Naked in midwinter magic
Title: Shattered Glass: An Angel In The Snow(1/1)
Rating: R
Warnings: Implications of character death and violence. A little hint of self servicing. Implications of intimacy but nothing graphic.
Pairings: Hints of one sided Prowl x Jazz. Implied Blaster x Soundwave.
Characters: Jazz, Blaster. Mention Optimus Prime, Ricochet, Prowl, and Rewind.
Summary: In Prowl's view, saving Jazz's life was the end of his interaction with Prime's bodyguard. Jazz thinks it's only the beginning.
Notes: Here I am, trying to set up the grounds for further PJness. We'll see how it goes. This is meant to be set a little before Cliffjumper makes it to the mirror universe. Just a drabble.
Not Beta'ed so, feel free to correct me.
Ricochet called it an obsession, an unhealthy obsession that would easily be solved with some quick, impersonal interfacing with any random mech Jazz could grab at the base. In his opinion, no Decepticon was worth of the honor of being 'fragged' by an Autobot, especially one of Optimus Prime's bodyguards.
Jazz tuned out his twin's speech, turning his sight out of their quarter's windows, staring absently at the darkened panorama, watching the acid rain fall over the ground, and against the glass of their windows. The acid rain reminded the black and white mech of him. Jazz wasn't entirely sure what spiked his interest in the Decepticon strategist the most. The almost sickeningly nobility of his actions, or the tenderness with which he attended to a fallen mech that was his enemy in the battle field.
He only knew of three mechs who would be willing to do something as heroically stupid, Hook, Scrapper, and the Autobots' former CMO. Jazz winced inwardly, remembering the fate of the poor Mech who was deemed too soft for the Autobot army and was... disposed of under Prime's orders. In a way, Jazz always felt remorse for being part of the squad carrying the execution. The mech had been the closest to a parental figure for Jazz, and although he always had words of encouragement or concern for Ricochet, they were often dismissed by the dark red twin.
Regardless, the worry for the well being of all mechs, be they Autobots or Decepticons, brought about the deactivation of the medic. His replacement was hardly caring enough for the troops he served with, skilled and very good at what he did, he didn't care for the pain and suffering of his comrades, he merely kept them functioning in order to continue serving their Prime. That was probably the reason why the mech didn't ask questions or seemed interested in finding out more about the cruddy repairs Jazz presented upon his return, and the bodyguard was certain the medic believed his story about using the remains of a fallen mech to patch himself up --it wasn't unusual for Autobots to cannibalize the fallen when needed.
The reasons why this mech, Prowl, took it upon himself to save him still made little sense to Jazz. Save him because he saved Sunstreaker and in turn saved Sideswipe? He wondered if there were deeper reasons for the Decepticon to act the way he did, especially going by the particular glint of the maroon mech's optics --Prowl's optics glowed with sadness.
He had seen Prowl in battle a few times, and only until they were that close and alone, away from the heat of battle, Jazz realized the other mech's optics were always full of sadness, like something was missing, and even when he fought, the sadness was always there.
Jazz barely acknowledged his twin's words, announcing he would be gone to attend to some personal business, leaving him alone in their darkened quarters. The black and white mech rested an elbow against the windowsill, bringing his head to rest on the back of his hand, thinking over and over about this Decepticon, the sadness in his optics, the fierce determination with which he acted in battle, his quick mind and strategical thinking, and, Jazz had no problem admitting the mech was not bad looking.
Jazz tried to summon every possible memory he had about Prowl, reviewing in his CPU every event where Prowl had been present, which were, much to Jazz's disappointment, fewer than he would've liked. His free hand's black fingers reached to his chest scratch bellow a headlight, something he usually did when he was deep in thought.
Ricochet said a quick interface would easily 'cure' his obsession with this Decepticon whose designation he had claimed to forget; Jazz was sure that would do very little to get the mech out of his system. But then, that was usually Ricochet's solution to everything next to blasting or ripping things to pieces.
Jazz, however, was rather selective about his interfacing partners, while Ricochet would plug into any port that would make itself available. Interfacing allowed for certain moments of vulnerability regardless of the level of depth of the act, and Jazz wasn't about to let any mech to put him in that position. No, among the Autobots even an act of pleasure could entail potential back stabbing. Jazz was certain the only reason Ricochet seemed spared was because he instilled quite a lot of fear in the lower mechs he usually engaged with.
A black finger trailed idly from below a headlight to his grill decorated with a small protrusion. No, a quick, impersonal interface with a lowly Autobot was unlikely to exorcise his so called obsession with Prowl. Sure, the mech was attractive, and Jazz admitted to be amenable to the idea of interfacing with him should the opportunity arise, but his interest with the tactician went past liking the pretty package.
Jazz let out a very soft moan, startling himself when he realized he had been stroking the protrusion in the middle of his grill, slowly but surely bringing himself to a state of mild arousal. The black and white twin growled in annoyance, mentally cursing his brother for bringing up the thought of interfacing and indirectly trigger the pleasant though of engaging with Prowl.
