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ante_luceTitle: Heat (Or, How to drive your brothers to drink in 10 easy steps) [Chapter 10 - End]
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Prowl’s door proved no obstacle to a panicked Jazz, barely slowing the saboteur down. The strangely heady air of the room drew little notice. The heat, even less. What he saw upon entering the SIC’s office, however, stopped him completely.
= = =
He left his office darkened, not bothering to turn on the main lights. It wasn’t as if he had company, to require such niceties. Leaning against his desk, optics dim as he rubbed a hand over his face, Prowl exhaled abruptly, the sound seeming to echo in the suddenly too small room. He glanced down at himself, contemplating his current situation.
His lock would keep most of the crew out, and of the ones who wouldn’t be deterred (or hindered) by the barrier, his brothers had been held off by a suitably irritable reply (as determined as he was to ride this out with as little disruption as possible, there were still some things that couldn’t be completely ignored) to their now standard ‘are you okay, where are you?’ comms, Ratchet was likely still occupied with his lecture, Optimus couldn’t be made to stay in his vicinity for long, and Jazz… Jazz was the same way.
So, really. He had all the privacy a mech could need to deal with this. He might as well take his time.
The Datsun slowly caressed his frame, dimming his optics further in the process. Coupled with the already weak lighting of his office, maybe he could pretend the hands touching him were not his own.
= = =
For a long moment the Porsche just stood there, watching the tactician’s unconscious little show, cataloguing the spots that made the other mech’s intakes hitch, filing them away in his CPU for further contemplation.
Prowl’s darkened optics flicked completely off just as the tactician traced an outline around the red triangle on his abdomen, the mech tilting his helm back to sigh a name that had Jazz making his move, silently crossing the room to stop the Datsun’s hand, then kiss the SIC’s stunned expression.
= = =
His optics flashed back online, bright with shock, a glowing visor occupying his immediate field of vision. Caught off guard, Prowl whispered Jazz’s name again as the Ops head leant in to kiss his parted lips, systems heating up with more than just embarrassment when Jazz decided to prolong that particular gesture.
Once he seemed to consider the tactician’s mouth properly ravaged, the saboteur turned his attentions elsewhere, laying brief, light kisses over cables and plating. The SIC’s vents stuttered as he shuddered under the assault, intakes gasping for air. The Porsche then ceased his ministrations, obviously trying to reign himself in.
“Are you going to leave now?”
The saboteur shook has head at Prowl’s resigned sounding question, pressing his lip plates briefly to the tactician’s chevron, trailing them down to kiss the mech once more before responding. “Only if you want me to.”
The Datsun claimed another kiss, murmuring quietly. “Does that answer your question?”
“Mm. Could you repeat that? I’m terrible…”
“At least you’re honest about it.” The chevroned mech muttered, and the Ops mech snickered, continuing his reply with a faint grin, punctuating it with more kisses.
“Terrible at paying attention to answers. ‘Specially when the bot… giving them… is so distracting.”
Prowl raised an optic ridge, and his next words were almost sly. “Is that so? Then I suppose I’ll have to make very sure you know what my answer is.”
The Porsche groaned when white hands slid over his plating, consigning his attempt at maintaining any sort of control to the Pit. Snagging the Datsun’s hands again, the saboteur panted. “Mech, stop.”
Doorwings flicked back in hesitation, and Jazz squeezed the other mech’s fingers reassuringly. “I’m not running this time, I swear. Just wanna do this properly. Your first is not happening in your fragging office. Your brothers will kill me, and you spend way too much time in here as it is already.”
The SIC huffed air in amusement, and allowed himself to be pulled upright from his desk, and then out the door.
= = =
Jazz woke to a gentle touch tracing over his faceplates, onlining his optics to see Prowl watching him, expression thoughtful as he dropped his hand and pulled back slightly.
“So… I didn’t imagine you.” The Ops mech winced at the remark. He’d deserved that.
