PLEASE NOTE that this story has been heavily revised and reworked since the first version was posted. New material has been added, and a lot of the old stuff has been changed drastically.

Author's note: This is a story that I've had on my mind for quite a while but never got around to write until now. Slightly AU in that Jazz is a Decepticon, otherwise it's G1. Prowl/Jazz later on.

Warnings: Story contains slash.

Disclaimer: Transformers doesn't belong to me in any shape or way.

Prowl sat with his head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his desk. What the frag was wrong with him? He had just totally lost control of himself and tried to force his unwanted attentions onto another mech, before finally managing to stop himself.

The fact that Jazz was a Decepticon didn't matter; even the most vile, ruthless Decepticon deserved better than being treated like that. Not to mention that Jazz was neither vile nor ruthless, Decepticon as he might be.

Prowl groaned. How could he ever forgive himself? How could Jazz ever forgive him? He didn't even register the inherent bizarreness in the fact that he was actually worrying about a Decepticon forgiving him in the first place.

He had abused his position in the worst possible of ways. He could think of no other Autobot that would ever have even considered doing such a thing; even Ironhide and Cliffjumper who hated Decepticons more than most Autobots would have been repulsed, should they have found out about their Second in Command's doings.

There was a knock on the door.

"I've finished that report you asked for, Prowl." Bluestreak. "But I wasn't able to calculate the bi-polar omicron deviations, you see, the photon-calibrating – "

"Later, Bluestreak. I'm busy."

"Alright, I'll be back later then."

Prowl listened to Bluestreak's footsteps growing fainter and fainter as he walked away. True he had asked for that report, but right now he didn't feel like talking to anyone at all. He had self-disgust to wallow in. The report could wait.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier in the day, and the picture of him locked into a kiss with Jazz floated up uninvited. It had felt for a short while as if Jazz had kissed him back, that he had actually returned the physical affection that Prowl had forced upon him...

Idiot. Of course Jazz had kissed him back. He hadn't dared to do anything else. As his jailor, Prowl was in a position where he could technically do whatever he pleased with the 'Con without him being able to do anything about it, which he had just so despicably showed. Of course Jazz had been too afraid to do anything else than to pretend to welcome his advances out of fear of what would happen to him if he refused them.

He didn't understand how something like that could have happened, how he could so totally have relinquished control of himself in Jazz's presence. And what was it even about that saboteur that was exerting such an irresistible pull on him in the first place? Enough to make him lose all grip on decorum and common decency?

Or is it simply because I have gone so long without a mate that I have become desperate enough to jump a Decepticon prisoner? Who knew? It had indeed been a long time since his bondmate had died, and he hadn't partaken in these sorts of interactions since. But refraining from them had been his own choice for a number of reasons.

First of all, as a commanding officer he didn't think it was appropriate to have intimate relations among those he commanded. Not all Autobots would be of the same opinion, but it was a common sentiment at least, and Prowl found himself agreeing with it. Such relations could also interfere with a commanding officer's judgment, making him base his decisions on the safety of his partner when there were more weighty issues that should take priority.

And second of all, and a lot more heavily-weighing, was the fact that he was afraid that he would one day lose the mech he had chosen for a mate. War meant casualties, and a great risk that one's bondmate or partner would be killed. It had already happened once, and Prowl wasn't sure he would have the strength to live through such a thing again.

No, it was better to keep one's comrades at an arm length's distance, making sure that nothing deeper had the chance to evolve. Sure it was a lonely way of life, but he had long ago decided that it was an acceptable sacrifice for the Autobot cause, which was more important. He knew that this made the other Autobots generally think of him as cold and uptight, though, even if he had learned to live with it by now.

And out of all the 'Bots he had met since, no one had ever elicited a reaction from him similar to the one Jazz had. Although, just why this particular mech had made him react so strongly, he had no idea. Or why he had done something so illogical and devoid of even the tiniest shred of reason. Even if his feelings should actually have been reciprocated, there was no way anything would ever come out of it. It was preposterous to believe so even for an astrosecond.

Well, regardless, he had to go back to Jazz and apologize properly. Had anyone told him a few days ago that he would apologize to a Decepticon, Prowl would have thought that mech's cerebral circuits to be seriously malfunctioning, but now it seemed like the only natural thing to do.

Whether Jazz would accept his apology was, of course, another matter entirely.

