This is a co-authored piece by me and Kujazlilmage. Be warned, folks, it's a STICKY. Now, both authors know and understand, that sticky is completely illogical, when one is writing about giant transforming alien robots. But, we wanted something really naughty, and we didn't want to bother with explanations. If you can't stand it, stop reading here. If you can tolerate robotic genitalia (and heaps of delicious angst and Jazz abuse), then, go ahead.

He'd heard tell of their newest "catch," though Soundwave had yet to venture down to the basement and see for himself. Actually, of all the Decepticons (which was a scant few as of now, though they hoped to grow in number), Soundwave was perhaps the only one who rarely ever went down into Megatron's basement chamber. He knew like everyone else what they did with the Autobots down there--one of the ways Megatron had decided would be efficient for growing an army was to bear sparklings and raise them into the ranks from birth. Soundwave didn't jump at the chance like the others did, but he didn't find himself disagreeing, either. So he continued, as time passed and they continued to kidnap others, to behave indifferently to the situation, despite the whispers and rumors that began to float about. That he wasn't real Decepticon material. That he was a coward.

But then Jazz fell into their hands, and Soundwave suddenly had much more interest in what was going on below grounds.

Soundwave remembered Jazz in passing. He was uncertain if the mech had ever noticed him though doubted that was the case. He was the type of admirer to watch from a safe distance. Though, to say it was admiration would be grossly understating what Soundwave felt for Jazz. Obsession would be closer to it. There was no denying that Jazz was a beautiful mech, and he was a born musician as well, which only amplified Soundwave's attraction to him. He'd listened in on the bot a few times when he'd thought he was alone, just jamming on his instrument. He had those sessions hard-wired into his system.

Now Jazz was kidnapped, chained and locked up tight in Megatron's chambers below grounds. He was being offered for anyone to take, black-and-white displayed on a silver platter. Soundwave fiercely fought for first dibs and descended, anticipation surging through him in waves. He hadn't quite thought through what he would do, yet, but this wasn't an opportunity he was willing to pass up.

The corridors were dimly lit now, being the Primus-forsaken cycles of dawn, when the quiet buzzing of life died down even in the Decepticon leader's Citadel. Those few still awake were security officers, or guards, personnel, which had much better things to do than gossiping, and they definitely won't leave their posts to venture stories lower, to the cells holding the captives.

Soundwave's trek was silent and undisturbed; the heavy doors yielded to his keycard, the privilege of a high-ranked, trusted officer, even if they weren't yet a formal army. His footsteps echoed on the corridor, and his sensitive audio-receptors picked up the noise of the sudden, shuffling movements form behind reinforced cell-doors. Like petro-rabbits, the captives covered, even though they had nowhere to run should anybody pay them a visit.

Soon enough, Soundwave stood before the right door. The small, dark window on it let him look into the barren little room; he could clearly see the Autobot musician. Jazz was indeed in chains, hands secured above his head, his sleek body slumping against the wall. His usually bright blue visor was dim now - probably, he fell into recharge, despite the uncomfortable pose, and the dangerous situation. His sharply contrasting paintjob, his silvery face weren't marred yet, and there were no other signs of abuse on his frame.

He spent some time just gazing inside, watching how what little light was available played off of the mech's features. Slick ghosts of white paint blended with shimmering shadows of black. All the better to admire because he hadn't been touched yet--a shudder coursed through Soundwave's frame, pride and possessiveness swelling in his spark. Truly, Jazz was his, and his alone...

Soundwave swiped his key-card through the lock on Jazz's door, commanding it open and stepping inside, ignoring anything past the barrier of that door. His world condensed into the walls of Jazz's prison, all his concentration upon the mech musician trapped inside.

The captive stirred immediately; apparently, he set his alarms sensitively. The visor brightened, and the dark head tilted up sharply. The slender frame tensed and the strong chains rattled as Jazz tried to move; but he couldn't get anywhere. He gazed up at the entering Decepticon and sneered at him in brave defiance.

"You won't get anything from me...! I know nothing and even if I would, I won't tell! And you shouldn't count on a ransom, either."

Soundwave didn't speak much, nor did he often make a sound, but when he did it wasn't something someone soon forgot--be it one reason or another.

Hearing Jazz's defiant cries, a hollow, eerie laugh seeped out of Soundwave's vocals: empty and flat, with very little change in tone. He cocked his head to glance at Jazz sideways underneath a blazing red visor, shaking a finger back and forth at the mech as if scolding him, beginning to stalk closer, step by step.

