PLEASE, PLEASE HAVE A CALF!

by Dildo_Swaggins_T_Baggins

Summary:

Officer Prowl finds himself divided with the tight flawless innerworkings of Praxus, and a stray Heifer who stole his spark. Will he follow his training and do what's expected of him, falling in line and doing his duty as a Bull for his city? Will he crumble to his knees pleading with the brothel's owner as if he's a needy calf.

 

It's a Heifer AU, there's plot but we're all here to get our rocks off.

Notes:

Hi everyone!

I hope you enjoy this little romp between our sweet hearts! I really have been wanting to write a little something for theses two and welp, why not make Jazz a cow and Prowl a bull?

 Huge thank you to my good friend forever_42 on AO3, who beta read this! Hugs kisses, check out their work! <3

I wanted to see them frag.

Chapter 1: Manners

Praxus wasn’t so bad, in fact it was a well functioning, flourishing society. With each new generation of Heifers and Bulls the city would build up more and more. Each one had a part in the city, everyone knew their function, and knew where they belonged.

The plating was heavier than he expected, extra padding for any weaponry. Its weight downed heavily on his chassis and shoulders, but at least his wings were still free; well sort of. They did have a blanket protecting them, a gel that was a sleeve. Wings were the hardest to protect, too sensitive and vital for navigating risky areas but once damaged, or worse amputated, they were useless. 

For some mechs it was better to be dead then lose your wings.

He stared at himself, he passed with flying colors, his contract was official and now he was finally a real officer! Prowl smiled, after all this time, all the training, all the classes, he was a Praxian officer! His reflection reached up to his helm, feeling where his horns once were, clearly they were shaved down once they started coming in, and would need constant upkeep to stay that way.

But such is the life of a bull.

”Rookie!” A rough voice called out.

Prowl jumped, spinning to face his mentor. Barricade, a well known bull in the force, was one of their top agents. Much like Prowl he also had the classic heavy weight plating and the white and black paint job. And his ring, it was the one spot of color he had, a gold septum ring.

“Yes!” Prowl saluted, holding his tail still, far too excited to start his first day.

Barricade smirked, leaning down to Prowl’s height. “Excited?”

He nodded.

”Good, let’s start with the easy work, get that Rookie, if anything the only danger to you will be the donuts we’re getting.” He spun on his heel and waved Prowl on.

Prowl trotted after him, his hooves clacking on the floor. 

 

The city wasn’t too bad, it was even boring, which okay, it’s Praxus, everyone has a job and everyone does their job. Simple.  

The TAC system buzzed in his helm, as he ate the donuts, watching a set of cows across the street, leading their calves to a park. 

Cow: Del Sol, age 25, on leave.

Cow: Prometheus, age 22, on leave.

That was also new; sure the TAC system was helpful in identifying Praxians and navigating solutions for any problem, but now it seemed bored. So bored that it started to pick apart what the donut was made out of.

Enriched flour, yeast, fried and fresh energon milk.

He chewed slowly, his ear flicking back to Barricade who flirted with the heifer behind the counter. This was it? 

Utterly boring!

They didn’t even go above 30 MPH.

On top of that, due to the new 2 block rule, there was a cop posted every 2 blocks during the day, and then every 5 at night. There was literally no crime, nothing! What a boring city!

Now he knew what it meant to be a bull in a china shop, he wanted to rampage around, wanted to race, wanted to fight, something! Anything! Something to stimulate his brain before he fell asleep standing up! 

“Yea, I know that look, Rookie.” Barricade laughed, handing him an extra donut, another box under his arm, so there was a reason why he was flirting with that heifer? He wrapped an arm around Prowl’s shoulder and pulled him along. “That’s why I’m saving the best for last.”

Prowl chewed on the donut and raised a brow. “The best?”

Barricade slowly nodded as they passed another intersection. “Bet your TAC system is going nuts? Don’t worry, mine gives me migraines, poor thing is currently obsessed with how to garden. They do that when they’re not stimulated. I’ve also found that puzzles and games help. But it’s not all just walking around and telling young bulls to not jay walk, let’s go somewhere… fun. But, I’m going to teach you a little trick, Rookie.” He led them into an alleyway, far from anyone else, no clinicians, no cops. Nothing.

”What are you doing?”

“First, let’s handle this pesky thing,” Barricade reached out and over his body cam, pressing down on a squishy panel, then held it. The camera cycled then powered off. No recording?

Possible danger: 50%

Suggestion: escape-

Prowl winced as the TAC system screamed in his helm, he shut his optics.

”Yep, TAC is acting up again, pro tip, hold your tongue to the roof of your mouth for 20 seconds.”

He did what he was told, holding his tongue up. A flash passed across his optics, and the TAC started to slow, then fall into a deep recharge. The system fully shut down.

”What is that?” Prowl asked after 20 seconds.

“What? You wanted something dangerous, right? Well sorry Rookie, no shoot outs, no pesky drama between land lords, nothing like that. In fact, I’m taking you where you need to go. Where every young bull needs to go.” He winked.

They kept walking down the alleyway, which led to a drain tunnel, which they took. Both of them folded their wings inwards, pressing on into the darkness. Their hooves echoed in the tunnel, chassis lights burning through the endless dark. This far below ground, there was no way they could ping for help.

Prowl wasn’t sure where his mentor was taking him. But it was at least exciting, finally! 

They stopped by a ladder, and Barricade climbed up, then pushed aside a mech hole cover, which led them to a small room. Prowl reached toward the door, which Barricade grabbed his arm.

”No no, you’re doing to scare away all their heifers like that.” He pulled Prowl back, pulling a rag from his subspace. “Hold still, Primus below, you’re like a new born.”

Prowl wiggled as Barricade cleaned his plates, his tail whipped in annoyance. “I’m not a calf.” He huffed.

”Well, you’re acting like one, hold still, you’re going to look nice so help me.” He grumbled and held Prowl down, Prowl struggled but wasn’t winning against the more experienced cop. 

He was lifted in one arm, then slung around, the rags till rubbing his armor, picking up webs and bugs. Finally Prowl was set aside, and Barricade started to work on his own appearance, flicking his wings and swishing his tail. Even grabbing a hand held mirror left in the small room and inspecting his full frame. This was weird, most bulls hardly cared about their appearance, it was only when bulls started to feel their primal coding peek out that they started grooming.

Which meant that soon Barricade would be transferred over to the breeding barn. There he’d be selected to mount some heifers, and his transfluid would be harvested. 

After that?

Prowl wasn’t sure. He never met his sire, and only had a few early memories of his carrier. But that was where all the cops came from, all the highly skilled bulls would be sent back after their service, some returned, others retired.

Personally, Prowl never wanted to go there. What would be so great about humping a stranger just to make a calf? To be milked until his balls were drained? To be stimulated for only one thing?

No thank you.

Barricade whistled and set the mirror down, then turned to Prowl. “This, all of this, stays between us, understood?” He towered over Prowl, his red optics burning like the fires of Unicron. 

Prowl nodded, shrinking back, wings sinking. What was going on?

The other bull smirked and stood back, stretching and wiggling his wings. “Besides, right now? Praxus has no idea where we’re at, and none of our beacons are activated, not like they can find us.” He winked and opened the door. 

The sun was still high in the sky, birds still chirped, but there was something strange about this place. It was a weird older part of the city, the power lines were outdated, the sidewalks were still cobblestone, and there was a small wishing well at the center with an elegant figure of Praxian’s first leader. A gentle breeze hung in the air as the older buildings sat, all colorful, colors Praxus didn’t approve of, with vegetation that was overgrown, again not approved. 

Prowl’s ears and wings perked forward, there was a heavy scent in the air, one that the breeze carried over. It was a pipe, the tobacco smoke hanging in the air, almost staining it, but the scent, it was husky, but it made his processor freeze.

Strangely enough, he felt at ease.

”Yep, you smell them, that smoke? It’s hiding the scents,” he strutted forward, chassis out, tail flowing, then pulled the donut box out of his subspace. “Good, still warm.” He winked at Prowl.

Prowl followed his mentor, trailing behind him as a certain building began to stand out. There was a tall brick wall that was wrapped around the building covered in moss and ivy, with blooming crystals and flowers popping up. There was an archway above the gates, leaders dangled freely.

Barricade was bold, stepping forward and wrapping his servo around the gate’s knob.

”That’s far enough, copper.” A voice called out, deep, but there was a coolness to it.

”Hey there sexy,” Barricade leaned over the gate, looking up at the open window.

