike into the valve. They had served Prowl long enough to know when the Praxian was not in the mood to draw things out, and this was certainly one of those times.
Prowl's wings flared out, pressing into the touch. Oh, it felt good. It felt so good to be between the pair who knew him so well, could read his needs and wants without him saying a single word. For several thrusts he simply relished in the sensations, allowed himself to float in the pleasure, before focusing on sharing the relief-enjoyment with his berthmates while he lasted.
The pair responded instantly, allowing the physical pleasure to slip into the their fields for Prowl to share as their frames moved to give him what he wanted. The hips of the smaller mech beneath him rolled up to meet each thrust and take the spike in deeply as his mate shifted so he could pound unto the Praxian from behind.
As wound up as Jazz had left him, it was over in less than a klik with a roar as Prowl spilled his transfluid into Softlight, his valve quivering and flexing around Surestrike's spike, wanting to feel the pleasure he'd been anticipating ever since Jazz had agreed to having his spike seal broken.
They were signs that the slave mech could read by now as he shifted again, driving his spike into the pulsing valve until he overloaded with a soft sound, transfluid spilling from his spike flood the valve. Prowl's moan and the flare of satisfaction was his reward, along with the knowledge that when Prowl was pleased he was generous.
As Prowl's systems settled, sated enough, he nuzzled the lightly built mech under him. "Would you prefer your mate?"
"My mate, with the lord's permission." Was the answer, quiet but without fear. The pair had learned early on that Prowl preferred truth and would never punish them for speaking such, even if it was not what he wished to hear.
A light nuzzle, a small reward for honesty, and Prowl shifted to get up. Surestrike easily slid out of him and settled on his heals so his master could rise. He waited until Prowl had stood before moving forward to kiss his mate, once more grateful that while Prowl demanded their services in the berth, he was far kinder about it than law or custom demanded of him.
They would be allowed to tend to each other, to overload, before tending to him in the washrack to remove the evidence of the tryst.
S S S S S S S S S===================S S S S S S S S S
Jazz came around slowly, stretching and wincing a little at the odd sensation from his spike housing. Sensation that brought back a flood of memories from the night before and left the black and white mech smiling at the cause.
He and Prowl had fought. They had made up. And had learned a great deal about each other in the process.
Purring, Jazz's reached out with his field, and within moments the smile had been replaced with a frown as he found himself alone on the berth. Vision came online to confirm what his frame and field was already telling him, and with a small sound of mixed emotion Jazz rolled from the berth.
The first thing to catch his attention was the fact that the door to his berthroom was open, only heightening his annoyance. If Prowl was going to leave him he could at least have the decency to close it behind him.
Resigning himself to facing another morning alone Jazz stalked out of the room and across his quarters only to freeze in the doorway that led to the common room. Prowl was sitting at the small table to one side of the room, diligently concentrating on the datapads neatly arranged in front of him. A very nice breakfast for two was already spread out and waiting.
All of Jazz's frustration melted away, replaced with resigned affection. Given the joor he should have known that Prowl would already be up and about seeing to matters of the House. It was something that Jazz would not yet admit he tended to find exasperating and endearing in equal measure. Centering himself Jazz slipped quietly across the room, coming around behind his intended to slide gentle hands over the beautiful sensor wings in a soothing manner as he leaned his helm down near Prowl's audio. "Thank you."
Prowl's field reached out to caress him, affection strong in it as he turned his helm to steal a gentle kiss. "You are welcome. I regret not being at your side when you woke. Three joors was simply too long for me to remain still with so much to tend to. I would prefer to spend time together when you are aware."
Jazz nuzzled at the Praxian's cheek before moving away and taking his seat. "What are you working on?" He asked, genuinely interested as he reached for his morning energon and one of the common breakfast confections.
"Cost analysis for several proposed responses to the growing unrest in Kaon, if it escalates to violence." Prowl made a quick copy to a blank datapad and offered it to Jazz without hesitation.
The smaller mech took it, scrolling through it curiously. "The House will be called up if it does?"
The more Jazz looked, the more impressed he was. He knew the House of Shining Sun was a large, prominent, and prosperous one, but to able to field a force like this practically at need ... it was processor stopping.
"Without question," Prowl nodded grimly. "As will I. If Kaon erupts in violence, the Prime will call on me to coordinate the response. I may be gone for several vorns with little potential for you to join me before your training is finished."
