Display
The follow up to Bird Song.
Title: Display
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
While he didn’t mind, strictly speaking (having one’s significant other seemingly unable to look away from even the most mundane actions did come across as quite flattering), there were times when Jazz’s undivided attention left Prowl feeling a little… exposed. While the tactician thought that there were definitely occasions when he would enjoy such concentrated focus on his person, desire it even, it also was starting to make him feel like a specimen under examination by Perceptor or Skyfire.
And yes, he could tell when Jazz was looking at him, visor or no visor, no matter how discrete the Ops head thought he was being.
Like right now. The saboteur was seated backwards in a chair in the rec room, ostensibly watching something loud and noisy on the vid screen with Blaster, Sideswipe and Bumblebee, but he was also positioned so that Prowl, standing on the other side of the room (and far away from the noise), talking something over with Trailbreaker, was potentially in his line of sight.
Prowl flicked his doorwings sharply, unconsciously trying to rid himself of the sensation of being watched, then stilled the panels, berating himself for doing something so silly.
Was it his imagination, or had Jazz shifted to get a better angle of view?
Curious, the Datsun swept his doors back, combining the movement with an emphasising motion as he explained a point of reasoning to the mech before him. Over Trailbreaker’s shoulder, Prowl saw the other black and white move to look at him proper, tilting his helm slightly, as if trying to figure out something. The SIC took the opportunity to look up, catching the visored mech in the act, only for Jazz to cover the lapse by grinning faintly (and sappily) at him, waggling black fingers in a playful wave.
Trailbreaker had caught the tail end of the gesture, and was now smirking knowingly at him. Prowl cycled air briefly, and suggested to the defensive tactician that they take their discussion somewhere more quiet. As they left the room, the Datsun noted that the Ops mech’s gaze followed them for a moment, before the Porsche turned back to the vid screen.
One thing he knew for certain. Whatever Jazz was up to, he’d not find out by waiting for the mech to tell him.
= = =
Jazz stopped, attention caught by the distinctive flash of a paint job that was both like his own and unique at the same time. Prowl stood, attractively illuminated by the light of the screen in front of the Datsun, helm bent over a datapad, attention clearly focused on the report he was going through. The tactician’s doors flicked, just once, and the saboteur noted the gesture, along with Prowl’s expression. Then the chevroned mech lowered the file and glanced up at the map displayed before him.
Jazz continued being stopped, admiring the view as Prowl looked higher, still oblivious to the Porsche’s presence, then tilted his head aside contemplatively, drawing the Ops mech’s attention to his neck cables.
Then Prowl was looking at him, having finally noticed the visored mech stalled in the doorway, and the Datsun was moving towards him, a questioning light in the SIC’s optics. The saboteur met that look and grinned, as if he’d just poked his head in to spy on his mech, and when those doorwings raised in suspicion, the Ops mech decided he’d better distract the tactician before he asked what Jazz was doing.
So he kissed Prowl.
= = =
Heading out of the Ark after managing to thoroughly brighten his tactician’s morning (though Prowl would never admit anything to that effect, Jazz knew a smile when he saw one, no matter how faint), the Ops head turned the SIC’s quiet invitation to spend the evening together over in his CPU.
Prowl had been a little hesitant when making his request, though it was nothing they hadn’t done before, and Jazz couldn’t understand why. Granted, their relationship was new (had he done something wrong?), and perhaps the Datsun was a bit more reserved about these things than he was (maybe pushed too fast, or too hard?), but the saboteur couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off (was Prowl having second thoughts?).
The tactician’s expressions had been more distracted recently, and his doors often shifted in an uneasy manner. The chevroned mech also seemed a little… jumpy. And that was unusual enough that Jazz had started watching Prowl a lot more, trying to divine what was wrong from the mech’s behaviour, only to come up empty handed. Whatever it was, he now had a long patrol (and an even longer day) to get through before he could find out.
= = =
Standing in front of Prowl’s door was a lot more circuitwracking then Jazz thought it would be. More than the last time he’d caught the mech in this same spot, at least.