Jazz was confused. There was no way to better describe his current state of mind.

His dermal plating was still tingling from where Prowl had touched him, and he could tell exactly the way those fingers had trailed over his cheek, as vividly as if the traces of them had been acid burns.

He had never expected something like this to happen – a rescue attempt personally led by Megatron blasting a hole in the wall to his cell would have been more likely – but now that it had, he wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Prowl had seemed honest enough about his actions at first, but had despite that stopped short, as if suddenly coming to his senses.

Of course, that was obviously what he had been doing – coming around to see the ridiculousness of it all. While he, Jazz, had nothing to lose in his current situation, Prowl was a high-ranking officer, a Second in Command no less. Even his rather tolerant faction would surely condemn such a thing happening between an Autobot and a Decepticon, no matter how brief the encounter. And of course, even more so considering Prowl's position. Why should he risk his career and social standing for a forbidden liaison like this?

Still though... the mere idea that Prowl must have felt some attraction to him in the first place was astonishing. And enough to make his processor spin.

Whatever it was that made the mech so alluring, he wasn't sure – the surprisingly considerate way he had been dealing with his prisoner? His interesting viewpoints and sharp intelligence? The fascinating balance of his composed manners and his passion for his cause? His being the very antithesis of a cause that Jazz had for so long had doubts about, and a refreshing contrast to the things he disliked about his own faction? How he, Autobot as he was, somehow managed to embody those Decepticon traits that Jazz still found admirable, while avoiding being an example of the bad ones? Prowl had visions and determination, he was strong and decisive. He wasn't anything like the weak, cowardly Autobot stereotype that Decepticon propaganda spouted. And still, he lacked that cruel, mean streak that Jazz could regrettably spot in so many of his comrades.

But despite all that, Jazz knew very well that this could never lead to anything. He wasn't an Autobot, and Autobots and Decepticons didn't have relations – the mere thought of a cross-faction liaison was laughable. But still... he had never felt quite something like this, not on this level.

It was such a shame – being on opposite sides of the fence with a mech he felt that way for. No matter how impossible he knew that the notion was and that it would never lead anywhere, he still didn't want to give up on it.

The bars to Jazz's cell slid open once again and the Autobot Second in Command entered it for the second time that day. The saboteur felt his fuel pump skip a beat – he really had no idea what the tactician was about to do or say. But the look on Prowl's face seemed more brooding than usual though, which could hardly be a good sign.

Prowl approached the other mech, but stopped before he was within arm's reach of the other mech. Just in case, he thought to himself. But this time he would remain in control of himself and not grab on to Jazz like a starving mech would an energon cube.

"Jazz. I came here to apologize for my repulsive behavior earlier. I had no right to do what I did. I honestly don't know what came over me, but it was wrong. Whether you forgive me or not is your choice."

Prowl's words came as a surprise to Jazz. Had the tactician actually thought that he hadn't approved of his advances? He had never even entertained that line of thought; he had simply assumed that the tactician's previous speedy exit had been caused by the shock of coming to his senses and realizing the inappropriateness of the situation.

But how should he clothe the truth into words? Should he even admit that he had wanted it, seeing as how nothing would come out of it anyway? Somehow, admitting his own feelings to his captor seemed terribly, horribly out of place.


"It's fine, I... " he started, but Prowl interrupted him.

"No, it's not fine. It was an unacceptable thing to do, but I can at least assure you it will not happen again," the tactician said, self-loathing and regret tainting his voice as his hand clenched into a fist.

Perhaps he should have left it at that. Act as if Prowl's feelings were not reciprocated, but still pretend to magnanimously forgive the other for taking liberties with him. It would have been the reasonable, logical thing to do, at least. But perhaps it was the last words out of the tactician's mouth that got to him – it will not happen again – that convinced Jazz otherwise. He knew that he should let it go, but a more stubborn part of him refused to give up.

He really didn't know what to say in a situation like this. Even if he had always had the gift of words, now they stubbornly eluded him. It wasn't as if talking about feelings – or even admitting to them – was a normal, everyday occurrence within his faction. Still, maybe it didn't matter. There might be other, more direct approaches that would be more convincing.

Letting pure instinct take over, Jazz closed the distance between them with a quick step and before Prowl had a chance to react, Jazz's fingers were softly trailing his cheek in an imitation of the tactician's previous actions. His other arm found its way around Prowl's waist, gently pulling him close. If that wouldn't go through to the Second in Command, nothing would.

