We have written many fics together, so much in fact, we had to create an entirely new account for them all! And here is the first of them:

Welcome to the monster that is 'Cuddles'!

No, seriously, this is the biggest monstrosity we have ever created! Enjoy!

Cuddles

1. Chapter

The party was going at full blast tonight, the spirit of the entire crew exceptionally high. After an entire meta-cycle of bad outcomes they really had needed this win. And Pit, did they celebrate.

Jazz grinned as he took another drink from his cube of high grade, before laughing at something that Bumblebee had said. Absently, he wondered if someone noticed that the high grade had been switched with Sideswipe's personal batch, and if someone would even care.

He kept musing over the latest mission, that had been a closer affair than most realized. Jazz had to admit, that if it wasn't for Prowl's quick thinking they wouldn't be celebrating right now. Prowl… the spy's mind warped around the thought of the Praxian. He was easy on the optics, Jazz would give him that, especially with those exotic sensor wings of his. Though, his stiffness did unnerve Jazz – he was such an outgoing mech and hated the silence that always seemed to surround Prowl .

To put it simply….well, Prowl was boring.

Jazz frowned at his last thought. Alright, Prowl's personality wasn't much, but he didn't truly know the mech. Plus, Jazz added in his thoughts, Prowl cared deeply for his crew. No one worked as hard as he did. Prowl was good and nothing would change that in Jazz's mind. And today's celebration was proof of the tactician's skill and dedication.

Jazz looked around the room, trying to find the tactician responsible for tonight's celebration. His spark sank in disappointment when he didn't spot him. Prowl deserved a few hours of relaxing. Perhaps he should go and drag the Praxian here?

Just when Jazz was about to go and look for the tactician, he saw the doors to the rec room open and the mech haunting his thoughts enter. Prowl noticed him over the crowd and Jazz raised his glass of high grade in greetings. The Praxian nodded stiffly, like usual. A soft sigh escaped Jazz, some things never changed. Still, this party just got better, even if the spy didn't quite grasp why he felt so much relief. It wasn't as if Prowl was the heart of the party ever and it would've been a sweet evening without him as well.

The next time that same night Jazz spotted Prowl, he nearly choked on his energon. The black and white was obviously overcharged, something Jazz hadn't believed to ever witness. But he didn't have the processor capability to contemplate that, because Prowl, stuck-up PROWL, was dancing with such eroticism that Jazz's vents were suddenly having a hard time cooling him.

Oh. Primus.

Jazz couldn't look away. Prowl's optics were shuttered, on his lips a peaceful half-smile. Like in trance, his gaze followed every dance step of the tactician, the sliding movements of that bumper, the shakes of the hips and the up and downs of those elegant doorwings (oh, those wings…), that highlighted every twist of that sexy aft.

It was like watching liquid, shining metal. How in the Pit could a mech so stiff move with such fragging grace that even Jazz doubted he could imitate it? It was beautiful.

He was content to just sit there on the closest table to the Praxian and watch him dance all night long, when his perfect picture shattered. A different mech, Torch or whatever, he couldn't remember right now, started joining Prowl.

Jazz drank more high grade, trying to hide his sudden sharp displeasure. That mech was a known berth hopper, no ties and too often tears. Jazz himself had engaged with him, but only for a single night of fun. Mech was nothing special really, nothing Jazz had wanted to go back for.

Torch smiled at the Praxian and touched him at the arm. Prowl barely reacted, too far gone in his dance and thanks to the highgrade. Torch's smile grew wider and he stepped behind the Praxian, moving now in tandem – or trying to, because even an amateur could see who the better dancer was.

Torch put his hands on the black and white hips of the Praxian, laying a claim as if Prowl belonged to him. As if Prowl had invited or ever shown an interest in him!

Suddenly, the saboteur realized that he didn't want Prowl spending the night with this mech. True, Prowl was a fully grown-up mech, capable of making his own decisions, but well… Prowl was a good mech, so, Jazz's slightly inebriated mind concluded, he needed a good mech as a companion. And Torch wasn't that mech.