Jazz vented softly, not pleased with the prospect but unwilling to start anything unpleasant over an uncertain possibility on the heels of their recent misunderstanding. "Worry about it when it comes, if it does." He answered, setting the pad aside and pushing the plate of confections at his intended, noticing that Prowl had yet to consume anything.
"Agreed," Prowl said smoothly as he selected a crispy, rust-dusted confection with a near liquid center. "You may well have completed training by then. I calculate a 98.7733% probability that I will be called to deal with Kaon in the name of the Prime in the next three centuries. However, there is only a 37.1994% probably that it will happen in the next forty vorns. I do hope it will wait until you are ready to fight and plan at my side."
"That would be preferable." Jazz agreed, shifting the conversation to other topics as they worked their way through breakfast. It was all so ... normal. It felt good too, the amount of faith in him Prowl displayed simply by sharing this information, and doing so in such a casual manner. As breakfast neared an end, Jazz caught the shift in Prowl's frame and field that was usually reserved for after their post-dinner game. Half way out of his seat Jazz froze, gaze locked on his intended as he considered this new event. "Prowl?"
"You missed out on the main event last night," Prowl rumbled, his field reaching out to Jazz to express just how hot he was running for his intended even before he reached out with a hand to caress the side of Jazz's face. "I do not wish to wait any longer to feel you inside me."
Momentary hesitation gave way to willing agreement as Jazz leaned his helm into the touch, field already melding with the other mechs. "All right."
"Good," Prowl's field flared, the intensity of it like nothing Jazz had felt before and leaned in for a kiss as he drew his intended close. "Would you like me to ride your spike, or to mount me?" Prowl asked as he nibbled his way down to Jazz's throat, slowly guiding his intended backwards, towards Jazz's berthroom.
Jazz shivered in his arms, moaning softly as Prowl teased at his neck. "Mm... Which do you like better?"
"I like being mounted. It gives my lover better access to my wings," he was nearly trembling in anticipation. "However, if I ride you, we can kiss and you can lay back and simply enjoy."
Jazz actually hesitated. He loved playing with those wings, loved the intense reactions he could cause when he found the just the right places to make Prowl moan. At the same time he selfishly loved the feel of his intended's lips against his own, teasing his neck and visor and making him moan.
"Ride me?" He asked softly, wanting to feel that and be the center of Prowl's attention for a little bit.
"Yes," Prowl's moan was enticing as Jazz's knees felt the edge of the berth. "Then lay down, my Jazz."
The smaller mech fell back on the berth, unresisting and all of his attention focused on his lover and the promise of pleasure in meshed fields and the brush of heated frames. His optics locked on what was possibly one of his favorite sights; that of his intended lowering himself on top of him.
Lips plates met, parted and glossa stroked each other as Prowl caressed his lover's frame before sliding all the way down abdominal plates to stroke light fingers over Jazz's spike cover.
The cover slid way quickly at the first touch if his fingers, an edge of shyness creeping into Jazz's field as he optics followed his lover's hand to watch his newly unsealed spike emerge and pressurize. It was a little shorter than Prowl's, not nearly as elaborately ridged and with a simple white base with black highlights. Yet it was his, and Prowl seemed to approve of it.
Gentle, strong white fingers caressed the emerging length. As much as Prowl was revved up, as much as he wanted to feel that length inside him, he refused to rush. Jazz moaned, vision flickering at the attention as his hands began to roam his intended's frame, finding the sensor wings just within his reach and caressing them.
It was still a very new feeling for Jazz, any sort of stimulation to his spike, but this time was no less pleasurable than the first. More so now even, that he had some idea of what to expect and wasn't already lost in a flood of new sensations.
"Your pleasure feels so good," Prowl moaned softly, his wings trembling at the attention. Almost reluctantly he withdrew his hand and shifted forward, leaning down to kiss Jazz with a passion far more gentle than he was feeling the desire for. Small pearls of lubricant dripped from Prowl's valve onto Jazz's erect spike, each one sending a shiver through Jazz's frame and field as he moaned softly into the kiss, glossa darting out to tease Prowl's lips, asking.
Prowl's mouth opened fully to his even as he shifted and sank down, taking Jazz's spike slowly into his slick, quivering valve. Giving each of them time to savor and enjoy this first slide. Anything Jazz might have planned to do with that permission was lost to the sensation of the tight heat slowly enveloping his spike. He whimpered as all he could do was feel and marvel.
