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It was a dangerous attraction from the start.
Jazz couldn’t place what captured his attention in Prowl. Perhaps it was his silent demeanor or the fact that he could talk down even the most volatile of mechs. That calmness around Prowl was a magnet for Jazz, who needed it like energon to keep him and his emotions grounded.
It started with simple, casual conversations here and there. Jazz was a mech who paid attention to details, and it didn’t go unnoticed to the soldier that Prowl rarely talked to someone. How lonely that life must be. He sympathized with the tactician. Of course, it was natural to distance himself from other mechs with the job he had.
So Jazz decided that he would become his friend, if nothing else. Energon cubes started appearing on the Praxian’s desk. At first they were ignored. But Jazz wasn’t easily deterred. And one late orn after a hard battle, the gift was finally accepted. And it never stopped since then, much to Jazz’s joy. Slowly but surely, he told himself, he would break past Prowl’s barriers. No mech should face this war alone.
Yet, as time passed, Jazz started feeling this tugging in his spark. The attraction he had felt from before was growing into a need that couldn’t be clenched. All the more reason for Jazz to pop up unannounced on the tactician’s office. And every time, rare as it was, when Prowl engaged in a conversation with him, the fluttering in his spark increased. And just like that, instead of the other way around, it was Prowl who had wormed his way behind Jazz’s defenses.
Still, Jazz felt he was missing something. But that problem got solved a few orns later, during a hard battle. Someone had aimed a gun at Prowl’s spark. And there was no time for Jazz to warn him. He still couldn’t remember doing it, couldn’t understand why he had done it… it was just an attraction, right? So why had Jazz jumped in front of the line of fire? Why had he felt so relieved when the mech was unhurt, even as his consciousness had slipped him?
Later, he had woken up in the med bay. And he wasn’t alone. Prowl was there, smiling gently at him. It was then and there, that Jazz realized, the mech owned him.
The first time Prowl noticed Jazz was in a throng of laughing mechs with a silver figure in their center, animatedly telling some story. Prowl wasn't interested in the story, but that Jazz held the attention of that many mechs screamed 'natural leader'. And that was something he did take note of.
When he observed a mere orn later a similar scene, he made a second note and came to the conclusion that this mech had the necessary social power to lead crowds. And that meant that Jazz was a possible tool to lead the uneducated, stupid masses of mechs. He never had enough of such mechs, they all tended to become a liability or decided to go on some noble suicide mission. They made Prowl glad that he had no difficulty to walk away from something, anything that could mean harm to himself. In his opinion it was called survival. And crowd control was just adding to his chances to survive comfortably.
He started simple: By reading Jazz's file. Then, when the next mission came up, he requested his psychological file as well, which he got without any questions.
The psychologists knew better than to say "no" to him since their Head had declared him a few not so good things in front of other officers. Not that Prowl cared about the diagnosis, after all he was better than the rest and this just proved it, but the reaction of the other Autobots had harmed his career temporarily. Temporarily, until said psychologist was revealed to be a traitor, that is. The public execution had been something he kept pictures of.
That second file proved more interesting. Especially the small note that Jazz was single and liked to cheer people up. Prowl had put the files then away with a smirk. That made it all easier. After all, mechs never expected that they were the victims, when they approached themselves, out of their own free will. Or at least thought that it was their own will. Prowl didn't think that in most mechs that there was anything that deserved the adjective "free".
The next several times he walked past Jazz he let his wings droop, took care to not talk to anyone and to stand alone when he drank his energon. Not a difficult task, considering his usual days but he made sure that he seemed lonely. It took four orns, and an 'accidental' bump in front of the energon dispenser, then Jazz was talking to him.
Prowl continued with his little signs of being sad, and Jazz came again. With energon of all things. On his desk. Prowl first stared on it, not comprehending what that 'meant', until he realized that Jazz had started to care about his health – then he had to laugh. It was all too easy.
He refused the energon cubes at first, making sure that he seemed distrusting, vulnerable. Jazz doubled his effort and every time they were talking, Prowl made sure that Jazz felt comfortable. They talked about philosophy, tactics, games. All things Jazz enjoyed but usually couldn't engage in. Prowl even made sure to find a few music pieces that he could pretend to like – classic music so it fit to his persona, but music nonetheless. After all, Jazz liked music. He could see the happiness in Jazz when he finally accepted the cubes with a "Thank you". Foolish Autobot, but then they were all like this. Decepticons, Autobots, whatever. So easy.