A knock had the panel sliding open, revealing the tactician standing in the doorway. The Ops mech smiled at him, and pecked the Datsun on the cheek in greeting to buy a little more time for contemplation. Prowl looked happy to see him, maybe he was just over thinking things.
Then the SIC was asking him to come in, turning away to move deeper into the room, and as Jazz followed, optics on his doorwings to watch for any possible signs of something, the mech’s doors flickered, in the same unsettled manner the Porsche was becoming rather anxiously familiar with. Once the door shut, Prowl stopped in the middle of the room, facing him with a stoic sort of expression.
“Jazz?”
“Hmm?” Jazz tried to sound casual, even as his processors went into overdrive (please don’t end this, I’ll change, I’ll do better, I’ll do anything), preparing himself for whatever the tactician might throw at him .
“Why are you constantly watching me?” Except for that.
= = =
Caught by surprise, the saboteur blinked and tried to joke it off with a smile and a weak chuckle, just as Prowl expected him to.
“Because I see something I like?”
A hand reached out to trail along his frame, and he moved out of Jazz’s reach with a scolding look. When the other black and white’s grin didn’t change, he sighed and took another step back from the Porsche, missing the visored mech’s alarmed expression.
“The last time someone subjected me to scrutiny of such continuous intensity, I’d just entered my first vorn as an officer and they were waiting for me to make a mistake. With you doing the same, particularly when you think I’m not likely to notice, and distracting me when I attempt to ask you about it, I can’t help but wonder…”
Prowl broke off, looking away as he did so. The Datsun knew he did not have the most appealing of personalities, and he’d heard the whispers (and some not-so-whispers) when the news broke that Jazz had been sighted leaving his quarters at the end of his off duty shift. No matter how many times he told himself the Ops mech wasn’t like that, there was that other voice in the back of his processors, quietly sowing doubt and insecurity. So he kept his optics on the ground, not wanting to see the saboteur’s expression in case his theoretical worst case scenario really did come to pass.
= = =
“That’s- You think I- Oh, Prowl.” Jazz caught hold of the tactician's arm, causing the mech to look up at him again. “I’d never. This isn’t a game, I swear.”
“Then what is it?” Prowl’s reply was still faintly wary, and the visored mech cursed whoever had given the SIC cause to be that way. With a quick cycle of air, the saboteur gathered the nerve to answer him.
“Mech… It’s your doors.” The chevroned mech’s face would have been funny if Jazz had been in the mood to think so, but he wasn’t. Reaching for one of the Datsun’s doorwings, resting his palm lightly on the panel and feeling it tremble slightly, he elaborated. “They move, all the time.”
“Why would that mean so much to you?”
“You remember telling me Praxians court with song?” Prowl made a sound indicating agreement and Jazz continued. “Well. I was sparked in Polyhex. And over there, we dance. Body language’s a big thing for us. Your doors say a lot that you don’t.”
The tactician raised an optic ridge. “There is no language to doorwings, you realise?”
“No definitive one, maybe, but when your doors go up, like this…” He carefully manipulated one panel. “It means you’re surprised. But if they draw back at that height, you’re fragged off. When they twitch, sharp like, you’re getting annoyed. When they flutter, you’re pleased with something. When they droop, you’re really shocked, or tired.”
Releasing Prowl’s doorwing, Jazz sighed again. “M’sorry for making you think the worst.”
Then he realised the Datsun’s gaze had gone from closed off to rather… heated. As black and white doors shifted, sweeping up, then out and slightly lower, highlighting Prowl’s shoulders, the Porsche belatedly remembered that doorwings were really sensitive, and he'd just gone and played with them.
When the panels dipped, drawing Jazz’s attention down the Datsun’s chassis (an already aesthetically pleasing sight), before moving upwards once more, coincidentally framing the other black and white’s helm and directing Jazz’s attention to Prowl’s face and that previously mentioned heated expression, the saboteur found himself fighting off the urge to jump his mech straight away, not wanting it to come across as another ‘distraction technique’.
Prowl solved his dilemma by jumping him first.
