Methods of Persuasion (1/3)
So... Hunter bunny decided to give me a break. Then the (not quite)-smut bunny jumped me in the middle of setting up an experiment. And I had to put up with this in my head for at least an hour of mindless drone work in which I couldn't actually be a mindless drone lest I end up with Consequences.
Title: Methods of Persuasion (1/3)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: M
Pairing/s: Prowl/Optimus. Implied Prowl/Jazz
Warnings: Not quite smut.
When exactly, he mused, had his Second become so important to him? Not just in the administrative, leader of the Autobot forces manner, but personally as well? The mech was always there, by his side, watching his back, advising him when he’d gotten to the end of his tether, and somewhere along the line, it seemed he’d fallen for the quiet, unassuming tactician.
He’d first met Prowl when he assumed the role of Prime. Fresh in the spotlight, he’d been terrified of making a mistake, and make them he did. Prowl, Sentinel’s SIC, and now his, had stepped in, offering guidance, reassurance, stability, until he learnt the ropes and was able to feel genuinely confident in his role, instead of merely acting it.
At first he’d been intimidated by the black and white’s distant manner and aloofness, but gradually, came to realise the mech was simply grieving for Sentinel, and even more gradually, learnt to read the tactician’s moods and expressions. His spark lifted when he heard the quiet approval in Prowl’s voice, quickened when he realised he could make the reserved bot laugh (although such laughter was always quickly hidden, the hint of mirth would linger in the other’s optics, and in the set of his doorwings, and he found himself smiling back behind his facemask), and sang the day Prowl called him Optimus, instead of addressing him as Prime.
Then, the mech had withdrawn, allowing him to make his mark, develop his own style of leadership. They’d interacted less like a mentor and student, and more like subordinate and leader. He missed what closeness he’d been able to grasp, for such a short time, but before he worked up the courage to speak to Prowl about it, he realised something. The mech was taken.
So instead, he watched his SIC. And in the course of watching Prowl, he also watched Jazz. The pair were a match made by Primus himself, perfectly balancing each other out. Prowl brought order to Jazz’s freewheeling manner, grounded him, comforted him when his emotions got the better of him, and Jazz kept Prowl from turning into a drone, helped him understand the mechs under their care, and somehow managed the minor miracle of keeping the tactician’s logic circuits from fritzing out every time something far out of left field hit him. He didn’t want to come between them, and so contented himself with just… watching. And to his dismay and somewhat resigned amusement, he fell for Jazz too.
Turning these thoughts over in his processor, he didn’t realise someone had entered his office, and locked the door behind them until the mech laid a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up at a familiar white and black paintjob and bright red chevron, systems slowly starting to turn over at the light contact. Trying to keep his composure, he spoke, rather proud of the fact that his voice was steady.
“Can I help you, Prowl?”
“Yes sir. Jazz informs me I have been terribly remiss in my duties.”
“Oh?” That was unusual. Prowl was never remiss in anything.
“Oh yes. I’ve been neglecting my Prime.” How did this mech have the ability to make two simple words, ‘my Prime’, innocent and perfectly logical, considering their respective positions in the army, sound like a lover’s endearment?
“Tell Jazz he’s mistaken, I’m fine.” Was… was Prowl’s hand sliding up his shoulder to the back of his helm?
“Jazz would insist he doesn’t make mistakes.” The tactician’s optics were simply glittering with amusement now, there was no way he’d not picked up his leader’s… state. Unable to reply, Optimus could only watch as his SIC straddled his lap and wrapped black and white arms about his neck.
“Prowl?” The word came out higher pitched than normal, and the mech chuckled lightly, leaning closer to be nose to nose with the Prime.
“Yes, my Prime?” Optimus had to shutter his optics at that, trying frantically to regain a shred of composure. Only to be thwarted as his SIC decided to explore his neck cables with light, questing digits and gentle nibbles.
“Prowl, what are you doing?” He finally managed to gasp.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Optimus?” He shuddered at the sound of his name coming from those lips. There was a playful edge to the words, a side of Prowl he’d only thought Jazz was privileged to see, and he could only catch glimpses of when the pair thought they were alone. “Or, if I didn’t, being who I am, that Jazz would let it slide?”
“I didn’t mean to-” He was cut off by a helpless sound when the tactician demonstrated just why he’d gotten the job, locating and caressing a hot spot he didn’t even know he had. When he’d gathered his wits again, he tried talking once more.
“Why are… you doing this?” It was hard to think now, with a lap full of wickedly teasing Datsun pressing against him.
“You’re stressed, my Prime. Ratchet says it’s not good for you. And Jazz most emphatically decrees an overload to be the best stress relief a bot can have. I find myself minded to agree.”
“Please, don’t.” His plea came out almost a sob, and mercifully, Prowl stopped, hands resting on his chassis.
“Optimus.” He turned his head away from the mech, unable to look at him, but found his face gently turned back to meet Prowl’s understanding optics.
“This is not a duty, I want this.” White fingers stroked the side of his helm, and suddenly, his facemask was sliding back, revealing his overheated faceplates and parted lips. Prowl leant in again, touching lips plates to his in a chaste kiss. “I want you.”
“Wait... your… What about Jazz?” His befuddled processor managed to determine the reason he shouldn’t be doing this.
“Jazz sends his regrets that he couldn’t be here due to scheduling conflicts.” Prowl kissed him again. “However, he did remind me that I am in charge of scheduling around here, and as such, he’d better be available next time. That is, if you are amenable to the idea.” The tactician just rested against him for now, and Optimus registered that he was waiting for an answer.
“I… believe I can be persuaded.” There was a quiet laugh in response to this, and Prowl directed a sly, engine stirring, honest to Primus smirk at him.
