Still no name, but...
Aug. 26th, 2009 10:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceTitle: ((On the bright side, I have a tag))
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Jazz. Prowl.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz stared, optics wide behind his visor, faceplates completely horrified. On the berth sat a black and white tactician, looking a little bored, gaze directed away from the Porsche, who’d snuck into the med bay after spotting two other Datsuns being unceremoniously told to leave by Ratchet.
His gaze scanned the tactician from helm to pede, taking in the dents and scuff marks littering the chevroned mech’s frame. And specifically, the ugly looking scrapes right above where SIC’s spark chamber might lie. A distressed noise escaped his vocaliser as he stood there, unable to move or tear his visor away. The sound of his name being called made him start in surprise, and Prowl murmured his designation again, sounding alarmed at the lack of response.
“Jaaz? What are you doing here?”
He considered trying for a smile, and found he couldn’t quite manage it. So he shrugged, expression solemn, thankful that Prowl was one of the few bots that understood Jazz couldn’t be the perennially self-assured TIC at every second, and approached the berth, shakily reaching for a white hand.
“Saw Blue’ and Smokes being kicked out. And there’s only one reason they’d both be in here and aggravating our CMO to the point of making growly noises at Bluestreak. You okay?”
The Datsun frowned at Jazz as the Ops mech gripped his hand tightly, the visored mech’s lips pressed in a thin line, and replied, sounding completely puzzled. “I’m fine. Ratchet is insistent on monitoring my condition closely. He’s taking advantage of my presence to get in a few scans, hence my not leaving with my brothers.”
“… But you’re in here in the first place ‘cos of these, right?”
A black hand hesitantly traced over the tactician’s chestplates, the saboteur snatching his hand back when the other mech flinched at the contact. At Jazz’s panicked expression, Prowl was immediately soothing him. “It’s alright. Fresh repairs are always a little feedback-happy. And my sensor nets were already in overdrive anyway.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Jazz, you didn’t hurt me. It’s okay.”
The Ops mech’s hand hovered above the shallow gouges, now filled in but still unpainted, before he pulled it away again, letting it fall listlessly to the berth. Not meeting Prowl’s gaze, he castigated himself. “I didn’t stop this. I’m so sorry.”
The doorwinged mech blinked. Then his processors put two and two together and he sighed, bringing his free hand to Jazz’s helm, tilting it up so the mech’s visor was level with his own optics.
“Jazz. I got caught in one of Wheeljack’s accidents.”
It was the saboteur’s turn to reboot his optics, and Prowl removed his hand, smiling faintly.
“That’s all that happened. He’s already begged me for forgiveness, and is still pleading with Ratchet for mercy. From a safe distance, I imagine.”
Jazz sagged in relief, bowing his head over the pale digits he still held. The Datsun watched him for a moment, then spoke, tone hushed. “Jazz.”
“… Yeah?”
“Tell me about it?”
No need to ask what ‘it’ was. The Porsche’s visor flickered in shock, then dimmed when the tactician added a sparkfelt “Please.”
Realising that the tactician had been just as worried about him as Jazz had been about Prowl when he saw the SIC’s injuries, Jazz cycled air for a long moment, then looked away and explained.
“Look, it wasn’t what you’d think. He was my best friend. We’d grown up on the streets together, and we hit this at practically the same time. No creators, no older bot that gave enough of a damn to give us a heads up. We didn’t know what was happening, only that it felt good and it felt right, being with each other, so we didn’t question it.”
“We woke up afterwards in a little free clinic. A femme came in and got our story out of us, then told us we were lucky we hadn’t wound up spark bound. We’d been so gone we hadn’t been able to stop, but someone had found us locked together and pulled us apart before it happened.”
The Ops mech sighed again, optics dim with memory. Then the Porsche turned back to look at Prowl, smiling reassuringly at the other black and white. “So, y’see, I came out fine. Just like I told you. It wasn’t a bad experience, per se, but it should’ve been something better, for both him and me.”
Jazz started when Prowl leant his helm against the Ops mech’s and whispered a grateful thanks. He stroked the other mech’s back, murmuring quietly. “Nothing you need to thank me for, Prowler. M’sorry for making you think the worst.”