Prowl followed his gaze, trailing up the old brick, the stained glass windows, the antique doors and fancy trim. There in the open window sat a mech, a heifer. He was wrapped in elegant blue robes that shimmered in the sunlight, and from his small horns hung ribbons. There was a visor that covered half of his face, his optics unreadable. Below him was a long pipe, the smoke trailing up into the air.

Prowl swallowed. Lightning might as well have struck his spark right then and there. He leaned over to Barricade, his spark in his throat, his engine rumbling.

The gun was pointed at Barricade, and the heifer picked up the pipe, inhaling the vapors, then set it down, exhaling from his nose. “You know the rules, who's the greenhorn?”

”Him? Trust me, this bull needs to get out of the field, and you’re telling me I can’t see him?” Barricade held up the donuts, lightly shaking the box. “I got his favorites.”

Prowl half paid attention to the conversation, watching the elegant cow flick his ears back, then snort, once again taking another puff from his pipe. His lips cradled the pipe, even from here Prowl could see how plump and wet those lips were. 

The gun was pointed right at him.

And his tail wouldn’t stop flicking.

”Got him all excited, at any moment this yearling is going to hop this fence.” 

“If he does, he’ll become a bullock.”

Barricade laughed. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you-“

”Asked, you should’ve asked.” The cow flashed fangs, one was gold.

“I should’ve asked, but I couldn’t stay away any longer. Please, can I see him? I can’t handle this much longer, I know he’s hurting, please, Jazz, I need to see him.”

”Jazz,” Prowl whispered, "what a pretty name for this divine walking creation made from Primus.”

The cow snorted and retracted the double barrels. “Fine, but you will listen to me, or else, understand?”

His mentor smiled, it was huge, it was plastered all over his face, he almost fell over the gate, tail lashing, wings practically dancing with-with something Prowl wasn’t sure of. “Thank you, thank-“

”But, this all depends on Rico, got that?” Jazz snapped.

”Yes, yes, he can kick me to the curb, I don’t care, I just need to know he’s okay.”

Jazz grumbled, stepping away from the sunshine, vanishing into the house before them. “Bulls.”

Prowl was almost on top of Barricade, pinning his mentor to the gate, his spark clawing at his throat. “Who was that? OOOF!” 

Barricade tossed him off. “You are a yearling, behave yourself, or so help me.” He snapped, pulling Prowl up. “No funny business, do not be rude, don’t turn down a drink, and don’t you dare moo like this is your first rut. Got it?”

He nodded.

”Good.”

The gate opened, and both bulls stepped forward, the door opened and once again Jazz stood there, pipe hanging from his lips. He was smaller than Prowl, fine silky robes with fancy patterns wrapped his plateless frame. He held his servo out, sharply snapping. The box was forked over, and Jazz held the door open.

The pipe smoke was strong, it made his optics water.

It was a bath house, moisture hung in the air almost like a morning fog; some mechs walked around in stripped armor and towels. Waterfalls and splashing could be heard. But there was another scent.

The door shut behind them, and Prowl bit his lip as Jazz passed him. “He hasn’t left his room all week.”

His mentor whined, his ears sank down, tail drooping, pressing forward, almost pushing past Jazz, trying to wiggle his way up the steps. “Rico, sweet spark-“

”Wait,” Jazz barked out, holding Barricade back. “You know the rules, wait in the room.”

He was one of the top officers, one of the prime bulls on the force, had often taken down full grown war frames, even busting huge drug deals and trafficking, there were war stories with Barricade. A whole library could be written about this bull’s career.

And he whimpered, and submitted, grabbing Prowl’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Jazz puffed smoke into his face. “Wait for me.” He then spun around and vanished up the stairs, the long flowing robes billowing with every movement.

Prowl was jerked along, into another room, it was a waiting room. A few bulls sat there, some paced, others twitched. His mentor flopped on a sofa and rolled onto his belly, tail swishing, hooves kicking into the air. 

Now who is the yearling?

Prowl found himself a nice corner to sit and wait, once again inhaling the scent around him, it was sticky and wet. His spark still throbbed in his chassis, and he felt his frame crackle with anxiety, and something else.

”Lightfoot?” A heifer stepped in, also in thin silky robes.

Lightfoot stood up, his horns shining in the dim light. His tail held high. His own septum ring dangled. “H-here.” His hands fiddled with each other, unsure of where to place them.

The heifer laughed. “Come along,”

Maybe Lightfoot was a fitting name, the bull skipped after the heifer.

The waiting room wasn’t too bad, with soft cushions, candles, dim lighting and faint relaxing music. For a bathhouse this was a pretty fancy place, they even had tea and little cookies in the center table. But every bull in the room was an utter mess, including his mentor.

Without Jazz there, Prowl was able to finally think. And it was one simple question about this weird house. 

Was this a bathhouse? 

He gently rested his servo on Barricade’s shoulder, shaking his mentor lightly. He didn’t even look up from the pillow he buried his face in. “What?”

”Where are we?”

”Not in Praxus anymore, literally, this is old Praxus, back in the mining days, this was where they first set their settlement. But once Praxus was established and this historic street was forgotten, some of the government officials separated this from main Praxus. So in short, there’s no laws here, no need for cops, and there is no way to dictate what to do.” Barricade shoved his face back into the pillow. 

“Huh, but what are we doing here?”

”Barricade, and-“ Jazz stepped in, his handsome face turning to Prowl, ears twitching. “What’s your name?”

”P-p-p-“

”Prowl, the Rookie is Prowl.” Barricade jumped up, almost leaping out the door, once more getting caught by Jazz, swung around and tossed back into the same sofa. 

“Do I need to teach you manners?” Jazz was smaller then them, much smaller, maybe a mini frame? But right now, he was the size of a Titian, all the bulls in the room cringed away, some even ducked under the furniture. 

Prowl, he felt funny, not scared. Just tight.

”S-sorry.” Barricade sank back. 

It was like a viper, his hand reached out so fast that Prowl didn’t even see it, Barricade was yanked up by his collar flaring. “You’re going to go up there, and you’re going to grovel, okay? You’re going to beg for him to keep you, to have a reason to even see you. Alright? If you hurt him, you’re gone. Not banned, not retired, missing.”

His mentor nodded, almost innocently.

Jazz flung him out of the waiting room, then turned to Prowl, his hidden optics trailing all over Prowl’s plating, inspecting him, testing him. Prowl’s tail thumped against the sofa, squirming under Jazz’s harsh gaze. “Follow me.” Jazz turned and left the waiting room, several of the bulls poked their helms out, some even were bold enough to follow him for a moment.

Prowl was right on Jazz’s heels, watching the mini heifer, hardly taking in the world around him. They were in a hall, a long hallway with stained glass, and sky lighting. Some rooms were to his left, moans and whimpers muffled behind the doors. The scent was stronger here, so much stronger it made his helm spin and his mouth water with anxiety and that other feeling, that one under his tanks, the same one that made his knees weak and his tail and wings dance.

Beads and fabric parted and they stepped into a more reserved quiet area, the smell of candles hung in the air. It was a larger room, a meeting room? Prowl stepped in, fiddling with his servos, his mouth watering. Jazz slipped behind him, sliding the door closed. There was a long table in the center, a dining room? And another section that was in complete darkness.

”I’m taking it that Barricade didn’t explain anything to you?” Jazz passed him, his silks flowing in the most wonderful way. The heifer stepped into the darkness, grabbing something and the sound of water running filled the room. “Energon, energex? Energon milk?”

That last one hung in the air for them. A temptation, one that Prowl deeply wanted to cave into. The last time he had milk was in his youth, right before he was tested and shoved into the police program. It was a forbidden fruit.

”Energon is fine.” His ears twisted, fully attentive to Jazz.

”Very well,” A fridge opened and a pitcher was heaved out, a glass was poured and the jug was returned to the fridge. The cow stuck to the shadows, his visor only glinting in the darkness, but he kept his face trained on Prowl, not turning his back to the young bull. Jazz stepped back into the light, one hand was a boiling hot towel, the other was a glass of energon. “You can sit.”

Prowl glanced down at plush pillows, pulling one out and sitting on his knees, the glass clinked on the table in front of him. 

Jazz was there, once more, he was so much smaller then Prowl, but the heifer towered miles above him. His pretty face, the long silky robes, they had blue bell patterns, gold and silver threads. Below the fabric his plating was bare, was he wearing any protection? No outer plating? Was this heifer naked? Jazz knelt down on his own pillow, his chassis raised and fell as he sat.

Prowl swallowed, wishing he had his own visor, he was a good bull, he saw Jazz as more than a cow, more than a walking breeder. But holy cow! His digits curled in on his thighs, he tried very hard to sit still, to not look down, to not indulge in staring at those perky, large, soft breasts. 

