Chapter Text
Prowl knew the maze of the gutters here better than anyone would expect. He knew the shortest routes into the deepest depths, he knew the streets that would take him past the seediest alleys, and right now, that was what he was looking for. A few counter intuitive shortcuts got him there in half the time it would take someone who was only using the main paths. He wasn't in a hurry, but he saw no reason to stay longer than necessary.
Now it was just a matter of finding the right mech. The one huddled against a wall with darting optics who needed the credits and would do anything for them. The one whose face would disappear back into the gutters and out of Prowl's mind as soon as he left, like all the rest.
He wasn't desperate for an interface, nothing of the sort. But his processor efficiency was, on average, significantly higher in the several orns following a set of overloads. He came here because the emotions that would be involved with any kind of repeated liaison with another mech were unnecessary towards that goal and would prove counterproductive. They were easily avoided by choosing the path of a simple business transaction.
And--Prowl paused as he looked down one more identical crevice that could barely afford to call itself a street and saw exactly what he was looking for. Darting red optics, hunched shoulders, probably willing to do anything for a credit or two. Prowl studied him for another moment, then approached, steady and calm.
"I have five rules for you," he said once the mech had looked at him. "If you follow them, I will pay you." He held his hand out and flashed the credits for a moment before tucking them back away. "Would you like to hear them?"
He knew from the way those dull optics followed the movement that he had what he wanted. As few as they were to Prowl, the credits he'd flashed represented orns worth of fuel down here.
"Yes," the buymech responded. And this was a buymech. No pleasurebot would fall this low. This mech was willing to sell the use of his frame because he was desperate, not because he was created for the task of pleasuring others.
Prowl tilted his head forward, looking down on the crouching creature, moved his arms behind his back, and began without any further preamble, voice cold. "Rule one: No speaking. You will not attempt to interact with me, and try to refrain from moaning. I can overlook an occasional grunt if you can't help it, as long as noise is kept at the absolute minimum." He watched the buymech as he spoke, judging his reaction, deciding if it was going to be worth listing the other four.
The mech barely moved, still listening carefully. Promising.
"Rule two," Prowl continued. "Do not touch me. I do not appreciate my body being touched, especially my wings. Keep your movements as little as possible.
"Rule three: No valve. You will not attempt to go anywhere near my valve. If you ignore this rule, there will be immediate repercussions. I prefer only my spike to be stimulated.
"Rule four: I expect two spike overloads--only two. The first is to be induced by your mouth, which you will swallow, and the second inside your valve.
"Rule five: You will speak of this to no one, ever. The consequences of breaking this rule are not worth the credits you might make by speaking. Once I have finished, you will have your credits, and you will clean up any evidence from yourself." Prowl's optics, cold and dispassionate, flickered over the mech. "Understood? If you meet all of these expectations, your payment will be generous. If you violate any, the consequences will be severe."
A slightly bemused look flashed across the buymech's features, but he nodded. "'h get't. How'ya wan'me?"
"On your knees and facing the wall," Prowl said, dismissive. "I have no need for creativity." He took the three steps that had his back to a wall and gestured for the mech to kneel in front of him.
The buymech, painted in dirty white, black and gold, stepped forward and knelt. His hands carefully at his sides, he leaned forward so an x-vent from his mouth ghosted across Prowl's spike cover. It slid away and the spike pressurized in a neat, smooth motion, clicking up into place.
Prowl offlined his optics and leaned his helm back, palms pressed flat to the wall, venting slowly as he relaxed into the state that would allow him to enjoy this. Yes, this was a necessity, not an indulgence, but that didn't mean he couldn't take the pleasure that came with it.
The lips that closed around his spike were a touch hesitant. This wasn't a mech that had done this often, but it hardly mattered. He pressed forward, taking Prowl's spike deeper, all the way in until it bumped against the intake, and then into it. Flexible tubing tightened, unaccustomed to the sensation of such a large, solid object stretching it.
Prowl focused on the heat coming from the mouth that spread out from his spike into the surrounding systems. The tightening intake sent out an imperceptible ripple of shivers, making Prowl twitch his hips forward just slightly, but staying otherwise still and silent while the mech on his knees moved.
The rhythm settled as the buymech got used to his task, but it didn't mean his intake was any happier about the intrusion each time lipplates met spike housing. The tubing squeezed and rippled, trying to force the intruder out, but it only made it feel better.
Back and forth the buymech moved, his hands tight on his own legs to keep them where they belonged.
Prowl's engines were heated and rumbling steadily before long, aided by the tightness, something he didn't always find down here, but he was always glad for it when he did. He was neither accustomed nor inclined to draw the experience out, and greater pressure and friction helped. He soon felt his spike start to throb with the sensations.
He pushed his hips forward against the buymech's rhythm, hearing a quickly-stifled sound of surprise as the abused intake was hit unprepared. He reached out and held the other's head, shifting the timing to his own preference and moved with it. After a moment of startled tension, the buymech relaxed into it, offering no fight or resistance, but still kept his lipplates sealed around the sliding spike to earn his credits.
