Black Data

JazzXProwl

He sat as still as death, optics so dark, they sucked light from the dim. Attached to his chevron was the data link that connected him to the central network.

Miles and miles away, Red Alert absorbed the battlefield, transmitted.

Prowl became aware of every position, his battle computer calculating outcomes instantaneously, data relayed back to Red Alert, disseminated to each Autobot in battle, shot, unadulterated, to Optimus Prime.

Lazerbeak and Soundwave provided the same function for Megatron, though most of the recommendations suggested did not always translate well for the sheer brutality in which the Decepticon leader comported himself – directed his warriors –in battle.

Such data and planning could prove a delicate thing, and that the Autobots could utilize such gave them an advantage over brute strength—but not much.

Unpredictability was a strategists' enemy, and it was always difficult to make adjustments with the mere seconds granted Prowl.

The Tactician linked to Jazz.

There was a moment of silent acknowledgement, a wicked, smile the saboteur tossed over his shoulder; knowing Prowl was ghosting his movement, just before the mech slid like a shadow behind enemy lines, his targets hardly what anyone expected.

Frenzy was trying to hack into Autobot communication frequencies, while Ravage was watching his back.

Jazz hit one, then the other with a laser cutter, slicing into both with brutal efficiency—quick at least—though not quick enough to cause the sort of system damage that would prevent their consciousness from being downloaded via Lazerbeak back to their parent spark. Soundwave.

Jazz looked into the air, licked his fingers slowly and expressively, causing a heat to rush through Prowl's systems…

The saboteur relished the possibility, but settled for the outcome; the disruption to the 'Con network—Lazerbeak screeched, transmissions halted, Megatron hesitated at the unexpected change, leaving his left flank vulnerable.

Optimus took the shot, and Megatron's roar of pain was enough of a distraction to allow the Autobots to take the day…

"…You act like you din't like it, Prowler," Jazz taunted when he returned from battle.

"As long as you achieved the required result, that's all that matters," the tactician was dismissive, and had to quell something deep inside him.

In light of his bond, it was something that should never have been…

"Meet me in the abandoned warehouse on 9th," the saboteur smiled his most seductive.

"I'm not you, Jazz-I can't skulk off at leisure. My place is here…"

The truth of the matter was, that Prowl was the 'Here'. HE was the control center where data came through, was analyzed, processed, and disseminated. Everything that every Autobot learned or experienced eventually went through Prowl. He was what scrutinized battles, advised outcomes, predicted the whys and then reported them to Prime.

Prime, Prowl's bond…

"Okay Prowler," Jazz' expression shifted then. Prowl was caught by the sharp glint of light off a clever visor—enough to distract him so that a talon managed a feather touch along his hip unprotested.

Jazz departed, but the tactician knew that was not the end of it…

"…Prowl," the unmistakable command of his bond tugged.

The tactician had no choice—but to follow…

Megatron had been an insidious program. So few understood what his reign meant, until they lost control of even how they could love.

As complimentary components, Megatron decreed that leader should be bonded to tactician so decisions could be made instantaneously, based on data input. And because neither questioned what was good for the whole, they acquiesced to the procedure before either of them understood what it would cost sentients, rather than just machines.

"…Arranged marriages," Prime's beloved human registered in disgust. "Humanity might be a young species, but even WE understand how stupid THAT is…"

Only as much as one bond that hated the other.

Yes, Prowl admitted to himself, that while he respected the mech who was the Autobot leader, he hated him as a bond…

"…Needy bitch," the tactician couldn't help but stoop to human terminology. Prime was prone to talking and needing the company of another. He needed a soft place to fall, but one he could control. So while it was accepted by his bond that Optimus Prime had a heavy burden as their leader, by Prowl's standards, Prime could be so emotional, one would think—he was human…

"…And you're a cold piece of shit, Prowl," he was told. "You think like a machine that lacks a soul—it seems like you'd be happy to fit into the system Megatron designed."

Prowl looked down on the human Prime had been paying so much attention to lately, wondering how they could just stared up as if the tactician's very existance justified their conclusion, rather than logic.

"You come to irrational conclusions because you belong to Optimus Prime."

"I don't belong to ANY one!" the human hissed at Prowl, finding the concept offensive, as their expression turned as malignant as the sight of any Decepticon. "But YOU on the other hand…"

Prowl was sure they meant more than his bond with Prime, and found the human's cleverness and penchant for not spelling out their point annoying…

"…Kinda familiar, eh Prowler?" Jazz teased. "They expect everyone to be able to draw conclusions from the least obvious things—just like YOU…"

They were enough like Prowl in some ways to keep Prime busy, though hardly enough as far as the tactician was concerned. The human hated the idea of being owned as much as Prime wanted to own them, and so kept their distance.

They had Sam and Bumble Bee to thank for blazing THAT particular trail.

Prowl abandoned his thoughts then, returning to the central core. The other Autobots had been downloading their reports. Upon reviewing the data, it would be Prowl's job to compile it, break the battle down, calculate Autobot and Decepticon strengths, and run simulations on future battle plans.

But afterwards, Prime would reach out, his spark hungry and relentless.

Though he loathed the exchange for the truth of it, Prowl no longer even acknowledged that it was not even his name that his bond whimpered when Prime's spark reach for what wasn't there…

A talon suddenly drew along the input cable, touching Prowl's chevron with a soft 'tick' sound, joined to the breathy sigh of Jazz' designation.

