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Card Games and High Grade

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Jazz let out a put-upon sigh when he felt a nose press into the joint of his arm, and he tried to ignore the amused snickers around the table, but it was rather difficult when the source of his friends' amusement was right beside him pressing his nose into Jazz's arm and making an odd combination noise of a cough and a purr with his engine. One of these days, Jazz was going to have to get back at him for this.

"Ratchet's such a lightweight," someone snickered from behind a fan of playing cards, and Jazz had to hide his face behind his own cards when Ratchet decided to abandon the game entirely and huddle up to the much smaller mech so closely, it left little room for movement. Large, white arms hooked around the saboteur's black waist and tightened until there was no chance for Jazz to escape, and the medic's silver face tucked into the bend of Jazz's neck as his engine continued to make that same drunken coughing/purring noise with his engine.

"He sounds sick," another mech mused, the card game more or less forgotten for the time being in favor of embarrassing Jazz more and more - not that Ratchet himself wasn't doing a fine job of that anyway.

"Well, it's Ratchet - he probably doesn't try to make those noises but once every few thousand vorns," a third mech laughed.

If nothing else, Jazz was a good sport, and he did his best to ignore or otherwise tolerate the inebriated attention and teasing jeers for nearly two breems before he noticed Ratchet's insist ant nuzzling and squeezing were beginning to become more demanding. He managed to postpone the inevitable for another half a breem before red fingers started working their way into his abdominal plating and Ratchet all but bit a wire in the back of Jazz's neck.

"I fold," Jazz abruptly stated and threw down his cards. "I'm gonna go get him to his quarters so he can sleep this off." That earned him a new round of amused snickers, but no one protested as he carefully worked himself out of his chair, nearly dragging Ratchet behind him who refused to let go long enough to let Jazz properly stand up. It took a few kliks of struggling, but Jazz finally managed to disentangle them from their chairs and start out the room.

They were stumbling around the corner when Ratchet abruptly straightened himself and stretched to work a kink out of his spinal struts from stooping over the smaller mech for so long.

"How much longer do 'ya think you'll be able to fool them into thinking 'ya can't take your high grade any better than that?" Jazz asked with a grin.

"Please," Ratchet scoffed. "How long have we been a unit? They haven't figured it out yet. I've been doing that since the medical academy when I wanted to get out of clinicals - nobody can fake being overcharged like I can."

"'Ya know, if 'ya wanted out of there, 'ya could have just said somethin'."

"This is more fun."

Jazz shook his head and grinned again. He had to concede defeat there. They continued their way down the corridor in front of them in silence until they reached the next corner where they had to make a decision.

"So...your place or mine?"