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"I'm guessin' this is a reflection of th' statement, Prime's don't party."
Optimus did not remove his optics from the battle report. The smooth voice that simultaneously entraped his body with pleasant warmth and gingerly caress his audio sensors could only belong to one Autobot.
After placing the report on the top of the stack of data pads, the Prime leaned himself backwards on his chair, the slight creaking of his frame's weight pulling a small smirk from his present company.
Professionalism had long since dissolved between them. "What can I do for you, Jazz?"
Pushing himself off the door frame, Jazz sauntered over to the Prime’s desk, barely noticing that when the door closed behind him it effectively cut off the bellowing music Blaster was playing in the rec room. He eyed the guest chair for only a nanoclick before favoring to plop himself on the desk itself, leaning towards the mech that seemed to be watching him with steady but intense optics.
Optimus watched as the black cloth that was fastened around the younger mech’s neck spilled across his desk, blinding him from the accumulation of data pads. From this distance, he could see the white, clip on accessories that pointed two of Jazz’s front dentas.
“Ya’re suppose ta be at th’ Halloween party.” His voice was steady and calm, one of his trademark grin’s plastered on his faceplates’.
Regret seemed to wash over the Prime. “I sincerely apologize,” Optimus leaned forward and retracted his mask, letting the saboteur see the sincerity and regret on his face. “However, I still have an abundance of reports to go over. I promise I shall make it up to you later.”
“Why not make it up ta me right now.” Jazz’s mischievous smirk began to move closer to Optimus’ exposed lip components’ while savoring the image of his leader’s hungry optics.
“Prowl to Optimus: I have some more reports that require your immediate attention.”
To their credit, neither mech twitched at the abrupt voice of the Autobot tactician, though Jazz sent a heated glare to the offending com panel on Optimus’ desk.
Without breaking optic contact with Jazz, Optimus reached for a button on the panel as his mask smoothly slipped back over his lips. “Acknowledged,”
Quickly, Jazz rose and headed for the door, the only noise accompanying him were the soft clicks of his pedas and the swoosh of his cap gliding through the air.
Momentarily, Jazz ceased waking out the door. He turned his helm, a sly grin punctuating his lips. “Guess ya’ll have ta make it up ta me later, Optimus.”
Observant optics detected a faint shiver skim across the metal of his leader. His smirk grew allowing his dentas to show, his glossa seductively skating across the top row before leaving a slightly flustered Prime in solitary.