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10:15 - Head of Tactical Office
Prowl paced in his office, his entire frame feeling like it was grinding from the stress he was under. His processor was starting to overheat, and his optic lenses were straining to keep focus. Unfortunately, he had been dealing with overclocking for a few days by this point, and he was getting a little more than irritated.
“Sit down, man,” Jazz called, pulling Prowl’s attention and seat around the desk and patting the back of it invitingly.
Prowl stuck up his olfactory indignantly and kept pacing as if the thought of taking a rest didn’t call to him as sweetly as Jazz’s ballads. He couldn’t just sit down. He was stuck in problem-solving mode, and none of his options were passable enough to pass on.
“Oh, c’mon, don’t you get all prissy with me,” Jazz chuckled. “You really gotta take a break.”
Despite himself, Prowl made another rather displeased face and his doorwings gave a hard flick. He didn’t even want to be annoyed at Jazz. Primes above know the mech didn’t deserve it. Some others… maybe did, but they weren’t the ones currently standing in his office trying to diffuse the ticking time bomb that was Prowl’s battle computer.
“Don’t make me call Ratchet,” Jazz warned.
Prowl was ready to dismiss that, too, but a quick glance at the mech told him he wasn’t kidding this time. He knew the resident medic had his hands full with repairing a good third of their bots, and he wasn’t about to cause him more stress because he was too stubborn to listen to Jazz. Still, it almost pained him to sit in the offered chair.
“Thank you, darlin’.”
Prowl grumbled at the affection, even though it put that funny little feeling in his spark. He continued grumbling as Jazz massaged his shoulder joints and the back of his neck, humming that tune he knew Jazz got from some human love song from the 80s but liked anyway. Eventually, he forgot to grumble about all the good he was being given, and sat a little less rigidly.
“See? Ain’t that better?” Jazz slowly stopped what he was doing to walk around and face Prowl. “You’ve been so worked up. So miserable…”
“Jazz,” Prowl sighed, unsure of what else to say. He’d said his designation in a thousand different contexts, but this one lacked much meaning other than acknowledgement, or maybe defeat. Hmm. Definitely defeat.
“Prowl,” Jazz hummed softly back. He planted his hands on the arm rests of the chair, leaning deep into Prowl’s personal space like a blanket, though he looked much more like an imposing shadow with how the dimmed lighting hit his plating. “Can I make this easier for you?”
Their face plates were close; Prowl could feel the subtle, steady flow of Jazz’s ex-vents dance with his own warmer ones. He could feel the gentle idle of his engine where it rumbled so close to his own. Under the soft blue glow of Jazz’s visor, Prowl allowed himself to release, bit by bit, the tension in his hydraulics.
“You always do,” Prowl admitted, something soft stirring in his spark. He angled his helm slightly upwards, and the red of his chevron reflected off of the blue visor above him almost scandalously.
Jazz tilted his helm downwards, hardly making a sound as he leaned just a small distance in. The instant their helmcrests met, Prowl shuttered his optics and sighed once more.
The physical relief wasn’t instantaneous; it had to take its time to wash Prowl’s aches away like coolant on a hot track day. Jazz’s unique electro-magnetic pulse was gentle, soothing, and sweetened with adoration and pride as it trickled through his delicate sensor-nerves and into his central processor. The current then targeted the battle computer’s hot spots with practiced, almost medical precision, smothering it into a more normal range of functioning. As soon as Prowl felt his vitals return to their optimal levels, he pulsed deep gratitude through to Jazz, signaling the end of the session.
That was as much as Prowl would reasonably allow to occur in his office. His office was for work, and occasionally for fuel breaks (because he didn’t enjoy the rec. room). Unlike a good too many bots, he didn’t like taking care of personal matters while on the clock, especially ones so self-indulgent or downright lewd.
The only reason he ever allowed Jazz to briefly and non-sexually interface with him in his office was because it was only ever done as a means to keep Prowl from malfunctioning. He couldn’t do the work he needed to do if his processor was overclocking, and he refused to continue bothering Ratchet for a quick fix every time it happened. Really, Jazz was medicine to Prowl, and Prowl would return the favor after work, when it would be deemed more appropriate. That way, should anyone have the mind to barge into the office at the wrong time, it wouldn’t be difficult to prove that the seemingly inappropriate conduct between commanders was professional, not sexual.
It was fool-proof.
10:28 - The Recreation Room
“You guys aren’t gonna be-lieve what I just saw!”
Cliffjumper nearly knocked the table over with the force he used to sit down. Sunstreaker shot him a disapproving frown, picking his ration up and guarding it closer to his chassis so it wouldn’t get wasted. Next to Sunstreaker sat Bluestreak, then Trailbreaker, Huffer, Fireflight, and Sideswipe. Cliffjumper didn’t seem to notice Sideswipe scoot a couple inches away from him, effectively crowding Fireflight.