“You can relax,” Jazz laughed, it was a barking laugh, one that filled the air, a witch’s cackle. “It’s a whore house, sweetie.” He cupped Prowl’s chin, dabbing his face with the warm fabric. 

Prowl gasped, optics wide. “But under section R, 2-17,  Praxus has no pleasure houses, none can operate in the city-“

Jazz’s smile, oh his smile with that gold tooth? Prowl wanted to melt into the warm rag that patted his helm. He wanted to collapse into Jazz. “We’re not in Praxus, goodness you are a greenhorn, quoting laws and regulations, if it wasn’t so dorky I’d say it was cute.”

Cute? Him? The bulky police bull? CUTE?!

”But how? How are you operating? Even this close to Praxus, anyone in power would force you to shut down, or even put you in jail.” Prowl felt the warm towel on his neck, then dabbed his chassis.

Jazz whistled. “Very, very green. You think that any bulls that step into this house have any power here? How many politicians have I’ve slept with, how many commissioners I’ve had pleading to overload in my servos? I’ll admit it all wasn’t only me, Ricochet has been a huge help.” The warm rag stopped, and just with the same speed as before, Prowl didn’t see it, but felt it, with a pinch on his septum piercing he was pulled down to Jazz’s level. Prowl grabbed the table, holding his frame up, if he lost his balance he’d collide with those huge teats. 

He was below Jazz; he had no power here, none. That’s what the piercing was for, and Jazz? Jazz was a demon who could string Prowl along, and he’d go willingly.

”I’ll tell you this once, Bull. You do not have power here, you will learn your manners, you can come here and rut into one of my heifers, but the moment you hurt them, you’re done. I can promise you that.” His voice was deeper, stronger, it stroked Prowl’s singing spark. “You will listen, you’ll jump, and you’ll do what you’re told. What happens in my doors stays in my doors. Understood?” 

“Yes, Jazz, transparent.”

The piercing was freed and Prowl recoiled back, falling on the floor.

The scent, it was stronger now, it wasn’t the pipe, no. 

Jazz’s laughter once more filled the room, the cow climbed on top of him, his robe’s belt coming undone, and those teats, those large teats fell freely. Then for a moment, he saw it.

There were no panel covers, and the scent, the same one that drowned his processor, that intoxicated him since they had arrived? Jazz’s valve was out. “Hold still Prowler.”

Prowler?! 

He whimpered under Jazz, a quiver racing down his spine. There was excitement, stimulation, and longing deep inside his spark. And his spark wanted to crawl out, wanted to scream, to beg, to grovel at Jazz’s hooves.

The warm rag dabbed down his belly, towards his pelvic plating. Prowl gasped and twitched under Jazz. 

Jazz only hummed, dabbing along, cleaning his frame. “So filthy,” His servo pressed against Prowl’s thigh, pushing his weight down on Prowl.

The moan was raked out of him, his spike throbbed, he’d only been hard once, for testing. But this, this was so much more than a machine, so much more the emotionless fragging. This was Jazz! Not any heifer, no, a divine creature that would pluck his spark from his chassis and chew him inside out, only to force his intake open and spit him right back in. “Please.” He whispered out.

”Please?” Jazz leaned down to his helm, his breath was hot, his plush lips inches from Prowl’s, the warmth blanketed Prowl, the heavy teats rested on his bumper. Finally Prowl could see under the visor. Soft lusty optics hid, but they narrowed, just like a viper. Jazz wasn’t a weak heifer, he wasn’t a needy cow that Bulls would run to, no, Jazz was a predator, and Prowl was a mouse. A mouse willingly marching to his death, willing to be wrapped up and squeezed until his spark burst. “So you do know your manners?”

He couldn't breathe, his TAC was down, his processor was spinning, he was crashing and yet. Yet he wanted more.

”Prowler?”

He slumped, processor shutting down, Jazz’s pretty face was the last image that burned into his optics. Best image to crash on ever.

”Cade!”

The thumping was loud, it almost echoed. And the moans, the pleas, the whimpers? All of it collided with his helmache.

”Ugh,” He shifted, reaching up this helm, but warm slick servos pressed his arm down, oil dripped in between his plating.

”Don’t worry, I have you, be a good bull for me, Prowler?” 

That nickname, the voice, the raw charge that lingered in his systems. He blinked, and opened his optics, finding a sight that already popped up error messages on his HUD. Jazz was above him, but Prowl was on his front, wings up in the air, helm on Jazz’s lap. Then, best of all, those teats were fully free right next to his helm.

“Let me go deeper, please, please! I’m a good bull-“ The smack was loud, then there was the sob and the thumping was softer, there was still whimpering.

”Manners, manners. You can’t just come in here with donuts and just expect me to take your pathetic aft back?”

Jazz snickered and shook his helm, the ribbons from his horns shining in the lighting. “Ricochet is pretty pissed. You might need to drag Barricade back home, he’s going to have to earn Rico back.”

Prowl tried to not focus on the teats, the way Jazz looked, or how soft his thighs were. But he couldn’t ignore the warm oil that was rubbed into his wings, the soft pull that Jazz did to stretch his doorwings. How those digits toyed with his wiring. “Why is Ricochet upset?”

For the first time since Prowl met Jazz, he saw a flicker of pain, sadness. “Ricochet knows he’s losing Barricade, that his bull only has a little bit of time before he’s hoisted away.”

”What? Why?”

Jazz clicked his tongue. “Barricade got the notice, once you’re trained, he’s going to the breeding farm. And Rico won’t ever see him again. It was foolish of them, getting attached, Rico even gifted him that gold septum ring.” Jazz’s ears flattened.

The moaning grew louder, the pleadings, the whimpers, every soft sound was a desperate plea. Barricade was trying to make his last moments with the heifer last as long as he could.

“I won’t say anything about this place, or what you do, or who you are.” Prowl swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. It was rare to hear such passion, even in Praxus, this was unheard of. 

A bull cop and a whore heifer? 

Jazz hummed, stroking his wings. “Thank you Prowler.” His thumb traced Prowl’s shaved horns, stroking their base, useless. “You would’ve had pretty horns.”

Chapter 2: Trickster Heifer

Summary:

Prowl is assigned to track down his old mentor.
Ricochet is shocked to find his bull, here? Now?
Jazz does what he's always done, protect his brother.

Notes:

We learn a bit more about this world, and there's fragging! Well the start of it. this is broken into 2 chapters cause the 2nd half is running longer then i'd like to admit.

but there's new tags so be warned: Scent/sniffing kink, oral mouth cleaning, robots got tits, they get balls now, sorry it's Christmas and Jazz needs to ponder some orbs, lactation/milking, drinking said milk, knots going into mouths, lots of transfluid/cum, eating said transfluid/cum, size difference, power dynamics.

I think I got them all? If not let me know in the comments!?

“Cade!” Prowl’s engine roared as he followed the escaped bull, watching the large bull run through the streets, huffing, the thick scent of the breeding farm heavy on his frame. Cade knew every trick, every short cut, and he was using them. Even if he couldn’t transform anymore, his T-cog was locked, he was still faster than Prowl. 

He leapt over the wall then climbed up the side of the building, huffing, his frame acting on autopilot. He moved fast. Prowl chased him, struggling up the wall and then up the fire escape. 

“You’re not catching me Rookie!” There was malice in that voice, determination.

Prowl grumbled. “It’s been 2 years, return to your post, you’re retired now!” He lost sight of Barricade, the roof was empty, his wings didn’t detect the other bull. 

“Frag off!” Barricade appeared, jumping off a ledge and into the sunset.

”You’re insane!” Prowl ran after him, watching Barricade use another window sill to stop his fall, then falling into a dumpster, bolting out of it, and rushing down the alley way.

”I’m not letting them control me, not anymore!” He vanished.

Prowl groaned, he didn’t have time for this. The TAC system hummed with information.

Barricade: escaping using alternative route, old structures escape route: Unknown.

“No shit, stupid system.” Annoyed, he held his tongue to the roof of his mouth, waiting the 20 seconds so his helmache could clear up. He reset his optics and rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. “What are the facts?”

Barricade is an escaped breeding bull, there’s been reports of him disobeying orders. Refusing to fuel, to rest, and even to mate. He’s been highly aggressive since he was transported in, and now he’s escaped.

”Where are you going?” Prowl’s wings twitched, he watched the sun set and everything clicked into place. The one place that Barricade only ever wanted to go.

 

---

 

 

Life was tough, he learned that at a very young age. That was reality for a heifer, a choice he was never been given; neither of them were given. But the twins made it work, they had to, helping both bulls and cows escape Praxius, to run far away. Some day he’d return to his home to Polyhex, and find his carrier again.

