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Despite his usual disdain for coded language and innuendo, Prowl knows exactly what Jazz means when he walks into his office where he's stationed in Polyhex and says, "Catch me if you can."
It means Prowl needs to carefully put away whatever he's working on and count down from ten. Jazz vanishes from his office as quickly as he arrived. The game is on.
Prowl never knows when exactly Jazz will ask him to roleplay chasing him down like a wanted criminal. But it always seems to be whenever Prowl is so entrenched in his work that he doesn't emerge from his office for days on end. He has to admit, it is an effective tactic.
Especially since his tactical mind is immediately put to use tracking Jazz. He leaves the enforcer station and scans the crowd outside, knowing that Jazz hasn't gotten far.
Prowl's movement analysis algorithm scores a hit and he spots Jazz slipping between two haulers to duck into an alleyway. Prowl follows after, moving only slightly faster than normal so he doesn't draw too much attention. His engine purrs with satisfaction at successfully pursuing his prey.
The alleyway is a dead end with no Jazz in sight, but that doesn't mean Prowl lost the trail. He adjusts the contrast of his visual field and spots scuff marks leading up the side of the building. Someone's climbing with magnets.
There's an equal likelihood that Jazz went sideways around the building and that he went straight to the roof. Prowl decides to circle the building and see if he can spot a bot-shaped shadow on their way up the side.
Sure enough, he sees Jazz just as he leaps from the wall to an overpass nearby. Jazz transforms into vehicle mode and drives away, but now that Prowl's got visual he's not letting Jazz out of his sight.
Prowl vaults directly up the supports of the overpass. He hits the road and transforms, his tracking program locking onto Jazz.
Jazz plays his role well, flagrantly ignoring traffic laws as he weaves in and out of traffic and partially transforms to jump over other vehicles. Prowl's flashing lights and blaring sirens let other bots know to get out of his way, and he cuts through just as fast, quickly gaining on Jazz.
But Jazz spins on a dime to face Prowl, transforming to root mode and catching him. Prowl barely has time to transform himself before he's being tossed over the side of the overpass. At the last moment he grabs onto Jazz and pulls him along.
They crash land in an empty lot below the crisscrossing overpasses. Prowl consults his internal script and decides this is the best place for the next phase of their game.
He scrambles to pin Jazz on his back, straddling his waist. Then he pulls his blaster and points it right at his face.
Of course, his finger is off the trigger and the safety is on. But at the same time, when they had rehearsed this Jazz had insisted that he should still have live ammunition. He had wanted that slight dangerous edge.
Prowl's hand shakes and he manually locks the actuators. Jazz smirks up at him. "Well, officer? Gonna shoot me? Gonna make me pay?"
Prowl knows his lines by spark. "Criminals like you deserve to face real justice, in a court of law."
"Aw, but what if I don't want to be tried?" Jazz lifts his helm from the ground, his frame tensing like he's going to try to throw Prowl off.
Prowl presses the tip of his gun to Jazz's chin, "We can settle this now, if you don't cooperate."
Though they had practiced every step of this game, Prowl could never get over this part. Jazz ducks his helm and opens wide to suck the barrel of the gun into his mouth.
Prowl invents sharply. Jazz lowers the opacity of his visor so he can meet Prowl's optics as he delicately licks the barrel then closes his lips around it. His cheeks hollow with the force of his suction.
Prowl chokes back whatever sound was trying to escape his vocalizer. He brings his script back to the forefront. "Disgusting, you're just as perverted as they say."
Then he shoves his blaster deeper, until it hits the back of Jazz's intake. Jazz groans, his optics rolling back. His throat cables flex.
Prowl gives into the urge to go off script and gently places his free hand over the front of Jazz's throat, just to feel the way his energon is pounding through his lines. There's no choking in this game, but the way Jazz presses into Prowl touch suggests that there might be next time.
At the moment, Jazz pulls off Prowl's gun with a lewd pop, turning his face so the wet barrel drags along his cheek. "Something tells me you like it, officer. After all, I managed to distract you enough to do this."
Jazz holds up the clip of ammunition which he had freed from the blaster, dimly glowing in his hand. Prowl curses, going to snatch it from him.
But Jazz bucks and twists and neatly reverses their positions. For a second he presses Prowl hard into the ground, tangling their legs so their modesty panels brush together. Then he's jumping to his pedes and running off again.
Prowl lies there, momentarily stunned. Then he wrangles down his rising charge and follows after Jazz.
Who is climbing straight up the side of another building. Judging by its flat roof, Prowl estimates that this time Jazz plans to head straight to the top.
So Prowl enters the building, transmits his credentials to the receptionist, and starts up the stairs. He could use the elevator, but he wants to give Jazz time to get there before him.
Sure enough, he finds Jazz waiting for him, pacing along the edge of the roof.
Jazz gives an exaggerated shocked reaction, gasping as he says, "You've caught me officer! I have nowhere left to run!"
Prowl rolls his optics, stalking over to grab Jazz by the collar plating and yank him away from the ledge. "You are under arrest."
Jazz takes a step back. "Nah-uh."
Prowl pulls his stasis cuffs from his subspace. He grabs Jazz's arm and twists it behind him, kicking the back of his knee to force him to the ground. Within seconds he has both of Jazz's wrists in the cuffs. "You have the right to remain—"
Jazz squirms out from under him and jumps back to his pedes. He hops over the hard light chain connecting the cuffs to bring them to the front of his frame. Then he closes in on Prowl.
Prowl splutters, his script failing him. This is usually where the game ends. But now Jazz is improvising.
Jazz slithers in close and drags his hands teasingly up Prowl's waist to his bumper. Prowl swats at him and he backs away again, only to circle behind him.
