Accidents Happen
Title: Accidents Happen
'Verse: 2007 Transformers
Characters: Jazz. Prowl. Ratchet.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
The first time Jazz sees Prowl overload, it’s… well, not a complete accident, since he is kinda responsible for it in the first place, but in his defence he hadn’t realised that doorwings really were that sensitive.
There’d been a rough battle and the tactician had gone to his office almost immediately after returning to base, which isn’t unusual, but his movements had been slow and his manner sharp, which is and makes the Ops mech curious enough to check on him.
The chevroned mech deals him a look that would have sent most bots scurrying out again, but the saboteur doesn’t intimidate easily (although it is a near thing), and Jazz gets close enough to ask what’s wrong.
Prowl’s attempt to brush away his concern is also completely expected. The flinch when those doorwings try to flick back in a nonchalant gesture isn’t. The silver mech’s visor flashes in realisation, and he offers to comm. Ratchet. Prowl refuses the suggestion, saying that his doors are just misaligned from when Ramjet tackled him and that he can wait until after the more important casualties are dealt with. The pain is just a minor inconvenience.
Jazz doesn’t think so, not if it’s making Prowl wince and move about so gingerly, but he also knows that the SIC is a stubborn fragger (most times, it’s a good thing, because some cycles it seems that all that keeps the Autobots going is Prowl’s outright refusal to let Megatron kill them all), and so he offers to help ease the pain a little.
The dubious look he gets makes him chuckle, and he holds up his hands and smiles in a ‘look, I’m harmless’ manner. The chevroned mech vents air in amusement as the saboteur’s visor winks at him, because they both know Jazz is hardly harmless, but Prowl’s intakes skip a beat and his optics flicker, and the other mech is by his side immediately, contrition clear on his faceplates.
The doorwinged mech waves away the silent apology, cycling air slowly until his intakes are working smoothly once more. Jazz studies the mech’s strained frame, then makes his case again, saying that if he could fix the problem, then Prowl wouldn’t have to bother Ratchet at all over his ‘minor inconvenience’. Caught by his own logic, the SIC tilts a rueful expression at the silver mech and nods.
Jazz brings one hand up to Prowl’s doors, setting off a magnetic pulse that realigns the abused panels in one sharp moment. The tactician actually cries out, and the saboteur whispers apologies over the mech’s whimpers as he tugs wires and cables back where they should be, trying very hard not to interpret the sounds as anything other than pained.
It’s only when Prowl moans his name and arches into overload that Jazz twigs on, and he very nearly falls onto his aft, he backs away so fast. Prowl shivers in his chair and the silver mech babbles even more apologies, bringing his hands up to cover his mortified faceplates before realising what those hands have just done and he hides them behind his back like a guilty sparkling instead.
Nothing he does can hide the sound of his engine, revving softly after his traitorous CPU replays the image of Prowl trembling under his hands, complete with sound effects. Prowl gathers himself enough to turn and look at him, and Jazz wishes he could sink into the ground to avoid the mech’s optics.
Casting about for an excuse to flee, he discards the attempt in favour of straight out apologising again and saying that he’ll just kick himself out now because Primus this is awkward.
The saboteur can’t believe it when he hears the mech say that it’s alright, and he can’t believe it again when he obeys Prowl’s quiet request to come closer. The tactician offers to relieve his ‘problem’, saying that it’s only fair that the doorwinged mech finish what he started, and when Jazz says that it’s no problem really and that he can take care of it by himself, Prowl smiles and murmurs into the visored mech’s audio that he doesn’t mind, that there will be no strings attached and the fact that Jazz is still in the room and not on the other side of the base means that the Ops mech is at least tempted to take up his suggestion.
Jazz freezes, his CPU is no help because it’s enthusiastically agreeing with Prowl, and his engine revs louder. The SIC brushes his fingers over one headfin, and the saboteur’s visor flickers. Prowl hums a specific note into his audio, and Jazz’s knees go weak. The silver mech spares a moment to wonder how the mech knows, and said mech seems to read his mind and purrs something about it being in the job description and isn’t he curious to see what a tactician can do with all that knowledge?