Jazz scooted back as much as he could - he was a civilian, a musician, not a soldier. He tried hard to not be one - he lived for the music, it was his fuel, it filled his Spark, and he didn't want the endless flow to die down and be replaced by screams and explosions. He sang of freedom, of love and light, trying to drown out the voices rising, speaking about an upcoming war. He just hated it.

"What do you want from me? And, who are you, anyway?"

Wouldn't he like to know.

The deep-blue bot sifted through his archives, and pulled up a sound file he had grown particularly fond of, commanding it to play back for Jazz to hear. It was one of the solo jam sessions Soundwave recorded when he'd been listening from the shadows--this one was dated only a few orns ago.

For a few astroseconds, Jazz's face softened a bit - he immediately recognized the melody. Yes, that one came out wonderfully... Many passer-bys gathered and listened to it, as the white-black mech's skilled fingers coaxed out the soft tunes from his instrument. But, what of it...?

"That's my music, a'right. Wanna steal it? I see you've been stalking me... Gee, I'm almost flattered."

Soundwave allowed the audio file to continue playing as he circled around Jazz a few times, inspecting him up close. He crouched down in front of the mech, grabbing his chin between two fingers and tilting it up to peer straight at him through a deep red visor. He was even more gorgeous up close...Soundwave was grinning behind his mask. Oh, the things he could do, but where to start?

Even with the visor, Jazz managed to radiate hatred. His vents hummed up, trying to cool his insides as the emotions eventually raised his core temperature. Primus, he was angry.

And he was scared, too. Whispered rumors sometimes hit his audio sensors, mechs guessing, sharing horror stories... That bots use to disappear, and never turn up again, but there was this dead body found at the junkyard, horribly mangled and insides torn from the strain... It was so horrible, that nobody wanted to believe it. Such things didn't happen. But right now, with chained hands and locked up in the darkness, it dawned on the musician that sometimes, real life can be a lot more terrible and horrifying, than any wild fiction.

Oooh, he was angry. Soundwave chuckled again, the sound imposed over the audio file that was nearly finished playing. That was just fine. Jazz must have heard the stories about what happened to some of the bots that were kept down here. Though Soundwave expected he might have to get rough, he certainly had no intention of tearing Jazz to shreds. No, he was too beautiful for that. He would have to try and make this last.

One hand traced down over the broad expanse of Jazz's gleaming white chest, fingering the seams, searching for any weak points to press against.

The captive, naturally, resisted. Jazz shook himself, trying to get that offending hand away. "Don't play the nice guy - I won't fall for that! Say what you want or release me, Primus damn it..."

And on a side note, thanks to Primus, that his front wasn't too sensitive. His hot spots were located at pretty random places, save the 'ears' on his helm - the most sophisticated part was usually sensitive on every transformer.

A low sigh escaped. They always had to pick the hard way.

With little other warning, Soundwave pinned Jazz as tightly against the wall as could be deemed possible, the click of his mask sliding back obscured by the crashing impact of metal on concrete. He stole a kiss from the mech before he had a chance to object, holding him still at the neck and shoulder with a vice-like grip to prevent struggling.

No regrets, just pure satisfaction crawling through his systems in a spread. It wasn't exactly the way he'd dreamt it, but it was damn close.

Vents hummed up with a steady roar and Jazz first tensed up at the kiss, then started to tremble lightly, despite his best effort. Dear Primus... What was going to happen now...? He had many lovers before, seeing no reason to deny his charms from anybody, but violence didn't go well with his peaceful mindset. Granted, without consent, there was never anything else than humiliation and pain... Not that that wasn't enough to twist a mech's mind inside out, and render him or her a nervous wreck for solar cycles to come... But still. Sure they won't tamper with the internal codes to overwrite directives... sure not. Primus, no.

Soundwave noticed how Jazz began to shiver, guessing rightly it was out of fear--and not caring in the least. He pressed hard against the mech's immobile lips, the kiss establishing little else besides his lust and possessiveness. Mine, his actions said, like he was claiming some sort of prize.

Soundwave's hands began to move, weight alone keeping Jazz pinned against the wall as they groped and caressed invasively all over the mech's form. At times, it was just to feel how beautiful and perfect Jazz was, but eventually, Soundwave made one hand to wander over the musician's black helm, and felt a small circular jack behind one of the sensitive "ears".

He reached behind his head with one hand, freeing a single wired plug once he'd analyzed a match.

