Four Letter Word

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers; I'm just prostituting it for my amusement.

Summary: How Jazz and Prowl came together.

Warning: Drunken robots, confusion, m/m robots

Pairings: Jazz/ Prowl

Bars were not Prowl's scene. The music was usually loud, grating, and wholly irritating. The mechs were usually about the same. Many of the places Prowl had spent his evenings lately had not been his scene, but mechs came in from all vices and they needed mechs. Though Prowl wasn't so certain they needed mechs that frequented spark clubs and minibot fight clubs.

"Mechs can do strange things in their spare time but still be decent mechs," Optimus had said. "And we need every decent mech we can find to join the Autobots. The greater tragedy in this war may be the number of decent mechs that join with the Decepticons because they simply don't know any better. And then pay the ultimate price."

Prowl hadn't had any argument against Optimus passion and conviction, and it didn't have one now as he sat on his stool at the far end of the bar. Around him, mechs were drinking, and dancing. At least this was a well lit establishment, unlike the last bar he had subjected himself to. That one, Prowl remembered with an unpleasant shudder, had had some unpleasant clientele. He had been mistaken for a pleasure bot; Primus only knew why anyone would ever take him for that. But the mech had been very stubborn, and not easily dissuaded. Nothing Prowl had said had been able to convince the mech that he was anything other than a normal patron.

"Yer far to pretty a mech to hang around here unless yer looking for customers," the mech had said.

Of course Prowl had been rendered speechless, which wasn't the best defence mechanism. Thank Primus, Ironhide had been there to find him in his dumbfounded state.

"Hey, Prowl, sorry to keep ya waiting," he'd said. "Let's go meet the others."

Worse still, Prowl had been so stupefied that he hadn't even been able to reply to Ironhide.

"So what was that about, Prowl?" Ironhide had asked.

All Prowl had been able to do in response was blink. And crash.

He'd woken up in Ratchet's clinic. Ratchet had insisted on helping him sit up and ran several scans to make certain his system had stabilized.

"What brought this on?" The medic had asked.

"I don't really want to talk about it," Prowl had said after an awkward minute.

"Come on now," Ratchet had said. "It helps to get these things off your spark."

"A mech there was rather insistent that I had to have been there on business," Prowl had finally said, looking down at his feet.

"Oh kid, that is a bit embarrassing," Ratchet had replied. He'd looked to Ironhide then and said: "you should probably advise Optimus that Prowl needs back up."

Prowl had been mortified. He'd been ready right then to argue his case but Ratchet had seen his narrowed optics and flashed him a sympathetic and reassuring smile.

"It could be really bad if you had a crash in mixed company," Ratchet said. "And I promise I am doing what I can to find out what is causing your issues."

Of course Ratchet had been right. Prowl had known it then as sure as he knew it now, but it didn't make him feel any less embarrassed. A grown mech and he still needed a Seeker. The thought still stung but Prowl was as determined, as he had been all his life, to live and to live well despite his crashes.

Though he didn't doubt the medic was working as best he could to resolve his crashed, Prowl had had them all his life and no one had ever found a cause for them. Ratchet was the best medic in the city, if not all of Cybertron, but somethings defied explanation. It was his first crash in a while but what an inopportune time. He was grateful that Ironhide had been there and that the irritating mech hadn't seen it.

So he wasn't alone this time. Somewhere in this brightly lit bar, back up existed in the form of Trailbreaker. At least he could see the faces of the mechs moving around him. A lot could be judged by ones' face. Friendly, or standoffish, how Prowl approached a mech varied accordingly.

"Cyberkitty! What a lovely surprise to see you here."

There was no question, Prowl had to have some of these worst luck on Cybertron. How was that mech here? Really, this was such a different place from the last dump, full of far more decently seeming mechs. No one was trying to hide in shadows, and yet still, this mech was here.

"My name is Prowl. Not Cyberkitty."

"Whatever you like, Princess," the mech said with a knowing grin.

Prowl twitched and gave the mech his sternest expression and in an equally stern voice: "you are not endearing yourself to me."

"Sweetspark, it's time to dance," a buoyant voice said from behind Prowl as an arm looped around his and pulled him along to the dance floor. The mech spun him around and smiled playfully.

"I'm Jazz," the mech said. "You're Prowl or Sweetspark to me. And Creepbot over there is watching so I suggest you play along."

Jazz led Prowl a little deeper onto the dance floor before settling for a spot out of sight of the creeper. He place his hands over Prowl's sides and danced him along to the rhythm of the anonymous song playing over the bar's speakers.

"You don't seem like the type that hangs around this sort of place," Jazz said.

"I suppose not," Prowl replied, just a little too confused and surprised to move away from Jazz.

"Friend abandon you?" Jazz asked with a sympathetic look.

"No, I'm here on business," Prowl explained. Jazz gave him an incredulous look and laughed warmly.