Prowl continued, aware that his social reputation grew more positive. Jazz spread good rumors about him as predicted. The work paid off.
It especially paid off, when some sniper tried to kill the Autobot’s tactician and Jazz jumped in front of him and was hit in his stead. In that moment Prowl knew sweet triumph. Maybe, he should keep Jazz longer. After all, it seems he was better than just a tool to manipulate the masses. He made sure to sit next to Jazz, when the medics released him from stasis.
He put a gentle smile on, ready to say 'Thank you, love you' and whatever else was needed to chain Jazz more to him. In reality, he only had one thought:
Mine.
Jazz was used of taking care of himself. That’s how he grew up, that’s how he learned to survive. And it helped him a lot in this war torn world – he didn’t rely on others to fix his problems. He was independent. That is, until Prowl came into the picture.
After Jazz had taken that shot for him, Prowl was nothing but attentive. He helped Jazz to his quarters after he was discharged from the med bay, he even stayed the night to make sure the mech was comfortable with his healing wounds.
They cuddled the entire night and Jazz didn’t remember sleeping so well in ages. Jazz’s recharge cycle was usually filled with a lot of tossing and turning, and an occasional nightmare here and now. With Prowl? It was heaven. Jazz didn’t want to sleep alone after that. So much for being independent…
Yet, Jazz’s spark was singing with joy, because it didn’t stop there. Prowl kept showing up, seeking him out. It wasn’t Jazz anymore who engaged their ornly sessions of drinking energon together. And finally, when Jazz had gotten the all clear from the medics, he was practically vibrating with excitement.
Tonight was the night.
He had started longing for Prowl’s touch after that night where they cuddled. And hopefully, if all went well, he would have the attractive Praxian in a berth, moaning along with him. Jazz surprised Prowl in his office, where the mech always seemed to be, working. He grinned and pulled out a small flute which he hadn’t used in a while, because after the war had started he never was in the mood to play anymore, but not tonight.
He had smiled gently at Prowl. If only the mech could realize what he was doing to Jazz. That shy smile of his, the little flick of his wings. Jazz wanted to hug him and never let go, to have the feeling he had when they were cuddled.
So, instead he started playing. At first the song was a fast and happy one, enough to cause surprise in Prowl. But when Jazz was sure he had his undivided attention he changed the song into something calmer, more soothing. Like Prowl was. And then the mech had smiled and leaned back into his chair to enjoy the songs, Jazz changed them yet again. It was more sensual, the undercurrent of lust catchable only if you looked for it. And Jazz knew Prowl had found it when his optics darkened.
Slowly, moving with the beat of the music, Jazz made his way behind Prowl’s desk, swinging his hips all the way. Then, the song came to an end and Jazz placed the flute away, climbing in Prowl’s lap, placing his hands behind the mech’s neck.
“Are you sure?” Prowl breathed.
Jazz couldn’t help but laugh warmly at that. Such a kind spark. “Oh yes.” And leaned down to kiss the mech.
It all lead to a night filled with passion and all of Jazz’s worries were melted away. He was concerned that Prowl wouldn’t be able to loosen up, but was nicely surprised when Prowl let all of his desires run free. And it became something Jazz wouldn’t ever forget and crave for dearly. As he lay there, panting next to the equally flustered Prowl, Jazz knew that he was falling for this mech. Hard. And that it was only a while before he fell all the way.
But as Jazz felt a hand caress his cheek, he looked at the ice blue optics of Prowl and realized that perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing…
Even with their relationship evolving, Prowl remained considerate, loving as at the very beginning. Jazz was delighted, when none of his problems of previous relationship surfaced. Prowl wasn’t jealous or petty, never wanted more than Jazz was ready to give.
It was perfect.
Until Jazz after a late evening spend with the tactician, entered his room and found a known mech on his berth. “Rung?” He asked surprised. “What are you doing here?”
How had he even gotten in?
Rung gave him a tiny smile and stood up. “Red Alert let me in, I don’t have much time before the cameras see me in a place I shouldn’t be.”
“Right.” Jazz blinked. The Head of the Psychologist Department wasn’t a likely person to made late night calls, and even less likely to join in this kind of cloak and dagger stuff. “Did something happen?”