“If you accuse someone of being a spy again I swear to Vector Sigma.” Sunstreaker grumbled. He hadn’t personally been affected by the whole fiasco with Mirage, but damn, that minibot had to learn how to cool his heels every once in a while.
“Even worse!” Cliffjumper steamrolled over Sunstreaker’s displeasure, too high-wired to see that everyone was trying to have a relaxing fuel break this time around. Rebuilding a human city was not easy! “So I had to do some lame paperwork for Prowl because I emptied a whole mag on a rock formation thinking it was a dirty ‘Con again and I walked over to his office and—” he took a deep breath before continuing (he oughta learn a thing or two from Bluestreak about vent control)-- “Jazz was in there too, but he was standing over Prowl and they were–” he looked around the rec room frantically, then dropped to a dramatic whisper— “cresting.”
“Cresting?!” Trailbreaker spluttered, also dramatically.
Bluestreak sprayed energon all over the table, coughing. Sunstreaker slapped his back to help clear his vents. Huffer beeped, shifting awkwardly. Sideswipe gaped, open-mouthed as if he’d just heard the best-worst news of his functioning.
“Ssshh! Not so loud!” Cliffjumper hissed, stretching over the table to wave his hands in front of the bigger bot’s face.
“What’s cresting?” Fireflight piped up, looking at the various levels of shock and discomfort around the table with barely restrained concern.
The table went silent, save for Bluestreak still trying to clear his vents of inhaled energon. Sunstreaker deliberately looked away from the aerialbot, believing himself to be far from the right bot to explain something like cresting to such a newly-created mech. It seemed that the rest of the table had the same idea, what with Cliffjumper’s jaw clicking shut and even Sideswipe pretending to see something interesting on the wall to his left.
Fireflight’s helm swiveled around the table, trying to catch someone’s optics, basically pleading for answers with his fresh face and unending curiosity. Trailbreaker, ironically, was the first to break.
“Well, er…” Trailbreaker rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “When two mechs like each other a whole lot, they, y’know…” he, again, ironically, trailed off, hoping that the implication would be enough for the newer bot.
Fireflight shook his head slowly. “I don’t know where you’re going with this.”
Trailbreaker let out a miserable, defeated sigh. “It’s something really intimate and private. When you, uh, touch helm crests, you can establish a direct EMF link which basically makes you feel, uh, good. Or whatever. But there’s a lot of nuances I don’t want to get into. The important thing is that Cliffjumper shouldn’t have seen that and if they find out he did, he’s totally getting slagged.”
Sunstreaker watched the gears turn in Fireflight’s helm. He still looked positively confused, ailerons waggling as if they were trying to catch information in the stale rec. room air.
“Okay… and why is this a big deal?”
Cliffjumper slammed his palms down on the table, once again disturbing the cubes on top of it. Sideswipe picked his up and mirrored how Sunstreaker was clutching his own.
“It’s Prowl! And Jazz!!!” the red minibot hollered.
That for sure got the rest of the rec. room’s attention. Several pairs of optics turned on the table, and that was the kind of attention Sunstreaker didn’t want.
“Oh my god,” Sideswipe muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Cliff.”
“It’s crazy, is what it is,” Cliffjumper continued, still leaned over the table without half as much concern as he should. “Of all mechs–”
“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Huffer gathered his own cube up and got up from his seat, shaking his head. “I’m going to try to catch some recharge.”
“Great idea,” Trailbreaker murmured, following suit. “See you guys next shift.”
Cliffjumper, absolutely aghast, turned his frantic attention towards the remaining mechs at the table. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Bluestreak beat him to the punch. Sunstreaker had never been happier to hear the sniper’s rambling.
“Are you sure that’s what you even saw? I mean Prowl doesn’t seem like the type to do anything like that, especially not in his office! He got mad at me once because I played one level of Candy Crush on Teletraan-1 when nothing was happening anyway. It’s not my fault the game’s so addicting!”
Sunstreaker could practically hear the Candy Crush game sounds in his helm. Wait, what did that have to do with anything?
“I know what I saw!” Cliffjumper insisted, loudly.
Sideswipe sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Didn’t you say that about Mirage? And about that alligator in the river? And that Earth car you thought was a Decepticon? And–”
Cliffjumper cuffed Sideswipe’s shoulder with a growl. “It’s not like those times! Besides, that Earth car totally did have a ‘Con badge, but the owner just thought it looked cool. Doesn’t matter!” the minibot huffed. “They were cresting. I saw it with my own optics!”
“What does it look like?” Fireflight asked, once again reminding the more experienced bots at the table he existed. Once again, everyone got uncomfortably quiet.