He cups the undersides of Prowl's sensor wings and Prowl stiffens, freezing in place. But Jazz just uses that same light, teasing touch to stroke them, leaving a buzzing, staticky sensation in his wake.
Prowl wavers, confused. Jazz moves to stand in front of him again, a slight frown appearing on his face.
"You still good?" He asks quietly.
Prowl nods. "I trust you."
"Good." Then Jazz is back in character, "Too soon, officer! I've still got a couple tricks up my subspace."
He shows off the key to the stasis cuffs that he had lifted off of Prowl while he was feeling him up. "Or should I say your subspace?"
In a second he has the cuffs off. In the next he's slapping them onto Prowl's wrists instead.
Prowl huffs a disbelieving laugh. He understands where the game is headed now.
Jazz scoops him up, tosses him over his shoulder, and jumps over the edge of the building. Midair, he fires a grapple from his arm, and their free fall turns into a controlled descent. They land in yet another abandoned alleyway. Prowl has no doubt that Jazz scouted this location for this exact purpose.
Jazz pulls a long metal dart from his subspace and stabs it into the wall above Prowl's head. Then he loops the chain of the stasis cuffs over it, suspending Prowl so the tips of his pedes just barely brush the ground.
Prowl does his best to stay in character. "How dare you! The disrespect! The wanton disregard for—!"
"Hush now, officer, I'm just getting started." Jazz purrs in his audial.
Prowl can't think of any more lines as Jazz is once again sliding his hands over his bumper. This time he lingers, thumbing Prowl's headlights before lowering his helm to kiss one.
Prowl jerks in place, fighting to keep still and not make any sound. His headlights are the only spot on his chassis where there's no armor to dull the sensation. And Jazz takes full advantage of that fact, lapping over the glass of one while he palms the other. Prowl feels the scrape of a fang and kicks Jazz in the knee in reprimand.
Jazz pulls off, "Sorry, baby. I'll buff out the scratches later, promise."
Then he tilts his helm to the side and bits into Prowl's bumper, leaving crescent-shaped dents. Prowl hisses. He'll make Jazz fix any marks he leaves, but this does mean that he can't go back to the station today unless he wants everyone to know exactly what he's been up to.
Jazz finishes working over his headlights and scoots even lower down, falling to his knees. He bites new dents into Prowl's thin abdominal plating, making Prowl jerk and twist in his bonds. He grits his denta, refusing to make a sound and let Jazz know how much he's affecting him.
Instead he chokes out, "T-taking advantage like the lowest of lowlifes? I don't know why, but I expected more of you."
"I ain't doing nothin' you aren't enjoyin'." Jazz croons back. Prowl can't see it, but he knows Jazz is wearing that smug look he gets when he's got Prowl exactly where he wants him.
"That's beside the point!" Prowl shoots back.
"Hmm, would you call this 'taking advantage' then?" Jazz asks as he wedges himself between Prowl's legs, arranging him with his knees hooked over his shoulders.
"Y-yes! This is highly inappropriate!"
"But you want it." Jazz adds another dent to Prowl's hip plating, fangs digging in.
Prowl whines, twisting in his hold. The teasing makes it too hard to maintain character. "Yes! Please!"
"Whatever you want, Prowler." Jazz laps over his modesty panels. "But you have to open up for me."
Prowl moans, letting them transform away. Jazz falls upon his spike housing immediately, coaxing him into full pressurization. It makes Prowl's helm spin with just how fast he gets hard.
"Finally—hah!—putting that smart mouth to good use." Prowl manages to spit out as Jazz licks up the side of his spike.
"You know it, baby." Jazz replies.
He sucks Prowl's spike down like it's nothing, taking him to the base. Prowl squirms in his bonds, pressing his heels into Jazz's back to hold him there. But Jazz pulls off slowly, lapping over every ridge as he does.
"Jazz, please! I want it, I want you!" Prowl babbles, unsure of what he's even saying anymore.
"I know, Prowler. I'll give you everything you want." Jazz's fingertips slide over Prowl's valve and he sobs at the contact, lifting his hips as best as he can.
Jazz presses his thumb to Prowl's node at the same time he slides his spike back into his intake. The dual stimulation makes Prowl writhe, his hands opening and closing uselessly above his head and his hips bucking with what little leverage he has.
Jazz takes it in stride, bobbing his helm and letting Prowl's spike hit the back of his intake on every stroke. Even with his mouth stuffed full he keeps making low, appreciative groans that melt Prowl's processor. He's not going to last much longer, especially not with Jazz starting to slide a finger inside him.
Prowl's whole frame locks up as Jazz crooks his finger, pressing into the thin wall between Prowl's valve and his transfluid secretory. It sends charge zapping straight up his spinal strut and he shudders, incoherent sounds pouring from his vocalizer.
"Got your sweet spot, Prowler." Jazz murmurs after he pulls off, dragging his fingertip along the same spot on his way out. Then he presses two fingers back into Prowl, skillfully sliding over internal nodes and that same sweet spot.
By the time Jazz finally wraps his lips around Prowl's spike again, Prowl is immediately gone. His vision whites out as he overloads, all feeling in his frame narrowing down to his molten hot array.
He comes back to himself slowly. Jazz is lowering him down from where he was suspended and removing the cuffs. He inspects Prowl's wrist plating for damage, humming sympathetically at the dents and warped cabling. Prowl hardly notices the small pain in the afterglow of his overload.
Jazz hefts Prowl into his arms. "Home now?"
"Mm-hm." Prowl mumbles, tucking his face against Jazz's shoulder.
"Alright, Prowl baby." Jazz easily carries him down a route of dark abandoned streets, obviously avoiding being seen.
Prowl just settles in and lets himself be carried away. Who knew that this game of chase would end with him as the one being caught?
Next time, they'll have to explore this ending even more thoroughly.