Jazz damns the mech for being right like he always is, and in between helpless gasps and mewls he damns his own self for not trying harder to prove Prowl wrong.
Coming down from the energy rush, he finds himself laughing, and Prowl is laughing along with him, because the situation is just that ridiculous that all they can do is laugh. Jazz apologises again, Prowl stops him with a hand over his mouth and a mock stern look. Jazz sighs and extricates himself from the mech’s lap. Prowl lets him go, and he takes his leave, consigning their encounter to the folder marked ‘things no one would ever believe’ in his mind.
= = =
The next time Jazz drives Prowl to overload, it’s completely intentional. Megatron has just razed Polyhex, Jazz’s home city, to the ground, and the Ops mech had dug up the plans for the attack a cycle too late for the Autobots to do more than pick through the debris for survivors.
Reading the reports and seeing the actual devastation sends the saboteur to his quarters, doors locked so that even the Prime himself couldn’t get in if he wanted to.
Not that it stops the SIC.
He detects the doorwinged mech as a quiet presence beside his curled form on his berth. Only the knowledge that Prowl knows what it’s like to lose a city stops him from chasing the mech out. The tactician asks if he needs anything, and Jazz’s processors recall a certain previous encounter and the certainty that Prowl will know this doesn’t mean anything more than a way to get through the cycle without going mad, and his vocaliser spills out a crude request for the mech to ‘frag him until he can’t think anymore’.
Jazz is still somewhat surprised that the chevroned mech obliged him.
Halfway through his third (or it could be more, Jazz has lost count because Prowl is serious about fulfilling his request) overload, the thought occurs to the saboteur that he can’t recall if anyone helped the tactician after Praxus was destroyed. So he reaches for the mech, prompting a surprised look, and he whispers his intentions and his regret that Prowl had been alone for that particular loss. The SIC says that it doesn’t matter, and Jazz insists that it does, and even if Prowl doesn’t need it anymore, he’d still like to return the favour because Prowl is gorgeous when he comes.
The heat that floods the tactician’s frame tells Jazz that no one has ever told the mech that before. Smiling, the silver bot caresses those quivering doorwings, and drinks in the sight of Prowl lost in pleasure, all his control and reserve shredded to bits.
Just before he falls into exhausted recharge, he hears the tactician softly thanking him, and he goes offline with the mech’s declaration that Jazz is also beautiful in overload.
= = =
They fall into a pattern, one seeking out the other when needed, sometimes before they realise the need is even there. It’s a good arrangement, they relieve some of the stress they’re both under, and for a moment they can forget about the pain and loss and bleakness that comes with fighting a war. They can pretend at intimacy with another soul, something they would never allow themselves otherwise, knowing that when they’re done, they can go their separate ways with little difficulty. They keep it quiet, because they really don’t need the fuss that would ensue if anyone found out.
Jazz jokes that he just doesn’t want to share.
Prowl says that he prefers to maintain his privacy.
Neither stays with the other beyond the recovery period after overload, because there is no need.
= = =
The cycle before Jazz leaves with Prime and the others to seek the All Spark, Prowl finds him in his own quarters and has to reboot his optics to be certain of the sight. The saboteur’s amusement at his surprise is dimmed by what weighs the silver mech down, and when Jazz asks for assurance that they will succeed, Prowl finds that for the first time, he cannot give the mech what he wants.
Jazz doesn’t seem to mind that the tactician has come up short this time, and offlines his visor to rest his head on the mech’s chestplates, eventually falling into recharge. Prowl spends the rest of the cycle holding him close.
= = =
Prowl stands beside the berth that holds Jazz’s offline form. Ratchet says that the saboteur might wake up or he might not, and all they can do is wait, because they were damned lucky to even keep the Ops mech’s spark in his frame in the first place. The SIC nods, and the medic hands him a report and leaves the small room when a frantic comm. from the med bay comes in.