“Well– er–” Cliffjumper scratched at his helm. “Mostly its your helm crests touching, but there’s usually something more, like, uh…” he swung his gaze to Sunstreaker, which then caused Fireflight’s gaze to turn to the yellow frontliner as well. Oh god.
“Listen–” Sunstreaker sighed, pinching his olfactory. “I’m too tired for this slag. Go talk to Ratchet about this, I’m sure he could explain it better than anyone else.”
Sideswipe snorted, but Sunstreaker ignored him. Pervert.
Fireflight looked conflicted for a moment, but ultimately conceded. He got up after draining his cube and bode the few left farewell. That left Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Sideswipe, and Cliffjumper.
“I really don’t think you saw what you think you saw,” Bluestreak blurted after a restrained period of silence. “There’s just no way! And no offense, but you’ve had way too many instances like this. The alligator, that poor human’s car, that ‘UFO’ that abducted you and swear wasn’t Cosmos, oh and that one time–”
Cliffjumper whined with frustration. “But I swear on my circuits I saw them!”
“I’m sure you did,” Sideswipe said in a very disbelieving tone. Sunstreaker couldn’t help but take his, and Bluestreak’s, side.
Like, c’mon. Prowl? Not only was that mech the most unsociable on base, but he seemed outright adverse to having friends. At all. And for Jazz to supposedly be involved with him? Nuh uh. No way, no how.
“Let’s turn in,” Sideswipe announced, finally getting up. Sunstreaker felt incredibly relieved to finally have his own excuse to leave.
“See you, Cliff,” Sunstreaker offered, giving the minibot a half-sparked pat on the shoulder. “Maybe get your optics recalibrated, yeah?”
Sunstreaker didn’t quite hear what Cliffjumper mumbled as the three of them left. Probably just more insistence that he wasn’t crazy; that the second and third in Autobot command were not only involved, but that they were getting nasty in Prowl’s office.
As if.
10:43 - The Nemesis
“Soundwave!” Megatron barked, vocalizer rasping worse than usual.
“Yes, Lord Megatron.” Soundwave turned away from the console he was trying to repair, drained yet eager to serve his leader.
“Has Lazerbeak planted the remote surveillance devices at the Autobot’s base?”
“As you commanded, Lord Megatron,” Soundwave replied, holding his forearm out. On cue, Lazerbeak dove from the rafters and landed perfectly on his arm. She screeched, perhaps to say ‘I got it done an hour ago but thanks for noticing’. Of course, no one else really got that from her.
“Excellent~!” Megatron cackled, immediately rushing to push buttons on the main console.
Soundwave kept his vocalizer to himself, simply observing as his leader struggled to find the right frequency for the new cameras he insisted be planted within The Ark. The initial goal was for there to be a hidden camera in every room and hallway, but he was able to talk the warlord down to a more modest, less easily-detectable, five cameras. One outside of the Prime’s quarters, two in their main control room, one in the laboratory, and one in the tactical office. This would ensure they knew what was actually useful, rather than him ending up overseeing every single Autobot’s daily movements.
As much as some of the other Decepticons secretly wished they could see what those stupid Autobots were doing in their spare time, Soundwave did not care. He did, unfortunately, have limits to his processor’s functions.
The five camera feeds came to life on the big screen, and Soundwave watched with mild interest. Megatron did some more sinister chuckling as he focused on one, then the other, then the other.
“This is stupid!” Starscream piped up, stomping over to the console with all the bravado of a rooster. “I said we should have put the cameras in–”
To Soundwave’s surprise, it wasn’t a fusion cannon blast to the face that shut the seeker up, but shock. In fact, anyone who had been looking at the camera feeds had gone eerily silent. Whatever it was, was perfectly hidden behind Megatron’s silver helm.
“You have got to be–”
“WOWZA!” Skywarp hollered, shoving Starscream to the side to stare really closely at the fifth camera’s feed. “Is that real?!”
Megatron, slowly, his balljoints creaking, turned to look at Soundwave with a mix of disgust and amusement on his face. That allowed Soundwave a clear shot of the screen, and– ah. Yes, that was decent cause for stunned silence.
In the tactical office of the Autobots, Optimus Prime’s left and right hand commanders were cresting.
“Soundwave?”
Soundwave couldn’t find it in him to acknowledge verbally, half entranced by the rather pornographic display.
“Record everything.”
“...As you command…”
11:04 - The Control Room
“Someone’s a little late,” Ironhide muttered under his breath upon watching Jazz finally show up. The idea that Jazz wasn’t punctual was a myth; he’d put those tardy days far behind him, early in the war. He was too high in the ranks to fool around, try as he might some days.
“Sorry, y’all,” Jazz announced, and Ironhide couldn’t tell, but maybe he looked in his direction a little longer than the others. “Got tied up. Now, what’ve we got?”
Optimus Prime looked to Prowl (who had been there on time as opposed to early), who nodded and began droning on about statistics and whatever else, probably to do with the rebuilding efforts. Ironhide wasn’t listening. If there was something important, he’d figure it out later.
