Chapter Text
The spring breeze brushes over his sensors as he stares out the window of his office, their youngest human ally is finally turning eighteen today. She can finally apply to be a liaison to their kind as the other human allies have become. He will have to order her a uniform if she decides to become one. Her brother decided not to but is still welcomed on the base much to the human government agent stationed on the base dismay.
“Hey, Prowler,” he jumps when a voice beside his desk comes and glances over to see Jazz’s helm seem to have materialized. The silver and black mech chuckles, scooting data-pads off the corner of the desk to sit on. “Sorry, didn’t mean ta scare ya. What got you in a thinkin’ mood?”
“I . . . I miss young voices around, miss the energy of young beings,” he sighs, turning his attention and frame towards the silver mech. White servos slide up the mech’s knees and thighs.
“You an’ me know how ta make ‘em,” Jazz smiles cheekily down at him, black servos coming over his white ones and pulling them slightly up. He snorts lightly, pulling his servos from the other’s and cupping the mech’s helm.
“That we do,” he presses a kiss to the mech’s forehelm when he stands. “But, per the agreement Optimus created with the humans, we would need to file an application.”
“Or we could just . . . ya know, find our bondmate,” Jazz smirks, grabbing his servos as the smaller mech runs after him. He’s turn around to face the saboteur. Snowfire has whisked away many sparklings and supposed war criminals throughout the entirety of the war. Recently, he’s been ambushing convoys of Decepticon prisoners heading to G.H.O.S.T.’s successor. The time of trusting the humans with holding their kind has come to an end. The Prime, unofficially, since it would break the treaty, has ordered Snowfire to apprehend without casualties the prisoners and see that they receive proper justice for their crimes.
“From engineer, to priest, to assassin, to smuggler, he really does know how to stay busy, doesn’t he,” he chuckles. For a mech who has helped bring the peace to their kind, he’s never once stepped pede on the base. Never officially, he should add. Who knows if the mech actually walked in through the gate. “What brings you in to my office?”
The silver shoulder rolls in a shrug as black servos leave his, the mech dances around slightly before him before leaning on the wall. He reaches the main door of his office when Jazz’s arms wrap around his. “Just wondering where you’d fall on the Most Fraggable.”
“The what?” he sputters, recycling his optics to look at the mech. The denta filled grin fills his vision as the other looks up at him.
“Most Fraggable, you know when a mech likes another mech, they—”
“Jazz,” he says, digits pressing against the other’s lipplates. “Should I ask why?”
“We’s bored, Prowler,” Jazz sighs, throwing up his arms and falling against the wall. He frowns at the exasperated mech, so much drama packed in such a small frame. It’s a wonder the mech doesn’t explode.
“Who, might I ask, is performing this . . . survey and who all is data being compiled on?” he frowns, if this had any way of alerting the government to less desired actions, they’d all need Snowfire to smuggle them the high aft off the planet.
“Oh, you know, like Ironhide, Ratchet, Hot Rod, me, the kiddos, the Prime, the oldies, the stick in the—”
“Jazz, that is no way to talk about your spike,” he says opening the door and walking out of his office. His sensor panels place Jazz in the doorway, most likely gaping like an aquatic organic. He smirks, glancing over his shoulder to see fish Jazz. The mech slams his fists down on his hips before marching over to him and jabbing his shoulder with a digit.
“That was good, didn’t know you had it in ya,” the smaller mech laughs.
“Only when you put it there,” he can’t help but crack up afterward and Jazz snorts, scaring off a bird from its nest on one of the other offices.
“What did you put in your Energon last ration?” Jazz asks, catching his vents in a few pulses.
“It’s the same as everyone else’s ration, unless the main reservoir has been tampered with,” he wraps an arm around the other’s shoulder. With the government knowing that they have relationships and sparklings, they no longer need to hide loving, publicly approved actions.
“A bunch of us is bored and what better way to pass the time than to vote on the best frame or who would be good in berth, it’s completely harmless,” Jazz’s servo wanders down his back to the top of his aft. He grabs the mech’s servo placing it on his hip.
“It’s harmless until it’s not,” he frowns, if he’s only just learning about it, who is supervising the ongoings to make sure it remains harmless.
“Don’t worry, mech, we got our best mech—er, mech and femme on it,” the smile he sees isn’t convincing, but Jazz couldn’t possibly, single servoedly be responsible for the apocalypse. Could he?
Meanwhile, green and black optics watch the screen with results in live time.
“How is Kup winning against Windblade?” the femme asks, drawing his attention to the screen of the poll. He shrugs.
“Maybe they don’t care for femmes,” he shrugs a white shoulder, the femme’s black servo slaps his arm. “Hey, I don’t like femmes, except a few of them. Maybe they like old geezers? You certainly like an old geezer.”
He snorts at her scoff, before she wags a thin digit at him, his smirks follows. “You don’t look that old.”
“I’m surprised Rodimus is winning, Hot Rod’s the exact same mech,” he waves a servo at that polls screen. “Guess the power kink really runs strong on the base. Too bad Sentinel didn’t get the memo.”
“He was hacked,” Eterna says, glancing sidelong to him.
“Optimus was hacked, you don’t see him losing to Silverbolt. More people want to frag Unicron than Primus, don’t blame them, you’d not get blinded by Unicron,” he snorts, the femme slaps him again.
“You’re incorrigible,” she shakes her helm. “Soundwave seems to do good in all the polls, even the human made ones about husband material.”
“Soundwave is amazing.”
“You’re biased,” the femme snorts at him. He throws his helm back laughing.