“Not yet.” Rung stopped in front of him and sighed. “I came here to warn you. They say you’re in love with Prowl and that he loves you back…”
Jazz straightened. “He’s an officer, I know, but really there is no law…”
Rung held up a hand. “It’s not about him being an officer. It’s about him being Prowl.” He shook his head. “Prowl’s file will tell you that he’s a normal mech with some issues. But who hasn’t them after this war?” There was a certain bitterness in his words now. “Yet Prowl is special. I have no proof, but I’m absolutely sure that he has no consciousness.”
Jazz froze. “What do you mean….?”
“I mean that he’s a psychopath. A mech who feels no guilt, no regret, no mercy. A mech incapable of loving anything but himself.” Rung put a hand on Jazz’s shoulders and looked hard at the visor. “Incapable of loving you.”
“No… You're lying.” He shook the hand off. “No psychopath would ever made officer, Sentinel wouldn’t allow it. Leave, before I forget myself and tell everyone where you are.”
Run nodded. “As you wish.”
The moment the psychologist was outside, Jazz collapsed on his berth, the spoken words ringing inside his processor. It couldn’t be true. It had to be a lie. Because if not, what was happening to him? The berth was suddenly so empty and lonely, only with him and his own fears.
He wished Prowl would hug him and let him forget.
The next orn, he did what he did best as a spy and asked around, gathered information. He found out more about the dark sides of the Autobots than he ever wanted – and not a single instance, in which Prowl had shown something resembling concern for others.
Besides Jazz, that’s it. Jazz spark was hurting, when he returned to his quarters, just to find Prowl’s invitation to a game night. He immediately accepted, the promise of warmth and fun and love was too much to even hesitate now.
He wanted it. And maybe, he needed it too.
When Prowl smiled at him that evening, his spark felt light and whole.
"I love you," said Jazz quietly, not even sure why he said it, but it felt good and true and like this was the right course.
Prowl just looked at him, then slowly nodded. "I love you too."
Jazz shuttered his optics. These words were the exact echo of his own sentiment, and they felt so good. Now, if only he could believe they were true. If only they hadn't told him that Prowl was incapable of love and saw it as nothing more than a great self-delusion. Still, he smiled and looked back at Prowl: "Not as much as I love you."
It was too good to stop. And so he continued playing with the knife, waiting for the wound in his spark to occur. Just why couldn't his spark be gifted to a normal mech?
Prowl took his hand and kissed it. "How true," he said quietly.
"What am I to you?" Jazz couldn't help but ask. Deep down he knew the answer, but hope lingered in his spark, so fragile and bright. He knew yet he hoped for him to be wrong, "Am I just a mech that warms you berth? A trophy for you to display, just another conquest? If you care for me, if you have ever cared for me at all, say it."
He didn't realize how much he needed to hear it.
Prowl shook his head, and hugged Jazz, pulled him closer. "Silly, Jazz. You are important to me. How can you doubt that?" He kissed the helmet of the smaller mech. "Have I not always come when you called? And if I want to display you, then only because you're mine and I have the most beautiful mech of the planet on my arm." He caressed Jazz's fins.
"No!" Jazz pulled away, shaking his helm. His spark yearned for that mech yet his mind screamed danger and to get away. Still, in the end Jazz was a slave to his spark's desire. And it desired Prowl.
"I heard you." Jazz said, "That orn, when you were alone in the comms room. I heard you make that wretched deal... so many died because of it..." He placed a hand over his helm, feeling emotions wreck a havoc in him. Love and reason battling and neither willing to yield. "I thought I was wrong... that I had heard wrong... but it's all true! I heard you! I freakin' heard you, Prowl! You made that bargain like it was the lightest thing in the world and so many people died for it! And for what?" Jazz wanted to get close. But to hit Prowl or hug him wasn't sure. "What's to stop you in the future to make new deals like that one when it suits you best? Will you gamble me as well? Or Prime? Or someone else?"
Prowl's optics darkened, in an uncommon show of emotions. "Jazz, what I did and what I am, that are things I will not hide. I was created to make such deals, from my emotional programming to my battle computer. The deal was the better option for all of Cybertron. It meant that more mechs will live to see next orn than in any other case." He crossed his arms. "And about the future... do you really believe that the Prime would one such as me let run free? I am created and as such I have dozens of codelines that limit my behavior." He smiled, sharply. "They are afraid I would take over without them."