There was just one small thing nagging at him. It was as if something in the air was different. He went from idly taking in key words to actively scanning the room: Beachcomber and Bumblebee on perimeter feeds, Perceptor doing some research on another of Teletraan-1’s console, and high command all standing in a circle.
Optimus Prime himself was in good condition, maybe even better than usual. He’d been hopeful and cheery about good human-Autobot relations, especially since the cityfolk had thrown them a little ceremony. Ratchet looked about ready to begin recharging on his feet. Wheeljack, too, wasn’t looking too hot since he’d been cooped up with Ratchet doing repairs. Neither of them felt off, though; just a little worse for wear. Jazz had been late, but only by four minutes. His demeanor was the same ol’ jazzy demeanor it usually was; unhindered by the last week’s turmoil. Prowl was still Prowl, droning on and on and on and… wait a minute.
Ironhide squinted at Prowl, zooming in with his optics. There– just barely there– were tiny black scuffs on his helm crest. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed if it weren’t for that cherry-red chevron that forced the optics to focus on his face instead of… anything else when he talked.
Now, there were only a handful of black helms on base, and it didn’t take a tactical genius to figure out who the likely, tardy, suspect was.
Prowl finished his spiel, and Ironhide couldn’t have cared any less.
“Does it smell like ozone in here to anybot else or are my bolts in need of tightenin’?” Ironhide joked, figuring that everyone else would have noticed the evidence on Prowl’s helm.
A beat of silence, followed by a muttered “‘Hide, gross,” from Bumblebee. And everyone else just looked at him like he was an idiot!
“If we could move on to the medical report, please, Ratchet?” Optimus rumbled, clearing the awkward tension Ironhide had unintentionally created. Slag him, he supposed.
Ratchet began recounting the list of repairs and what parts they needed to send bots out to scrounge up, but once more Ironhide wasn’t listening. He was staring at Prowl, then at Jazz, but neither mech gave a single hint that his suspicions were true.
Slag it all.
10:30 - Head of Tactical Office
As Jazz straightened back up, taking his comforting EMF with him, Prowl found it much harder than usual to keep himself contained. This, was very bad.
“Good?” Jazz asked, looking down at Prowl with his hands on his hips, evaluating him. That gave him the best angle of Jazz’s air dam, and likewise caused his cooling fans to whir just a little louder.
Prowl locked his jaw. When was the last time they had let off any steam?
The last week had been dedicated to aiding rebuilding efforts in a nearby city ravaged by a battle with the ‘Cons. The week before that had been chasing said ‘Cons around, trying and just-barely failing to keep some Primus-awful human technology from Megatron’s creaky fingers. And the week before that… Jazz had been in the medbay getting half his limbs reattached. The farther Prowl went back in his memory banks, the farther their last true, meaningful connection was. Subconsciously, he must have noticed the time pass by, and only now was he alarmingly aware of what the time had done to his overall mood.
He had a few apologies to give for his more recent snaps and tirades.
“No,” Prowl blurted, fighting a losing battle with his own suddenly inflamed libido. His fingers twitched as though he had a itch somewhere– an itch he really didn’t want to scratch in his office. “I mean– yes?”
Jazz cocked his helm, and Prowl wished it was back down by his own again. “Now what does that mean?”
Prowl grimaced. Oh, he was so going to hate himself later. But his schedule was so packed, and the next foreseeable line-up with Jazz was so, so far away, and even then it wasn’t guaranteed–
Before he could get into another spiral of sorts, Prowl stood, gently maneuvered Jazz to sit on the edge of his desk, and tilted his chevron in offering.
“My, my…” Jazz hummed, amusement laced in his vocalizer. “Can’t get enough of me, hm?”
Prowl huffed, but kept his helm angled just so. All Jazz had to do was match the angle and lean forward. But of course he had to be a tease first. “Please,” he whispered, and certainly did not plead, no matter what it may have sounded like.
Jazz laughed low, sweet, all too easily. “Well, since you’ve asked so nicely,” he purred, loosely looping his arms around Prowl’s waist. The contact was warm and heavy in a grounding way; easy to melt into. Prowl, likewise, crossed his wrists behind Jazz’s neck. His doorwings did a barely-contained wiggle of glee, and then their crests were pressed together once more.
The difference between Jazz’s ‘medicine’ and what they were currently doing was the in the nature of their EMFs. Where before, Jazz was coolant on a scorching desert day, only tripping enough circuits to regulate the battle computer, he was now electrified lust and passion; searing current that rushed through Prowl’s helm and made his every circuit convulse with too much energy. There was deep feeling, in his EMF. Astoundment, gratitude, unadulterated joy, love. They pulsed and swirled in Prowl’s processor, bolstering the pleasure feedback and wringing a quiet whine from his vocalizer.