The tactician cycles air for a long moment, then reaches out to clasp the silver mech’s hand. He whispers a plea for the saboteur to wake soon, for the first time vocalising his need for the other mech. Jazz doesn’t move, and Prowl leaves.
= = =
Prowl’s first recharge on Earth is sporadic at the start. But then someone is there with him, cradling his helm close to a strongly pulsing spark, whispering an apology for making the doorwinged mech ask out loud this time, explaining that being torn in half really did a number on a bot and would Prowl forgive him for letting the tactician wait?
He nods muzzily in response, then snaps to full wakefulness when his processors catch up, optics taking in a bright visor and a silver form, and Jazz fits into his arms and kisses him with such ease it’s as if they never parted.
Their first interface on Earth is frantic, bodies communicating what they themselves have never been able to say to each other. You’re alive yes I am and you are here and I am with you and I missed you so so much don’t leave me again need you want you please stay with me.
That night, they stay together until daylight breaks, and stay together after that too.
= = =
Ratchet tears through the base looking for Jazz, because the silver mech is missing from the room the CMO had left him in and he fears the saboteur’s frame might have been stolen or worse.
In desperation, he goes to find Prowl (reluctantly, because the mech has only just landed and needs to rest), hoping to enlist the SIC’s help in locating their misplaced comrade, and in the tactician's room he finds both of the mechs he was looking for.
The medic is torn between yelling at Prowl for taking Jazz and dragging the tactician to the med bay for a check up, because he can’t figure out why Prowl would steal an unconscious bot. Then their expressions register.
Jazz is smiling in his recharge (actual recharge, not the indefinite stasis Ratchet last saw him in), curled around the doorwinged mech, arms holding the tactician close. Prowl looks peaceful, chevroned helm tucked against a silver shoulder, one hand resting on Jazz’s hip like a lover’s would.
Ratchet blinks, then leaves, shutting the door behind him. Then he makes a mental note to be around Prowl’s quarters when the Prime goes looking for his SIC, and wonders if he can bribe Red Alert to let him have a copy of the vids when the rest of the Autobots find out.
'Verse: 2007 Transformers
Characters: Jazz. Prowl. Ratchet.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
The first time Jazz sees Prowl overload, it’s… well, not a complete accident, since he is kinda responsible for it in the first place, but in his defence he hadn’t realised that doorwings really were that sensitive.
There’d been a rough battle and the tactician had gone to his office almost immediately after returning to base, which isn’t unusual, but his movements had been slow and his manner sharp, which is and makes the Ops mech curious enough to check on him.
The chevroned mech deals him a look that would have sent most bots scurrying out again, but the saboteur doesn’t intimidate easily (although it is a near thing), and Jazz gets close enough to ask what’s wrong.
Prowl’s attempt to brush away his concern is also completely expected. The flinch when those doorwings try to flick back in a nonchalant gesture isn’t. The silver mech’s visor flashes in realisation, and he offers to comm. Ratchet. Prowl refuses the suggestion, saying that his doors are just misaligned from when Ramjet tackled him and that he can wait until after the more important casualties are dealt with. The pain is just a minor inconvenience.
Jazz doesn’t think so, not if it’s making Prowl wince and move about so gingerly, but he also knows that the SIC is a stubborn fragger (most times, it’s a good thing, because some cycles it seems that all that keeps the Autobots going is Prowl’s outright refusal to let Megatron kill them all), and so he offers to help ease the pain a little.
The dubious look he gets makes him chuckle, and he holds up his hands and smiles in a ‘look, I’m harmless’ manner. The chevroned mech vents air in amusement as the saboteur’s visor winks at him, because they both know Jazz is hardly harmless, but Prowl’s intakes skip a beat and his optics flicker, and the other mech is by his side immediately, contrition clear on his faceplates.
The doorwinged mech waves away the silent apology, cycling air slowly until his intakes are working smoothly once more. Jazz studies the mech’s strained frame, then makes his case again, saying that if he could fix the problem, then Prowl wouldn’t have to bother Ratchet at all over his ‘minor inconvenience’. Caught by his own logic, the SIC tilts a rueful expression at the silver mech and nods.
