Further Methods of Persuasion
Oct. 9th, 2008 03:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceThe first line of this just didn't want to leave me alone, hence... ^^;;
Title: Further Methods of Persuasion
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Jazz/Prowl/Optimus
Warnings: No smut (Is this even eligible as a warning?).
“Prime. They’re flirting with you. For the love of Primus, flirt back.”
“Wha?”
Ironhide would have rolled his optics if he could. As such, he merely grumbled something indistinct about oblivious mechs and their thick processors, then grabbed his Commander’s arm and dragged him into the nearest empty meeting room.
“Prowl and Jazz have been all but throwing themselves into your lap. Are you seeing them romantically or not?”
“Wha- You- Eh?”
“Prowl’s jumped you. Jazz’s jumped you. I think that means it’s your turn.”
The Prime’s CPU stalled. Again. Ironhide restrained himself from cuffing the mech upside the helm. Pit knows, the bot had slow enough processors as it was. Pit, even Prowl had eventually realised Jazz was coming on to him relatively quickly.
“Yes, I know the three of you have ‘gotten busy’, to use the euphemism. How I know? It’s not hard to figure out when Prowl, of all mechs, is smiling in the middle of his fragging paperwork, and Jazz is humming and bouncing practically non-stop. Normally, this means they’ve fried each other’s circuits recently, however, this time, you’ve been acting the same, especially around those two, and all three of you are making goo goo eyes at each other, which is disturbing on a whole ‘nother level, mind you. Which can only mean they fried your circuits at the same time.”
Optimus shuttered his optics briefly in the equivalent of a blink. So he hadn’t been going crazy. They really were putting special emphasis on the words ‘my Prime’ and ‘Optimus’.
Jazz had been singing ‘Honey honey, touch me baby, uh huh’ nearly non-stop around him for a reason.
And Prowl had stretched out lithely (and in an attractively distracting manner, coupled with a Look) in front of his not-unappreciative optics on purpose, not just to ease stiff cables and servos.
And both had been brushing against him more often, were nibbling and/or mouthing the ends of data stylers, making what he now realised were suggestive comments, and had been caught by him in perfectly innocent, yet processor entertaining positions throughout the last week, no… month.
… He really needed to see Ratchet about a processor tune up if it took him this long to twig on to things.
“So. Go get them before they take really drastic action. Because I don’t want to get caught in the fall out. I’m mentally scarred enough as it is.”
“Thank you, Ironhide. I’ll look into it.” Processor occupied with plans, Optimus left the room and wandered somewhat distractedly to his office. Ironhide cycled air exasperatedly, and glanced at the grinning visage of one Special Ops Head, peeking into the room.
“Thanks ‘Hide. Owe ya one.”
“Thank Primus you two help run the Autobots. I can’t do this on my own.”
“Heh. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a tactician to go fetch so we can get laid. Finally.”
“No overshare!”
“Yessir!” And with a snicker, Ironhide was left alone again.
“Fragging hormonal younglings.”
Title: Further Methods of Persuasion
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Jazz/Prowl/Optimus
Warnings: No smut (Is this even eligible as a warning?).
“Prime. They’re flirting with you. For the love of Primus, flirt back.”
“Wha?”
Ironhide would have rolled his optics if he could. As such, he merely grumbled something indistinct about oblivious mechs and their thick processors, then grabbed his Commander’s arm and dragged him into the nearest empty meeting room.
“Prowl and Jazz have been all but throwing themselves into your lap. Are you seeing them romantically or not?”
“Wha- You- Eh?”
“Prowl’s jumped you. Jazz’s jumped you. I think that means it’s your turn.”
The Prime’s CPU stalled. Again. Ironhide restrained himself from cuffing the mech upside the helm. Pit knows, the bot had slow enough processors as it was. Pit, even Prowl had eventually realised Jazz was coming on to him relatively quickly.
“Yes, I know the three of you have ‘gotten busy’, to use the euphemism. How I know? It’s not hard to figure out when Prowl, of all mechs, is smiling in the middle of his fragging paperwork, and Jazz is humming and bouncing practically non-stop. Normally, this means they’ve fried each other’s circuits recently, however, this time, you’ve been acting the same, especially around those two, and all three of you are making goo goo eyes at each other, which is disturbing on a whole ‘nother level, mind you. Which can only mean they fried your circuits at the same time.”
Optimus shuttered his optics briefly in the equivalent of a blink. So he hadn’t been going crazy. They really were putting special emphasis on the words ‘my Prime’ and ‘Optimus’.
Jazz had been singing ‘Honey honey, touch me baby, uh huh’ nearly non-stop around him for a reason.
And Prowl had stretched out lithely (and in an attractively distracting manner, coupled with a Look) in front of his not-unappreciative optics on purpose, not just to ease stiff cables and servos.
And both had been brushing against him more often, were nibbling and/or mouthing the ends of data stylers, making what he now realised were suggestive comments, and had been caught by him in perfectly innocent, yet processor entertaining positions throughout the last week, no… month.
… He really needed to see Ratchet about a processor tune up if it took him this long to twig on to things.
“So. Go get them before they take really drastic action. Because I don’t want to get caught in the fall out. I’m mentally scarred enough as it is.”
“Thank you, Ironhide. I’ll look into it.” Processor occupied with plans, Optimus left the room and wandered somewhat distractedly to his office. Ironhide cycled air exasperatedly, and glanced at the grinning visage of one Special Ops Head, peeking into the room.
“Thanks ‘Hide. Owe ya one.”
“Thank Primus you two help run the Autobots. I can’t do this on my own.”
“Heh. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a tactician to go fetch so we can get laid. Finally.”
“No overshare!”
“Yessir!” And with a snicker, Ironhide was left alone again.
“Fragging hormonal younglings.”