Would his carrier even recognize him?

Jazz didn’t like to think about that, that his frame was so ruined and so beaten down that he didn’t look like himself anymore. At least now, as his more mature self, he knew that he was desired, that bulls would crumble for him, and would beg at his hooves for his favor. At least someone wanted him.

As the owner of the house, he kept himself in check, with his own rules, his own path to follow. Condoms were a must for all heifers here, and he wasn’t an exception. Every cow had a warning comm, one that went right to one of them. Finally, no bull was allowed to serve drinks, bring outside fuels or goodies.

But Ricochet broke every single rule.

Jazz sighed and rubbed his tired optics, flicking the outside lantern on, the warm glow cutting through the darkness. Already bulls were lining up, but they stilled once he stomped towards them.

Manners went a long way in Jazz’s life.

So did knowing when to strike.

”Check in, you’ll be seated in the waiting room.”  He opened the gate, taking a long inhale from his pipe. The smoke was perfect to hide his weakness. Easy to mask it. No covers, for him, none. He was always exposed, always open, always weak. 

The bulls formed an orderly line, stepping into the house, handing their tickets in and being ushered to the waiting room. Jazz lingered back, keeping his front to the guests. It was easier to distract with his teats, then strike. 

He watched each bull filter in, wincing as they passed him, but his optics didn’t linger long, instead his gaze trailed up to the house itself, finding a silhouette in the warm yellow lighting. His twin, Ricochet, wasn’t doing well. He broke the rules, the same rules they came up with together when they purchased this house. 

Jazz inhaled the pipe, pushing the smoke out through his nose. 

Ricochet didn’t have to work anymore, he wasn’t needed, he could take time for himself. But no, his brother refused, his brother needed an escape, something to dull the pain.

The last rule was to never fall for a client.

And his brother stupidly did that.

Now he was paying for it. 

Praxius has no claim to Ricochet, to his frame, to any part of his brother.  But they did have claim to the calves inside of him. So they kept it a secret, Jazz held his brother as he went, as he begged for Barricade to return, for the sire to come stumbling in. 

It had been under 2 years since Barricade was transported off to the breeding farm. Since they had snuck into the city under the cover of night, and watched the police department celebrate, Ricochet clung to him hearing the bulls sing ‘for he’s a jolly good fellow’. 

They didn’t stay long.

But his brother wanted to see him, just one last time.

It wasn’t a visit, just a pathetic peek into a window like a stalker, to hear his voice once more. The whole walk home Ricochet sobbed into Jazz’s shoulder, rubbing his growing side.

So Jazz did what he always did best. Plan. Polyhex was on the other side of Cybertron, where their carrier was, where Ricochet could be safe, where there were no stupid rules, no laws. They had saved up enough money for Ricochet to get a flight to Vox, then to Kaon, and finally a bus home.

They hoped their carrier still lived there, and still had the same house.

For now, Ricochet would let bulls pleasure him, drink from him, but no spike, none. He wouldn’t dare let another bull inside of him.

”What a mess.” He rubbed his optics. Enjoying the cool night air, the soft breeze, the crickets in the grass, the babbling fountain. This life was better, far better than the seas, than the dance, than the long stretches of land he would cross when his wheels worked. Here he had control.

And yet, it wasn’t home.

The pipe soothed him, the smoke filled his vents and settled his aching spark. Jazz was tired, exhausted with his age. He wasn’t young anymore, he couldn’t dance like he used to. He was old, and his frame was feeling it. He wasn’t a spring heifer. Youth was behind him, dreams and love forgotten.

Maybe a part of him was jealous that Ricochet had gotten what he wanted, calves and a lover. 

Something Jazz foolishly rushed into.

There was a bang in the darkness. Jazz jumped up, pulling the shotgun from his subspace and holding it up, he inhaled the pipe, raised the gun, and exhaled. 

Across the square the shed’s door burst open, a bull stumbled out, gasping, his frame shaking. Then he rushed into the fountain, diving helm first into the waters. Clumps of grime and spider webbing fell off. Then his red optics turned to Jazz. The bull stumbled out of the fountain, across the street, not even slowing as Jazz didn’t even break his aim.

It was a ghost.

Barricade limped over, he was wet, exhausted, his frame rattled and his optics  were bloodshot. The bull towered over him, the golden septum still in his nose. Suddenly he knelt down to the filthy ground, lowering his helm to the cobble stone, wings pulled painfully back, tail tucked under his belly.

”I should kill you.” Jazz spat on him.

”Please, I don’t have a right to ask this, but please, I need to see him. I need him. I-I can’t recharge, I can’t fuel, no other heifer pleases me. I need him Jazz, I need to see him. I’ll beg, I’ll work like a dog, you can strip me, you can break me in any way. But please, let me see Ricochet, just this once!” he sobbed out, hot tears rolling down his face and splashing on the ground.

His spark broke for the sight, for the bull, for his twin. This wasn’t a rut, no basic breeding program they force installed. This was sire coding. 

Jazz softened, subspacing the gun and grabbing Barricade’s collar, lifting him up. “You’re not going to like what you see.”

“I-I don’t care, I need to see him.”

He caved, stomping forward into the bathhouse, they passed the check in, and Jazz shoved Barricade into a hot shower, blasting him clean, free of any junk in the old fountain, any other cow scents. But Jazz didn’t let Barricade’s frame dry. Instead he dragged the bull along, towards the room.

A soft airy moan filled the hall.

Barricade stilled, his ears pricked, a whimper in his throat. “Rico?” It was a whisper.

”I told you, you wouldn’t like-“

The bull ran towards the door, slamming it wide open, his wings hiked up at the sight.

Ricochet laid there, another bull between his legs, moaning in pleasure. His twin stilled the slutty moans, the way his frame was rocking, he stared at Barricade. “C-Cade?”

The retired cop rushed in, pinned the other bull to the ground, then drug him away from Ricochet and slammed him into the wall. He panted and his engine roared, tail lashing out. The bull was frozen in fear. Barricade’s digits tightened around his throat.

”Cade!” Ricochet snapped.

Jazz grabbed the other bull and pulled him out of the room, saving his life. “Run to the baths, rinse, don’t come back, he’ll kill you.” The bull scrambled and ran down the hall.

”Cade, you have no right to-“

THUMP!

The flooring shook, and Barricade’s large frame hit the floor, he was on all fours, wings down, helm on the ground. The bull almost looked like a sniveling calf. He was exposed, if Ricochet wanted to, he could kill Barricade right now.

Jazz would let him.

”You have no right to return, none. You promised, you promised over and over again.” Ricochet stomped up to him, panels open, belly exposed.

”Please,” Barricade pushed out, his voice cracking again.

”You said, that you had a plan, that you wouldn’t leave me, that-that-“ his fists  curled inwards. “Leave.”

”Take me back, please, I’m here now, and I can’t, I can’t go back. If you want me to leave then kill me. Snuff my spark, it’s yours anyway.” He groveled, hot tears rolling down his face. “I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.”

Ricochet swallowed. “Get up, show me you’re mine, or if you’re not, you’ll never be found.”

The bull lifted his helm, the gold ring hung from his nose, the same one that Ricochet had made, the one that he searched for the metals, purified, crafted. A golden septum. Since cops couldn’t modify their frames, this was their way, their little rebellion. Barricade kept it.

Ricochet turned to Jazz, a hopeless look in his twins’ face. “Hand, now.”

Barricade lifted his servo, expecting them to weave their digits, instead Ricochet pulled the bull’s servo closer, resting it on the slight hump. Their calves.

Barricade sobbed harder, clinging to the heifer.

Jazz nodded, then shut the door behind him. Leaving the couple to their personal needs. A faint smile spread on his face, his brother was happy, he would be happy again. Barricade would be a fine sire, but first, they needed to escape Praxius.

His helm pinged and Jazz sighed, he wanted to recharge after that rush. It was a comm from the check in cow, Blazing Sunset. A warning comm. Frustrated, he stomped back up the hallway towards the check in. Pushing Sunset aside and glared up at the bull.

Prowl.

Frag.

He needed to get Prowl out of here, needed to protect Ricochet, to help his twin escape. Not to mention if Praxius finds out about the calves, then-then they’d take them. Rip them away from their carrier. 

Prowl’s firm mask crumbled and the bull wavered under Jazz’s gaze, his tail swished, his ears wiggled and he fought to keep his optics on Jazz’s face.

He smirked, recalling their first and only meeting, pulling his pipe back out and taking a puff, blowing the smoke onto Prowl’s cute face. “Prowler, what a surprise.”

”Jazz, good to see you a-again.” He stuttered. Still a dork, still cute.

Still so easy to control.