Jazz brings one hand up to Prowl’s doors, setting off a magnetic pulse that realigns the abused panels in one sharp moment. The tactician actually cries out, and the saboteur whispers apologies over the mech’s whimpers as he tugs wires and cables back where they should be, trying very hard not to interpret the sounds as anything other than pained.
It’s only when Prowl moans his name and arches into overload that Jazz twigs on, and he very nearly falls onto his aft, he backs away so fast. Prowl shivers in his chair and the silver mech babbles even more apologies, bringing his hands up to cover his mortified faceplates before realising what those hands have just done and he hides them behind his back like a guilty sparkling instead.
Nothing he does can hide the sound of his engine, revving softly after his traitorous CPU replays the image of Prowl trembling under his hands, complete with sound effects. Prowl gathers himself enough to turn and look at him, and Jazz wishes he could sink into the ground to avoid the mech’s optics.
Casting about for an excuse to flee, he discards the attempt in favour of straight out apologising again and saying that he’ll just kick himself out now because Primus this is awkward.
The saboteur can’t believe it when he hears the mech say that it’s alright, and he can’t believe it again when he obeys Prowl’s quiet request to come closer. The tactician offers to relieve his ‘problem’, saying that it’s only fair that the doorwinged mech finish what he started, and when Jazz says that it’s no problem really and that he can take care of it by himself, Prowl smiles and murmurs into the visored mech’s audio that he doesn’t mind, that there will be no strings attached and the fact that Jazz is still in the room and not on the other side of the base means that the Ops mech is at least tempted to take up his suggestion.
Jazz freezes, his CPU is no help because it’s enthusiastically agreeing with Prowl, and his engine revs louder. The SIC brushes his fingers over one headfin, and the saboteur’s visor flickers. Prowl hums a specific note into his audio, and Jazz’s knees go weak. The silver mech spares a moment to wonder how the mech knows, and said mech seems to read his mind and purrs something about it being in the job description and isn’t he curious to see what a tactician can do with all that knowledge?
Jazz damns the mech for being right like he always is, and in between helpless gasps and mewls he damns his own self for not trying harder to prove Prowl wrong.
Coming down from the energy rush, he finds himself laughing, and Prowl is laughing along with him, because the situation is just that ridiculous that all they can do is laugh. Jazz apologises again, Prowl stops him with a hand over his mouth and a mock stern look. Jazz sighs and extricates himself from the mech’s lap. Prowl lets him go, and he takes his leave, consigning their encounter to the folder marked ‘things no one would ever believe’ in his mind.
= = =
The next time Jazz drives Prowl to overload, it’s completely intentional. Megatron has just razed Polyhex, Jazz’s home city, to the ground, and the Ops mech had dug up the plans for the attack a cycle too late for the Autobots to do more than pick through the debris for survivors.
Reading the reports and seeing the actual devastation sends the saboteur to his quarters, doors locked so that even the Prime himself couldn’t get in if he wanted to.
Not that it stops the SIC.
He detects the doorwinged mech as a quiet presence beside his curled form on his berth. Only the knowledge that Prowl knows what it’s like to lose a city stops him from chasing the mech out. The tactician asks if he needs anything, and Jazz’s processors recall a certain previous encounter and the certainty that Prowl will know this doesn’t mean anything more than a way to get through the cycle without going mad, and his vocaliser spills out a crude request for the mech to ‘frag him until he can’t think anymore’.
Jazz is still somewhat surprised that the chevroned mech obliged him.
Halfway through his third (or it could be more, Jazz has lost count because Prowl is serious about fulfilling his request) overload, the thought occurs to the saboteur that he can’t recall if anyone helped the tactician after Praxus was destroyed. So he reaches for the mech, prompting a surprised look, and he whispers his intentions and his regret that Prowl had been alone for that particular loss. The SIC says that it doesn’t matter, and Jazz insists that it does, and even if Prowl doesn’t need it anymore, he’d still like to return the favour because Prowl is gorgeous when he comes.
