Chapter Text
Jazz wasn’t feeling so hot.
Well, okay—ha—he was very hot, his vents were screaming , his frame was on fire , but that- is bad. It’s very bad. Hot in the not-feeling-so-good way.
It was a quick mission, a routine check on “what new thing is that evil scientist cooking up?” Nothing new, nothing hard, nothing Jazz should be caught doing.
And he wasn’t, he’d just… panicked, a little. Unprofessional, stupid , yeah, got that, but it happened. It happened when he was in the lab, the empty lab (he knows—he’d checked, double, triple, quadruple—set up scanners and everything ), with its many locked doors, but nothing can prepare you for a sneaky, quiet, feline cassette.
Ravage hadn’t even attacked him, she’d just- appeared, really, when Jazz was in a precarious position, under a console, which was under a group of shelves, littered with glasses and cubes that were clearly works in progress and therefore not meant to be touched.
The space was tight and Jazz jumped at the presence of a small mech brushing against his proximity sensors, close enough to attack, but not yet on top of him. And jumping had the unfortunate side effect of shaking the desk, bumping something against the shelves, and spilling an unknown substance all over Shockwaves floor and the mech crouching atop it—Jazz!
Ravage, sneaky and fast, had the good sense to dart away at Jazz’s embarrassing startle. By the time Jazz had managed to scramble out of the spot and get a good—and unhelpful, its Shockwave , it could literally be anything—look at the substance covering him, the cassette was gone, and Jazz ran.
Through the vents, across some halls, all as his frame started to get warmer, warmer until his lines were boiling, and he- he was out, but there was nowhere to go, not when he couldn’t, when his wheels- he had to walk and so he did, to get away . Towards the mountains, if he can’t find the base, he could hide, hope it would pass, try and call for help, reach Raj, reach Prowl, anyone , but he couldn’t access comms, how did he- was he supposed to-
A horrible haze had overtaken his processor, on top of the one already filling his body, and he-
Jazz moves towards the wall, the cave wall is cold against his furnace of a frame, the forge inside him that's warm, that shouldn’t be warm .
Jazz’s vents hitch, then pick up even faster, if that's possible. He can- the realization, the feeling of the burning forge inside him is followed by others, by the even more excessive heat coming from his interface panel, the feel of lubricant slowly filling his valve, the way his plating twitches with oversensitivity-
Its heat, its hot, but there's a lull, a sense of relief at the realization that- that he can do something, maybe, about this.
His panel clicks aside before the thread has even finished processing, yeah , hasn’t been that eager since- Jazz doesn’t know, a while probably, maybe ever.
His servos, like his panel, move with barely any thought, because he can barely think , but his body is allowing him enough for this, because it wants this. The feel of a digit, his own, against the swelling lips of his valve makes his vents hitch, shutter, lightning across his frame, pleasurable and what he wants .
A second digit joins the first and he begins moving slowly, lubricant between his digits and he comes up to brush his anterior node, causing him to moan easily due to its increased sensitivity. Fingers continue their work as Jazz chases the pleasuring rhythm, and he manages to draw two wonderful overloads from himself before anything changes.
The desire does not subside, not in the slightest, but the satisfaction does not come as easy anymore, doesn’t fill him with what he needs , he needs something more and it hurts so much without it oh Primus his forge is going to burn a hole in him if he doesn’t -
Jazz gives out a frustrated half-cry, half-moan, slumped so far against the wall he's practically laying on the ground now.
Frag , he thinks, or maybe says, it's impossible to tell, but he needs to keep moving his hands, his body won’t stop , he needs anything, something, someone .
—
Ravage’s report had been quick, forced to cut to the point by the blaring alarms.
Jazz had been there, in the facility. He’d stumbled into one of Shockwave’s various unknown projects, and then ran. But he’d been near enough for Soundwave to catch.
Knowing how fast the saboteur is, even when not at his A game, the comms bot ejectes any docked cassettes immediately, sending them into the vents in the hopes of covering as much ground as quickly as possible.