This... wasn't the Prowl he had fallen in love with. Jazz just stared at him and wondered where the sweet and caring mech had gone. Was it all a facade? No, no one is that good... are they?
Yet, as Jazz gazed at that sharp smile, for the first time he felt an emotion he never thought he would associate with Prowl: Fear. He was scared of him. Scared of how that mech could talk himself out of every situation, how it messed with his helm. But most of all, he felt scared of how powerless he felt about it all.
"It's wrong." Jazz said, "Then how are we different of the 'cons if we act like them? How can we call ourselves fighters for freedom, for equality when... when..." He trailed of and looked at Prowl, who watched this coolly, helm tilted. There were heavy shadows all over his frame from the light of the stars from outside the ship. And those sharp blue optics...
Maybe for the first time since they interacted, Prowl dropped the facade. Not because felt guilty or obliged, but because in a way he was proud of it. Proud of what he was, and what he did. He loved it.
For a quick moment, he contemplated on destroying Jazz's belief in the Autobots further, to undermine his world view until nothing remained but Prowl and... well, that what Prowl would give him. But no, it was too risky for now. He didn't want to see Jazz in the end in another one's berth. He was Prowl's.
"Yes," he said gently. "It is wrong. The Decepticons force the Prime and the Autobots to make horrible decision and they tried their best, really. But they are good bots, Jazz. Good mechs, down to their very spark and every forced decision destroyed them, gave them doubts and guilt, leading some even to commit suicide." He stepped forward, gauging Jazz reaction. But the mech didn't run. Better even, he was listening. "That is the difference, Jazz. Sentinel Prime created me to make better choices and to not lose other good mechs to Primus, because they couldn't handle it." He touched Jazz's hand, gently caressing it. "I was created, because they were lambs surrounded by monster. Unable to understand them, unable to defeat them." He took the hand in his, stepped closer, was chassis to chassis with Jazz, who was trembling. "And I am the only one they created, haven't you noticed? I am alone..."
Lonely. He let it hang between them. Truth, and lie. Not that he cared, all he wanted was effect.
Jazz wanted so much to pull away, but his spark was calling, screaming in his chest. So he settled on trembling, "Lambs surrounded by a monster? ... What does that make you?" Jazz whispered, not braking gaze with those blue, blue optics. "Alone..." Jazz looked away, feeling powerless before Prowl. "You may be... whatever you are, but you're not alone."
"I?" Prowl kissed his helmet again, and straightened. "I am the puppet and the puppet master, fighting fire with fire." He leaned forward and kissed Jazz on the mouth. Slowly. Lovingly. He had practiced to get it exactly right, and he did get it right. "And I am not alone, as long I have you, my Jazz... you won’t leave me, right?"
Jazz felt small in his arms, so small, "...You know I love you." He whispered, feeling a headache pounding from all his racing thoughts. How did the conversation end up like this? He had started yelling at Prowl and he ended up in his arms. "Prowl...? Please don't hurt me." And he hoped the mech understood what he meant. Jazz's spark was too integrated into this, too drawn to the other to survive the break up.
Prowl kissed him again, feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction that Jazz was where he wanted him to be. "Never," he promised.
The word was a beauty of sincerity, and for a short flashing moment, Prowl felt – felt! - the desire to let the word come true. To let his spark go, too - and then he thought again and the nonsense disappeared. A word was a word. Stupid little mechs that believed in love and sparks. His own spark was quiet again. He kissed Jazz again, feeling him melting against his armour. His. And he would keep him. No matter what. Deliberately, a plan formed... and he took Jazz and carried him to the berth.
Yes. Yes, he would keep him. But he needed to make Jazz a lot less fragile.
And that meant breaking him first.
"I think... I may actually love him." Prowl said, without looking at Sentinel, showing actual confusion on his face, frown firmly in place as he didn't understand this. Perhaps if he was normal, if he wasn't this creation of destruction and pain, he would have understood these feelings and for once he sincerely wondered.