Never before had the musician met with such raw and unbridled passion - the other was firm in his belief, that the sleek white-black body was his property, to do with it as he saw fit - and currently, that was the exact case. Without the chains, Jazz could - and would - have protested effectively, but not like this. The kisses didn't even feel that bad - lust was lust, after all - and Jazz could have done with the groping hands, but as the pale fingers traced his audio sensors, his intakes hissed up, to get enough cool air in because the vents weren't enough anymore. He twitched from the pleasure which ran through him like lightning, but the wonderful sensation was washed away as soon as the optics behind the blue visor registered the cable in the other's hand. Then, only the panic remained.

"W-what are you going to do...?"

Soundwave didn't give any sort of response, other than his faceplates cracking into a wide lustful smirk as he unraveled the wire from the base of his helm. He gave Jazz's ear a stroke or two before popping open the door on the port, and pushed the black-and-white mech against the wall, taking the plug he'd unreeled and jamming it in without a word. The minute he was jacked in, Soundwave bombarded Jazz's systems with the furious hacking skills only a Communications Officer could have, flooding every firewall and safety lock that blocked his way with overrides and programs built specifically to his fancy, to react when he said and do what he wished.

Jazz screamed. His vision was completely blocked by warning signs, shrieking of a violent intruder, programs changed, routines blocked or frozen, permissions not overridden, but destroyed. It hurt. It made his head reel and he tried to twist out of it, pull that wire out which flooded him with liquid fire... He could feel viruses crawl through his processors, churning his codelines until they gave up and yielded and eventually, he was bared to the core, shivering, vulnerable and drops of coolant leaking from under his visor from the agony.

"No, please, no, stop…! Stop, not that, anything but that...!" He was begging, and he would have done even more. Anything to have his first-tier permissions intact.

As Soundwave brutally annihilated Jazz's securities, watching the black and white musician writhe in agony under him, he almost felt sorry. He could see the pain it brought his beloved mech, and had even sensed during the intrusion the fierce fight he put up. Soundwave rarely had a challenge against his coding skills, and Jazz had been mildly tedious for him to push through, and that said quite a bit.

Perhaps quite ironically, as he broke through the final defense, Soundwave reached up and wiped away the droplets of coolant streaking Jazz's lovely white cheeks as if reassuring him while he pulled the wire out and let it snap back into place. He had done what he needed to in order to get what he wanted; nothing left now but to let it work and seize the moment.

Jazz was trembling and his vents were hitching. Even a few sparkling clicks escaped him. He felt violated and exposed, as if all his armor had been stripped away, to put his delicate insides on display. So, what was next? He was still hoping that the deep blue mech was just trying to scare him... Maybe he just tweaked something on the permissions... The musician couldn't say for sure how his spark chamber operated now - all he knew was, that something changed, and he no longer had complete control over it.

He didn't look at his captor, and though the gentle fingers tracing his facepaltes brought momentary solace... He pulled his head away.

Soundwave didn't have anything to say to that. He was obviously a bit hurt to see Jazz in such pain, but didn't linger on it for too long; his systems were already starting to heat up, and he had wasted enough time on foreplay. The plating on the front of his hips slid open, spike coaxed into the open and gleaming in the dim light.

Soundwave reached forward for Jazz's panel, fondling the seams and caressing the plating until it snapped open, holding Jazz in place with one arm. Heat rolled through him and his cooling systems worked to control it; he was so close to his goal, he was all but trembling with anticipation.

Jazz squirmed again. The other's body radiated heat, the humming of his vents was a melody, and the musician made the mistake to glance down as he heard the spike sliding out of its hiding place. By the sight only, he felt his valve starting to lubricate itself, preparing for the intercourse. The slagger must have tinkered with that, too... The knowledge, that his body was forced to betray him, eased the bitterness... But didn't completely drown it out. Jazz shifted, trying to press his thighs closer, but the other's hand stopped him and he couldn't hold back a moan as those pale fingers coaxed his panel open. His legs started to quiver and he pulled on his chains, a vain attempt to stop the deep blue mech. The musician offlined his optics as his faceplates heated up... never before did he feel so clearly, as the lubricant energon trickled through the valve, gathering at the entrance and slowly, very slowly, it dribbled out.

A flat but heavy purr rumbled out of Soundwave's vocals, and he smirked, feeling the energon lubricant starting to leak out and he spread it along Jazz's valve in tactical strokes, coaxing the mech's body to respond a little more. He stilled the rattling chains with a grip on Jazz's wrists, soon moving that same hand to play with the sensitive ears on his helm.