Prowl's mouth and hand on his spike had been amazing. This was divine, and his field flared against the larger mech, sharing the glory of this first experience.
Above him Prowl moaned more from the field contact than the stretch of his valve. This was everything he loved about being first. The rush of that first pleasure when they weren't prepared for it. It was intense, addictive, and oh so wonderful.
Slowly he sank down until he felt the rim of the spike housing against his valve platelets, then stilled and rippled the lining of his valve.
Jazz's hands slipped from Prowls wings to his shoulders, tightening around the sturdy armor as he shuddered and moaned, back arching to thrust his spike into the pleasure on pure reaction. He gasped at the shift in sensation when Prowl leaned forward and slid his legs back, radically changing the angle of penetration.
"Oh yes," Prowl shuddered and moaned, drinking in Jazz's sensations and reactions as much as the pleasure from his own frame. "Yes," he tightened his valve as he lifted his hips, lowering his helm to claim Jazz's mouth in a passionate kiss. As their lips met Prowl let go of the tight self-control he had to maintain to keep from pushing his intended too hard.
The mech beneath him whimpered into the kiss at the small loss of contact around his spike, wanting to feel more and deeply trusting of the mech over him.
"So perfect," Prowl murmured as he sank down, taking Jazz inside him fully and grinding their interface arrays together before drawing up again.
"Prowl..." Even this short amount of contact was enough to make Jazz shiver and moan, the charge already building hot in his systems.
"Don't fight it," Prowl whispered, kissing him once more as he sped the pace just a bit. "I want to feel you flood my valve. It'll feel so good."
"Feels so good." Was the response between kisses, this angle putting Prowl's wings back into his lovers reach. Jazz's hands slid down the edges as he moaned with each ripple and slide of the valve over his spike.
There was a short warning, and inarticulate sound from Jazz as he pulled his hands from those wings, before his frame stiffened and bucked against Prowl, transfluid filling his intended's valve. It rushed over sensors buried inside crevasses in the valve wall, there explicitly to respond to the hot flood of highly charged thick fluid.
With a cry of ecstasy Prowl took it in, his hips moving quickly as he worked himself the rest of the way and overloaded with a low, booming roar.
He came down to hands stroking gently over his chest, Jazz's visor dim and the smaller mech's field full of sated contentment.
Prowl hummed, his valve randomly rippling around the pressurized spike still deep inside him. Oh, it felt so good. He had no doubt that had he not been as gifted a political and warrior as he was, he would have produced several sparklings already. He was sure his psychology was designed for it. He simply responded to this so well. He loved being filled.
"Good?" Jazz asked, a hint of teasing creeping into his voice and frame as he looked up at his intended, hands still running absently over the polished armor.
"Very," Prowl purred, leaning down to kiss Jazz softly. "I love the feel of hot transfluid inside me." His valve quivered and fluttered at the thought.
The mech beneath him shuddered at the pressure and stimulation on his spike, hips shifting against Prowl's.
"Again?" Prowl moaned, his field flaring brightly even as his frame rolled into the movement, his valve testing the spike inside it for readiness.
"Please?" Jazz asked, the motion of his hands over his intended's frame shifting from friendly attention to arousal. "Know you said you liked something different than this..."
A shiver passed through Prowl's frame as he lifted himself off Jazz to settle on hands and knees next to him, golden optics bright with desire and long sensor wings fully spread and fluttering at him. The wings were enough to distract Jazz for a moment, fixating on them as rolled to his knees and moved around behind Prowl, reaching out to stroke over the wings, purring softly as his frame settled over his intended's.
The heat where their frames came in contact was intense, but it was the continual fluttering of those wings, begging for more attention, that riveted Jazz. The way they moved, felt, the sounds they could so easily draw from Prowl were enchanting.
Curious, Jazz leaned closer, nuzzling where the wings joined Prowl's frame as his hands ran over the familiar expanse. The sound he earned in response had Jazz purring harder, pleased as he continued to stroke and kiss the sensitive appendages.
Continued exploration earned him several new spots to remember before Jazz focused on the other reason he was he was there, shifting to line his spike up with the dripping valve. He had to look and use his hand, but the sensation of the slick valve clenching around his spike as he pressed past the glistening platelets made him forget all about any awkwardness that came with not knowing what he was doing.