 

 

---

 

 

He had a mission, a task, and the moment Jazz strolled right back into his life, his bull spark was burning so hot that he started to get indigestion. At least he still remembered to turn his body cam off; he was only here for Barricade, not to harm the brothel or anyone inside. He couldn’t harm Jazz. 

Jazz. Frag, Jazz was as breathtaking as ever, not simply a fine looking heifer, but no, there he was, still the same pipe, another set of silvery flowy robes that clung to his frame, cleavage still out, the visor hiding his emotions. Then his lips curled in. “About time you showed up, officer,” He leaned towards Prowl, his breasts pressing against Prowl’s chassis, soft, squishy, plump. “And I was starting to think you didn’t like me.” He puffed the pipe and blew the smoke into Prowl’s face, into his vents.

Prowl quivered under Jazz. “N-no.”

Jazz’s laugh wasn’t the same sharp bark, instead it was a deep purr, his servos climbed up Prowl’s arms, to his shoulders, to his neck, then trailed across his cheek, and finally pinched his septum ring. It wasn’t painful, but Jazz toyed with the ring, humming in thought. “I think I’ll play with you tonight.”

Play?! What does play mean? What are they playing?

He bit his bottom lip, stifling the wonton moo that almost escaped him, leaning towards the older cow, tail swishing like a long blade of grass.

With a swipe the robe fell freely, still clinging to his frame, but the belt, it was gone. Prowl shivered and shut his optics, energon racing to his helm, then to his spike. The belt was thin, but strong silk, it looped through the ring and Jazz tied the belt into a pretty silver bow. Then with a soft tug Prowl stumbled after him.

“Good bull,” Jazz turned to the check in cow. “Make sure we’re not interrupted, I want to see what Praxius’ best bull has to offer.” 

Prowl was led through the hall, hearing bulls moo and heifers moan, the scent was there, once again, stronger, Jazz wasn’t constantly smoking. His open robe. It made Prowl’s processor spin and his spike throb. He clutched his servos so tight they started to ache. He was led down the hall, through a back door. It was a small back yard, plenty of greenery, and some benches, with huge trees that swayed in the night air. Jazz wasn’t stopping, leading Prowl along the cobblestone path to the fence, then through a gate into another patch of lush plant life.

“This is my private garden, I find peace here tending to my crystals and plants.” 

Heavy fruits hung from the trees, crystals sung out in lovely tones that made his wings sway, a handmade stream cut through the ground. Behind all of this was a small house, it wasn’t as fancy as the bathhouse, no stained glass, no fancy carvings. But there was ivy growing on the side of the house, a small outside fireplace on the front porch.

This place smelled of Jazz.

Prowl’s tail wagged with excitement. He wasn’t a rookie anymore, and wasn't as innocent when they first met. He hoped play meant was he thought I meant. Praxis was testing their bulls again, but Jazz wasn’t a lifeless machine, and he wasn’t Prowl’s own servos. 

He was led into the house, the door shutting behind him.

It was much more cozy than Prowl imagined, plush rugs lined the flooring, fabric hung on the wall along with pictures and art pieces, papasan chairs, a holo tv. It was lived in, welcoming. This was Jazz’s home, not his work, not his office, it only smelled of heifers.

And he was allowed back here?

“I suppose you’re thirsty, aren’t you?” Jazz let go of the makeshift leash, his hooves clacking on the ground below them, his robe billowing in the air and for the first time ever, Prowl saw more of Jazz’s frame. His base color was a soft creamy white, with blue spots, his tail was long and soft. He’d never seen such an exotic heifer, someone with such spirit and determination, with a fire in his spark, and his frame was stunning. Everything that was Jazz, was stunning.

Prowl nodded, his throat was parched, and yet he drooled, the scent was so strong.

Jazz laughed, it was the barking laugh he had before, the sharp one, the one that made his wings dance. The heifer spun around, only a glass in hand, teats out, his frame fully exposed, valve bare and wet, lines of fluid trailed down his plush thighs to his blue spotted calves.

SCHLICK!

Embarrassment flooded Prowl’s systems as he jumped, shoving his servos down, hiding his erection. “I’m sorry-”

“Prowler~” Jazz sang out, hooves clicking on the flooring, glass in hand. “Let me see you, I want to know what’s going inside me later.”

He stepped back, his frame already buzzing with charge. “It’s just a spike,” Prowl mumbled.

“Ahhh, just a spike? One that I want to drain?” The glass was shifted over and over in his delicate digits. “One that I’m going to worship and feel deep inside me, one that’s going to ruin my valve? Don’t play coy Prowler, you’re not going to faint this time, not until you’re all used up like a tube of wax polish.”

The whimper escaped him, his knees felt weak, his spark throbbed in the back of his throat, and his helm was spinning. “Please.”

The heifer hummed, cupping his chin and forcing him to look up. “We’ll go slow, but trust me, once you leave, no other heifer will satisfy you. I’ll gobble you up, and spit you out on the street.” Jazz leaned back, pulling the robe aside and fully revealing his teats.

Prowl was thirsty and somehow drooling at the same time. But he had manners, something Jazz praised him for, so he waited, tail swaying, ears cocked towards the heifer. He’d listen, he’d wait, even if his spike was already glistening with fluids and the biolights hummed. Prowl was a good bull, and he wanted to be Jazz’s good bull.

Jazz’s form leaned back to the kitchen island, his heavy breasts hovered over the counter top, they were bigger than last time. His servos were so tiny against his breasts, he squeezed one, twisting it slightly, tiny beads of energon rich milk appeared on his nipple. They dribbled freely into the glass. Some drops sprayed onto the counter top, and Prowl thought it was a shame, a waste of good energon. Jazz worked his breast, milking out the energon, softly moaning. Then, switching to his other teat and doing the same. The breasts were fluid, loose, easy to manipulate, was it due to the amount of milk in them? “You know, it would be easier if your mouth was on these.”

“You’ll allow me to drink from you?” Prowl pressed down on his hard spike, trying to keep himself under control.

“I’m surprised you haven’t jumped me yet,” There was a spray, a long trail of milk that squirted into the glass. “I need to milk myself more.”

He shook his helm, admittedly his optics were trained on Jazz’s open chassis, the erotic display. “I learned from my predecessor: manners.”

Jazz snorted. “Good bull, Prowler, very good.” His hips shimmied as he pumped his breasts, working out more and more milk. The cup was starting to fill, a miniature fog wafted off the milk, and yet it seemed like Jazz was far from done, that he could pump his teats all night and still have more left. “You know this is a sign.”

“Sign?” Prowl wanted to approach, he wanted to get closer, to pull Jazz in, to sink his face into those tender breasts, to lavish Jazz’s frame until the heifer was mooing. 

“I’m fertile.”

Frag, now his spike was dripping openly on the flooring. Prowl glanced down, stepping away from the soft rug. “I don’t want to make a mess, this is your home. I’m only a guest here.”

“Keep that talk up I might have to keep you, maybe use that ring on your face to chain you to my berth. Ride you every single night, watch as you fully lose yourself as you rut into me. You would make a fine breeder bull, maybe even a sire. Would you knock up a whore like me?”

Yes! A thousand times yes! He would fall to his knees and worship the frame before him, he'd kiss Jazz’s swollen side, he’d hold Jazz as if the cow was made of glass. He’d do anything for the heifer, he’d break the law, he'd run away, he'd lose his sanity. 

Prowl swallowed. “Yes. I would.” His voice was firm, confidence blooming in his chassis. 

The glass was full, his teats were soaked, a few stray droplets fell, he’d never let a drop go to waste, he’d swallow down all of Jazz’s milk, everything and anything that the heifer would give him. Prowl wanted to be Jazz’s. Still the cow hummed, his tail swayed, the soft fluffy fur on his frame peeked out, he stepped away from the island holding the warm milk. “There you go.” 

Prowl reached up, only to have his servos swatted away.

“No, no, Prowler, open.” Jazz’s voice was hot, heavy, slick with lust, one of his servos undid the knot on the leash, letting the belt drift to the floor.

And Prowl was a dumb bull. He opened his intake, the glass was warm against his bottom lip. Jazz tilted the glass back, the warm milk splashed into Prowl’s intake, and he swallowed. He savored the flavor, the sweet creamy flavor, it was rich, far richer than the processed energon milk in the stores. Greedily he gulped it down, keeping his servos over his pleading spike. Jazz’s hummed softly, it made his wings tingle, the sensation was overwhelming, everything was overwhelming. A single line escaped the glass and slid down his face.