“Then, by all means, I should persuade away?”
“Please do.”
Title: Methods of Persuasion (1/3)
'Verse: G1 Transformers.
Rating: M
Pairing/s: Prowl/Optimus. Implied Prowl/Jazz
Warnings: Not quite smut.
When exactly, he mused, had his Second become so important to him? Not just in the administrative, leader of the Autobot forces manner, but personally as well? The mech was always there, by his side, watching his back, advising him when he’d gotten to the end of his tether, and somewhere along the line, it seemed he’d fallen for the quiet, unassuming tactician.
He’d first met Prowl when he assumed the role of Prime. Fresh in the spotlight, he’d been terrified of making a mistake, and make them he did. Prowl, Sentinel’s SIC, and now his, had stepped in, offering guidance, reassurance, stability, until he learnt the ropes and was able to feel genuinely confident in his role, instead of merely acting it.
At first he’d been intimidated by the black and white’s distant manner and aloofness, but gradually, came to realise the mech was simply grieving for Sentinel, and even more gradually, learnt to read the tactician’s moods and expressions. His spark lifted when he heard the quiet approval in Prowl’s voice, quickened when he realised he could make the reserved bot laugh (although such laughter was always quickly hidden, the hint of mirth would linger in the other’s optics, and in the set of his doorwings, and he found himself smiling back behind his facemask), and sang the day Prowl called him Optimus, instead of addressing him as Prime.
Then, the mech had withdrawn, allowing him to make his mark, develop his own style of leadership. They’d interacted less like a mentor and student, and more like subordinate and leader. He missed what closeness he’d been able to grasp, for such a short time, but before he worked up the courage to speak to Prowl about it, he realised something. The mech was taken.
So instead, he watched his SIC. And in the course of watching Prowl, he also watched Jazz. The pair were a match made by Primus himself, perfectly balancing each other out. Prowl brought order to Jazz’s freewheeling manner, grounded him, comforted him when his emotions got the better of him, and Jazz kept Prowl from turning into a drone, helped him understand the mechs under their care, and somehow managed the minor miracle of keeping the tactician’s logic circuits from fritzing out every time something far out of left field hit him. He didn’t want to come between them, and so contented himself with just… watching. And to his dismay and somewhat resigned amusement, he fell for Jazz too.
Turning these thoughts over in his processor, he didn’t realise someone had entered his office, and locked the door behind them until the mech laid a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up at a familiar white and black paintjob and bright red chevron, systems slowly starting to turn over at the light contact. Trying to keep his composure, he spoke, rather proud of the fact that his voice was steady.
“Can I help you, Prowl?”
“Yes sir. Jazz informs me I have been terribly remiss in my duties.”
“Oh?” That was unusual. Prowl was never remiss in anything.
“Oh yes. I’ve been neglecting my Prime.” How did this mech have the ability to make two simple words, ‘my Prime’, innocent and perfectly logical, considering their respective positions in the army, sound like a lover’s endearment?
“Tell Jazz he’s mistaken, I’m fine.” Was… was Prowl’s hand sliding up his shoulder to the back of his helm?
“Jazz would insist he doesn’t make mistakes.” The tactician’s optics were simply glittering with amusement now, there was no way he’d not picked up his leader’s… state. Unable to reply, Optimus could only watch as his SIC straddled his lap and wrapped black and white arms about his neck.
“Prowl?” The word came out higher pitched than normal, and the mech chuckled lightly, leaning closer to be nose to nose with the Prime.
“Yes, my Prime?” Optimus had to shutter his optics at that, trying frantically to regain a shred of composure. Only to be thwarted as his SIC decided to explore his neck cables with light, questing digits and gentle nibbles.
“Prowl, what are you doing?” He finally managed to gasp.
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice, Optimus?” He shuddered at the sound of his name coming from those lips. There was a playful edge to the words, a side of Prowl he’d only thought Jazz was privileged to see, and he could only catch glimpses of when the pair thought they were alone. “Or, if I didn’t, being who I am, that Jazz would let it slide?”
“I didn’t mean to-” He was cut off by a helpless sound when the tactician demonstrated just why he’d gotten the job, locating and caressing a hot spot he didn’t even know he had. When he’d gathered his wits again, he tried talking once more.
“Why are… you doing this?” It was hard to think now, with a lap full of wickedly teasing Datsun pressing against him.
“You’re stressed, my Prime. Ratchet says it’s not good for you. And Jazz most emphatically decrees an overload to be the best stress relief a bot can have. I find myself minded to agree.”
“Please, don’t.” His plea came out almost a sob, and mercifully, Prowl stopped, hands resting on his chassis.
“Optimus.” He turned his head away from the mech, unable to look at him, but found his face gently turned back to meet Prowl’s understanding optics.
“This is not a duty, I want this.” White fingers stroked the side of his helm, and suddenly, his facemask was sliding back, revealing his overheated faceplates and parted lips. Prowl leant in again, touching lips plates to his in a chaste kiss. “I want you.”
“Wait... your… What about Jazz?” His befuddled processor managed to determine the reason he shouldn’t be doing this.
“Jazz sends his regrets that he couldn’t be here due to scheduling conflicts.” Prowl kissed him again. “However, he did remind me that I am in charge of scheduling around here, and as such, he’d better be available next time. That is, if you are amenable to the idea.” The tactician just rested against him for now, and Optimus registered that he was waiting for an answer.
“I… believe I can be persuaded.” There was a quiet laugh in response to this, and Prowl directed a sly, engine stirring, honest to Primus smirk at him.
“Then, by all means, I should persuade away?”
“Please do.”