"Takin' your sweet time in this one, Prowler. Somethin' you're diggin' in THERE—or dreading out HERE?"

Prowl recovered quickly, disengaging from the unit, drawing back.

"I have to report to Prime. I'm expected."

"You may be, but you won't get the welcome mat." Prowl raised an optic ridge. "I absconded Prime's flavor of the week and locked them in his quarters."

The sheer ruthlessness of Jazz' action, the admission, had taken the tactician by surprise, and he scanned Jazz' expression for indication of falsehood.

He found none.

"What's ta bother YOU, Prowler. Its not like he'd be callin' YOUR name, right?"

"It isn't likely he'll be calling her name either."

"An I'll be violatin' YOU—thank me appropriately by screamin' MY name."

Jazz was what humans termed 'black ops', Prowl – while a combat trained mech – was a data conduit, so there was little he could do when his fellow Autobot slammed him, face first, into the wall.

"I can't let you do this—" But Prowl's protest was hardly even worthy of the breath it required, and Jazz chuckled at the token gesture of 'fidelity'—knowing that two doors down, Prowl's 'bond' was pumping his human with the by pass cable to his spark.

"—With anyone but ME,' the spy purred in the tactician's audio, licking obscenely, as his talon twisted neural lines with a sort of possessiveness unheard of someone who specialized in making loyalties – so finite. "C'mon Prowler—let it go, and SAY it," and caused the tactician to wail when he thrust a digit into Prowl's chest plate.

"J-Jazz—please—"He struggled—he had no choice—didn't want to. It was too good, the feel of the spy's glossa digging in as Prowl's head dropped back, pain flaring with the pleasure as talons dug past armor plating into tender sensor lined polymer.

Though his bond, Prowl could hear Prime's human cry, their agonized pleasure a match for his own.

If Jazz cared, there was no reflection of it in the ops mechs' own pleadings…

'…Say you belong to me—say you love me—SAY it…!'

"…Damn you," Jazz rasped in desperation, pushing into Prowl like a sob into that place that watched the spy show off for him on the battle field, lingering in admiration over Jazz' ruthlessness—the purity of it—the strength.

Saboteur turned tactician to face him, ripping off the plating protecting the access to his core bypass that skipped the firewalls and filters demanding, "SAY it, Prowl!"

He slammed them together as Prowl screamed it.

"I LOVE you Jazz—YOU…!"

The blue electric flames of desire, lust and love lit the dim when Jazz slammed his hand into Prowl's chest, the plates on both mechs reconfiguring madly, Prowl convulsing when he realized, despite the on coming overload, what his lover was about.

"Your uptight aft—NEEDS this—release for me, Prowler," Jazz growled, both long past morality and decency. "GIVE yourself ta me…!"

A desperate cry filled the air as that precious control; withholding self and emotion because the existence of such only served self, filled to bursting the ones feeling it, begging for it-granted it.

That place within Prowl, hidden, protected—the emotion that melted in the moments when the sun of Jazz' hidden soul spilt out and sparkled in that clever visor, reached so deeply into the tactician, rose in Prowl's chest and met that tender innocence and joy so beyond even the spy's consciousness, whirled and sparkled like the gods of fleeting imagination. It was their truest essences naked and free in the tender love not even war could extinguish.

"…Oh babe—please—please—" Jazz trembled in Prowl's arms, Prowl's helm buried in Jazz' shoulder. They were wracked with sobs of joy and pleasure. The saboteur wanted to drown, as did the tactician, and did so in their mutual acquiescence.

They sank to the ground, metal interlocked, no way to determine where one ended and the other began.

"I love you baby—" Jazz ran his digits along his lover's cheek, the trembling lip components—Prowl licking the digit that was coated in his own fluids. "Prowl, baby—its you—jus' you…"

With the exchange complete, their chest components sealed once more. Prowl holding Jazz' innocence and joy safe from the wretched acts needed for the war, Jazz holding safe Prowl's emotions behind the wall of ruthless indifference.

They'd chosen long ago, when they realized they were more than just machines in Megatron's world. And in the exchange, though they understood that if one terminated, so too would the other, better their sparks lived on together in another world, than to live in THAT world without—no matter what they did.

In the end, it wasn't what they had been led to believed was permanent, it wasn't any physical condition forced on their chassis or spark based on logic or programming; in the long run, the only thing that had any relevance was the ONE thing they had learned in their own personal struggle, was worth all the pain and struggle—

Love…

***Epilogue

Prowl reported, albeit somewhat tardy, to Optimus Prime's chamber.

The Autobot commander was cradling their human to their chest, but his gaze drifted. He had substance, but meaning—had ghosted somewhere beyond his reach

The Autobot tactician was pleased that it was not he that Prime sought.

Prowl didn't question what he was going to have to do soon. He had hoped that this human would assuage his bond—it would have made things less complicated. The replacement his bond had found however was temporary at best, while the reality haunted Prime from a Decepticon's shadow.

For a moment, their optics locked, and through their bond, they could see—INTO each other—into the passion and love so strong, no program Megatron created could EVER change the fact—of whom they were TRULY bound to.

Logic had nothing to do with their choices.

And for once, Prowl didn't mind at all…