“Oh no, that won’t do.” Jazz pulled the glass back, it was almost empty, the heifer leaned up on his hooves, his hot tongue out, he lapped up Prowl’s chin, cleaning the milk from his face. His lavished lips didn’t stop, soft kisses were pressed up Prowl’s face, and finally against his own intake. 

It took everything for Prowl to hold still, for him to keep his servos over his spike, but he huffed, his hoof scraping at the flooring. Jazz ignored it, his needs, kissing him deeply, making Prowl’s helm spin, his spark skip, and his whole frame leaned into the kisses. The heifer’s breath was hot on his face, tickling his nose. Every moment here, with Jazz, was painfully wonderful. How the cow moved, how he spoke, the smokey taste in his mouth, how he treated Prowl? Prowl didn’t want this to stop, no bull in his right mind would want this to end.

But it did.

Jazz leaned back, holding the glass to Prowl’s lips once more. “Finish it.”

Prowl did, swallowing the last few gulps he could, savoring the flavor, this might be a once in a lifetime chance, a single night where he got the heifer he wanted. The one that hunted him since they met, the one that ruined the breeding program, that made his spike hard but impossible to overload. 

The glass clinked on the island and Jazz, who was still a mini frame, shifted Prowl away from the kitchen, towards a door. Prowl backed into the solid wood, his wings slapping against it, his spike drooled transfluid at this point, his balls twitched. Jazz’s digits trailed down his chassis, slipping into seams, poking and prodding, his hot breath vanishing into Prowl’s vents, leaving stray kisses all over the bull. 

Click.

It was a blur, a reaction, he’d never moved that fast before in his life, but in one arm he wrapped Jazz’s aft and thighs on top and pulled the heifer close.

THWAM! 

The chassis platting fell to the floor, Jazz clung to him, staring at the military grade armor. “No wonder you’re so pent up, having that all on you all the time? Keeps you from chasing after cows, huh?”

“N-no, I don’t chase.” Prowl pushed the plating aside with his hoof, feeling Jazz’s full weight on his single arm. The mini bot was light as a feather. “Sorry, I overstepped.” He set Jazz down.

Jazz fluffed his fur up, tail still swaying. “You’re fine, quick thinking. Now where were we?” He leaned against Prowl again, pinning the bull against the door. Once again his hot lips were on Prowl, but there was no thick plating, no protection. Those sleek lips kissed down his chassis, tongue tracing into hidden seams and making Prowl’s fans burn. Slowly, plating was peeled off, heavy platting Prowl caught and set aside. Jazz went down, down, kissing and lapping at Prowl’s belly, then finally brushing aside the only protection he had left. His servos. 

Primus, his spike was embarrassing. The transfluid already stained the flooring, the spike was lined with blue biolights, ridges stood out, frustrated. It was a long spike, ideal for pumping virile fluid directly into a heifer’s chamber. Some bulls were so long that they could reach the top of the cow’s chamber, molding the heifer’s valve to them and only them. It had a mind of its own, its own needs and wants. It throbbed between them, hard, aching, painfully abandoned.

“My, my, this would go right through me, someone’s going to the breeding farm soon, huh?”

“N-no, I don’t-it’s-it’s not the same.” Prowl swallowed. 

“What, it’s not a bull’s dream to be drained, every single day, spoiled rotten and breeding a heifer whenever?” Jazz was on his knees, Prowl’s spike throbbing far too close to his handsome face. 

Prowl shook his head, his ears flapping at the movement. “Not when the one you want isn’t there.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Jazz pulled a cloth out of his subspace, a small silky rag, then he licked his lips, and finally his servos held Prowl’s spike. “My, my, you’re very pent up, is it all because I’m here? Huh, want to knock a calf into me?”

“Yes.”

Jazz was taken back by that, his ears flicked and his tail stilled. “That bad?”

Prowl whimpered, his knees feeling weak. 

“Shush, don’t worry Prowler,” Jazz leaned back, the rag still in his servos, it was tossed around and around, almost hypnotic, as a faint smile spread across his intake. Then he rested his servos on Prowl’s hips, scooting closer to the younger bull. His helm only inches away from Prowl’s array. His tongue darted out and licked across his lips. “Let’s see what we can do.”  

Burning hot vapors escaped those lips, and the sound was more than enough to send sparks flashing up Prowl’s spine. Hot lips pressed against his balls, kissing them deeply, placing kiss after kiss, even inhaling the musky scent. The faint thump of Jazz’s lovely tail echoed in the house. Digits finally gripped the base of his spike, then started to pump the long appendage, stroking the ridges up and down, slipping his thumb at the bottom. Each movement sparked more charge, and his spike dripped more prefluid. 

Prowl cupped his own mouth with both servos, trying his best to hide the desperate sounds escaping.

Jazz hummed and his servo slid down Prowl’s thighs, tracing the burning biolights. “I knew it,” he lifted Prowl’s balls, almost displaying them, a cheeky smile on his lips. His balls were swollen, almost painfully so. “Been dreaming of me? Wanting to bend me over and stuff my valve full?”

Yes!

He nodded, still holding his servos to his mouth.

”Don’t worry there, Prowler, let’s see your overload, hmm?” Jazz pulled back, using the silk rag to clean his face, then too the rag to Prowl’s array, cleaning his plating, and then stroking down his spike, squeezing at the base of Prowl’s spike. “Don’t think you have enough experience here, which is cute.”

Frag those lips, those perfect lips.

It was then that Prowl noticed something about Jazz, something that he didn’t consider before, maybe he didn’t notice it was Jazz pumping milk, or dragging him through the house.

He was wearing lipstick.

The servos on his mouth started to hurt as he tried so hard to keep the sounds out. To savor everything that Jazz was doing, to hear only him.

The heifer paused. “Let’s make a deal, okay?”

”A deal?” Prowl’s voice shouldn’t be that tight, like each word was dragged out of him.

The visor slid off, and Jazz blinked up at him. The world might’ve stopped working, energon could stop flowing from Primus’ core, and the primes could vanish with a snap. Those optics, the ones that he wanted to stare into until he went mad, they stared up at him, half closed, brilliant dark red and-and his right optic-there was a crack, across it.

Optics weren’t easy to break, they were one of the hardest parts of a mech’s frame to break, maybe chip, but to crack like that? Right across?

He could forget about his erection. Prowl’s servos fell free and he reached towards Jazz’s helm, cupping the heifer’s helm. “Jazz?”

For a split second something else crossed Jazz’s face, it wasn’t the suave power trip, or the slutty bedroom optics, surprise? Maybe? Pain? Yes, there was pain. His servos were swatted away and he was pushed back against the wall again. “No more gagging yourself.” 

“Jazz you don’t need to-“

Steaming lips held the base of his spike, the tongue lapped up the side and then started to twist around the base. Prowl didn’t moan, no he didn’t moo, he bellowed, it came from under his tanks, deep from his chassis. His spike was cradled on those soft lips, then Jazz, who knew exactly what he was doing, started to swallow down his spike. Easily slipping Prowl down his throat, lips passing ridge after ridge, his spike biolights vanishing into those dark red lips. He wasn’t stopping, his optics stared right up at Prowl, those maroon optics cutting Prowl in half. It was so hot, so burning hot, his spike already was twitching in Jazz’s throat. It was diabolical, taking one of his servos and holding Prowl through his throat. It was tighter now, so tight.

”J-Jazz!” His digits scraped at the paint, chips falling from the wall.

He stopped, his lips tightening like a noose around Prowl, it wasn’t the base, but it was close. Jazz pulled back, Prowl’s shaft was dripping wet, and the pop off his spike might as well sound like a gunshot.

”Huh, been awhile since I’ve worked with a knot.” Jazz quirked his lips, a line of drool sliding down his chin.

”K-knot?”

His spike throbbed in Jazz’s servos, the base large, swelling. 

“Nice, seems like someone is going to the breeding farm, huh? Don’t worry, Prowler, I’ll make sure you won’t ever forget this.” Plush lips pressed up his spike, kissing every section, one servo held his balls, thumb rubbing comforting circles. Each kiss left lipstick stains. Those maroon optics stared up at him, enjoying this as much as Prowl was. Then Jazz once again opened his intake, slipping Prowl down, and started to suck.

”Jazz!” He shouted, hooves curling up.

The movement was primal, Jazz’s whole frame practically rocked up and down his spike, his throat bulging around Prowl’s hard spike. Every pump, every suck, how his lips would treat the spike like it was a straw, it all collided in his processor. Prowl started to pant, softly rocking his hips into the mouth. Jazz rocked with him, sinking his helm down farther and farther as Prowl rocked into him. 

“Frag, you’re good.” he whimpered, engine purring.