Title: Display
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
While he didn’t mind, strictly speaking (having one’s significant other seemingly unable to look away from even the most mundane actions did come across as quite flattering), there were times when Jazz’s undivided attention left Prowl feeling a little… exposed. While the tactician thought that there were definitely occasions when he would enjoy such concentrated focus on his person, desire it even, it also was starting to make him feel like a specimen under examination by Perceptor or Skyfire.
And yes, he could tell when Jazz was looking at him, visor or no visor, no matter how discrete the Ops head thought he was being.
Like right now. The saboteur was seated backwards in a chair in the rec room, ostensibly watching something loud and noisy on the vid screen with Blaster, Sideswipe and Bumblebee, but he was also positioned so that Prowl, standing on the other side of the room (and far away from the noise), talking something over with Trailbreaker, was potentially in his line of sight.
Prowl flicked his doorwings sharply, unconsciously trying to rid himself of the sensation of being watched, then stilled the panels, berating himself for doing something so silly.
Was it his imagination, or had Jazz shifted to get a better angle of view?
Curious, the Datsun swept his doors back, combining the movement with an emphasising motion as he explained a point of reasoning to the mech before him. Over Trailbreaker’s shoulder, Prowl saw the other black and white move to look at him proper, tilting his helm slightly, as if trying to figure out something. The SIC took the opportunity to look up, catching the visored mech in the act, only for Jazz to cover the lapse by grinning faintly (and sappily) at him, waggling black fingers in a playful wave.
Trailbreaker had caught the tail end of the gesture, and was now smirking knowingly at him. Prowl cycled air briefly, and suggested to the defensive tactician that they take their discussion somewhere more quiet. As they left the room, the Datsun noted that the Ops mech’s gaze followed them for a moment, before the Porsche turned back to the vid screen.
One thing he knew for certain. Whatever Jazz was up to, he’d not find out by waiting for the mech to tell him.
= = =
Jazz stopped, attention caught by the distinctive flash of a paint job that was both like his own and unique at the same time. Prowl stood, attractively illuminated by the light of the screen in front of the Datsun, helm bent over a datapad, attention clearly focused on the report he was going through. The tactician’s doors flicked, just once, and the saboteur noted the gesture, along with Prowl’s expression. Then the chevroned mech lowered the file and glanced up at the map displayed before him.
Jazz continued being stopped, admiring the view as Prowl looked higher, still oblivious to the Porsche’s presence, then tilted his head aside contemplatively, drawing the Ops mech’s attention to his neck cables.
Then Prowl was looking at him, having finally noticed the visored mech stalled in the doorway, and the Datsun was moving towards him, a questioning light in the SIC’s optics. The saboteur met that look and grinned, as if he’d just poked his head in to spy on his mech, and when those doorwings raised in suspicion, the Ops mech decided he’d better distract the tactician before he asked what Jazz was doing.
So he kissed Prowl.
= = =
Heading out of the Ark after managing to thoroughly brighten his tactician’s morning (though Prowl would never admit anything to that effect, Jazz knew a smile when he saw one, no matter how faint), the Ops head turned the SIC’s quiet invitation to spend the evening together over in his CPU.
Prowl had been a little hesitant when making his request, though it was nothing they hadn’t done before, and Jazz couldn’t understand why. Granted, their relationship was new (had he done something wrong?), and perhaps the Datsun was a bit more reserved about these things than he was (maybe pushed too fast, or too hard?), but the saboteur couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off (was Prowl having second thoughts?).
The tactician’s expressions had been more distracted recently, and his doors often shifted in an uneasy manner. The chevroned mech also seemed a little… jumpy. And that was unusual enough that Jazz had started watching Prowl a lot more, trying to divine what was wrong from the mech’s behaviour, only to come up empty handed. Whatever it was, he now had a long patrol (and an even longer day) to get through before he could find out.
= = =
Standing in front of Prowl’s door was a lot more circuitwracking then Jazz thought it would be. More than the last time he’d caught the mech in this same spot, at least.
