Alternate Methods of Dissuasion
Oct. 11th, 2008 08:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceBecause my mind went there. A 'how it could have gone'.
Title: Alternate Methods of Dissuasion
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Jazz/Prowl/Optimus
Warnings: ... Unhappiness?
The Ark was in a state of excitement. Finally, they had contact with Cybertron, and word was that a detachment of bots were on their way to Earth. The crew were eager for news, any news, from home, and many were hoping to hear from old friends, lovers, even mere acquaintances.
Ironhide was all smiles, having heard (and confirmed) that a certain femme was onboard, and that said femme had gotten onboard by staring down some other mech with the business end of a BFG. Optimus too, had looked rather pleased with the news, saying that the reinforcements would be very welcome.
Therefore, it was not unexpected that no one would notice their Second and Third in Command withdrawing from them, spending more time together, going quiet whenever the coming arrival was brought up, or when crew members speculated on who would be on the ship. Prowl had always been rather aloof, and Jazz was more than capable of putting on a front.
What was unexpected, though still unnoticed, was that their Commander was also acting strange, and had been ever since he’d found out who was arriving. Unnoticed by most of the crew, that is.
“Prime. Go and talk to them.”
At the questioning look, Ironhide did finally reach the end of his restraint and whapped Optimus on the helm. As the dazed mech’s optics rebooted, his friend leant over and growled.
“They’re miserable. You’re miserable. And avoiding each other. The rest of the crew may have no idea you’re together, but I’m not about to let you slag up something that’s made you three happier than I can remember seeing. At least bring this to a merciful finish instead of drawing it out.”
“I can’t catch either of them when they don’t want to be caught.”
“Y’can now. They’re in their quarters. Checked the security feeds. They haven’t left yet.”
“… Thank you, Ironhide.”
“Optimus.”
“Yes?”
“Frag this up, and I will be very unhappy with you, got that?”
“Yes Ironhide.”
“Good.”
=======================================
“Jazz, Prowl?” The pair glanced up in surprise, not having expected anyone to come looking for them. Their Commander stood in the doorway of the two mechs’ shared quarters, facemask withdrawn and concern writ all over his faceplates. Optimus took in his lovers’ tense posture, and the way they sat close together on one of the berths, a white hand holding a black one, both seeking comfort in the shared contact.
As their optics met, Optimus knew they’d realised the ramifications of the passenger list of the incoming ship, and had predicted what he’d come to speak to them about.
Jazz tried to smile, and didn’t quite pull it off. Dropping the attempt he glanced down at his and Prowl’s entwined hands and said softly. “Hi Optimus.”
He cycled air resignedly, and strode into the room, coming down into a crouch in front of his black and whites, taking their joined hands into his own, feeling the nervous quality of the grip.
“I’m sorry.” It hurt to see them like this.
Prowl spoke then, tone not as even as it normally was, though Optimus was sure the average crew member wouldn’t be able to tell. “You had no way of knowing, sir.”
He knew that the mech was trying to make this easier. But… Prowl’s term of address for him. Neither mech had called him sir in private, except in jest or in play, after they’d gotten together.
“I thought she was dead. It’s been so long.” His wretchedness was plain to see, and both the tactician and saboteur placed their free hands over his, offering what comfort they could, while they were still allowed. Jazz spoke then, still not looking at him.
“She was your intended, before we left in search of energon sources.”
When he didn’t say anything to that, the mech continued, though the words seemed to pain him.
“She loves you too. You wouldn’t be Optimus Prime if you didn’t go back to her.”
His Spark shrieked denials, but all he could do was stare at their hands, still holding on to each other.
Sadly, he brought them up to his lips for a tender, final kiss. “My beloveds. I am yours and yours alone, mind, chassis and Spark. Please never forget that.”
The pair looked up at him now, optics clearly questioning.
“I once loved her. And I go to her when she arrives because she does not know otherwise.”
His Second and Third stared at him in shock, expressions faintly disbelieving.
“Prowl. Jazz. I love you both. Elita One coming to Earth will not change that.”
Jazz was the first to move, tugging his hand away from their shared grip to trace along his Prime’s helm, then pull it down to press his forehead against Optimus’s, optics shuttered, air intakes shuddering in as near a sob as he could muster. Prowl wrapped an arm about the saboteur as the Prime gathered both into an embrace, softly murmuring words of apology. A final touch, a farewell of sorts, and they let him go once more.
Standing, he stared at them, seeing but not seeing for a while more. Prowl rose next, having answered the comm. message from Ironhide both other mechs had ignored. Tone once more formal and distant, without even the gentle affection in his optics he’d once given his Commander, he spoke.