For a few astroseconds, the two just stood there, still and unmoving. Jazz reveled in the feeling of the other's form against his and the wonderful, alluring closeness. He knew that his actions were void of any semblance of sense or reason, but somehow it didn't seem to matter any longer. Instead, he just lost himself in the moment, and the soft touch of metal against metal.

"Jazz, stop it." Prowl's strained words cut through Jazz's relaxed state of mind, and then a hand reached out to remove the arm encircling the tactician's form.

"You don't have to pretend that you actually want this." Prowl said wearily, like it was somehow a great effort for him to speak. "I can understand why someone in your... position... would think it in their best interest to give such an impression, but I can assure you, you will not be treated disfavourably in any way for not approving of my advances."

Jazz only stared dumbly as the warm presence withdrew from his grasp, taking a step back from him, out of reach. He had thought his little act would have been more than enough to convince the Second in Command of his feelings on the matter, but his efforts had nevertheless been effectively thwarted.

He wanted to protest at this, but no words would leave his vocalizer, which suddenly seemed as if it had been incapacitated.

"I will be back tomorrow." was Prowl's only words before he left, leaving Jazz alone to emptily stare at the bars lining his cell.

Jazz leaned against the far wall of his cell, tapping his fingers against a knee in silent contemplation.

Well, what had he been expecting? That the tactician would gladly accept his pathetic little display of affection and they would happily live ever after?

As much as he knew that such a thing would never come to fruition, he still could not let go of the thought. What it would be like, having a mech like that for his mate...

But you're not an Autobot now, are you Jazz? And since you're not, you will never have their Second in Command, his processor mockingly pointed out.

He tried going off into recharge, but was distracted by the thought of what it would be like running his hand along those sweeping doorwings.

"Alright Wheeljack, you can have two additional tetra-galvanized circuits boards for your project, but these are the last ones you're getting. You said when you started building that thing that you wouldn't be needing more than five, but you've requested twelve so far already." Prowl said with a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Wheeljack's little projects always turned out to require more time, energy and components than originally planned. And those circuit boards were not exactly in abundance in the Ark. Plus he suspected that there were better uses they could be put to, but he kept that thought to himself as to not offend the engineer. A few of his inventions had turned out to be quite useful after all.

"No worries, no worries. These are the last ones I'm gonna need. The project is as good as finished now you know, just doing some minor additions and modifications." Wheeljack assured him.

"Good. Report to me when it's finished. Don't try to start that thing until you've gotten my approval to do so." Due to certain incidents in the past, Prowl did not want any new inventions tried out in the Ark unless appropriate precautions and safety measures had been taken first.

"Sure thing, Prowl!" the engineer replied cheerfully, humming to himself as he walked away.

Prowl wasn't feeling nearly as cheerful though. He should go and check on Jazz. He had been trying to put it off, but he might as well get it over with. Not that he really had to go back though. After all, as far as he could tell he had already gotten what information he could out of Jazz and further interaction with him would not aid the Autobot cause. There were other, more pressing matters that were waiting for his attention.

But he knew that he had to go and face Jazz again. Not doing so was pure cowardice, plain and simple.

And so, he headed down to the holding cells, for what time in the row he had no idea. He had lost count of the number of times he had walked this way by now. For some reason the day of Jazz's capture seemed very distant, like something that had taken place years ago. Perhaps it seemed that way because so much had changed since then, since the time when everything was still normal and he could trust himself to always act rationally and logically.

"Hello, Jazz." His own words sounded hollow to him. For a moment he wondered if he should even bother entering the cell or just remain on the other side of the bars that separated them, but he thought better of it.

"I'm just here to check on you. To see if you... need anything."

Surprisingly thoughtful words. Unthinkable just a few weeks ago. Now they somehow seemed appropriate, though.

"I'm fine. There's nothing I need," came the answer, hesitant and uncertain.

"Alright... " Prowl stood still for a while, unsure of what else to say or do, a part of him just wishing to leave, and another wanting nothing more than to remain in the presence of the other mech. But considering what had happened the time before his previous visit, the latter alternative was hardly an option. For both of their sakes. "I'll be heading back then. And for the record, Prime should soon return, so it shouldn't be long until you will get taken back to Cybertron." The tactician turned to leave, morosely wishing there was something else he could have said, but no other words would come to him. It wasn't as if it would have mattered anyway.

