So, new story! I'm not sure how this one will work out, but I guess we'll see :) Warnings for slash, interfacing (non-graphic), Mpreg..

Um... yeah. So.. Leave a review and tell me what you think and whether I should continue, if you can!

Jazz stormed down the halls, heading straight for the Head Tactician's office. In his clenched fist, a cracked datapad looked as though it were about to snap in half.

He had had enough. The new plan Prowl had improvised was suicide for Jazz and his team to even attempt: if everything went right, there was still only a 46% of everyone making it out alive!

If there was one mech on the Autobot force that could successfully drive the normally friendly and cheerful saboteur completely up the wall, it was Prowl. But then, a lot of mechs hated Prowl; it was Jazz's opinion that the SIC brought it upon himself. If he showed even a little bit of emotion after losing soldiers and friends, maybe people would stop claiming that the Praxian sent the mechs to their deaths knowingly.

When he reached the door to Prowl's office, the saboteur didn't knock. He simply hacked the door and barged in. "Wha' the frag is this?!" He yelled, waving the cracked datapad over his head before firing it in the direction of Prowl's desk.

The tactician hadn't even looked surprised at the intrusion; a resigned expression flitted across his face and settled there. "Jazz. Do not throw things at me. It is directly against protocol-"

"SHUT UP!" The TIC roared, glaring daggers at his superior officer from behind his visor. "Why are ya tryin' ta murder all o' mah mechs?!"

Easily working out that his plan had been rejected, Prowl shuttered his optics momentarily in annoyance. "It is the only plan with such a high percentage of success. The other scenarios were far too much of a risk-"

"At least 33% o' mah team would be killed if we went through wit' it!"

"Yes, I realise that-"

"And yet ya still want us ta do it?! For frag's sake, are ya really as sparkless as they say?!"

"Your emotional reaction is understandable, but needs to be controlled."

Jazz roared in a mixture of fury and frustration, and launched himself across the room at the tactician. A growl of surprise left the larger mech's vocaliser when he was pulled off his chair and tackled to the ground. "Do ya feel any regret at all?! Do ya feel anything when the mechs ya send out never come back?! What the frag is wrong wit' ya?! Do ya even care?" Jazz pushed down on black and white throat cables as he straddled the larger mech's waist.

The tactician's patience seemed to snap, and his lips curled back in a snarl. "Of course I care! I care an inordinate amount! But I cannot let my emotions rule my judgement, particularly during wartime! If I did that, we would have lost the war long ago!"

"This is why ya don't have friends!" The frustrated roar was accompanied by Jazz clenching his hands on the SIC's shoulder struts, leaving dents.

"Of course it is!" Suddenly, Prowl was rolling, throwing Jazz off of him. "Did you think I enjoyed being isolated and hated?" Irritated, he turned to his desk and took his seat again. "Get out. I am not revising the plan. There is nothing I can do."

But Jazz's seemingly one-track mind had caught a hold of something and held it. "Does tha' mean ya haven't been close ta anyone since before the war?"

"Yes." Came the stiff reply.

"Wha' abou' your brother?"

"Smokescreen and I do not communicate much. It is safer that way, as I am at a high-risk for being a potential target to the Decepticons. Now leave."

"And.. Ya haven't been intimate wit' anyone since b'fore the war?"

Slowly, the tactician raised his head from his datapad and glared balefully at the smaller black and white mech. "Get. Out."

But Jazz wasn't going anywhere. Not after a revelation like that. Uptight Prowl hadn't gotten laid since before the war. Not surprising, yet somehow it was still surprising. "Maybe tha's why yo' such an afthole."

"I will ask you one more time to leave before I forcefully remove you from my office myself."

"What if there was other physical activities ya could be doin' ta meh that didn't involve throwin' meh out of yo' office?"

"You hate me." The tactician reminded him in a deadpan. "Interfacing is hardly-"

"Shhh." Rolling his optics behind his visor, Jazz straddled the Praxian in his chair. "Ever heard o' hate-fraggin'?"

"I believe I have heard it mentioned." The words were stiff, almost tense as the smaller black and white began mouthing at his neck cables. "But it is a waste of time and I should be working-"

"Shift ended half an hour ago, shut up." Jazz bit down harshly on the neck cables he had been mouthing.

A grin crossed the handsome saboteur's face when the Praxian hissed in pain. "I do not interface casually-"

"Well, it's fun. Now how about ya shut the frag up?"

"No." He continued to push at Jazz.

Frustrated, the saboteur glared down at the mech he was sitting on. He was angry, and when he was angry, he needed a way to distract himself before he killed something. This seemed like a good distraction, if only the fragger would stop resisting. "How 'bout this; frag meh, and Ah won't complain 'bout that plan again."

"Jazz-"

"And Ah'll try ta prevent the twins from pullin' as many pranks as possible."

That caught him, judging by the glint in Prowl's optics. "For the next month."

"Deal." There was a long pause as Prowl simply looked uncertainly up at him. Suddenly, it occurred to Jazz that the SIC didn't know what to do. Barely preventing a nasty laugh from escaping, Jazz rolled his optics and began grinding down on the stoic mech's crotchplate. His grin widened when white hands grabbed his hips and tightened enough to leave dents. Prowl gritted his dental plates together, and shot a glare up at the saboteur. "I still do not understand any benefit to you from doing this."

"Mech, yo' sendin' mah mechs out ta die. Ya could prob'ly stop complainin' 'bout mah motives now."

"So you wish to prove a point." Prowl scowled, but his mouth opened in a little gasp as Jazz ground down particularly hard on his interface panel.