Prowl himself projected more than just simple thanks as he did before. He took Jazz’s pleasure and doubled it back, spark racing with longing, astonishment, and his own softer version of love that he was still nurturing to be as indestructible as Jazz. He pushed his current along as guided attacks in contrast to Jazz’s overwhelming flood. Each sharp zap made Jazz’s fingers twitch, but he only pressed his helm harder against Prowl’s.
It was that sort-of combat angle that they both enjoyed when interfacing. They were equally matched on most fronts, and so the challenge of getting to be the one to short-circuit the other first became one of the most exhilarating parts. Maybe other couples didn’t see it that way, but what did they have to do with anything?
Jazz’s cooling fans whirred at their top speed as he relentlessly poured himself into Prowl’s circuitry. Prowl’s fingers curled over Jazz’s back, hooking the side view mirrors of his alt for some semblance of stability. Sub-vocal clicks and beeps emitted from the both of them, only occasionally broken by a true note of pleasure.
A sly tendril of mischief filtered through Prowl’s helm, and he knew he would be losing this particular round in an instant.
Deft fingers took hold of Prowl’s doorwing hinges and squeezed, and it was everything he could do not to throw his helm back and yowl. Instead, he pushed forwards, laying Jazz out on his back with their crests still connected and he rode out the following overload. Beneath him, Jazz’s chassis arched, finally snapping into an overload the instant Prowl’s tripped.
A curl of smoke escaped Prowl’s intake once he rebooted, and he prayed that he didn’t fry something that couldn’t fix itself.
“Good golly I missed you,” Jazz wheezed, his visor flickering back online. “I can’t believe–”
“It won’t be happening again,” Prowl said quickly, already feeling guilty about breaking his own moral code. …As well as a handful of Autobot codes of conduct. He’d have to have a guilt fest about that later. “But… I missed you too.” He felt lighter, both in his frame and in his own processor, despite the wrong doings.
Jazz huffed, though was good-natured despite Prowl’s inability to just enjoy things. He’d more or less gotten used to it, the tactician hoped.
Prowl remained draped over Jazz for a few more minutes before forcing himself to get up. He offered Jazz a hand, if only to keep in contact as long as possible. There was more work to be done, and a meeting was one of those things they had to attend.
11:11 (make a wish!) - The Nemesis
“Do you think they get freaky in that office often, or…?”
Thundercracker pushed Skywarp’s helm away, grumbling something along the lines of ‘shut up or I swear I will end you’.
Decepticons were crowding the control room, most whispering to one another what they saw to the ones that had missed it. The whispering was already loud enough to cover up the Autobot’s command meeting (which Soundwave was relieved to focus on rather than… earlier events…), but the slow build of construction-grade engines and jet thrusters coming to life was just unnecessary.
Soundwave strained to filter out all the noise to hear what the Autobots were planning. Some things, he already knew; Laserbeak had observed the righteous Autobots rebuilding the human city they had partially demolished previously. There were injured bots still undergoing repairs, but they were oh so hopeful that they would have enough energon to push through.
“SILENCE!” Megatron roared over the incessant chattering of his subordinates.
Soundwave did not flinch. But his processor was beginning to hurt from it all. He deserved a vacation.
“Autobots: finished with repairs in two cycles,” Soundwave offered up to his leader, though he knew he wasn’t listening. No, he was concocting some dastardly plan to–
“We must use this information against the Autobots!” Megatron declared, right on cue. “Soundwave!”
Soundwave internally sighed, but he turned dutifully to face his leader, ready to heed his every command. “Yes, Lor–”
“Upload the footage to the human’s online network.” The silver warlord grinned malevolently, beginning a dry cackle as he imagined the chaos that would surely (maybe) follow. “The humans shall see the depravity their chosen allies have been hiding from them!”
“As you command. Lord Megatron,” Soundwave more or less mumbled, painfully loading the video file of the incredibly pornographic scenes. He wasn’t so sure it was depraved, but he didn’t like it either. There was something more to be said about the warlord’s apparent sour views on interfacing, but he also really didn’t want to think about it too hard.
It really wasn’t their business. But, Soundwave would follow Megatron to his deactivation, if he had to. He dusted off his TikTok account (made to more efficiently scour the internet for notable human inventions that could be used to ‘destroy the Autobots’ of course) and began posting.
12:00 - Autobot Territory
“Beautiful out!” Jazz shouted, racing a little ahead of Prowl along the vacant desert highway.
The SIC had decided to take advantage of an open patrol slot to get a little more one-on-one time with his favorite bot. He was still buzzing from their earlier quickie in Prowl’s office; buzzing with adoration. He truly did miss simply spending time with him outside of their regular duties.