Shaking his head to clear his processors, Jazz brought his free hand to his mouth, bitting lightly on a knuckle to keep it away from any hot spots. With his wandering hand under control, Prime's bodyguard returned to his thoughts regarding the mech who saved his life, once again thinking about the sadness in his optics, wondering if that had anything to do with Prowl saving him.
"I wonder..." Jazz mused out loud, deciding he needed to find more information about Prowl, and there was only one mech he could go to. With his next course of action decided, Jazz left his quarters, making his way towards the area that housed their communications officer.
"Hey, Blaster, can I talk t'ya fer a moment?" Jazz knocked on the door in a way only he used, assuring the other mech it was, indeed, him.
The automatic door opened, admitting the black and white mech into the dark mech's quarters. Jazz gave a quick look around, choosing to ignore the pool of energon in a corner of the living space, more than likely a product of one of Rewind's 'episodes'.
"What is it?" Blaster asked, making it evident he wasn't in the mood to talk. The larger dark mech was just closing his chest plates, and Jazz assumed he finally managed to get Rewind calm enough to rest back in his alternate mode within his creator's chest.
"Sorry t'bother ya, but I have something important to ask ya." Jazz sat down by the floor, cross legged a few steps away from the communication's officer's berth. "What do ya know 'bout a Decepticon officer called Prowl?"
Blaster arched an optic ridge, surprised by the strange request. "Why would you want to know about him?"
Jazz shrugged. "I got my reasons."
"You're going to have to try harder, Jazz." the taller mech glared at the only Autobot he considered a friend.
"Fine," Jazz shifted a little, showing just a little hint of hesitation before deciding Blaster was the only one he could trust openly about this. "Remember a few cycles ago when I came back patched up after that skirmish with the 'Cons?" Blaster nodded. "He's the one who repaired me, the platin' I had coverin' the wound was from his door panel."
Blaster's optics narrowed a little. "And...?"
"I'm tryin' t'understand why that slagger did what he did."
Blaster looked down, seemingly considering whether or not Jazz's reasons warranted sharing his knowledge about Prowl. Finally he looked up at his friend, and the mech who helped to cover him up whenever he sneaked away to meet with Soundwave. He sighed heavily. "What do you want to know?"
"Everythin' ya can tell me." Jazz shifted a little to be more comfortable as Blaster began to explain what he knew of Prowl.
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Notes x 2: I left the medic's name out to leave it to the reader whether the mech was Ratchet or First Aid. I am not sure which one is it yet myself, so I am leaving it to interpretation for the time being.
Rating: R
Warnings: Implications of character death and violence. A little hint of self servicing. Implications of intimacy but nothing graphic.
Pairings: Hints of one sided Prowl x Jazz. Implied Blaster x Soundwave.
Characters: Jazz, Blaster. Mention Optimus Prime, Ricochet, Prowl, and Rewind.
Summary: In Prowl's view, saving Jazz's life was the end of his interaction with Prime's bodyguard. Jazz thinks it's only the beginning.
Notes: Here I am, trying to set up the grounds for further PJness. We'll see how it goes. This is meant to be set a little before Cliffjumper makes it to the mirror universe. Just a drabble.
Not Beta'ed so, feel free to correct me.
Ricochet called it an obsession, an unhealthy obsession that would easily be solved with some quick, impersonal interfacing with any random mech Jazz could grab at the base. In his opinion, no Decepticon was worth of the honor of being 'fragged' by an Autobot, especially one of Optimus Prime's bodyguards.
Jazz tuned out his twin's speech, turning his sight out of their quarter's windows, staring absently at the darkened panorama, watching the acid rain fall over the ground, and against the glass of their windows. The acid rain reminded the black and white mech of him. Jazz wasn't entirely sure what spiked his interest in the Decepticon strategist the most. The almost sickeningly nobility of his actions, or the tenderness with which he attended to a fallen mech that was his enemy in the battle field.
He only knew of three mechs who would be willing to do something as heroically stupid, Hook, Scrapper, and the Autobots' former CMO. Jazz winced inwardly, remembering the fate of the poor Mech who was deemed too soft for the Autobot army and was... disposed of under Prime's orders. In a way, Jazz always felt remorse for being part of the squad carrying the execution. The mech had been the closest to a parental figure for Jazz, and although he always had words of encouragement or concern for Ricochet, they were often dismissed by the dark red twin.
Regardless, the worry for the well being of all mechs, be they Autobots or Decepticons, brought about the deactivation of the medic. His replacement was hardly caring enough for the troops he served with, skilled and very good at what he did, he didn't care for the pain and suffering of his comrades, he merely kept them functioning in order to continue serving their Prime. That was probably the reason why the mech didn't ask questions or seemed interested in finding out more about the cruddy repairs Jazz presented upon his return, and the bodyguard was certain the medic believed his story about using the remains of a fallen mech to patch himself up --it wasn't unusual for Autobots to cannibalize the fallen when needed.