“Sir, we need to get going. They’re here.”
Title: Alternate Methods of Dissuasion
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Jazz/Prowl/Optimus
Warnings: ... Unhappiness?
The Ark was in a state of excitement. Finally, they had contact with Cybertron, and word was that a detachment of bots were on their way to Earth. The crew were eager for news, any news, from home, and many were hoping to hear from old friends, lovers, even mere acquaintances.
Ironhide was all smiles, having heard (and confirmed) that a certain femme was onboard, and that said femme had gotten onboard by staring down some other mech with the business end of a BFG. Optimus too, had looked rather pleased with the news, saying that the reinforcements would be very welcome.
Therefore, it was not unexpected that no one would notice their Second and Third in Command withdrawing from them, spending more time together, going quiet whenever the coming arrival was brought up, or when crew members speculated on who would be on the ship. Prowl had always been rather aloof, and Jazz was more than capable of putting on a front.
What was unexpected, though still unnoticed, was that their Commander was also acting strange, and had been ever since he’d found out who was arriving. Unnoticed by most of the crew, that is.
“Prime. Go and talk to them.”
At the questioning look, Ironhide did finally reach the end of his restraint and whapped Optimus on the helm. As the dazed mech’s optics rebooted, his friend leant over and growled.
“They’re miserable. You’re miserable. And avoiding each other. The rest of the crew may have no idea you’re together, but I’m not about to let you slag up something that’s made you three happier than I can remember seeing. At least bring this to a merciful finish instead of drawing it out.”
“I can’t catch either of them when they don’t want to be caught.”
“Y’can now. They’re in their quarters. Checked the security feeds. They haven’t left yet.”
“… Thank you, Ironhide.”
“Optimus.”
“Yes?”
“Frag this up, and I will be very unhappy with you, got that?”
“Yes Ironhide.”
“Good.”
“Jazz, Prowl?” The pair glanced up in surprise, not having expected anyone to come looking for them. Their Commander stood in the doorway of the two mechs’ shared quarters, facemask withdrawn and concern writ all over his faceplates. Optimus took in his lovers’ tense posture, and the way they sat close together on one of the berths, a white hand holding a black one, both seeking comfort in the shared contact.
As their optics met, Optimus knew they’d realised the ramifications of the passenger list of the incoming ship, and had predicted what he’d come to speak to them about.
Jazz tried to smile, and didn’t quite pull it off. Dropping the attempt he glanced down at his and Prowl’s entwined hands and said softly. “Hi Optimus.”
He cycled air resignedly, and strode into the room, coming down into a crouch in front of his black and whites, taking their joined hands into his own, feeling the nervous quality of the grip.
“I’m sorry.” It hurt to see them like this.
Prowl spoke then, tone not as even as it normally was, though Optimus was sure the average crew member wouldn’t be able to tell. “You had no way of knowing, sir.”
He knew that the mech was trying to make this easier. But… Prowl’s term of address for him. Neither mech had called him sir in private, except in jest or in play, after they’d gotten together.
“I thought she was dead. It’s been so long.” His wretchedness was plain to see, and both the tactician and saboteur placed their free hands over his, offering what comfort they could, while they were still allowed. Jazz spoke then, still not looking at him.
“She was your intended, before we left in search of energon sources.”
When he didn’t say anything to that, the mech continued, though the words seemed to pain him.
“She loves you too. You wouldn’t be Optimus Prime if you didn’t go back to her.”
His Spark shrieked denials, but all he could do was stare at their hands, still holding on to each other.
Sadly, he brought them up to his lips for a tender, final kiss. “My beloveds. I am yours and yours alone, mind, chassis and Spark. Please never forget that.”
The pair looked up at him now, optics clearly questioning.
“I once loved her. And I go to her when she arrives because she does not know otherwise.”
His Second and Third stared at him in shock, expressions faintly disbelieving.
“Prowl. Jazz. I love you both. Elita One coming to Earth will not change that.”
Jazz was the first to move, tugging his hand away from their shared grip to trace along his Prime’s helm, then pull it down to press his forehead against Optimus’s, optics shuttered, air intakes shuddering in as near a sob as he could muster. Prowl wrapped an arm about the saboteur as the Prime gathered both into an embrace, softly murmuring words of apology. A final touch, a farewell of sorts, and they let him go once more.
Standing, he stared at them, seeing but not seeing for a while more. Prowl rose next, having answered the comm. message from Ironhide both other mechs had ignored. Tone once more formal and distant, without even the gentle affection in his optics he’d once given his Commander, he spoke.
“Sir, we need to get going. They’re here.”
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Date: 2008-10-12 06:14 pm (UTC)