Prowl had now started to turn around, to touch back, still with the half-smile on his face, optics barely a shade lighter than before. The tactician obviously wasn't aware of his actions, because Jazz was certain the tactician wouldn't grope a mech so freely in public, or let a mech grope him for that matter.

Now, Torch even dared to touch the doorwings! Deciding to act before things got even more raunchy and out of control, Jazz gulped the rest of his high grade down and headed towards the dance floor. He would get Prowl back to his quarters and return back to the party. Simple as that.

Jazz tapped Torch's shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" he inquired sweetly.

Prowl was oblivious, dancing on as if Jazz didn't exist, while Torch looked annoyed. Yup, he definitely was looking for an easy lay.

The mech was about to protest, but Jazz casually placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped, "I asked, mind if I cut in?" Torch staggered, not able to keep up with the Praxian anymore who with two steps danced away.

Torch bristled, but after receiving Jazz's glare, he only shook his head and smiled in obvious apology. "Okay, okay, all yours mech."

Jazz nodded and watched Torch muttering something as he walked away. Jazz allowed a quick victory gin. Too fragging easy. But now he had a drunken Praxian, dancing rather distractingly a few feet next to him.

"C'mon Prowler, let's get you to a berth." Jazz placed a hand on the tacticians elbow and gently started to lead him out of the rec room. Prowl stumbled along, as the constant movement stopped him from dancing. Blue, light optics tried to focus on Jazz and failed.

"Yes, lets," Prowl slurred in his audio, a hint of confusion in his voice.

Oh, Jazz was having so much fun! Prowl would be mortified in the morning once he told him how he acted.

"Whoa, easy there!" Jazz was able to stop Prowl from giving the ground a kiss as he tripped over nothing at all. Deciding Prowl needed more support, he placed the slightly bigger mech's arm over his shoulders and steadied him by the waist, ignoring how Prowl pressed close to him. It was just Prowl's core codes, seeking stability. Nothing more, and certainly nothing that deserved any reaction of his. Now if he stopped growing warm...

"You know…" Prowl started in his drunken haze, "I was reaaally worried about you."

Surprised, Jazz asked, "Really?"

"Oh yes." Prowl nodded rather violently and nearly made them both fall, "I hate giving you such dangerous tasks. Or seeing you injured. I really, really hate it when you're injured."

"Hah, yeah I hate that too." Jazz agreed, feeling lighter than in a long time, "But thanks." So the emotionless tactician actually had feelings? He really was a good mech.

When they reached Prowl's quarters, the tactician was able enter the right code at his third try, after wondering aloud if he had changed the codes a few joors ago or not. Jazz chuckled at his efforts, that had the same serious determination he showed all of his work.

Gently, he guided the bot inside the practically furbished, quite dark room and towards the berth. As he was about the lay Prowl down, he found himself pulled rather clumsily on the berth and a drunken Praxian over him, pinning him to the soft mesh-metal.

"Leaving so soon?" Prowl slurred, doorwings dropping unhappily.

"Primus, you are so drunk," Jazz muttered, trying desperately to distract himself. It was oh so tempting. The berth, the warmth, the proximity.

And forced with undeniable proof – his vents were working hard by now – he had to admit that Prowl was attractive with his wings and all… Ohh, those wings were right above them, so close in reach. He had to restrain himself from touching them or otherwise he wouldn't be able to stop.

Jazz gasped as Prowl tweaked a wire. Now he definitely had to leave. Prowl would be furious, not to mention humiliated, in the morning. If this was some other bot, he wouldn't have held back like this. But this was Prowl. Prowl! A mech with iron-clad principles. Morales. A mech that deserved someone better than Jazz. Something better than drunk interfacing with a random mech.

Jazz gently pushed Prowl off him. The tactician toppled unceremoniously on the other side of the berth, looking adorably confused at his change of position. With blue optics he looked up towards Jazz, wings in attention position.

"Let's just recharge, yeah?" Jazz tried to stand up, but clever hands pulled him down again. Never let it be said again, that tactician's didn't know about the weight center in mechs.