The reasons why this mech, Prowl, took it upon himself to save him still made little sense to Jazz. Save him because he saved Sunstreaker and in turn saved Sideswipe? He wondered if there were deeper reasons for the Decepticon to act the way he did, especially going by the particular glint of the maroon mech's optics --Prowl's optics glowed with sadness.
He had seen Prowl in battle a few times, and only until they were that close and alone, away from the heat of battle, Jazz realized the other mech's optics were always full of sadness, like something was missing, and even when he fought, the sadness was always there.
Jazz barely acknowledged his twin's words, announcing he would be gone to attend to some personal business, leaving him alone in their darkened quarters. The black and white mech rested an elbow against the windowsill, bringing his head to rest on the back of his hand, thinking over and over about this Decepticon, the sadness in his optics, the fierce determination with which he acted in battle, his quick mind and strategical thinking, and, Jazz had no problem admitting the mech was not bad looking.
Jazz tried to summon every possible memory he had about Prowl, reviewing in his CPU every event where Prowl had been present, which were, much to Jazz's disappointment, fewer than he would've liked. His free hand's black fingers reached to his chest scratch bellow a headlight, something he usually did when he was deep in thought.
Ricochet said a quick interface would easily 'cure' his obsession with this Decepticon whose designation he had claimed to forget; Jazz was sure that would do very little to get the mech out of his system. But then, that was usually Ricochet's solution to everything next to blasting or ripping things to pieces.
Jazz, however, was rather selective about his interfacing partners, while Ricochet would plug into any port that would make itself available. Interfacing allowed for certain moments of vulnerability regardless of the level of depth of the act, and Jazz wasn't about to let any mech to put him in that position. No, among the Autobots even an act of pleasure could entail potential back stabbing. Jazz was certain the only reason Ricochet seemed spared was because he instilled quite a lot of fear in the lower mechs he usually engaged with.
A black finger trailed idly from below a headlight to his grill decorated with a small protrusion. No, a quick, impersonal interface with a lowly Autobot was unlikely to exorcise his so called obsession with Prowl. Sure, the mech was attractive, and Jazz admitted to be amenable to the idea of interfacing with him should the opportunity arise, but his interest with the tactician went past liking the pretty package.
Jazz let out a very soft moan, startling himself when he realized he had been stroking the protrusion in the middle of his grill, slowly but surely bringing himself to a state of mild arousal. The black and white twin growled in annoyance, mentally cursing his brother for bringing up the thought of interfacing and indirectly trigger the pleasant though of engaging with Prowl.
Shaking his head to clear his processors, Jazz brought his free hand to his mouth, bitting lightly on a knuckle to keep it away from any hot spots. With his wandering hand under control, Prime's bodyguard returned to his thoughts regarding the mech who saved his life, once again thinking about the sadness in his optics, wondering if that had anything to do with Prowl saving him.
"I wonder..." Jazz mused out loud, deciding he needed to find more information about Prowl, and there was only one mech he could go to. With his next course of action decided, Jazz left his quarters, making his way towards the area that housed their communications officer.
"Hey, Blaster, can I talk t'ya fer a moment?" Jazz knocked on the door in a way only he used, assuring the other mech it was, indeed, him.
The automatic door opened, admitting the black and white mech into the dark mech's quarters. Jazz gave a quick look around, choosing to ignore the pool of energon in a corner of the living space, more than likely a product of one of Rewind's 'episodes'.
"What is it?" Blaster asked, making it evident he wasn't in the mood to talk. The larger dark mech was just closing his chest plates, and Jazz assumed he finally managed to get Rewind calm enough to rest back in his alternate mode within his creator's chest.
"Sorry t'bother ya, but I have something important to ask ya." Jazz sat down by the floor, cross legged a few steps away from the communication's officer's berth. "What do ya know 'bout a Decepticon officer called Prowl?"
Blaster arched an optic ridge, surprised by the strange request. "Why would you want to know about him?"
Jazz shrugged. "I got my reasons."
"You're going to have to try harder, Jazz." the taller mech glared at the only Autobot he considered a friend.
"Fine," Jazz shifted a little, showing just a little hint of hesitation before deciding Blaster was the only one he could trust openly about this. "Remember a few cycles ago when I came back patched up after that skirmish with the 'Cons?" Blaster nodded. "He's the one who repaired me, the platin' I had coverin' the wound was from his door panel."
Blaster's optics narrowed a little. "And...?"
"I'm tryin' t'understand why that slagger did what he did."
Blaster looked down, seemingly considering whether or not Jazz's reasons warranted sharing his knowledge about Prowl. Finally he looked up at his friend, and the mech who helped to cover him up whenever he sneaked away to meet with Soundwave. He sighed heavily. "What do you want to know?"
"Everythin' ya can tell me." Jazz shifted a little to be more comfortable as Blaster began to explain what he knew of Prowl.
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Notes x 2: I left the medic's name out to leave it to the reader whether the mech was Ratchet or First Aid. I am not sure which one is it yet myself, so I am leaving it to interpretation for the time being.