It wasn't long before Prowl's thrusts came sharper, faster, and a low moan was the only warning the buymech had before he pushed all the way in and held there, overloading and shooting into that tight intake. It spasmed around him, sharpening the pleasure, and the buymech's entire frame went taunt before he relaxed and let it happen to him.
Prowl was silent after that single sound, small shudders coursing through his frame. His hand fell away from the mech's helm as he released a slow vent, preparing for the second stage. As distracted as he was, he was several nanokliks behind in processing external feed that wasn't pleasure and missed much of the rush of movement that didn't go as planned.
The buymech stood, but another mech slammed into him and the two were soon twisting and thrashing on the ground. Snarls and curses registered as Prowl focused his senses.
He stared as he recognized Jazz through the flurry of limbs and claws, and then saw the weapon in the buymech's--the enemy's--hand. Jazz was holding his wrist and struggling to get his weight shifted enough to pin the other, spitting profanities at him as the buymech clawed at his visor.
The buymech suddenly arched his frame, shifting both of them just enough to get one leg between Jazz's and slammed it upwards before rolling them over.
Prowl dove forward as Jazz landed on his back, grabbing the enemy by the shoulders and throwing his weight to the side, pulling him off. The mech's arm shot back and a bladed elbow tore into Prowl's frame, making him hiss sharply. He tightened his grip, fighting to keep the mech still long enough for Jazz to take advantage of it. He didn't see what happened, but abruptly the buymech was limp in his hands and Jazz was trying to push him off.
Prowl let go and shoved the mech to the side and pushed back away from him, looking up and down the still frame. The gun he'd apparently pulled was in loose fingers and Prowl kicked it away before turning towards Jazz. "You were following me," he said, voice flat.
"Someone has to make sure the second most valuable mech in the army survives," he shrugged and got to his pedes. "You really have no survival instincts at times."
"Hm." Prowl looked back at the mech. "Who is that?" he asked, very pointedly not explaining himself and what Jazz had undoubtedly seen and possibly heard. It was a credit to the SpecOps mech that Prowl hadn't sensed him at all.
"Not sure," Jazz admitted as he knelt to turn the buymech over and studied his features. "It's not anyone I recognize, or I would have acted earlier. I moved when the pistol came out."
"Comforting," Prowl said, then cursed lowly. He'd have to try again, and roaming the alleys had apparently become unsafe. He moved next to Jazz and also looked down at the still face. "He acted the part well, he's from the gutters, whoever he is. Obviously I've become predictable." He glanced at Jazz. "'Second most?'"
"Prime's number one, even if he'd be all but useless without you," Jazz shrugged and stood. "Look, I know this helps you focus and all, but we really need to come up with some better rules about how you go about getting off. At least let my unit vet anyone you're going to use, if you won't use us."
Prowl stiffened. He shouldn't be surprised that Jazz knew. "That would be too involved. So would using your unit." He gave a frustrated growl. This had been his system for so long that he was all but conditioned to expect the second overload at this point.
Jazz gave him a look, then grabbed his arm and pulled him against himself as Jazz's back hit the wall. "Glitch'll be out for several breems," a leg slid up Prowl's, the heat of a bared and ready valve pinging his still active interface protocols. "Get it out of your system. We'll talk when you're stable."
Prowl glared at him coldly, pressing his hands to the wall on either side of Jazz's head. "Don't move, don't touch, don't talk," he said, in too much of a hurry to list his guidelines fully before he repressurized his spike and slid in. He hit the top of the valve and held there. "No sound."
Jazz gave a small nod and held still, even his internal systems going nearly silent as he entered stealth mode. His valve cycled, rippled and squeezed, a level of attention to Prowl's pleasure that the Praxian hadn't felt in a very long time.
Prowl gave a quiet, startled grunt and braced himself, beginning to thrust into the almost totally silent frame. The lack of noise made it incredibly easy to focus on the sensation and Jazz could have been in stasis for as still as he was holding himself.
No distractions, nothing to pull him from his concentration. Prowl chased down his overload with precise efficiency, completely focused on that goal. Jazz's cycling, attentive valve helped him reach it with half the amount of time and energy usually spent and Prowl grunted again, fingers curling into fists as his hips jerked forward once, twice, before he froze, shooting deep. He shivered through the charges before slumping, interfacing systems all cycling down, spike retracting. In the wake of the second charge he felt his processor relaxing and opening up, higher efficiency restored.
Prowl straightened and looked at Jazz as the Autobot TIC lowered his leg and wordlessly wiped himself clean. The SpecOps commander's field was smooth, showing no signs he had any reaction to what had happened.
"Let's get back to base," Jazz suggested firmly. "We will hash out how to meet your needs in your office."
Prowl nodded and wordlessly held his hand out, holding the credits he had previously shown the unconscious mech.
Without a pause Jazz accepted them and slid them into a small subspace pocket, causing a tiny bit of tension to bleed out from Prowl. He'd been prepared to insist, to argue, but this went as smoothly as overloading in Jazz's valve had.