Other Worlds [Part 12]
Apr. 16th, 2009 12:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: Other Worlds [Part 12]
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz backed away from Prowl, and the tactician followed, moving so that the Ops mech was subtly herded away from his escape route. The Porsche glanced sideways at the now out of easy reach exit, and quirked a faint smile at the mech across from him. Prowl only shrugged back with a similar smile, before both grew sober once more.
Jazz took in the low set doors and recalled the roughened quality of a voice that was normally so even and controlled, cursing himself for being its cause. The visored mech beckoned the tactician nearer, taking one of Prowl’s hands as soon as the mech was close enough. “I’m sorry.”
Prowl shook his head. “I hurt you first.” The guilt in his response prompted Jazz to sigh.
“You didn’t mean to. You were helping him, and I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” His hold on the SIC’s hand tightened. “Slag, Prowl. You’re a good looking mech, so I thought wanting you was only natural, an extension of what we already had, y’know? The first time I realised how serious my feelings for you were, you were spark to spark with another bot.”
The Ops mech looked away, letting go of the chevroned mech at the same time. “Felt so stupid after that. And frag if all I could think of right after Jazz explained things to me was, why him? … Was I not good enough, or too undeserving, or just flat out annoying, only you never said anything because you were too slagging polite to? I’ve known you longer, we’ve needed each other’s help and comfort on more than one occasion, so why that Jazz and never me?”
The tactician shuttered his optics against the raw hurt, the faint tinge of uncertainty in Jazz’s words, then reached for the Porsche once more, trapping one black hand between his own pale ones.
“Because he wasn’t you.”
Prowl’s reply was quiet, but the words still sent a chill through Jazz’s spark. The Ops mech stiffened and began to pull away when the tactician continued. “I was scared of what a spark share with you might result in. Afraid that what you’d see would scare you away. The other Jazz, we had nothing to lose with each other, no prior relationship that was as precious to me.”
The saboteur sighed, musing out loud. “Y’know, if I’d just spoken to you about it, I’d have saved us both a lot of sparkache.”
“… You would have asked me about my interfacing with another mech, when you already had feelings for me.” The Porsche laughed at the Datsun’s incredulous expression.
“Yeah, okay, that does sound a little unbelievable.”
Prowl brought up one hand to the visored mech’s faceplates, gently tracing the cheek seam. Jazz looked quizzically at him, amusement still evident on his features.
“I missed this these past few days, seeing you smile for real. I’d wondered if something was troubling you.” A soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “And I call myself a tactician. I should have realised it sooner.”
The Porsche tentatively rested his free hand on the other mech’s hip as his smile widened. “Let’s just put it down to both of us not being at the top of our game, and leave it at that. Now,” Here Jazz glanced slyly at the Datsun, “Are you gonna kiss me, or do I have to ask?”
= = =
“… That’s so cute.” Sideswipe muttered, and his twin nodded in reply.
“I know. Seems a shame to interrupt.”
“But, we were asked to help.” The red mech sighed, and a jet twin chimed in.
“Yeah, wouldn’t be good to disregard orders.”
Sunstreaker gestured at the scene. “So, how should we…?”
“I have water balloons.” Another jet twin hefted one of the lurid, liquid filled objects, and the frontliner twins glanced at each other as a flame headed mech frowned.
“I dunno.”
“You deny the awesomeness of water balloons?”
“No, no.” Jetfire held up his hands in a placating manner before adding in an undertone. “Even if you are obsessed with them.”
“But bro, think of all the applications!”
“You realise we don’t have balloons on the ship, and won’t have any for a good long while?”
Unfazed by his twin’s logic, Jetstorm beamed. “S’why I talked to ‘Jack earlier. He’s agreed to produce some for me.”
“… Wicked.”
“Earth slang? You definitely watched too much TV here, brother dear.”
“Just ‘cos you’re not up to date-”
“Mechlings, not to interrupt, but our objective?” Sunstreaker cut in, sounding a little impatient.
“Right. Lemme get an image capture first, then we get to work.”
“They will never live it down.”
Sideswipe mused, and his companions grinned, one of them adding. “Red Alert’s gonna love this.”
And so the femme medic was soon presented with two sets of photographs. One of her apprentice snuggled into a group of recharging Protectobots, tucked securely amongst their numer, and another of those same mechs, lunging for the image taker, dripping wet with bits of colourful latex hanging off them, expressions practically screaming vengeful mischief.
She especially liked the next shot, where said sodden mechs were piled on top of the even more soaked jet twins and Sideswipe, grinning like demons, both First Aids flanking a Hot Spot claiming pride of place on top of the heap. Once she got her laughter under control, the medic smirked at her twins and the red Lamborgini (Sunstreaker was next to her, smirking along).
“Younglings, never get into a water fight with a fire truck.”