…He was also maybe trying to distract Prowl from the fact that some bots were definitely catching on to their relationship. He hadn’t noticed the paint transfers until halfway through the command meeting, and it had taken some interesting excuses and slight of hand to remove that little bit of evidence from Prowl’s helm. It got him slapped a little bit for being ‘too handsy’, but hopefully he caught it before everybot else did.
“I think we’re about to get caught in a sandstorm,” Prowl said matter-of-factly back, nearly cut off entirely by the wind.
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best time to take advantage of an open patrol slot. Jazz wasn’t having much fun either, what with all the sand chafing his paint and getting in his seams and grille and literally everywhere else. Ominous golden clouds rolled on the horizon, likely heading in their approximate direction, because of course they were.
“It’ll pass.” Jazz tried to sound nonchalant, but really this whole cresting fiasco was worrying him. Not for his own sake, but once again for Prowl’s. He loved the mech, truly, but he could really get his wires in a twist if something didn’t go the way he could reasonably foresee. And, because this had to do with the professional image that he held himself to quite firmly, uh… he was totally screwed. Badly.
All he could do was delay the inevitable and deal with the eventual fallout. Like he always did!
“I know you’re keeping something from me,” Prowl mentioned, sometime later, unprompted.
Jazz skidded to a halt, his front end losing traction on the sand-covered road momentarily. Prowl braked less frantically, and so had to reverse a good hundred feet or so to get back within conversational distance.
“How the Hell–?”
“Your suspension’s stiff and you haven’t been revving your engine half as much as you usually do,” he said casually. “That, and I do know when mechs are talking about me.”
Jazz’s spoiler drooped guiltily. “Oh…” Well wasn’t that just dandy.
“...Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“Uhm. Yes? Can we find somewhere less hazardous first?” Jazz wasn’t liking the way the road ahead was becoming less and less visible. He didn’t mind a little treacherous weather for fun, but this wasn’t fun and his lover was probably mad at him and ugh!
Prowl flashed his blinkers twice, then began driving forwards again. “There’s a cave system not too far from here if the storm gets too bad for us to make the rest of the trek to The Ark.”
Oh, even better. Caves. Surely they weren’t going to get trapped in a goddamned cave during this freakishly bad sandstorm! Still, Jazz didn’t argue. A cave was better than getting outright buried in sand. His vents were already half-clogged and his underbody was getting itchy.
With the wind only getting worse and the massive, rolling wall of sand baring down on them, they admitted defeat and drove into the mouth of the nearest cave. Sand was filling the entrance, but there was plenty of space beyond. Prowl’s maps showed that it extended quite deeply; branching off into other, smaller pockets. They each transformed, shaking themselves like wet dogs in a vain attempt to get all of the sand out of their… everything.
“I don’t know why I let you convince me to drive in that,” Prowl grumbled, smacking his ankle wheel well. Sand rained down and added to the layer around their pedes.
“Mmm, because you love me?” Jazz tried. Prowl shot him a Look. Right, ok, not in the mood for teasing.
“Oh, hey guys,” called a voice from the deep dark of the cave.
In an instant, both mech’s highbeams were on and weapons drawn. The source of the voice hissed, covering their face to the sudden light.
“Oh for f–”
“Skywarp,” Prowl snarled. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? I’m just, uh… hiding from the storm, of course. Kinda hard to fly in that haha.”
Skywarp made no threatening or hostile movements which honestly made Jazz feel more uneasy. Not that he didn’t think he could handle the seeker. He could handle the whole armada of seekers if he had to! Plus, with Prowl, it’d be pretty easy. Seekers in caves were like shooting fish in a barrel.
“What are you doing in Autobot territory?” Prowl amended, finger hovering over his acid rifle’s trigger. Jazz tried not to get too caught up in watching him instead of the immediate danger.
Skywarp shrugged, but a grin split his face that could make Unicron shudder. “Heard some interesting stuff. Saw some interesting stuff…”
“What are you talking about?” Prowl narrowed his optics. “I don’t want to play games, ‘Con.”
It was that exact moment Jazz received a ping from his good ol’ buddy slash leader Optimus Prime. It was– a TikTok link? What in the sweet Unicron was going on today?!
::Where are you. -OP::
Ah, classic Optimus, still signing his messages off with his initials as if the message was always preceded with his designation and code anyway. The, uh, period at the end was cause for concern, however.
Jazz sent a quick location ping, then a shrugging emoji. He’d have to watch the TikTok later. Kind of busy at the moment!
“Let’s just say,” Skywarp licked his lips, “I enjoyed your performance in your office a few hours ago.”
Prowl’s grip on his rifle faltered, but that was fine, because Jazz was already putting rounds in the seeker’s black and purple wings! Oh they were so fucked. If Skywarp knew, that probably meant ‘Con high command knew, which meant they probably had a leak again. Cameras, maybe? But Jazz surely would have noticed such a thing, right? Right?!