At the sight of Prowl's back being turned to him, something within Jazz suddenly snapped.


He just couldn't have Prowl leave him like this, consequences be damned. Disregarding the obvious danger inherent in a prisoner unexpectedly grabbing hold of his captor while his back was turned, he closed the distance between them and before Prowl had realized what was happening, Jazz's arms were encircling his frame, trapping his arms in the embrace, with his cheek resting on Prowl's back.

Jazz held onto the other like a drowning human would to the only piece of flotation in sight. For all he knew, Prowl might never come back to his cell again, considering the way he had talked about Prime's return. Perhaps this moment would only last a few astroseconds before the tactician would push him away, but it was still infinitely better than nothing.

For a long time, neither of them moved. They just stood there like two life-like statues, frozen into immobility.


Jazz tensed at first, but the word that Prowl had softly spoken sounded different from anything he had said before. Instead of the usual aloofness, or the self-loathing that had tinged his voice lately, what was left in that one word was a strange tenderness he had yet to hear from the Second in Command.

Prowl turned around to face him, a hand slowly, hesitatingly reaching up to cup the back of his neck. And he had no idea who had initiated it, but suddenly Jazz found his mouth trapped in a gentle kiss. For a moment, the saboteur was afraid to kiss back, worried that the other mech would push him away like he had before, but nothing of the sort happened; instead Prowl just pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

Feeling somewhat braver, Jazz slid his hands along the Autobot's side, letting his fingers gently trace the curves of the other's frame. The metal was amazingly soft and smooth against his dermal plating, and he let his hand draw little circles over the armour plates.

Finally, the tactician broke the kiss, his posture tensing.

"Jazz, we shouldn't... this isn't proper..." he murmured, but he didn't sound convinced by his own words.

"No one's stopping us," Jazz whispered into the tactician's audio receptor, surprised by how steady his voice was, considering how his joints felt like they had turned into molten slag.

As if it could help stave off any further objections, Jazz clung on tighter to the other mech, letting a hand caress an opening in the black and white armour. Prowl was right – it was so wrong. And yet, it felt so strangely... right.

Jazz could feel the shift in the other's body as he finally relented and gave in to his forbidden wants. Hands petted his dorsal armour, rather awkwardly at first, but once the tactician realized that no protest were forthcoming, the touches became braver. The saboteur bucked slightly as a finger slid over a sensitive seam, making the circuitry beneath tingle with pleasure.

He nuzzled against the other's neck, and nibbled the cables softly. A noticeable shiver passed through Prowl's entire frame, spurring Jazz to continue his ministrations. He moved upwards, slowly, until he reached Prowl's face, and then sought out his mouth for another kiss.

Prowl answered with a heated passion that surprised Jazz, but the saboteur wasn't complaining. Not at all. Forgetting about the location, his situation, and the fact that his comrades would have been aghast had they seen what was going on, he let himself go in the wonder of the moment, banishing whatever hesitation still lingered to the most peripheral part of his processor. And the small remains of doubt were soon dissolved by the presence of the Autobot, and the sensations that were running up and down his circuitry.

He let a hand rest on Prowl's bumper, and then slipped his thumb over a headlight, marvelling at the contrast of the cool feeling of the glass and the heated metal that surrounded it. Fingers moving downwards, they found the opening between Prowl's bumper and the rest of his torso, and gently slipped inside, searching around for the sensitive wires underneath.

He rolled a cable between his fingers, and couldn't stop himself from keening slightly when Prowl mimicked his actions with a bundle of wires he had found underneath the saboteur's side armour. Jazz could almost have sworn he heard his own circuitry crackle as electricity shot through it at the touch.

Prowl's hands continued to wander over his body, exploring the plating and seams and circuitry. The sensations were amazing – the touches were soft and gentle, and yet they managed to turn his body into an inferno of tingling armour and white-hot cables. And judging by Prowl's shudders and quick breathing, and the almost urgent touches, the tactician's was experiencing similar sensations.

The caresses were sending jolts of excitement through Jazz's circuits, igniting the receptors in his entire body. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. It was almost as if Prowl had been his interfacing partner for years; he seemed to know exactly where his most sensitive spots lay hidden.