"Why?" Prowl asked, holding him tight like a sparkling toy. Jazz was distracted by the quiver of his wings and the hum of Prowl's engine against his. He shuttered his optics, counted to three and said:

"Cuz you're so overcharged, you can't tell Megsy from OP."

Prowl nuzzled him, wings twitching and Jazz's resolve shattered. A hand extended towards those enticing wings displayed like that. He carefully started to pet them. The Praxian began to hum – no, purr - against him.

"Hmm, true." Prowl sighed, his wings relaxing completely and his entire body slumping on top of Jazz, clearly tired.

Jazz smiled, noticing that his petting was triggering Prowl to fall into recharge. "You know, I worry 'bout you too."

"Hmm?" Halfway in recharge, Prowl muttered, engine purring in complete abandon.

"Well, yeah." Jazz continued softly, "You do so much for us, the Autobots." He lowered his voice down to a whisper, "For me."

It was true, though Jazz usually didn't think about it. Didn't think how else, so much worse, it could be. He never allowed Jazz to take a mission if the success rate including Jazz's survival was below 85 per cent. And that was hard work – work that Jazz doubted that the rest of the crew noticed. Something he only himself saw, when he looked towards other bases.

Prowl didn't answer his last comment anymore.

Jazz smiled at the recharging mech, his face looking so peaceful now, softer, more innocent. He pulled his hand back from the exotic door wings. Suddenly, he really didn't want to go back to that party. It just felt so good here, pressed like that next to Prowl. So warm.

Jazz lifted a hand to caress the bright red chevron of the mech and felt Prowl sigh, arms wrapping more securely around Jazz and pulling him close. He definitely didn't want to return to the party now.

Mind made up, Jazz cuddled closer to Prowl, relishing in the warmth of the body pressed next to him. Stuck up, stiff and cold even, Prowl was a good mech who deserved to find someone just as good. Jazz would help him. It was the least he could do. After all, Prowl did so much for him in his missions.

Content, he offlined his visor, and fell into recharge – still smiling.

0000

Normally, Prowl came out of recharge well rested and with an exact list of what to do the next few joors. Normally wasn't now. His inner alarm clock chimed and when he came back to awareness all that accompanied him was a huge processor ache. His memory core came online without giving him any idea how he got into his berth and only fragments of the time before recharge. Fragments of a victory party.

He groaned, concluding – rightfully so – that he somehow had gotten drunk. For the first time in over two hundred vorns. How could he have been so careless? But slowly he realised that he had a bigger problem then corrupted memory files. He was in a berth, so much so good. But he wasn't alone.

With great trepidation he online his optics – and saw directly into the relaxed face of Jazz.

Prowl suddenly felt cold. Jazz. With him. In a berth. In Prowl's room. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, and that Prowl's battle computer put the likelihood of interfacing at 94.23 per cent didn't help at all.

Slowly, careful not to wake the recharging mech, he backed away and slid off the berth. Then he stood in his room and stared at the saboteur, who was famous for his casual flings that left no one hurt. He liked Jazz, the skilled Autobot who had never trash talked Prowl – at least not that the tactician had heard of. But he wouldn't have wanted to interface with him. Not like this. Not drunk and without any memory. Not for pure enjoyment, just another one in a long series of name.

What should he do now? Wake Jazz? Kick him out? Would Jazz demand 'more'? Prowl wasn't ready to give more. Interfacing was a matter of trust and love for him, not something that just happened.

No. It was best if he simply walked away. He heard of other one nightstand's doing this. Maybe it was even expected? Yes. Surely it was the best. No misunderstandings could happen this way.

The processor ache pounded on in his helmet. This was just one terrible mistake.

He looked to the washing rack, then back to the berth. The cleaning fluids would probably wake Jazz, and that he wanted even less than walking around dirty. After all, they had similar paint jobs and as long as no one would look for it, they might just think that it was Prowl's own finish.

And so Prowl turned and walked out to begin a normal, busy orn of his. And if he hid himself in his office a bit more than normal, tried to avoid every place which Jazz usually frequented and only felt utter relief when no one came to trouble him... well, no one could really blame him, right?

TBC