Skywarp yowled in agony as his wings turned into metallic swiss cheese. “Okay frag you guys FRAG!!!” he screamed, then vanished with a violent shift and crackle of the air.
“There’s been a breach,” Prowl breathed, pressing a palm to his forehelm. “This is bad.”
Bad was an understatement. Especially as Jazz took a closer look at the TikTok the big boss sent him. It was posted by user [email protected]. Not the least bit subtle. He forwarded it to Prowl, then opened it.
Within the first five seconds, Jazz stopped watching and doubled over laughing.
“Jazz, this isn’t funny,” Prowl hissed, his faceplates a miraculous shade of baby blue. His optics were dimmed as he watched the video.
It was labeled “part 1 of 57” thanks to the shortform media platform’s posting requirements. Even with so many parts, Jazz felt elated because– that was just a video of the not sexual interfacing they had done! Prowl was sitting in his chair, Jazz was leaned over him, and c’mon, even though it looked really bad, it was obvious in their body language that it wasn’t like… that.
“Babe, ‘Cons are stupid. We’ve got your contingency plan for this!” Jazz shook Prowl out of his HUD, grinning wide. His spark had stopped spinning for a klik there, he wasn’t gonna lie, but this was surely nothing they couldn’t handle!
“But–”
“It’s gonna be fine, sweetspark. ‘Sides, what can Optimus even do about it?”
18:42 - Optimus Prime’s Office
“Jazz, you will be assigned all of Prowl’s datawork for the next two weeks. Prowl, you are now required to report to Ratchet every time your processor begins to overclock, and you will be in charge of training for the next two weeks.”
“You– you can’t be serious!” Prowl spluttered, knocking over his chair as he jumped to his feet. “Prime, I–”
“While I believe your reasonings for the first of three incidents, I cannot reasonably justify ignoring the conduct broken by your actions. Also…” Optimus steepled his fingers. “I am hurt neither of you told me of your courting.”
Prowl’s doorwings pinched back and down and his intake clicked shut. He reached blindly behind himself for the chair he knocked down, and Jazz dutifully levered it back upright from his own seat, which he was draped over horizontally.
“Sorry, OP,” Jazz offered casually. “Didn’t want it to affect your orders, is all.”
Optimus felt a rare sliver of irritation at that. Trion forbid he take care of his friends/subordinates and their needs! Yes, the broken rules were disappointing to see in his closest and most trusted mechs, but the sting that they had kept something so beautiful, so precious away from him? He would have to have a more personal word with them later.
“Wait, wait,” Prowl held his hands out in front of him, fingers spread. “Three incidents? We only, er… broke proper conduct between two officers twice in my office.”
Optimus gave them both an exasperated look. Teenagers… is what a human father would say just about now. Instead, he said nothing; simply sent the latest “Tick Tock” to a datapad and turned it around to display the contents.
A night vision camera, somehow perfectly positioned at the middle of a cave floor, revealed incident #3. Optimus didn’t watch it, he’d already seen enough to know that it was worse than #2. He watched Jazz and Prowl’s faces as they stared in barely concealed pride and extreme guilt in that order.
The audio gave them nothing to excuse.
“What else were we supposed to do to pass the time trapped in that cave?” Jazz said casually, earning a punch to the shoulder from Prowl. “Ow, hey–”
“Incorrigible aft,” Prowl scoffed under his breath, hiding his face in his hands.
Optimus stopped the video and shut the datapad off. “Fortunately, it seems that the humans do not understand what you two are doing in any of these clips.”
“Yeah, Soundwave’s not exactly goin’ viral, either,” Jazz added. He stretched lazily in his chair, exuding indifference for his actions.
Optimus didn’t really know what that meant, but he assumed it was a good thing. “Quite… one final thing, before you are dismissed.”
Prowl picked his helm up, looking miserably up at Optimus.
“You will be assigned shared quarters in order to make best use of our resources.”
Prowl began to have another conniption at that, but Jazz took his hand before he could knock another chair over.
“Everyone already knows, darlin’,” Jazz cooed. Optimus felt warmth in his spark for them. Oh, how upset he was that they’d been keeping it a secret all this time! “I’m sick of recharging alone.”
“You haven’t been,” Prowl muttered, unintentionally revealing that they’d also been breaking that rule as well. Optimus pretended not to catch on.
Jazz certainly did. “It’s the principle of the thing,” he finessed, almost good enough to believe. “Let’s go face the hoard, shall we?”
18:51 - The Recreation Room
“I fragging told you guys!” Cliffjumper was running around, waving his arms about and laughing in triumph. “I’m not crazy!!!”
Sideswipe rolled his optics at the minibot. Still– what a reveal! (And he got some good self-servicing material out of it– no he was not ashamed). Two of the big commanders. Doing it nasty on the clock. He had to run internal diagnostics to make sure he wasn’t glitching!
