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“So… you and Prowl…” Bumblebee began. Jazz paused mid-sip of energon. He pulled his glass away from his mouth and furrowed his optic ridge.
“What about me and Prowl?” He asked. Bumblebee tilted his helm, like the answer had surprised him.
“I was just wondering if you two were… you know?” Bumblebee smiled sheepishly. “But I get it if you’re keeping it under wraps, I mean we are at war—”
Jazz raised his hand to stop Bumblebee. His processor was barely functioning enough to understand what the bot was saying. He hadn’t expected his subordinate and good friend to bring up his long-standing crush—especially like that.
“No Bee, Prowler ‘nd I aren’t together. Why did ya even think that?”
“It’s just not me, half the bots on base think so too! You two have been extra close for the last few deca-cycles. When you aren’t working—and half the time when you are—you’re together.” Bumblebee paused, then looked at Jazz like he was considering if he was stupid. “AND you've been flirting with Prowl.”
“I flirt with everybody, mech.” Jazz said. “Don’t mean I or the other bot got any real interest in each other—” as much as he wished it did. “And I spend all that time with Prowl because we’re both commanders.” Bumblebee looked like he was going to explode.
“Jazz, you're a spy, the best saboteur among the Autobots. How haven’t you noticed Prowl flirting back?”
Jazz went to refute, but he froze. Prowl? Flirting? Surely that wasn’t true. Prowl would never—well at least not blatantly. Maybe in his own way, like gifting Jazz human objects that he thought he’d like or sharing his Energon ration when they were low a few months back.
Jazz stood up from his desk abruptly. “Bee, we’ll finish talkin’ later.” He was at the door by the time Bumblebee reacted.
“Where are you going?”
“To have a chat with Prowler.”
“I want to be Best Mech!” Bumblebee called after him. Jazz ignored him as he practically ran down the hall. Prowl’s office wasn’t too far, but his systems kicked into active gear by the time he arrived. He didn’t even knock, just opened the door.
He came face to face—well face to chest, Prime’s a big fellow—with Optimus, who was in the doorway, presumably about to exit when Jazz barged in. Jazz stopped himself a few inches from the Prime’s plating.
“Jazz, is something wrong?” He asked, with his gentle, rumbling voice. His blue optics were narrowed in Jazz’s state. Jazz shook his head and stepped back.
“Oh no, Op. Just wanted to see my pal Prowler.” He said, trying to keep his EMF in check. “But I can go if you're busy.”
Optimus shook his head. “No friend, I was on my way out.” He looked back to Prowl, who hadn’t moved from his position behind his desk. “Thank you for your insight, Prowl. I’ll be taking my leave.”
Prowl nodded and the Prime exited the office. When the door shut, and Jazz was sure Prime was a few steps away, he snapped his attention to Prowl.
“You like me.” Jazz accused. Prowl looked up from his datapad. His optics met Jazz’s.
“I have for meta-cycles, nice of you to notice.”
“Wha—Why didn’t ya say anything?” Jazz felt his spark flare. Meta-cycles? He hadn’t noticed this for meta-cycles?
“I’ve been dropping hints. You are a spy, I expect you to be adept at reading bots.” Prowl said. He sat down on his datapad and leaned back in his chair. While not the largest bot around, Prowl's black and white frame had a presence of authority that was bolstered by his calm demeanor.
Jazz was used to playing mind games—slag, it was his job after all—and he recognized Prowl’s movement had shifted him into emotional control of the situation. I’m unimpressed, it read. Jazz was unusually irritated by Prowl’s powerplay.
He brought both of his servos down on Prowl’s desk with a quiet but forceful thump. Jazz leaned on the desk and towards him.
“I try not to make a habit of using my skills on our friends, Prowler.” Prowl raised his optic ridge.
“That's a blatant lie. You do it all the time. In fact, I’ve seen you do it for fun.”
“Not with ya!” Jazz snapped. Prowl’s doorwings shot up in what Jazz guessed was bewilderment. “You’re a private bot, Prowl, I respect that. At most I track ya body language to keep a pulse on your mood.” Jazz crossed his arms. “The rest? I’m content with picking up on whatever you want to share with me. I like when ya tell me things, or share them through your field. It makes me—”
Jazz stopped. An ounce of embarrassment was caught in his vocalizer. Prowl watched him intently, doorwings still raised stiffly. He leaned forward in his chair to bring them closer. Their faceplates ended a mere few inches away from each other, and Jazz could see the flicker of Prowl’s ATS shutting on and off.
“It makes you what, Jazz?” He vented deeply. The question felt like a gun to his spark.
“It makes me feel special, alright?” Jazz hated how pathetic he sounded. “I steal secrets for a living. I steal ‘em from the Deceptions’ to give us the edge. I steal ‘em for the other Autobots’ to make sure I know how to keep them safe.”