Jazz winked, his silvery ears pointed towards Prowl, savoring every reaction the bull had. His tongue lapped along the bottom, the tip flicking ridges and swaying side to side on his biolights. He was getting deeper, he could feel Jazz’s throat contracting, somehow the cow didn’t gag. The servo holding his balls started to squeeze, not painful, but a pressure that was building.

Prowl was already a mess, his hub was filling with messages with what his frame was doing, and all of his attention was directed towards Jazz. He moaned and his thighs shivered. “Jazz, please, I’m close.” 

The thumping of the heifer’s tail was all Jazz gave, before fully sinking down on Prowl, the red lipstick swallowed around his knot.

”JAZZ!” Prowl mooed, the overload shook his frame, his balls jerked and he felt the transfluid pumped into Jazz’s intake. “Frag, frag, Jazz-!” He moaned, watching the cow’s face, trying to find any discomfort.

His balls were squeezed, and Jazz’s lips pulled up in a smirk, then he swallowed, and kept swallowing. Lines of spit and transfluid slipped out of his pretty lips, coating his teats. Still his tail thumped on the ground, totally unfazed by Prowl’s overload.

Jazz wasn’t stopping, still sucking, still swallowing Prowl’s transfluid.

He felt like a cheap sweater, the yarn would be undone, he was falling apart, every bolt and screw inside of his frame slipping out. Prowl’s spike was still twitching. Was it another overload? Or the same overload? All he could do was watch Jazz’s pretty face. “C-can I hold you?” His voice was laced with static.

Jazz huffed, unable to speak, the spike still fully inserted down his throat; he nodded slightly.

Prowl’s servo was fast, cupping Jazz’s face, rubbing a circle on his swollen cheek, the knot so inflamed that it took his whole mouth to fit it. He thought he should be feeling shame, as more transfluid dripped out of Jazz, this time beading down his nose and onto Prowl’s lower belly. But right now, at this very moment, the heifer on his knees, with a spike so far down his throat that Prowl was trying to breed his tanks, Jazz was the most attractive mech he’d ever met.

“Erm, knots last awhile, I’m-“ He panted as another overload rocked his frame and he humped into Jazz’s intake, charge frying his main systems, vents ragged. 

Jazz laughed, or tried to, a smirk still on his face.

 

Notes:

To be completely transparent, i NEEDED to see Jazz sucking on Prowl's spike, then taking his knot?! THIS FIC EXCISTS FOR THAT!

Chapter 3: Rules

Summary:

The rest of bull Prowl and heifer Jazz fragging.

 

And Jazz...Jazz is going through stuff.

Notes:

Huge thanks for the support! I honestly just wanted to see Jazz sucking some spike, and here we have a whole fic going in with plot. Wonderful! I hope you enjoy the rest of this!

This was going to be all one chapter of them fragging, but it was getting too long. so it's cut in half! 

There is more, I promise idk how many chapters.

Jazz had a rule, never EVER fall for a client, especially a cop! But this young bull? This cutie patootie bull, that Jazz was clearly going to ruin Prowl’s systems until the cop crashed so that Ricochet and Barricade could escape? Damn, was Prowl sweet. There was no rough shoving, Prowl didn’t make him choke, no grabbing until the end. And how the bull looked above him?

Fragging adorable! His big angel blue optics doubled, how he tried to hide his mewls, his ears twitching, his optics crossing, the way he panted. Everything about this young bull was so fragging cute! 

Okay, maybe not his spike, BUT IT WOULD BE A SHAME IF JAZZ DIDN’T HOP ON THIS SPIKE RIGHT NOW AND WATCH PROWL SOB! What kind of a spike is this? It was all natural, cops weren’t allowed to have mods, so this bull was gifted with probably one of the longest spikes Jazz had ever seen. And a knot! A huge knot that was stuffed in his intake. How?

Prowl’s right optic was twitching, and another overload filled Jazz’s tanks, transfluid was pumped right down his intake and he swallowed it all. Not savoring the flavor, but the sweet sounds, the scent of Prowl’s spike. The steady rubbing of his thumb, how he tenderly cupped Jazz’s face as if he was made of glass?

NO! I have rules! Very strict rules!

Always use condoms, no spark play, no falling in love, and never turning his back on a client. He had rules, he wasn’t breaking them, he couldn’t. So what if his frame was pleading to have this bull frag a calf into him? So what if Prowl was a total cutie? And his spike was probably something he’d never see again? Rules were rules! 

Finally, after 5 grueling minutes, the knot started to decompress, which meant one thing for Praxians, Prowl was empty. His balls were lighter now, his helm was drifting back and forth, and Jazz was certain that if the wall wasn’t behind him, Prowl would be on the floor twitching like road kill. Jazz licked the knot’s fading bulge, like a farewell, and started to pull himself off the now lipstick-striped spike.

POP!

He leaned back, licking his lips, then took the same rag and cleaned his face. He was going to soak this rag later. Maybe run it a few times in the laundry. Throwing it away would be the easier choice. Jazz rubbed his jaw, breaking contact with Prowl. He pulled his legs under him and rested his weight on his thigh, his knees were hurting. It was impossible to ignore the sudden weight in his center, was it really that much?

A long breeding like that? Prowl was going to be popular on the farm. Beloved even. Once his pretty face was locked behind those doors, he’d never escape, they’ll do everything they can to keep the bull. Sink their claws into him, track him, collar him like he was an animal.

Don’t get attached. 

Jazz didn’t want to linger on how his spark felt, this was only a processor melting frag, it was supposed to be just enough to make Prowl crash so Ricochet could escape. Nothing else and nothing more. Just another client. Yet his digits curled in on his thighs.

“Jazz?” Prowl sat next to him, ears angled towards him, like this whole time, the whole time Prowl was focused only on him. 

“I’m fine,” Jazz huffed. He felt that his tanks were full, he didn’t want to look down at himself, didn’t want to see the mess, see what his frame craved.

He couldn’t fall for Prowl.

Rules.

”Here,” Prowl took the rag, flipping it open to a clean side, and started to clear away Jazz’s neck and chassis. Each touch was gentle, caring, almost loving, he didn’t miss a spot, making sure that Jazz’s throat and breasts were clean. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

No! Rules!

”Y-yea, not the biggest load I’ve taken.” That was supposed to be a strike, a push away from the bull, something like a wall. Maybe a strike against Prowl’s pride, a warning. Anything to get the bull to stop being so damn kind!

”Good,” Prowl breathed a sigh of relief. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

STOP BEING SO FRAGGING NICE, YOU’RE  A COP, A STUPID COP WHO BELONGS TO THE CITY! 

Jazz shifted again, his bare valve dripping, his thighs coated in juices, and he felt his node throb. If he had been younger and dumber he’d have skipped the blow job. He’d have let Prowl do what Prowl was meant to do. Let himself be carried off, to be fragged and used, let his spark fail into the deadly trap, again. But Jazz wasn’t a moron, not anymore, and his frame was old, he was old. No one would want him, Prowl wouldn’t.

The slick sound filled the house, and Jazz caved into his needs. Prowl was empty, completely empty.

He could be selfish for a bit now, right?

”Alright, Prowler, let's see what else that spike can do.”

”What? You mean?” He leaned in, the way his optics sparkled, damn his cute face, his perfectly crafted chin, nose, those stupid pretty angel optics! “You’ll let me?”

He shouldn’t be that cute.

”Fine, fine, but no kissing.”

The cop stilled, and his frame drooped. “Not on the mouth?”

”No mouth to mouth-“ Jazz sat up, only to feel warm strong arms wrap around his much smaller frame, he was scooped up, and Jazz hugged Prowl. Prowl’s helm rested on his breasts, a dopey smile, his perfect tail wagging. “No kissing,” Jazz warned.

”Can I kiss your frame?”

”Fine, to the left.” Orders, cops were good at following those.

”Your tummy?” Prowl followed, stumbling almost half mindless, his left leg lagging a bit, and his wings stretched out, trying to balance the two of them.

Why is this bull so focused on kissing? 

”Sure. That door, blue.”

The door was almost slammed open. Jazz didn’t do much with his room, there were only dusty instruments, oils, candles, a few stray plants. But he did like his cozy bed, a mountain of blankets, the pillows that he arranged in a nest. It made it feel like home, like he was safe. His safe place, the one place he never took clients, ever. And now Prowl was here, standing in the middle of the room, holding Jazz like he was the Matrix itself.

Prowl stumbled to the berth, gracefully resting Jazz down in the center, his overly bright optics shining. “Your teats?”

”Okay, you can kiss my frame all you want. But not my mouth.”

He shouldn’t be this dorky, he was a Praxian, a cop no less, totally bland, boring. Then again, when they first met Barricade, he was nothing like the other cops. Cocky, rude, no manners. Maybe it was the TAC system? Their rules, the regulations? 