That earned him some delicious, melodious moans. Jazz whimpered at the touch, his valve trembling and lubricating more - he was dripping beautifully. His head vents were breathing hot air, and his servos were already having the telltale glitches - small jerks, little twitches shook his frame. However, he still refused to look at his tormentor - he tried to keep his head down, to hide his overheating cheekplates. He didn't want this...! But still, it felt so good, so hot... It was torture.

Soundwave delighted in prolonging the real bliss in favor of watching Jazz as he began to shiver and twitch at every touch. Primus, he was beautiful. Everything about Jazz--the sounds he made, the way he jerked and trembled under his hands--was just as rhythmic and melodious as the music he composed. Soundwave made a note to hard-wire this memory to safeguard against forgetting it; and if all went well, he didn't plan on making it his last visit.

The Communications Officer spent a few more moments circling Jazz's valve with his fingers, even inserting one or two a few times just to sample the heat and energy inside, his whole frame going rigid and vocals groaning when he did. At last, though, he was done with preparations, and Soundwave grabbed Jazz by his hips to pull him forward, better positioning him for penetration. He made sure he wouldn't miss mark, leaned forward, and slid inside with a single thrust, weight and chains ensuring Jazz would never make it away from the wall.

For the briefest of moments, Soundwave's world compressed and imploded, and he almost thought he'd lost his mind. Primus, and he thought he'd loved Jazz before.

The smaller mech's reaction matched - size mattered, and the captor's spike fit snugly into the flexible valve, the ridges on it brushing against the sensors there, stimulating them like few did before. Jazz's head knocked against the wall, his visor flashed and he cried out softly. With the proper lubrication, it was a wonderful feeling and for a few moments, Jazz merely relished in the pleasure. The deep blue mech's frame was hot, and the warmth poured inside the musician, not mentioning the delicious vibrations created by the internal mechanics. Involuntarily, Jazz shifted a bit, for an even better angle. His warning signs were the usual now - overheating, tertiary processors shutting down, excess energy building. His spark gave a throb, treacherously arching up for the another's.

Soundwave had to force himself not to tremble and failed to quiet the moan that surfaced. Heat surged through him in a wave that all of his sensors fought madly against, and he consciously ignored the warning systems; they meant nothing compared to the delicious thrum of sensors and mechanics against his spike, and the resurgence of warmth that reverberated when Soundwave pulled out half-way and pushed in again. He ached, now, for the black-and-white musician beneath him, setting a harsh pace, all but ramming Jazz against the wall with each thrust. Nothing was gentle, nothing was spared.

The chains rattled, the shriek of metal grinding against metal filled the small cell. Jazz fought hard to keep the painful moans down but he was not used to this violence. He was in no position to protest though, and soon, a cry broke forth from his vocalizer. His paint was being scraped off by the assault, the strong fingers left dents on his armor, and he was sure that his valve will be sore for cycles. And still, through the pain, his body registered the pleasure, too, mixing it with the pain into a mad, dangerously appealing potion.

His spark also relished in the physical joy, even as it wanted to recoil from the abuse. Jazz could sense how their cores started to synchronize, the energy lashing out through layers of armor, clashing, heightening the searing hot pleasure.

Soundwave barely held himself in check against the real world anymore, too focused on the magnetic pull through his armor of their cores beginning to pulse and thrash on a single wavelength, the way he rubbed rigidly against the edges of Jazz's valve on each thrust in. Pleasure and ecstasy worked against his systems and Soundwave welcomed it in, his own vocalized moans barely audible, especially underneath Jazz's twisted painful cries. Soundwave persisted, almost merciless to the beautiful body trapped beneath him, feeling himself drawing nearer and nearer to climax.

And then, it happened. The musician gave a panicked gasp as his chestplates split and retracted, revealing his spark chamber - and it didn't stop there. His chamber shivered, then almost shyly, it opened up as well, revealing Jazz's very core. The small room was flooded by the Spark's radiant, pure light, and the white-black mech simply wanted to cease function right there on the spot. While he knew well, how another's spark energy felt, he had never revealed his core to another - he was the romantic type, and he was dreaming about a true mate, one he'll love until his systems all crash from old age. To be so exposed to a stranger - one who was violating him! - felt terrible. Again, drops of coolant rolled down on the white face, betraying the musician's raging emotions, his terror, his anger, his disgust and agony.