The heat that floods the tactician’s frame tells Jazz that no one has ever told the mech that before. Smiling, the silver bot caresses those quivering doorwings, and drinks in the sight of Prowl lost in pleasure, all his control and reserve shredded to bits.
Just before he falls into exhausted recharge, he hears the tactician softly thanking him, and he goes offline with the mech’s declaration that Jazz is also beautiful in overload.
= = =
They fall into a pattern, one seeking out the other when needed, sometimes before they realise the need is even there. It’s a good arrangement, they relieve some of the stress they’re both under, and for a moment they can forget about the pain and loss and bleakness that comes with fighting a war. They can pretend at intimacy with another soul, something they would never allow themselves otherwise, knowing that when they’re done, they can go their separate ways with little difficulty. They keep it quiet, because they really don’t need the fuss that would ensue if anyone found out.
Jazz jokes that he just doesn’t want to share.
Prowl says that he prefers to maintain his privacy.
Neither stays with the other beyond the recovery period after overload, because there is no need.
= = =
The cycle before Jazz leaves with Prime and the others to seek the All Spark, Prowl finds him in his own quarters and has to reboot his optics to be certain of the sight. The saboteur’s amusement at his surprise is dimmed by what weighs the silver mech down, and when Jazz asks for assurance that they will succeed, Prowl finds that for the first time, he cannot give the mech what he wants.
Jazz doesn’t seem to mind that the tactician has come up short this time, and offlines his visor to rest his head on the mech’s chestplates, eventually falling into recharge. Prowl spends the rest of the cycle holding him close.
= = =
Prowl stands beside the berth that holds Jazz’s offline form. Ratchet says that the saboteur might wake up or he might not, and all they can do is wait, because they were damned lucky to even keep the Ops mech’s spark in his frame in the first place. The SIC nods, and the medic hands him a report and leaves the small room when a frantic comm. from the med bay comes in.
The tactician cycles air for a long moment, then reaches out to clasp the silver mech’s hand. He whispers a plea for the saboteur to wake soon, for the first time vocalising his need for the other mech. Jazz doesn’t move, and Prowl leaves.
= = =
Prowl’s first recharge on Earth is sporadic at the start. But then someone is there with him, cradling his helm close to a strongly pulsing spark, whispering an apology for making the doorwinged mech ask out loud this time, explaining that being torn in half really did a number on a bot and would Prowl forgive him for letting the tactician wait?
He nods muzzily in response, then snaps to full wakefulness when his processors catch up, optics taking in a bright visor and a silver form, and Jazz fits into his arms and kisses him with such ease it’s as if they never parted.
Their first interface on Earth is frantic, bodies communicating what they themselves have never been able to say to each other. You’re alive yes I am and you are here and I am with you and I missed you so so much don’t leave me again need you want you please stay with me.
That night, they stay together until daylight breaks, and stay together after that too.
= = =
Ratchet tears through the base looking for Jazz, because the silver mech is missing from the room the CMO had left him in and he fears the saboteur’s frame might have been stolen or worse.
In desperation, he goes to find Prowl (reluctantly, because the mech has only just landed and needs to rest), hoping to enlist the SIC’s help in locating their misplaced comrade, and in the tactician's room he finds both of the mechs he was looking for.
The medic is torn between yelling at Prowl for taking Jazz and dragging the tactician to the med bay for a check up, because he can’t figure out why Prowl would steal an unconscious bot. Then their expressions register.
Jazz is smiling in his recharge (actual recharge, not the indefinite stasis Ratchet last saw him in), curled around the doorwinged mech, arms holding the tactician close. Prowl looks peaceful, chevroned helm tucked against a silver shoulder, one hand resting on Jazz’s hip like a lover’s would.
Ratchet blinks, then leaves, shutting the door behind him. Then he makes a mental note to be around Prowl’s quarters when the Prime goes looking for his SIC, and wonders if he can bribe Red Alert to let him have a copy of the vids when the rest of the Autobots find out.