"O' course." The sultry murmur elicited a shiver from the stiff tactician, causing Jazz to grin even wider. His grin faded, however, as he continued speaking. "Yo' sendin' mah mechs out ta die. Ya ain't even showin' a li'l bit of emotion. So, Ah wanna make sure ya have some."

"Some.. what?" The SIC eyed the saboteur warily.

"Emotions, mech."

A groan, almost inaudible, escaped the stoic tactician as Jazz licked and suckled and bit at his neck cables and ground down on his crotch-plating. "I have emotions, Jazz.." The sentence began sounding angry, but trailed off with a soft moan.

"Moan mah name again." The saboteur snickered, delivering another punishing bite to black throat cables.

A snarl flashed across the Praxian's faceplates and, faster than even Jazz could comprehend, Prowl had grabbed the slim mech by the waist and slammed him down on his desk. "Do not mock me."

A smirk blossomed and grew across the saboteur's face. "Why, does it bother ya?" The smirk was wiped off his face as quickly as it had appeared. "Do ya know wha' bothers meh? Mah mechs bein' killed."

An inarticulately furious growl rumbled from Prowl's engine as he pressed against the saboteur. Jazz simply threw his head back and moaned as the vibrations from the larger mech's powerful engine travelled up through his frame. "Do you not think that bothers me also? I do not wish them to die! If there was any other way-"

Unwilling to hear whatever excuse the tactician was surely going to throw his way, Jazz grabbed the taller mech's face and kissed him violently. He bit down on the other mech's lower lip component so hard he tasted energon, then laughed meanly.

Snarling, Prowl pushed him down fully on the desk. The saboteur sneered at him, wrapping his slim legs around the Praxian's waist and pulling him closer. "Ya gonna shut up and frag meh already?"

"I do not like being pressured."

That earned a laugh from the mech being pressed into the desk. "Mech, you're kiddin'. Primus, ya really do need a good frag."

"And you think that you are the best person for that job?"

Jazz narrowed his optics behind his visor, clearly picking up on the thinly veiled scepticism in his tone. "Are ya doubtin' mah abilities?"

"You have yet to convince me of anything."

"Ya have yet ta do anything! Yo' sendin' mah mech's out ta die, ya could at least-"

Another angry snarl ripped out of the tactician's vocaliser, interrupting Jazz mid-sentence. "I already told you, it is not my wish nor my intention to offline the mechs on your team, but this is war. If there was any other way-"

"Ah don't wanna talk 'bout this right now." Was all Jazz snarled back, grinding again. "Make meh forget."

And it seemed that Prowl wanted to forget too, because he leaned down with no further argument to roughly capture the smaller mech's lips with his own.

...

"So, who was it?"

Jazz jerked in surprise, and then winced as a sharp ache shot up through his valve. He glanced once at Blaster, before turning his attention back to the monitors he was meant to be watching. "Wha' do ya mean?"

"Who fragged ya so hard ya so hard ya can't even sit right on yo' chair?"

"No one." The protest came quickly. Too quickly.

"So ya did it to yourself? Kinky."

"Shut up!"

The communications officer took the growled warning with ease, grinning as he settled back into his chair. "Just sayin'. Ah haven't seen ya look that happy with yourself in a long time."

"Hmph." Deciding to simply not reply, Jazz turned his attention back to the monitor he was studying. He had slyly installed a camera in Prowl's office, and he was watching the tactician intently from his console.

Peering around his friends shoulders, Blaster raised an optic ridge at the display on the monitor. "Prowl lecturin' the twins again? Why are ya listenin' to that?"

"Shh!" The saboteur flapped a hand irritably at him, listening to the audio feed that was being streamed directly to his processor. The not-so-beloved Second in Command was indeed treating the unfortunate frontliner twins to an extremely long-winding lecture about why it was strictly against protocol to stuff Ironhide's prize photon blasters with glitter.

'-you know perfectly well that pranks such as these potentially put people at risk. What if there had been a Decepticon attack and Ironhide attempted to defend himself only to find his guns only shot glitter?'

The image caused the on-screen twins to crack up until they (mainly Sideswipe) were almost crying. 'Oh, oh Pimus!'

Doorwings flared in irritation, and Jazz found his optics tracking the movement eagerly, remembering how expressive those extremities could be. And how sensitive. 'You seem incapable of grasping how serious the matter is-!'

'Hey, hey Prowl?' Sideswipe cut the rant off as he leaned forwards in his chair. 'Do you have... bite marks on your neck?'

A smirk spread across the TIC's face as he watched his fellow command officer flounder for a moment. 'I- what? No, of course not.'

'Holy slag. Did.. did you frag someone?' The red frontliner's optics widened in shock. 'Holy SLAG! You DID! Who was it?!'

'Five orns of brig time and four orns of monitor duty.' Prowl decided, marking something in a datapad and fixedly avoiding looking at either of the twins.

'But who was it?! C'mon, tell us!'

'You may leave now.'

Jazz finally turned his attention away from the monitor, smirking. This was almost worth the ache in his valve. From the other monitor, Blaster eyed his friend up curiously. "So, when's yo' team goin' on that suicide mission you were complainin' about?"

"Oh, they ain't." The Head of Special Ops grinned comfortably.

"They... ain't?"

"Nope. Me and Prowl had a li'l discussion, and he eventually agreed that Ah was right."

"Prowl.. agreed that YOU were right?"

"Yup." Jazz grinned. It was quite surprising how docile Prowl became after an overload. He was willing to agree to just about anything.