“My name is Prowl, Jazz.” The Datsun’s tone was firm, and the saboteur shook his head, trying to smile.
“You’ll always be Prowler to me.”
“You still insist on seeing me as a youngling?”
“Mech, not five days ago you were still a youngling. Or would have been considered as such, y’know, if we didn’t have this war going on and everything.”
“But we do have a war going on, and therefore I have not been a youngling for a long time.” The chevroned mech pointed out in a perfectly logical manner, and when the Porsche made to protest, he cut him off, sounding tired.
“Do you not respect me? My abilities? Or are you just ‘humouring the sparkling’ by being his ‘friend’ whenever you interact with me?”
“Wha- Prowler, no!”
“Prowler again.” The mech growled, and then Prowl was kissing him, making his systems stutter in shock and his cooling fans race to keep him from overheating. The doorwinged mech broke the kiss and spoke once more, voice low and fierce. “Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me that you don’t feel anything for me, that I’ve misread the situation and you.”
Jazz was silent, and the tactician smiled at the visored mech’s inability to say the words. As the Datsun brushed a thumb over the Porsche’s cheek, the visored mech murmured.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve botched this really badly before.”
“You won’t. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re so young.”
“I’ll wait, Jazz. Until you can see me as ‘Prowl’, and not ‘Prowler’. If you’ll let me.”
Jazz cycled air heavily, feeling his systems start to mutter under his friend's scrutiny. Visor lighting on the hand he still held, he brought it up to press his lip briefly against the pale digits. Prowl’s smile widened, the gesture all the answer he needed.
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Jazz. Prowl.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Jazz stared, optics wide behind his visor, faceplates completely horrified. On the berth sat a black and white tactician, looking a little bored, gaze directed away from the Porsche, who’d snuck into the med bay after spotting two other Datsuns being unceremoniously told to leave by Ratchet.
His gaze scanned the tactician from helm to pede, taking in the dents and scuff marks littering the chevroned mech’s frame. And specifically, the ugly looking scrapes right above where SIC’s spark chamber might lie. A distressed noise escaped his vocaliser as he stood there, unable to move or tear his visor away. The sound of his name being called made him start in surprise, and Prowl murmured his designation again, sounding alarmed at the lack of response.
“Jaaz? What are you doing here?”
He considered trying for a smile, and found he couldn’t quite manage it. So he shrugged, expression solemn, thankful that Prowl was one of the few bots that understood Jazz couldn’t be the perennially self-assured TIC at every second, and approached the berth, shakily reaching for a white hand.
“Saw Blue’ and Smokes being kicked out. And there’s only one reason they’d both be in here and aggravating our CMO to the point of making growly noises at Bluestreak. You okay?”
The Datsun frowned at Jazz as the Ops mech gripped his hand tightly, the visored mech’s lips pressed in a thin line, and replied, sounding completely puzzled. “I’m fine. Ratchet is insistent on monitoring my condition closely. He’s taking advantage of my presence to get in a few scans, hence my not leaving with my brothers.”
“… But you’re in here in the first place ‘cos of these, right?”
A black hand hesitantly traced over the tactician’s chestplates, the saboteur snatching his hand back when the other mech flinched at the contact. At Jazz’s panicked expression, Prowl was immediately soothing him. “It’s alright. Fresh repairs are always a little feedback-happy. And my sensor nets were already in overdrive anyway.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Jazz, you didn’t hurt me. It’s okay.”
The Ops mech’s hand hovered above the shallow gouges, now filled in but still unpainted, before he pulled it away again, letting it fall listlessly to the berth. Not meeting Prowl’s gaze, he castigated himself. “I didn’t stop this. I’m so sorry.”
The doorwinged mech blinked. Then his processors put two and two together and he sighed, bringing his free hand to Jazz’s helm, tilting it up so the mech’s visor was level with his own optics.
“Jazz. I got caught in one of Wheeljack’s accidents.”
It was the saboteur’s turn to reboot his optics, and Prowl removed his hand, smiling faintly.