“If you did, then I like the way you think. Pit of an imagination you’ve got there.” His attempt at lightening the mood didn’t get very far, the tactician smirked at him, smug, but then returned to his previous solemnity.
“Why did you break into my office?”
“Blame Tracks. He got me thinking you were in trouble.” And that was probably the wrong thing to say to the tactician, because the chevroned mech shifted back even further, putting more space between them.
“Was this about protecting ‘Prowler’?”
The Porsche sat up to look at the other black and white, tone uncharacteristically serious. “It wasn’t.”
The doubtful glance he got in return made him turn away before he spoke again, quiet and low. “It’s about how you make my systems go haywire when you smile at me and my spark go cold whenever you’re hurt. It’s about how much I want Prowl. And it scares me how much I want you because I’ve never lost this much control before. Well… Not since. And not after.”
The SIC shifted, sitting up also, reaching for Jazz just as the saboteur did the same. The visored mech chuckled briefly, looking at their joined hands. There was a long pause before the Datsun said anything.
“Then, do you want me to leave you alone?”
Another long pause, and the Porsche replied.
“Only if you want to.”
His sudden pinning against his berth (coupled with acquisition of one doorwinged mech in his lap, carrying out said pinning) had Jazz rebooting his visor at Prowl in confusion. The tactician sighed, then bent lower to murmur into the Porsche’s audio.
“You really are terrible at paying attention to my answers, Jazz.”
The Ops mech blinked, then laughed, the sound cutting off with a strangled moan as the SIC set to work.
“Fortunately for you, in this particular case, I find I don’t mind repeating myself.”
= = = EndFic = = =
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
Prowl’s door proved no obstacle to a panicked Jazz, barely slowing the saboteur down. The strangely heady air of the room drew little notice. The heat, even less. What he saw upon entering the SIC’s office, however, stopped him completely.
= = =
He left his office darkened, not bothering to turn on the main lights. It wasn’t as if he had company, to require such niceties. Leaning against his desk, optics dim as he rubbed a hand over his face, Prowl exhaled abruptly, the sound seeming to echo in the suddenly too small room. He glanced down at himself, contemplating his current situation.
His lock would keep most of the crew out, and of the ones who wouldn’t be deterred (or hindered) by the barrier, his brothers had been held off by a suitably irritable reply (as determined as he was to ride this out with as little disruption as possible, there were still some things that couldn’t be completely ignored) to their now standard ‘are you okay, where are you?’ comms, Ratchet was likely still occupied with his lecture, Optimus couldn’t be made to stay in his vicinity for long, and Jazz… Jazz was the same way.
So, really. He had all the privacy a mech could need to deal with this. He might as well take his time.
The Datsun slowly caressed his frame, dimming his optics further in the process. Coupled with the already weak lighting of his office, maybe he could pretend the hands touching him were not his own.
= = =
For a long moment the Porsche just stood there, watching the tactician’s unconscious little show, cataloguing the spots that made the other mech’s intakes hitch, filing them away in his CPU for further contemplation.
Prowl’s darkened optics flicked completely off just as the tactician traced an outline around the red triangle on his abdomen, the mech tilting his helm back to sigh a name that had Jazz making his move, silently crossing the room to stop the Datsun’s hand, then kiss the SIC’s stunned expression.
= = =
His optics flashed back online, bright with shock, a glowing visor occupying his immediate field of vision. Caught off guard, Prowl whispered Jazz’s name again as the Ops head leant in to kiss his parted lips, systems heating up with more than just embarrassment when Jazz decided to prolong that particular gesture.
Once he seemed to consider the tactician’s mouth properly ravaged, the saboteur turned his attentions elsewhere, laying brief, light kisses over cables and plating. The SIC’s vents stuttered as he shuddered under the assault, intakes gasping for air. The Porsche then ceased his ministrations, obviously trying to reign himself in.
“Are you going to leave now?”
The saboteur shook has head at Prowl’s resigned sounding question, pressing his lip plates briefly to the tactician’s chevron, trailing them down to kiss the mech once more before responding. “Only if you want me to.”