A knock had the panel sliding open, revealing the tactician standing in the doorway. The Ops mech smiled at him, and pecked the Datsun on the cheek in greeting to buy a little more time for contemplation. Prowl looked happy to see him, maybe he was just over thinking things.
Then the SIC was asking him to come in, turning away to move deeper into the room, and as Jazz followed, optics on his doorwings to watch for any possible signs of something, the mech’s doors flickered, in the same unsettled manner the Porsche was becoming rather anxiously familiar with. Once the door shut, Prowl stopped in the middle of the room, facing him with a stoic sort of expression.
“Jazz?”
“Hmm?” Jazz tried to sound casual, even as his processors went into overdrive (please don’t end this, I’ll change, I’ll do better, I’ll do anything), preparing himself for whatever the tactician might throw at him .
“Why are you constantly watching me?” Except for that.
= = =
Caught by surprise, the saboteur blinked and tried to joke it off with a smile and a weak chuckle, just as Prowl expected him to.
“Because I see something I like?”
A hand reached out to trail along his frame, and he moved out of Jazz’s reach with a scolding look. When the other black and white’s grin didn’t change, he sighed and took another step back from the Porsche, missing the visored mech’s alarmed expression.
“The last time someone subjected me to scrutiny of such continuous intensity, I’d just entered my first vorn as an officer and they were waiting for me to make a mistake. With you doing the same, particularly when you think I’m not likely to notice, and distracting me when I attempt to ask you about it, I can’t help but wonder…”
Prowl broke off, looking away as he did so. The Datsun knew he did not have the most appealing of personalities, and he’d heard the whispers (and some not-so-whispers) when the news broke that Jazz had been sighted leaving his quarters at the end of his off duty shift. No matter how many times he told himself the Ops mech wasn’t like that, there was that other voice in the back of his processors, quietly sowing doubt and insecurity. So he kept his optics on the ground, not wanting to see the saboteur’s expression in case his theoretical worst case scenario really did come to pass.
= = =
“That’s- You think I- Oh, Prowl.” Jazz caught hold of the tactician's arm, causing the mech to look up at him again. “I’d never. This isn’t a game, I swear.”
“Then what is it?” Prowl’s reply was still faintly wary, and the visored mech cursed whoever had given the SIC cause to be that way. With a quick cycle of air, the saboteur gathered the nerve to answer him.
“Mech… It’s your doors.” The chevroned mech’s face would have been funny if Jazz had been in the mood to think so, but he wasn’t. Reaching for one of the Datsun’s doorwings, resting his palm lightly on the panel and feeling it tremble slightly, he elaborated. “They move, all the time.”
“Why would that mean so much to you?”
“You remember telling me Praxians court with song?” Prowl made a sound indicating agreement and Jazz continued. “Well. I was sparked in Polyhex. And over there, we dance. Body language’s a big thing for us. Your doors say a lot that you don’t.”
The tactician raised an optic ridge. “There is no language to doorwings, you realise?”
“No definitive one, maybe, but when your doors go up, like this…” He carefully manipulated one panel. “It means you’re surprised. But if they draw back at that height, you’re fragged off. When they twitch, sharp like, you’re getting annoyed. When they flutter, you’re pleased with something. When they droop, you’re really shocked, or tired.”
Releasing Prowl’s doorwing, Jazz sighed again. “M’sorry for making you think the worst.”
Then he realised the Datsun’s gaze had gone from closed off to rather… heated. As black and white doors shifted, sweeping up, then out and slightly lower, highlighting Prowl’s shoulders, the Porsche belatedly remembered that doorwings were really sensitive, and he'd just gone and played with them.
When the panels dipped, drawing Jazz’s attention down the Datsun’s chassis (an already aesthetically pleasing sight), before moving upwards once more, coincidentally framing the other black and white’s helm and directing Jazz’s attention to Prowl’s face and that previously mentioned heated expression, the saboteur found himself fighting off the urge to jump his mech straight away, not wanting it to come across as another ‘distraction technique’.
Prowl solved his dilemma by jumping him first.