“That’s all that happened. He’s already begged me for forgiveness, and is still pleading with Ratchet for mercy. From a safe distance, I imagine.”
Jazz sagged in relief, bowing his head over the pale digits he still held. The Datsun watched him for a moment, then spoke, tone hushed. “Jazz.”
“… Yeah?”
“Tell me about it?”
No need to ask what ‘it’ was. The Porsche’s visor flickered in shock, then dimmed when the tactician added a sparkfelt “Please.”
Realising that the tactician had been just as worried about him as Jazz had been about Prowl when he saw the SIC’s injuries, Jazz cycled air for a long moment, then looked away and explained.
“Look, it wasn’t what you’d think. He was my best friend. We’d grown up on the streets together, and we hit this at practically the same time. No creators, no older bot that gave enough of a damn to give us a heads up. We didn’t know what was happening, only that it felt good and it felt right, being with each other, so we didn’t question it.”
“We woke up afterwards in a little free clinic. A femme came in and got our story out of us, then told us we were lucky we hadn’t wound up spark bound. We’d been so gone we hadn’t been able to stop, but someone had found us locked together and pulled us apart before it happened.”
The Ops mech sighed again, optics dim with memory. Then the Porsche turned back to look at Prowl, smiling reassuringly at the other black and white. “So, y’see, I came out fine. Just like I told you. It wasn’t a bad experience, per se, but it should’ve been something better, for both him and me.”
Jazz started when Prowl leant his helm against the Ops mech’s and whispered a grateful thanks. He stroked the other mech’s back, murmuring quietly. “Nothing you need to thank me for, Prowler. M’sorry for making you think the worst.”
“My name is Prowl, Jazz.” The Datsun’s tone was firm, and the saboteur shook his head, trying to smile.
“You’ll always be Prowler to me.”
“You still insist on seeing me as a youngling?”
“Mech, not five days ago you were still a youngling. Or would have been considered as such, y’know, if we didn’t have this war going on and everything.”
“But we do have a war going on, and therefore I have not been a youngling for a long time.” The chevroned mech pointed out in a perfectly logical manner, and when the Porsche made to protest, he cut him off, sounding tired.
“Do you not respect me? My abilities? Or are you just ‘humouring the sparkling’ by being his ‘friend’ whenever you interact with me?”
“Wha- Prowler, no!”
“Prowler again.” The mech growled, and then Prowl was kissing him, making his systems stutter in shock and his cooling fans race to keep him from overheating. The doorwinged mech broke the kiss and spoke once more, voice low and fierce. “Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me that you don’t feel anything for me, that I’ve misread the situation and you.”
Jazz was silent, and the tactician smiled at the visored mech’s inability to say the words. As the Datsun brushed a thumb over the Porsche’s cheek, the visored mech murmured.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve botched this really badly before.”
“You won’t. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re so young.”
“I’ll wait, Jazz. Until you can see me as ‘Prowl’, and not ‘Prowler’. If you’ll let me.”
Jazz cycled air heavily, feeling his systems start to mutter under his friend's scrutiny. Visor lighting on the hand he still held, he brought it up to press his lip briefly against the pale digits. Prowl’s smile widened, the gesture all the answer he needed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 02:43 pm (UTC)I'm happy that Jazz's first time was not angsty, you had me worried on that.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 03:19 pm (UTC)Oops?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 02:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 03:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 03:01 pm (UTC)AWWW. Shy Jazz is shy. Also I do love a practical Sunny (and poor, poor Sides had his
brainprocessor thoroughly broken I see)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 03:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 05:34 pm (UTC)I wonder if Optimus knows just how youngs his SIC is and the Cons, can't forget about the jaw-dropping that is about to happen when they find out that the head-tactican of the Autobots has just become an adult now (Makes me wonder about the Seeker Programming regarding Sparklings that had popped up in other Fics... how would such Seekers react to the knowledge that they have shot at a youngling?)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 11:15 pm (UTC)Poor Wheeljack. Btw, does Optimus know that Prowl just reached maturity?
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-26 11:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-27 02:21 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-27 04:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-29 04:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-30 04:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-01 01:18 pm (UTC)