'This mech doesn't have a clue,' Jazz though to himself. He slipped one had around Prowl's back and caught Prowl's hand with the other. He pulled Prowl close and spoke against the other mech's neck.

"Who's business?"

"Optimus Prime's," Prowl replied, blinking a few times to clear his mind. It wasn't a secret, was it? He was supposed to be recruiting mechs.

"Autobot, then," Jazz said, humming into Prowl's throat. A shiver ran up Prowl's spine; he felt his face grow hot. "Figured. You're way to sweet to be a Decepticon."

"I'm not sure sweet has anything to do with it," Prowl replied stiltedly. Why in Primus' name was he letting this strange mech feel him up?

"Sure it does," Jazz replied and nibbled lightly on one of the sensitive cords that ran along his neck. "I've never met a sweet Decepticon. Come back tomorrow, Sweetspark. I'd love to talk to you again."

Jazz left a parting kiss on Prowl's neck before he slipped back into the thrall of dancers and was gone. Prowl stood still amongst the moving mechs for a least a minute or more. What had just happened? His face was burning when Trailbreaker came up to him and they headed out of the bar.

Unbeknownst to Prowl, Trailbreaker had watched the whole scene. It was more than a little difficult to keep a straight face when all he really wanted to do was grin and tease Prowl.

"How is it I seem to attract nefarious lechers?" Prowl asked as they walked along the empty streets of Iacon.

"Don't know but you have a pit of a talent for it," Trailbreaker replied. "But you seem to have handled it well."

'I'm not sure I was the one handling anything,' Prowl thought. He could still feel Jazz's mouth on his neck and his hand in his. His face felt so warm and his spark was tingling. He really should have discouraged Jazz. Prowl was not the sort of mech that hopped into another mech's berth the first night. But he got close enough to be truly aghast at himself. He didn't even know the mech. Still his touch had been... pleasant.

And he couldn't exactly place Jazz in a bad light, for the little he knew of him. He was a lech, that was a given, but he had protected Prowl from the creeper. Except that he was also a bit of a creeper. Really, Prowl couldn't understand why he thought of Jazz in a pleasant light where he cast creeper in a bad one. Creeper hadn't actually gotten anywhere. Jazz... He could still feel Jazz's denta against his neck. Prowl suppressed a shudder. Not an unpleasant one, but all the more an embarrassing one.

He didn't speak again until Trailbreaker and he had returned home to the maze of apartments Optimus had turned into Autobot headquarters.

He should have briefed Optimus immediately on the events of that night but instead Prowl followed his peds to his own private room. Once there, he sat on his berth and absently touched his neck as he stared at the bare wall ahead of him.

There was no doubt in his mind, he was going back there tomorrow, to see Jazz. He couldn't quite say why other than, strangely, he wanted to. He tried to convince himself that he saw potential in Jazz, potential to be an Autobot; he half succeeded... maybe not half.

When his face cooled and the tingle of Jazz's touch faded, Prowl got up and made his way to Optimus' office. He walked slower than normal, delaying the impending meeting. He prayed to Primus that Trailbreaker had not gone to Optimus and relayed his encounter with Jazz. He prayed fervently that Trailbreaker was feeling friendly and merciful and was inclined to keep the events of the dance floor to himself. Prime was at his desk, Ironhide at his side as always. Prowl read their faces and though neither was frowning, Prowl couldn't help but fear the worst. Optimus smiled and waved Prowl in. Something on Prowl's face must have been encouraging.

"You met a potential recruit?" Optimus asked.

"I think so," Prowl replied. "He wants to speak more tomorrow."

"Excellent!" Optimus said. "Consider your evening booked."

"Of course," Prowl replied. He was eternally grateful that his once again heated face was not obvious to the 'Bot in charge.

"I want to send Trailbreaker with you again," Ironhide said. "Just in case."

"Good idea," Optimus said with a nod. "Think it will be a problem, Prowl?"

"No," Prowl replied. "I don't foresee any problems."

"Think this mech will join up?" Optimis asked.

"I do," Prowl replied. "He isn't a 'Con. I think he'll make a good Autobot."

"You're an excellent judge of character, Prowl," Optimus said. "I don't doubt you at all. Get some rest. And good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you," Prowl replied and he bid Optimus and Ironhide a good night. He returned to his berth and thought that Jazz probably wanted to do far more than talk. Prowl shut his eyes and attempted to recharge. Something told him, probably the lingering tingle, that he would be dreaming of Jazz and the bar tonight. He attempted to settle himself in and shift his thoughts to something other than Jazz's smile, and the feeling of his touch, although faded, would not disappear.

Confusing as it was for him, Prowl couldn't bring himself to be unhappy with the idea.

A/N This is a prequel of sorts to Pulling Teeth. It is set in the past of the Teeth Verse.