'Verse: G1 Transformers with a little TF:A
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz backed away from Prowl, and the tactician followed, moving so that the Ops mech was subtly herded away from his escape route. The Porsche glanced sideways at the now out of easy reach exit, and quirked a faint smile at the mech across from him. Prowl only shrugged back with a similar smile, before both grew sober once more.
Jazz took in the low set doors and recalled the roughened quality of a voice that was normally so even and controlled, cursing himself for being its cause. The visored mech beckoned the tactician nearer, taking one of Prowl’s hands as soon as the mech was close enough. “I’m sorry.”
Prowl shook his head. “I hurt you first.” The guilt in his response prompted Jazz to sigh.
“You didn’t mean to. You were helping him, and I was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” His hold on the SIC’s hand tightened. “Slag, Prowl. You’re a good looking mech, so I thought wanting you was only natural, an extension of what we already had, y’know? The first time I realised how serious my feelings for you were, you were spark to spark with another bot.”
The Ops mech looked away, letting go of the chevroned mech at the same time. “Felt so stupid after that. And frag if all I could think of right after Jazz explained things to me was, why him? … Was I not good enough, or too undeserving, or just flat out annoying, only you never said anything because you were too slagging polite to? I’ve known you longer, we’ve needed each other’s help and comfort on more than one occasion, so why that Jazz and never me?”
The tactician shuttered his optics against the raw hurt, the faint tinge of uncertainty in Jazz’s words, then reached for the Porsche once more, trapping one black hand between his own pale ones.
“Because he wasn’t you.”
Prowl’s reply was quiet, but the words still sent a chill through Jazz’s spark. The Ops mech stiffened and began to pull away when the tactician continued. “I was scared of what a spark share with you might result in. Afraid that what you’d see would scare you away. The other Jazz, we had nothing to lose with each other, no prior relationship that was as precious to me.”
The saboteur sighed, musing out loud. “Y’know, if I’d just spoken to you about it, I’d have saved us both a lot of sparkache.”
“… You would have asked me about my interfacing with another mech, when you already had feelings for me.” The Porsche laughed at the Datsun’s incredulous expression.
“Yeah, okay, that does sound a little unbelievable.”
Prowl brought up one hand to the visored mech’s faceplates, gently tracing the cheek seam. Jazz looked quizzically at him, amusement still evident on his features.
“I missed this these past few days, seeing you smile for real. I’d wondered if something was troubling you.” A soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “And I call myself a tactician. I should have realised it sooner.”
The Porsche tentatively rested his free hand on the other mech’s hip as his smile widened. “Let’s just put it down to both of us not being at the top of our game, and leave it at that. Now,” Here Jazz glanced slyly at the Datsun, “Are you gonna kiss me, or do I have to ask?”
= = =
“… That’s so cute.” Sideswipe muttered, and his twin nodded in reply.
“I know. Seems a shame to interrupt.”
“But, we were asked to help.” The red mech sighed, and a jet twin chimed in.
“Yeah, wouldn’t be good to disregard orders.”
Sunstreaker gestured at the scene. “So, how should we…?”
“I have water balloons.” Another jet twin hefted one of the lurid, liquid filled objects, and the frontliner twins glanced at each other as a flame headed mech frowned.
“I dunno.”
“You deny the awesomeness of water balloons?”
“No, no.” Jetfire held up his hands in a placating manner before adding in an undertone. “Even if you are obsessed with them.”
“But bro, think of all the applications!”
“You realise we don’t have balloons on the ship, and won’t have any for a good long while?”
Unfazed by his twin’s logic, Jetstorm beamed. “S’why I talked to ‘Jack earlier. He’s agreed to produce some for me.”
“… Wicked.”
“Earth slang? You definitely watched too much TV here, brother dear.”
“Just ‘cos you’re not up to date-”
“Mechlings, not to interrupt, but our objective?” Sunstreaker cut in, sounding a little impatient.
“Right. Lemme get an image capture first, then we get to work.”
“They will never live it down.”
Sideswipe mused, and his companions grinned, one of them adding. “Red Alert’s gonna love this.”
And so the femme medic was soon presented with two sets of photographs. One of her apprentice snuggled into a group of recharging Protectobots, tucked securely amongst their numer, and another of those same mechs, lunging for the image taker, dripping wet with bits of colourful latex hanging off them, expressions practically screaming vengeful mischief.
She especially liked the next shot, where said sodden mechs were piled on top of the even more soaked jet twins and Sideswipe, grinning like demons, both First Aids flanking a Hot Spot claiming pride of place on top of the heap. Once she got her laughter under control, the medic smirked at her twins and the red Lamborgini (Sunstreaker was next to her, smirking along).
“Younglings, never get into a water fight with a fire truck.”