“But I don’t steal from you. I don’t have too. You give me secrets—and that’s special, because ya almost never elaborate on anything unless it’s necessary to. And I like that, it makes me feel like I’m special to you. The way you are to me.” He stared at the plain wall of Prowl’s office. “But spyin’ on ya cheapens it, so I don’t.”
Jazz vented again and focused back in on Prowl’s faceplate, which was characteristically neutral.
“You don’t spy on me.” Prowl said. His voice rang flat. Jazz pressed a servo over his visor and laughed disbelievingly.
“That's what you're choosing to focus on?” Jazz huffed. “I just sorta poured my spark out to ya, Prowler.”
“Jazz. Shut up.” He said. Jazz pulled his servo away. Something clicked in his processor.
“Wait, you’ve been flirtin’ with me this whole time and didn’t think to change tactics when it wasn’t working?” Jazz leaned a little closer at Prowl, but he looked away.
“For the longest time, I assumed you noticed and were uninterested.” Prowl said.
Jazz’s spark ached. “Oh Prowler,” He drew a knee onto the desk for balance. Jazz reached towards Prowl’s helm, but the bot intersected his servo. Prowl held it between them like he couldn’t decide exactly what he wanted to do with it.
“But ya didn’t stop. Even some of the other bot’s noticed your affections.”
Prowl grimaced, his grasp on Jazz’s hand squeezed tighter. “I thought that if I made it obvious to the others, it would embarrass you out of ignoring my advances. I was hoping you’d reject me so I could get over it.” Prowl said, standing up. “But obviously your purposeful ignorance thwarted that.”
“Ey! Last time I respect someone’s boundaries.” He whined mirthfully. But after a moment his cheer bled dry and he brought his captured hand to Prowl’s faceplate. A waited for Prowl’s permission before he slid his thumb-digit under his optic in a gentle gesture. “You couldn’t ever embarrass me, you're the most amazing’ mech I’ve ever met. And we work with the fraggin’ prime.”
Prowl rolled his optics. Jazz couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t be like that, I’m being serious!” He brought his other knee onto the desk so he could throw both his arms over Prowl’s shoulders. He leaned closed and let their helms brush. “So, now that the air is clear, does this mean I get to kiss you now?”
Prowl raised an optic ridge. “Jazz, if you don’t kiss me, I will kill you. I won't even say it was an accident.”
Jazz laughed again, staring deeply into Prowl's optics. “Fine by me.” He leaned the rest of the way in and interlocked their lips. His engine hummed softly as Prowl’s servos found purchase on his back strut and hip plating respectively. Jazz pulled his arms back so he could cradle Prowl’s helm. The kiss deepened and Jazz could hear Prowl’s doorwings snap up and he carefully nipped his lip.
He laughed into Prowl intake, but the praxian dug his digits into the gap in his hip-plating. It was Jazz’s turn to snap straight at the electrical current that went through his back strut. Now separated, he could see Prowl’s satisfaction in the way his intake ticked into the slightest of smiles.
“Ya play dirty mech, I toss a stone and ya send back a grenade.” Jazz told him, unfolding his struts so they could hang over the edge of the desk instead of being pinned under him. Prowl’s helm tilted up ever so slightly.
“That’s what I do and have always done. It is why we aren’t all dead yet.” Prowl said matter-of-factly. Jazz smiled, but it was tainted by the reminder of reality.
“Pits if I ain’t know that.” Jazz said. “Just meant you caught me off guard.” He tapped his pede against Prowl’s strut. Prowls faceplate was neutral, but darkened slightly at Jazz’s confession.
“Did you like it?” He asked. Jazz grinned.
“Mech, I like everything you do.”
“Jazz.” Prowl said. Jazz vented and slid close again so their words could be quiet and breathy between them.
“Yeah. I did.”
They were back in a tangle after that. Jazz wrapped his now free struts around Prowl’s hips. Prowl’s servos grasped him like he had studied what would be the most satisfying for the both of them. Jazz guessed Prowl probably had. He didn’t want to admit how much that got under his plating.
But Prowl wasn’t alone when it came to imagining what it would be like to succeed in seducing their respective crushes. Jazz slid his servos up Prowl’s backstrut, then delicately traced his digits over Prowl’s doorwing. The praxian shuddered and his doorwings snapped tight. His engine revved and Prowl melted onto Jazz even further.
Then the door opened. The two of them couldn’t break apart fast enough to spare themselves any embarrassment.
“Holy slagging Primus!” Ratchet squawked. He threw a datapad on the guest chair and slammed the door shut. There were a few seconds before the door split open, not enough to see anything but enough to let sound through.
“You better sanitize that desk! And I’ll kill you both if somebody ends up sparked!” He yelled, before the door slammed again.
Jazz and Prowl, a few steps apart and venting heavily, shared one look before Jazz burst out laughing and Prowl covered his optics with his servo.
“I guess we got the Doc’s blessin’ then.”
“Jazz.”