The saboteur clung onto the other, pressing their chassis together, letting metal slide against metal. Heated excitement was radiating from Prowl like an aura, enveloping Jazz in its warm hues, sending his pleasure to new heights. To Jazz, this was like a whole new experience. Sure he had interfaced before with a few of his comrades, but that had been nothing like this. Decepticon interfacing wasn't nearly as much about caring for one's partner as it was about taking, taking as much as one could while giving as little as possible back. In comparison, it seemed more like a competition, a struggle, to see who would come out the victor when it was all over. In any case, all those times had been nothing like… this.

Was it always like this when the Autobots interfaced? Or was it just like this with Prowl? In the end it didn't matter, as long as he could have Prowl, as long as he could have this wonderful, exhilarating feeling flowing through his circuits, that was all that mattered.

Waves of pleasure surged through Jazz, reaching into his very spark and he gasped, for a brief moment almost oblivious to the other mech moving on top of him. Somehow they had ended up on the floor – he couldn't remember when or how – and the weight of Prowl's body pressing him down only added to the intricate intimacy. Another jolt of electricity made him shiver in ecstasy and he nuzzled Prowl's neck, earning him a moan of pleasure from the tactician.

His sensors were at a state of heightened awareness, every little touch and movement from Prowl reflected within his own being. And still, it was as if the world around him no longer existed and his processor had ceased to function.

He was close to overloading. Even though he tried to hold it off, to draw out the pleasure even more, he couldn't control himself any longer. He gave in to the feeling that was threatening to explode within him, and screamed out as his entire circuitry ignited with pleasure, resonating into his spark. He was vaguely aware that Prowl overloaded just a moment after him.

Kliks ticked by, as the two forms on the floor lay intertwined, neither of them willing or even able to move.

Slowly, not really wanting to, Jazz started to return to his normal state, a pleasant tingle still lingering in his system. Prowl was sprawled at his side, panting, one arm draped over Jazz's chassis. For a long time, they were just lying there, neither speaking a word, only taking in each other's presence.

Jazz looked over at his partner, taking in his facial features. They seemed so relaxed, more relaxed than he had ever thought possible in the otherwise so stiff officer.

"That was... nice, Prowl." The words sounded lame to him before they had even left his mouth. "Nice" was hardly a word fit to describe the experience; it was like calling being thrown into a smelting pool "unpleasant".

Prowl seemed like he was still far away, a small smile on his lips. "Yes, that was indeed... nice." he acknowledged.

They huddled close together, neither of them wanting to let go of the moment they had shared together and coming back to reality again and having to face the bitter reality – that one of them was a prisoner and the other his jailor, and the first was about to get transferred to another planet in the very near future.

Jazz tried to push the thoughts away – it wasn't fair that he would be separated from Prowl like this. Just because he wasn't an Autobot…

Apparently, Prowl had been thinking along similar lines. "If only you had been an Autobot, Jazz... I would have bonded with you and kept you as my mate for the rest of my life." There was a sad tinge to his voice now, coming from someone who knew that the beautiful picture presented before him would never be anything more than a taunting chimera.

Jazz shivered. He could hardly believe what the other mech had just said. Prowl would actually agree to bond with him? Could he really have heard correctly?

And those softly spoken words were what made the thought that had been trying to form in the Jazz's processor take its final, treacherous shape.

"You know, Prowl... I can still become an Autobot... It's not impossible."

There. He had said it. Words that had once been unspeakable, even unthinkable. But now, things had changed, and a lot at that.

Prowl stared at him in disbelief, optics wide. "Are you saying you want to defect?" he blurted out, disbelieving.

Jazz shrugged and gave a small smile. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time that someone switched sides, would it? If the rest of your Autobots can accept a former Decepticon into their ranks, then why not?"

"I'll make them accept you if I have to." Prowl pulled the other mech closer to him as if trying to ascertain to himself that Jazz wasn't going anywhere.

Jazz relaxed and leaned into he embrace, feeling his receptors starting to fire up again. He could surely go for another round in just a few kliks…

He brought a hand up to the tactician's face and traced his fingers across the cheek, marveling at the softness. Yes, there was no doubt that he would have a difficult time ahead of him, making the Autobots accept an ex-Decepticon like him into their midst. He would have to work hard to earn their trust. And most likely, some of them would never accept him.

But in the end, it was all worth it. As long as he could have Prowl, it was all worth it.

End note: Storyline is continued in the two sequels "Choices" and "The Red in the Sky Is Ours".