They don’t catch him in the facility, but he was being clumsy, and were it not for what Ravage had told him, Soundwave would have believed it to be to the point where any sensible bot would think it was a trap. They may have missed Jazz in the vents, but they knew what path he’d taken outside, into the mountains. He shouldn’t have gotten far.
They make their way out into the mountains, birds circling ahead, and the rest of them spread out on pede to cover more ground.
“He’s in a cave,” Lazerbeak comms him after a couple minutes. “30 kliks out from your current position.”
Soundwave sends a ping of acknowledgement to her, and notifies the rest of the cassettes, telling them to set up a perimeter around the location.
With the cassettes in position, Soundwave moves in.
It's subtle, at first, but as he walks, the air changes. His vents are already engaged, pulling heat from his frame, but he notices when there's a sudden uptick in the force of it, as his frame heats more in response to something.
It's the first, easiest thing to notice, but far from the last. He doesn’t have much time to question as a sweet scent permeates the air and other parts of his frame become more focused, yet overcome by a feeling of relaxation.
He stops listening to the world around him, his senses instead honing in on one thing. One mech. So close he can almost taste him.
The cave opens before him, not hard to find once Soundwave has locked onto the scent. It’s dark at first, but the further in he goes, the glow of bio lights become evident, until finally he turns the corner, and there he is.
Soundwave should be shocked, horrified, but instead he’s struck by the perfection of it all.
Jazz is beautiful.
Spread across the floor, open, lubricant spilling from his valve, just begging for Soundwaves touch. And, he thinks with a possessive twinge of heat becoming evident in his array, he was more than willing to provide.
The other mech senses his presence easily, an eager, desperate EM field latching onto his, and drawing him closer.
Soundwave has the urge to grab him, touch him, slip his spike inside that gorgeous looking valve and frag him like there's no tomorrow, but somehow, painfully, manages to hold himself back. He reaches out with one servo, digits softly brushing against a white chassis, and the other mech shudders, violently, at the contact.
“M-more, please,” he whimpers.
Soundwave takes the invitation and doesn’t hesitate any longer. The original servo keeps to its soft movements across his chassis, trailing the seams between plates, slowly moving lower, closer to the saboteurs headlights. His other hand attaches itself to Jazz’s waist, where the protoform is more exposed, seams wider, allowing Soundwave to slide a digit inside and play with the wires underneath.
Jazz lets out a breath that turns into a moan. A servo moves from his side, covered in lubricant from earlier actions, and grabs Soundwave's thigh, desperate. Claws retracted, it moves in small motions, nonsensical, squeezing on occasion, and slowly moving up his plating. It’s not much—it's chaotic—but with the heat already inside him, Soundwave feels every press intimately, pleasurably.
He can only wonder what it's going to feel like once his spike is inside him.
Luckily, it's not something he has to wait long for. Their hands keep roaming across each other's plating, eliciting wonderous sensations, until Jazz’s finally reaches Soundwaves array, digits pressing against its cover. The feather light touch burns , and the panel clicks aside before Soundwave even thinks of sending the command.
His spike extends quickly, eager to be inside the mech before him. There’s no resistance as it glides inside of Jazz’s wet valve, settling pleasantly with a slight squeeze around it.
—
Jazz had sensed the other mech before he’d even seen him. The presence of another lustful field against his had filled him with an immediate, irresistible want for any mech near enough to frag him.
Oh how bad Jazz needed to be filled, nothing else mattered now.
He feels the other mech- larger mech- settle between his spread thighs. Servos roam across his body- Jazz can’t hear anything other than the pounding of his spark in his audials, but he might be moaning, might be begging.
The mech responds to whatever he’s doing eagerly, excitedly, touches more heated, lower, pressing against points more sensitive, bright sweet pleasure the only thing he perceives.
When the click of a panel opening breaks through the beating of his spark, Jazz has to resist the urge not to press himself closer, open his valve in welcome to the point that it’s splitting.
The spike touches the lips of his valve with care, held back from a desperate push that they both want, why is he holding back -
It pushes inside him, inside his tight valve, Jazz should be worrying more about if it’ll hurt but it feels so good .