"In Primus's name, I beg you..." He choked out. "Don't do this to me...!"

The officer's optics shuttered off for a moment when the light of Jazz's spark suddenly flooded the tiny space of the cell. For a moment, everything Soundwave was doing stopped. Time seemed to halt as he processed the words that Jazz sputtered to him, trembling, spark chamber bore wide open. Nothing but fear was present in the other's frame; Soundwave was presented, literally, with everything that made Jazz pure and purely who he was, and he was about to destroy it.

He did something no good Decepticon should ever do. He hesitated.

Jazz didn't dare to move. He just stared at the other, not daring to say anything more and he prayed and hoped. His spark glowed, brighter waves of energy rippling on its surface; his body was radiating heat, his vents were humming and his systems kept on insisting that the excess energy should be released. His valve was quivering, and at the bottom of it, the opening of the reproduction chamber was gaping, waiting eagerly for the flood of nanite/energon concoction, which, combined with the tiny new spark's energy would eventually grow into a sparkling. But while the body commanded one thing, the soul wanted another.

Crimson optics blinked behind an equally red visor, metallic lips parted slightly, opening as if to say something. A sound rose up in the officer's throat, but died as soon as it began.

Soundwave's lips pressed tight; his facemask slid into view, barring any further possible insight into his expressions. And he was suddenly on Jazz like a freak weather storm, striking without further warning. His arms grabbed the mech and his own spark chamber opened up. For some blissful few seconds, his light brightened the room along with Jazz's--and then it smothered it as he pushed their bodies together, and was thrusting even harder than before.

It didn't take much more for Soundwave to reach his peak, and his world exploded when he did--the combination of chafed, heated insides stimulating his spike and the thread-like fingers of energy polarizing and merging their sparks made Soundwave hit sky-high in a matter of seconds. Nanite-laced energon flooded Jazz's insides, straight for the reproduction chamber; all the while, Soundwave clutched Jazz tight. Through the link of their sparks, aching sadness and reassurance brushed against Jazz's systems--much like Soundwave had wiped away the tears of coolant before. He almost seemed sorry for this, like it was something he had to do rather than wanted to do. There was a conscious effort through their merged consciousness to try and ease Jazz's pain, both physically and emotionally.

Jazz screamed; his voice carried an equal amount of pleasure and pain. His body went rigid - his primary processors felt like exploding as the surge washed over him, from the tips of his audio sensors to the soles of his feet, his frame trembling, vents roaring, intakes howling and neuro-grid ablaze from the energy sweeping over it. His valve tightened, gripping the other's spike tightly to keep it in place, and his reproduction chamber sucked the liquid exiting it up greedily.

And inside his chest, his spark writhed in the sweetest agony, lacing light-tendrils with Soundwave's core, curling close to it for comfort, wanting to become one, to be complete like once, long ago, when they were both part of a bigger whole, the AllSpark. Jazz's core wailed and trembled, and slowly, it split, a tiny fragment peeling off of it. It soaked up the joint energies of the two cores, stabilizing itself, then promptly latched onto Jazz's main power cable and shot off, to dive into the reproduction chamber and stir the dormant nanites so that they'd begin their frantic work.

Another hollow sound rang out from Soundwave's vocals--an almost whimpering sort of moan, something as apologetic as the way his spark caressed Jazz's during their merge. He was conscious for perhaps another cycle before his systems fried out in total overload, heat and ecstasy sating his lustful appetite at last in a single blissful surge as he collapsed against Jazz's frame.

He knew not how much time had passed when he awoke, although Soundwave did note that their chambers were both once more closed and that their panels had slid shut. He distanced himself from the mech for a moment to take a look at what he'd done.

The musician he'd fallen in love with--to the point it could be considered unhealthy--was lost to him. Soundwave barely recognized this frail, trembling form, cheekplates streaked with lines of coolant and arms rubbed raw from the rattling of the chains that kept him in place. Harsh dents and scratches left a testimony to the damage he had done, especially around and--he suspected--beneath Jazz's panel.

Soundwave paused for a moment, then unhinged the same jack he'd pulled out from the base of his helm and thrust it into the port behind the musician's ear again. This time he was only inside for a brief second or two, and it wasn't nearly as painful as the first time--whether Jazz was numbed by what had transpired or because of some other reason--but no other Decepticon would be able to open the musician up, no matter how hard they tried. Soundwave had been the one to break him; Jazz was his, and his alone. Whether he liked it or not.