"No, you don't," came Sentinel's lazy drawl. "If you were capable of such a feeling, you would've pushed him away. You would've protected him from yourself. Instead you selfishly chose to keep him, destroying him piece by piece, shaping him into what you wanted." Sentinel smirked at the blazing optics of Prowl that landed on him. If he were a lesser mech, Sentinel would've frozen by the coldness in them, instead he kept poking the beast he had created. "But even with the programing, you are still a mech Prowl. Yes, a lesser one, but still a mech. With desires." His optics darkened, matching Prowl's silent fury with smugness, "The coding can't shield you from such as simple emotion as lust, Commander Prowl."
Sentinel missed the mental vow of Prowl, promising he would destroy this Prime, by all means necessary. Yes, Prowl would hear him scream. With that thought in mind, Prowl turned and left, leaving the bigger monster behind him. But that didn't worry him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall, right?
"Why are you torturing me like this?" Jazz asked desperately, sitting beaten and sobbing in a chair, after a mission that had involved friends and innocents and none of them surviving. He could still see his servos dripping with the energon, the endless surprise on their face plates. Had Prowl known so many mechs he cared for would die?
In sharp contrast, Prowl was as controlled as ever.
"Torturing?" Prowl asked, finding it amusing, "Why are you trying to force me to say something you already know?"
All Jazz could do was stare back at him, and hope his face didn't break by the rage of emotions in him.
A Prime fell, another rose, the war continued. Centuries of horror passed in pain and screaming. Cybertron changed and with it changed its citizens to cold, hardened soldiers. Only the monsters stayed the same, now prowling around full of confidence and multiplying as they took in their preys.
"You will regret this." Jazz's visor narrowed.
They stood on an open plain, behind them another city burning, another headquarter razed. The Head of Special Operation’s frame was littered with tiny wounds, but they were not even a hint of the wounds inside his mind and spark.
"Hardly." Prowl matched his cold gaze, feeling nothing but exhalation and triumph. "I finally have an equal."
It had been a risky plan, and it had taken long to take the fragile mech, this naïve spy and to turn it into a battle-hardened soldier, that wasn’t stopped by anything. Certainly not by such things as feelings or mercy. And now, finally, after orchestrating an entire Autobot base to think Jazz a traitor, manipulating their medic until he thought it safest to exchanged Jazz’s emotional protocols with one of Prowl’s design, killing everyone involved and dozens more to cover up what happened – now he could finally admire the results of his labor.
Jazz was beautiful.
The SpecOps mech had seen the look and sneered: "Don't confuse me still as the naive soldier, helm over pedes after your sorry aft."
"Of course not. I’ve made you better." Prowl stepped forward to kiss his helmet, a loving gestures of ages past.
Jazz smacked him away. "No, you ruined me. Unfortunately for you, you removed the restrains as well." The saboteur’s hand caressed in turn now one of Prowl's main fuel lines, as the tactician froze. It was an intimate gesture, but just as threatening. The claws were more than enough to rip the lines out, to kill within klicks and Jazz has long lost count just how often he had done so. Prowl’s engine sped up. "You created a monster," Jazz added with a whisper, the shadow of regret.
"My personal, beautiful monster." Prowl answered, not bothering to hide his possessiveness. Despite the claws he leaned forward and kissed Jazz’s helmet, feeling the claws nicking at his fuel lines, drawing a few drops of energon – but nothing more.
"I was yours," Jazz growled. "Not anymore."
"Are you sure about that, dear Jazz?"
The claws tightened. "Don't play with fire, Prowl. Don't. You'll get burned."
Prowl chocked for a moment, then leaned back. His fuel lines were released and he found the energy to answer with a chuckle: “You're new to this, Jazz. So new. Still learning the rules of the game. I’m not the only monster out there. Do you really think you even stand a chance to be more than prey?”
The visor flashed coldly. "Let's find out. They’ll regret messing with me very soon."
Prowl stood back, arms crossed, smiling with utter confidence. Jazz was his and his alone. That he wanted to prove that he wasn't. ... well didn’t this make Prowl’s claim true? But truthfully, it was what he had wanted. A Monster, someone he couldn't manipulate anymore. It felt. .... good. Freeing.
“Send Shockwave my regards, when you visit him.”
With a growl, Jazz pressed the mech against the next rock, their foreheads touching. "You gave me weapons, trained me, formed me. Undid the chains of morality and lifted all restrictions. Do you really think, I'll hold back?"
“No.” And Prowl laughed.
Because really, he never had understood the point of restraints anyway.
As he proved, when he pinned Jazz a second later against the very same surface to kiss him.