Prowl’s faceplate was dusty blue, but he was standing with all the formal rigidity of his usual self. He was shutting down any inappropriate questions as he and Jazz were bombarded with them. Jazz was as cool as ever, and, dare Sideswipe say… cocky about it.
Yeah, yeah, Mr. Big Commander’s getting laid. Whatever. Sideswipe wasn’t bitter or anything… but he did keep glancing over at his brother and his beau. No fair.
A new TikTok link was sent to Sideswipe’s comm, and he opened it fervently, without really caring who sent it. He had nothing to say to his commanders anyway, he was only in the Rec. Room because everybot else was in the Rec. Room. If it was as good as Part 52/57, he was going to have to excuse himself.
The first couple parts (4/22) were boring. Jazz and Prowl were stuck in some cave thanks to the nasty sandstorm Sideswipe had been patrolling out in, but on the other side of their territory. At first, they were just sitting close to each other, talking about how long they might have to hunker down.
“Skywarp’s such a creep,” Jazz muttered at one point, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Ain’t nobody got a right to look at you like that but me.”
“Jazz,” Prowl said, seemingly unable to come up with anything endearing. He sounded worried, strained. Sideswipe would know. Though the tactician wasn’t the best at emotions, his tone of voice could give enough away when you knew where to look. Being trapped on an alien planet for years tended to make everyone hyperaware of quirks like that.
“Don’t be bashful,” Jazz teased. In a quick movement, he was twisted so he was braced above Prowl’s criss-crossed legs, faces close. “There’s nothing we can do about it now, anyway.”
“Soundwave also posted the part where I took ad–”
“Hush with that,” Jazz jabbed Prowl in the bumper. “Nobot takes advantage of me. I wanted you just as badly.”
Sideswipe could have shivered. Yep, ok, vacating the Rec. Room before his cooling fans started acting up. He kept the videos playing on his HUD as he slipped away.
“But it was inappropriate,” Prowl argued. He was beginning to lean away from Jazz, the distance from their helms growing–
Jazz followed him, on his hands and knees, visor especially bright in the night vision feed. “You could stand to be a little more inappropriate with me.”
“Jazz,” Prowl huffed. But he kept leaning back and back until he was laying flat, Jazz fully crawled over him, his engine revving salaciously.
Sideswipe ducked into a random supply closet and sat on an overturned mop bucket. His charge was alight with interest and the thrill of the risk of getting caught watching his commanders do something so intimate.
They said a few more things, but they were whispered so low he couldn’t parse out much of the words. What mattered was that Prowl yanked Jazz’s helm down to press their helm crests together, and there was an eruption of engine growling and cooling fans. Jazz’s frame dropped to completely press against Prowl’s, the meeting of white and black and silver plating growing confusing as their bodies moved together. They rolled impossibly, Jazz gripping Prowl’s waist so tightly and Prowl craning his neck to keep their crests together. Doorwings flapped and fluttered, and tiny sparks of electricity flared bright white from both of them.
They rolled again, and again, plating scraping roughly on the jagged cave floor. It was so intense– like they were wrestling instead of interfacing. Sideswipe tried to suck in cool air as his processor began getting too warm, unable to do anything with all the charge he was building up. C’mon, just trip enough breakers… He brought his hands up to his stubby audial horns and squeezed them, puffing out a gasp as he could feel an overload approaching.
Jazz ended up on the bottom again, his legs kicking up in the air. His hands scrabbled for purchase on Prowl’s back, winding up pulling on those doorwings. Prowl snarled something, scraped his chevron down in a brutal push, and Jazz’s frame locked up with a scream. Prowl’s did the same not a half beat later, and arcs of electricity flew off of his plating as they overloaded.
Sideswipe grit his teeth and his whole frame shuddered as he overloaded, though not half as spectacularly. He dropped his hands from his helm and panted into the lonely supply closet, half-forgetting the rest of the TikToks’ duration.
It probably wasn’t anything as exciting, anyway. He had to finish his shift.
14:08 - The Nemesis
“Excellent work, Skywarp.” Megatron grinned from his command throne. “Now we have more than enough dirt on the Autobots to destroy their allyship with the humans!”
Skywarp wasn’t able to fully appreciate the praise, thanks to the several bullet holes still decorating his wings. Actually, he was more than hurt. They called him a creep! He just wanted to have a little fun, was all!
Still… Skywarp saluted with what little strength he had left. So long as the boss didn’t know he set that camera up for his own personal enjoyment, that was fine. He was still slagged at Soundwave for taking the footage off of it, but what could he do about it? Nothing. He could do a whole load of nothing.
Except, perhaps, watching it all over again, huddled in a dingy supply closet, trying not to think about how he was supposed to be sandwiched between those two Autobot hotties.