The emotionless fragging?

Jazz took a deep invent, centering himself once again, his robe still clinging to him. He scooted back and ran his digits over Prowl’s neck, up to his chin and resting on the ring once again. “Come on, Prowler.”

Prowl mooed and climbed on after him, tail high, frame shaking. His red-striped spike still somehow hard. The berth sank at Prowl’s weight, he was big, and his wings fluttered above them. And for a moment Jazz sank closer to the wall, reaching behind the berth with one servo. He was small, cornered, and the look in Prowl’s optics was intent. 

The hidden handle he grabbed behind the berth was cool against his digits, cold hard steel.

He forced himself to smile, to steady his racing spark; he wanted this, he wanted Prowl.

Prowl reset his optics and leaned down, gently kissing Jazz’s belly, his noticeably larger belly. The whistle of Prowl’s tail high in the air was a good sign, he was happy, kissing Jazz’s frame, gently kissing down his plates, over his swollen midplates, down to his plush thighs. But it wasn’t a quick small peck, Prowl panted on his protomesh, leaving microscopic drops on his exposed self. The kiss itself was small, but warm, and it made Jazz’s wires fray and his processor slip.

This was Prowl, the same bull who almost trampled Barricade against their gate. 

Maybe he could enjoy this? Just a little, a sample if you will.

The handle was pushed down, back into hiding.

Jazz grabbed his favorite pillow, tugging it away from the nest border and resting his helm on it. “Good bull.” He spoke softly, watching a slight shiver spread over Prowl’s frame. That’s right, he was in control, not Prowl. “But,” He used a single digit, one simple tiny digit, to wave over the hulking bull, eagerly Prowl hovered over him, ears solely pinned on Jazz.

Frag this bull might be the death of me.

There was no order, but a parting of his thighs, his soaked valve, the wet sound was enough to make anyone lose themselves. Prowl was already drooling, his spike still twitching and pulsating, but his optics softened, he didn’t rabidly thrust into Jazz, didn’t sit there and say dirty things. Instead Prowl leaned down, pressing another burning hot kiss to Jazz’s neck, his tongue lapping at the wiring and savoring the taste.

He wanted to kiss Jazz, not a peck, a deep kiss, one that lovers shared when no one was around, hidden, safely tucked away and held.

Jazz’s spark ached in his chassis, his valve cycled down on nothing. He wasn’t that cow for Prowl, he would never be.

Don’t lose yourself.

Jazz moaned, his dainty arm slipping up bulky shoulders, and resting above the thick doorwings. It was common practice to hide loved ones behind your wings, tucking them away. Jazz never got that. The pang melted away as his thighs felt Prowl’s, his spike between them, each throb was a plea, a cry for help, begging for a taste. Yet, Prowl waited. 

“You can stick it in,” Jazz whispered, trying to push away how his cheeks grew hot.

A faint huff escaped Prowl, he didn’t move his helm from Jazz’s neck. “Hurt?”

Ah one word answers, and still had manners? Prowl was a polite bull. “It won’t, you won’t hurt me.”

It was pitiful, the whine that escaped Prowl, but he shifted his hips, his spike lining up with Jazz’s valve, the tip pressing against his lips. It wasn’t fast, but a steady spear into Jazz as he entered, stretching his calibers, rolling over his nodes. The heifer moaned, his back arched, one servo darted to Prowl’s helm. The charge was instant, racing through his wires as if it was a racer on Velocitron’s tracks. His calibers snapped open, all the way open, delightfully stretching his valve, but not hurting him, Prowl was no war frame. The bull bottomed out, his ex-vents were deep and unsteady, and slipped between Jazz’s neck, moisture forming on his inner workings.

“Won’t… last.” 

“It’s okay, you’re a good bull,” Jazz for once didn’t feel guilty about saying that, truthfully Prowl was a good bull. “Go on, put a calf in me.” He whispered that last line right into Prowl’s fluffy ear, that was for them, only them.

Prowl mooed again, his hips recoiling back and then slapping against Jazz’s. The spike filled him again, the knot popping in and out of his valve, each pump pressed deeper into Jazz, expanding his calibers, his nodes frizzled against Prowl’s ridges. The knot didn’t expand, he truly was drained. Prowl mooed again, his frame shivering, stabing off another overload.

Why? Dump your charge into me and be done with me. Just use me.

Jazz moaned as the knot pressed against his outer lips, hitting his outer node every single time. “Go on, overload.”

He shook his helm. “N-no…” Prowl panted, rocking his hips desperately.

The charge was overwhelming, Jazz felt his hooves curl up, the berth was rocking, he was slipping. Clawing at Prowl’s back, moaning, his optics started to fill with static, each rock of that spike struck his ceiling node, every pump his calibers milked, his heavy breasts shook with the force of the thrusts. Prowl was muttering something into his neck. Jazz was so full, his belly was swollen, exactly how a calf would fill him. 

“Prowler!” He mooed, shivering under the powerful bull, wrapping his legs around Prowl’s, begging the bull to sink deeper inside him. 

“Please overload, please, please,” Prowl whispered into his ear, panting, his whole frame shivering above him, trails of steam dancing off his frame, his engine roaring, his optics burning bright white, drool coated Jazz’s neck. Yet he kept moving. He was close, very close, and yet there was no knot, his balls were drained, and Prowl still moved. Every bull that Jazz fragged was a few pumps in, then they’d overload, a brief moment of fragging and satisfaction. 

Why? Why is he doing this?! What’s the point of dragging this out, you’re ready to pop, you’ll fry your systems humping into me! Frag you feel so good, so filling! No bull should make me feel like this! I’m old, and used, and you’re- so fragging good! I’m close- that was fast?! So-

“OH!” Jazz mooed, clawing at Prowl’s wings, accepting his own overload, his processor filling with messages, the spike buried deep inside of him, his spark throbbed in his chassis, he shouted. “PROWLER!” Optics crossing, hooves curling, thighs clamping down, trapping his perfect bull.

Prowl sobbed as his body reacted normally, he humped, then stilled, yet not a single drop of transfluid fell from his spike as he overloaded. His frame was locking up, a groan escaped Prowl and he stared down at Jazz, cupping his face, those damn soft optics, hot tears. He bit his lips above Jazz, bit them hard enough for energon to bubble up. The cop flickered, then tilted his wings in a way that his frame swayed and collapsed on the berth, away from Jazz. Smoke and steam billowed from Prowl, his body was still, maybe a faint twitch, but for now Prowl was dead to the world.

Jazz sat up, then groaned, feeling needles in his lower half, he hissed and fell back down, resetting his optics and pulling his visor out. “I haven’t overloaded like that since…” He had to think, really had to think. Truthfully he didn’t have an answer. “Why’d you do that?” He stared at the comatosed cop in his berth. 

There was no answer.

Jazz inhaled, then exhaled, rubbing his helm. He had rules, a long set of rules that he always followed.

• No transfluid in his valve, ever. Condom only.
• He had full control of the situation, at all times. 

The hidden dagger’s handle stuck out from between the wall and the berth. 

Never turn your back on a bull, ever.

• No kissing. It was too personal, too close for comfort.

Prowl’s lifeless frame drooled on his soiled robe. Jazz didn’t want to look at himself right now, he knew what he looked like, his bare protoform always out, his valve, his teats, and now his distended belly. It wasn’t the first time he looked like this, like he was with calves. He’d get looks from some of the cows, but not a comment. They knew he wasn’t carrying, no one here was allowed to carry in his walls. This robe was ruined, so was the cloth, but he didn’t want to throw it away, no, he couldn’t, not yet.

• He fought the feeling in his spark, the stupid pesky feeling. 
• Never give your spark up, to anyone, ever.

Numbly he sat up, ignoring the way his bottom half felt like jello, instead he stumbled out of his own room, exposed for the first time in a very long time, no robe, no thin clothing to shield his frame from prying optics. Jazz’s digits grasped for a baggy thin shirt, he tossed it on, cleaned between his thighs and forced himself to a cup of energon. He wanted nothing more than to sink back into the berth, in the nest with Prowl, play with his plush ears, and listen to him recharge. Stay there for another moment, just to enjoy the afterglow.

Prowl wasn’t his.

He’d never belong to Jazz, and that was true, that was the reality. 

No one loves a whore heifer.

He needed to see his brother.

Notes:

I want everyone here to know, that this is a sample of angst.

It's going to get worse as Prowl finds out more and more about Jazz's and Rico's past.

 

Let's say, Jazz made some dumb choices in the past and we're already seeing the results of that.

Notes:

Comments and Kudos are always welcomed! <3