The Datsun claimed another kiss, murmuring quietly. “Does that answer your question?”
“Mm. Could you repeat that? I’m terrible…”
“At least you’re honest about it.” The chevroned mech muttered, and the Ops mech snickered, continuing his reply with a faint grin, punctuating it with more kisses.
“Terrible at paying attention to answers. ‘Specially when the bot… giving them… is so distracting.”
Prowl raised an optic ridge, and his next words were almost sly. “Is that so? Then I suppose I’ll have to make very sure you know what my answer is.”
The Porsche groaned when white hands slid over his plating, consigning his attempt at maintaining any sort of control to the Pit. Snagging the Datsun’s hands again, the saboteur panted. “Mech, stop.”
Doorwings flicked back in hesitation, and Jazz squeezed the other mech’s fingers reassuringly. “I’m not running this time, I swear. Just wanna do this properly. Your first is not happening in your fragging office. Your brothers will kill me, and you spend way too much time in here as it is already.”
The SIC huffed air in amusement, and allowed himself to be pulled upright from his desk, and then out the door.
= = =
Jazz woke to a gentle touch tracing over his faceplates, onlining his optics to see Prowl watching him, expression thoughtful as he dropped his hand and pulled back slightly.
“So… I didn’t imagine you.” The Ops mech winced at the remark. He’d deserved that.
“If you did, then I like the way you think. Pit of an imagination you’ve got there.” His attempt at lightening the mood didn’t get very far, the tactician smirked at him, smug, but then returned to his previous solemnity.
“Why did you break into my office?”
“Blame Tracks. He got me thinking you were in trouble.” And that was probably the wrong thing to say to the tactician, because the chevroned mech shifted back even further, putting more space between them.
“Was this about protecting ‘Prowler’?”
The Porsche sat up to look at the other black and white, tone uncharacteristically serious. “It wasn’t.”
The doubtful glance he got in return made him turn away before he spoke again, quiet and low. “It’s about how you make my systems go haywire when you smile at me and my spark go cold whenever you’re hurt. It’s about how much I want Prowl. And it scares me how much I want you because I’ve never lost this much control before. Well… Not since. And not after.”
The SIC shifted, sitting up also, reaching for Jazz just as the saboteur did the same. The visored mech chuckled briefly, looking at their joined hands. There was a long pause before the Datsun said anything.
“Then, do you want me to leave you alone?”
Another long pause, and the Porsche replied.
“Only if you want to.”
His sudden pinning against his berth (coupled with acquisition of one doorwinged mech in his lap, carrying out said pinning) had Jazz rebooting his visor at Prowl in confusion. The tactician sighed, then bent lower to murmur into the Porsche’s audio.
“You really are terrible at paying attention to my answers, Jazz.”
The Ops mech blinked, then laughed, the sound cutting off with a strangled moan as the SIC set to work.
“Fortunately for you, in this particular case, I find I don’t mind repeating myself.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 05:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 05:30 pm (UTC)I'm glad Prowl got his first time with the mech he wanted and that Jazz didn't run this time.
Thank you for writing such a sweet story
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 05:50 pm (UTC)I loved it! Jazz is such a gentleman....mech...whatever.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 05:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 06:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 10:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-19 11:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 02:06 am (UTC)I love when Jazz and Prowl find their balance.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 04:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 04:36 am (UTC)And awesome last line there, heh heh. Sweet and fun ^_^
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 07:14 am (UTC)Pay attention, Jazz! LOL! <33333333
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 07:19 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 07:49 am (UTC)-Jenn
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-20 05:53 pm (UTC)But at least he's finally there, and I love how he's not paying attention and must have reminders of his lessons.
Wonderful finish to the story, BTW!
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-21 08:07 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-22 12:24 pm (UTC)Love the unintentional seduction, and Jazz being wary of the protective older brothers.
Btw, are Sides and Sunny out of the dog house yet?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2009-09-30 09:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-09 05:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
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