He angles his hips, trying to get a better grip on the mech, holding him at certain angles so they rub against the right nodes, but his hands are batted away. The other mech takes the lead, hands finally moving to Jazz’s hips and holding him firm.
The saboteurs engine lets out a purr, satisfaction flooding his field. The other mech echos the emotion right back at him, with a touch of wild, hungry lust, intertwining their fields just a little bit more.
There’s the shhhk noise of something else opening, but Jazz is too lost in feeling to pay any attention to it until he feels soft plates against the lips of his mouth. Visor tips bump together, and Jazz moves to fit his mouth against the other mechs more comfortably.
The spike starts to swell against Jazz’s entrance, and he lets out a moan as the increasing size of it pushes at his anterior node.
They’re lost for a moment, pleasure hitching up, but not yet peaking. As it subsides, Jazz feels a servo on his face, trailing across his cheek. They’re lips are no longer connected, but they’re close, he can feel the heat of his partner's vents. The finger on his face moves up, under his visor and then over, to where the glass-like material meets his helm.
Off , is the implicit request.
It gives him pause. Momentarily. Painfully. He doesn’t want to stop.
He vents heavily, and gives his partner a single nod, sending the release command.
The visor is gently taken off his face and discarded before Jazz can finish adjusting to the lights.
Lips are pressed against his once more in another, more needy kiss. Glossa pushes against his lips, and he opens his mouth with a soft noise and little resistance.
Filled on both ends, everything feels perfect, and his valve walls clench down on the expanded spike.
Finally, with the feel of transfluid leaking warm into his valve, Jazz overloads, ecstasy filling every line in his body, valve cycling down on the spike more than willing to provide his desperate frame- forge - with its fluid.
It's strange and strong- stronger than anything Jazz’s felt before, that's for sure, and, frag, there's a lot of it, to the point where he thinks the plating around his abdomen might be bending, slightly, pushing out to make room for more.
In the swell of emotion, their mouths had parted, and Jazz hadn’t even realized he’d been making any noise until his partner's lips return, silencing his pleasured whimpers and moans.
Eventually, the spike inside him deflates to press less against his valve walls, and the heat inside Jazz shifts. His frame needs something different now.
Chest plates itching, he pulls back from the mouth, causing its owner to growl.
“‘imme a min…” Jazz mumbles through a mouth that feels distant.
He puts a palm against a blue chassis, and with a vent, opens his own.
The cave-room is filled with a pale white-blue light, lulling the two mechs into a calm, intimate spell. Flat blue plates part under Jazz’s palm after a moment of vulnerable silence.
“Please,” Jazz says, soft.
The other mech hums confirmation and lowers himself. He starts with Jazz’s mouth, again, unable to keep himself out, it seems, but the action brings their open sparks closer together. He gasps.
It's tingly, an itch you don’t want to scratch, filling you with a light, euphoric feeling.
Jazz arches his back, pushes into it for more.
Their coronas brush, bringing about a brief moment of friction, hesitation. It’s gone before Jazz can even think about it, thoughts so consumed with want the only thing he can do is lean into that warm buzz.
Once they pass the gate, things start to blur.
He’s never felt so singular before, a collected essence, but still expanding beyond the known. Foreign things fly at him, feelings, memories, thoughts. Thoughts that are his own but one—theirs, belonging only to the entity that is them .
It's new, and Jazz has always loved new, but they haven't, it's unknown, scary, uncertain, but this, this is correct. Good new. New that’s so warm, so much more right than anything they’ve known before.
Their sparks are one, and what that totality creates is beautiful.
It climbs, crescendos, splits, a beat, a fall. Sparks receding, sensations fleeting. Its passing, gone, but the experience-
The experience was strange, but fulfilling.
It was forever, but really, all it was, all it could ever be, was an eternity captured in a second.
The after effects tingle through him as their spark untangle, circle back into their chambers. They aren’t one anymore, but it's not over, something forged within them that can’t be broken by lack of a physical tether.
They pull away but stay cradled close, warm plating pressed together, frames cradled around each other. It's soft, warm, blissful.
A lullaby, bringing them down into a soft, fluxless recharge.