He shivered and moaned, sinking slowly into the slick tightness that was his intended's valve, savoring the slide until he was flush against the Praxian's aft and back. He held still there for a lingering moment, taking in the differences in sensation the new position offered. The view was pretty fine too, with the way Prowl trembled and arched into the contact and his wings flared.
"Beautiful." Jazz murmured, speaking without thinking as he pulled back carefully, testing the new position as he started a slow, steady glide in and out of the valve and bracing on Prowl at first. The warrior-Praxian's frame was nothing like the civilians that everyone knew. He was strong, sturdy, well protected ... about all they had in common was the elegant grace the city was renown for.
For perhaps the first time Jazz truly grasped just how well-suited Prowl was for leading an army from the front line. Every upgrade, every design choice in his well-crafted existence, had been with this single purpose in mind.
To lead a Praxian warrior-House was to lead from in front of his forces.
It was something he would think on later, his field stretching out to meld once more with his lover's as he moved, sharing the feel of the valve squeezing and stimulating his spike as he reached up to caress the sensor wings that were still so responsive even on a warrior frame.
Prowl moaned encouragement, his field flaring in reply, entwining tightly with Jazz's to share the intense pleasure he felt at being penetrated, stretched and filled in such an intimate way. His valve pulsed, relishing the sensations being bestowed on his frame and how much his intended was enjoying it. It was everything he wanted in this introduction.
The soft sounds of his lover, grunts and moans as Jazz surrendered to feeling and moving in ways that made them both feel so good, seeking to drive his intended to overload as his hands played along sensor wings and his thrusts picked up speed and strength, driving into the welcoming valve harder.
"So good," Prowl moaned, rocking his hips into each thrust, easily adapting his movements and angle for the best results. It was a skill he'd spent much of his free time developing, how to instruct an inexperienced lover without them realizing they were being instructed.
Through the shared pleasure Jazz's field sang at the praise as he moaned into Prowl's back, frame vibrating with the growing charge. "Good..."
Under him Prowl moaned inarticulately before he finally managed a drawn out 'Jazzzz' so thick with pleasure it was amazing he wasn't trembling. His wings pressed upwards, wiggling for attention.
Attention Jazz attempted to give them as his self control slipped rapidly, destroyed by his growing charge and the encouragement of his lover.
"Prowl-" He shuddered. "Sorry." Then he reached out, fingers sliding into the base of the wing joints to hit the sensor nodes he knew were buried there as he overloaded in his intended's valve for a second time.
"Ohh, no need to apologize," Prowl moaned, his valve working his lover all through Jazz's overload right until he crumbled against the Praxian's back.
It was all Jazz could do to be still and let Prowl support him as his systems worked to cool his frame and he worked to find focus again through the post overload haze.
Finally he moaned softly, his field settling enough for him to pick up just how worked up Prowl still was. Moving carefully Jazz shifted his attention to the sensor wings spread before him, quivering and begging to his stroked. He ran his hands along the length and pausing to tease every joint as he kissed and licked at the base cables.
"Yes!" Prowl's entire frame reacted, arching sharply and quivering in an entirely different way. "Just ... a ... little ... morrrr!" he roared as his optics flashed white and energy raced across his frame, crackling between his chassis, his flared wings and Jazz.
The gentle nip Jazz had delivered last was enough, pushing his intended over the edge as the energy from the Praxian's overload flooded both their frames. Jazz purred at the glorious sight and sound that was his lover lost in pleasure and continued to stroke the sensor wings as he savored the reaction.
This was easily as rewarding as learning a new kata or earning praise in a sparing match. It was undeniable proof that Jazz was good enough. It was undeniable proof that his intended could, did, desire him as more than a breeder. When he first heard he was to be the subordinate in the pairing he realized it was entirely possible the seal on his spike would never be broken unless he did it himself. A breeder had no need for their spike, only their valve to receive the transfluid that contained spark energy, code and protomass for a forming sparkling to absorb.
Prowl not only was willing to pleasure him in every way, but very clearly got off on it. There was no way Prowl was doing this because he somehow felt he should.
Jazz nuzzled once more at the wings as he felt Prowl come down from the high before he backed away slowly, still shivering a little as his spike slid from the valve and he settled tiredly on the berth behind his intended.
With a moan and satisfied stretch of his entire frame Prowl shifted to join him. A nuzzle to the cheek became a tender, chaste kiss; an expression of affection rather than a demand for attention. "The rest, and learning all else that interfacing can be, will be just as enjoyable," Prowl promised.
Jazz leaned into him, content to snuggle for the moment. The physical warmth of the frame next to his, and the still blended fields of contentment and affection, was highly addictive. "I look forward to it."
"Good," Prowl smiled and relaxed with him for a couple breems. "If you wish to rest, you do not need to join me on my rounds."
Jazz grumbled a little at the thought of rising again, but there was good-natured humor under his mumbling as he nuzzled at Prowl. "I'll join you."
"As you wish," Prowl kissed him again and reluctantly rose from the berth. "Come to my washrack. My slaves will tend to us both."
Jazz rose with a soft sound of agreement and protest, following Prowl across the mercifully empty suite and into Prowl's side. He couldn't help but look around curiously as he entered. It was more decorative that he'd expected on a level, though it matched the rest of the House in taste and quality. Yet all around were personal touches, items, trophies and mementoes from Prowl's travels and campaigns.
Weapons, shields, several preserved and mounted helms, artwork that wasn't Praxian ... the entry room to Prowl's suite was a showpiece to his career and achievements. It was enough to jar Jazz's self-confidence some. This, more than anything he had encountered so far, demonstrated the gap between him and his intended. Prowl had already accomplished so much on his own merit, and all Jazz had to offer him was some training in the arms and the reputation of his creator. No wonder members of the House were inclined to look down on him and question his worthiness.
"Surestrike, Softlight," Prowl's voice rang out evenly as he crossed the entry room to his berthroom.
Here Jazz was greeted with a very different sight. Here, where Prowl would meditate and recharge, his personal space where only a select few would be granted access, was nearly austere despite the fine crafting to the textures and multitude of colors on the walls and the few pieces of furniture. It was not unlike Prowl's own frame.
The pair appeared instantly, looking Prowl over and immediately surmising what needed to happen. The only hesitation was when two pairs of curious, submissive optics studied Jazz before turning back to their master to bow and hurry to prepare the grand washrack room.
Jazz followed his intended into a third radically different room. The washrack was a glittering masterpiece, larger than the berthroom by half, with shimmering tiles and lighting that could change from perfect white to check one's finish to a rainbow that refracted and reflected off more surface types than Jazz could name. It was far finer than anything Jazz had encountered before in the form of a washrack, even those of his creator's bonded. Curious optics glanced over at his intended, wondering a little at what was almost something out of place with what he had learned of the Praxian.
He would have stayed there if not for the soft, respectful voice at his back. "If my lord would come this way?"
Jazz tilted his helm to look at the small, pale orange and yellow mech before stepping obediently in the indicated direction. Servants and slaves at least he was something he was familiar with. Though the pair were stepping carefully around him they really had little to fear. Respectful treatment of the help, free or not, was one of the rules he had been given that he had no qualms about.
He watched the other one, a larger, heavier non-Praxian mech with armor of blue and black, as Prowl was guided under the shower next to Jazz. It was a space that easily held the four of them and more to spare. It was interesting, feeling Prowl's field here. His intended was relaxed and it abruptly occurred to Jazz that this room was Prowl's great indulgence. This was what he treated himself to with all his power and wealth.
A low, throaty sound escaped Prowl as Surestrike went to work on his plating, tackling the large surface areas first with a speed that betrayed just how familiar he was with his master's frame. Initial trace was lifted off in the span of a klik before the mech settled into a slower pace, focusing more on what he was doing as he began to clean Prowl thoroughly from helm to pede.
The first glide of brush over armor had Jazz shivering and his attendant hesitating until Jazz moved more in his reach, offering his frame for cleaning as Jazz relaxed his field. Softlight moved slower than his mate from the beginning, paying special attention to Jazz's frame type and design and making careful notes of Jazz's personal peculiarities about being cleaned.
Anything that tickled or made Jazz twitched as noted and remembered, just as were the things that made him sigh in pleasure or press further into the touch.
It wasn't long before Jazz had effectively melted into the touch, helped along by Prowl's enjoyment so close by and how clear it was that the Praxian trusted these mechs tending to them.
It did feel very good. Different from Evening Bronze too. Her efforts were precise and professional. This pair's touch was warmer, willing to be affectionate and personally devoted.
It was just another thing Jazz was rather sure he could very used to very easily.
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The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation