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prowlxjazz
Day 16 - groping in the dark [fic] Can't Resist
Disclaimer: Don’t own it.
A/N: Sorry this is so late. It’s before midnight here in Chicago (barely). Such a long day. I had this done earlier and just wanted to edit, but alas, real life. My roommate’s dog was attacked by another dog. Twenty staples to seal up her wounds! We spent a few hours after work this evening at the vet’s office. I also have my story complete for tomorrow, but will edit it in the morning when I’ve had some sleep. *yawns* Goodnight!
Title: Can't Resist
Prompt: groping in the dark
Verse: G1-ish
Rating: PG/K+
Word Count: 1,662
Warnings: Uh...groping? Slight crack.
Summary: Jazz is feeling a little handsy. And really, who can blame him?
It was an indisputable, conclusive fact agreed upon by all members of the Autobot faction - the second-in-command had a great aft. Like, stellar. Indecently and impeccably molded. Shining contours framed by elegant sharp wings. Easily mesmerizing in black and white. It practically beckoned, “Stare at me. Caress me. Touch me.”
Of course, you were a complete and total idiot to attempt such a thing. If you were brave (or stupid) enough to try copping a feel of Prowl’s infamous aft, you would meet the business end of an acid pellet rifle and be zapped on the spot by burning blue optics. No one even came close to actually touching that glorious aft, of course. Prowl was much too aware of his surroundings. Even behind him.
It didn’t stop mechs from trying.
--
Walking down the corridor of the Iacon base, Jazz and Blaster rounded the corner laughing at old memories. Jazz recently transferred from another base outside Perihex for reassignment with the main Special Ops division. A former classmate and childhood friend, Blaster volunteered to help him acclimate to the base.
“Mech, we were wild during our time at the Academy, huh?” Blaster chuckled.
Jazz smiled fondly. “Yeah, we were stupid glitches.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Jazz,” Blaster said, slapping his old friend on the back.
The saboteur grinned in response. “’Bout time I got this transfer. Just wish it wasn’t ‘cause another Ops agent got scrapped on the last infiltration mission.”
“Gotta take it as it comes,” Blaster said solemnly.
They stopped their trek at the commissary. Blaster spread his arm wide and said, “Well, this is the end of the tour. Refuel and kickback station.”
“Kickback station? That an official name?” Jazz teased, elbowing his taller companion.
The communications officer laughed. “Nah, but it should be. I’ll put it in the suggestion box.”
“Right on, mech…so which dispenser would ya recommend - …?” Jazz trailed off.
A few steps ahead, Blaster glanced behind him to find Jazz stopped at a standstill. “What are you looking at?”
Jazz dumbly gestured with his mouth open toward a black and white mech speaking with Wheeljack and Perceptor across the room.
“Oh no,” Blaster murmured, shaking his head in amusement.
“Who…is that? And where did Primus sculpt that gorgeous aft?” Jazz said with a slight tremor running from his horns to pedes.
“In Praxus. Did you even notice his wings?” Blaster said. “But before you get your processor runnin’ too hot, don’t even think about it.”
Jazz tore his gaze away from the deliciously round aft to look at his friend. “Why not?”
“Because that’s Prowl.”
“…and?”
The communications officer shook his helm in disbelief. “Don’t you know any of the command staff, Jazz? Prowl is second in command of the Autobots.”
“…and?”
“And that should be reason enough! Besides, you wouldn’t even manage to get within six inches of his backend.”
“Is that a challenge, mech?” Jazz felt his fingers twitch in anticipation. It would be oh so sweet to run his hands all over that shiny aft.
“No, it’s not a challenge. You’ll get slagged!” Blaster warned.
Jazz waved him off. “Oh come on, mech. An officer like that sits at a desk all day fillin’ out reports. I’m one of the best Ops agents we’ve got. He’d never see it comin’.”
“Have it your way,” Blaster shrugged.
With a wink of his visor, Jazz went to the dispenser for a cube. He mingled at various tables, but constantly kept his eye on the taller black and white across the room. Slowly, he made his approach as the commissary filled with a high traffic of mechs milling about. He subtly darted and weaved between the tables and bots, getting closer and closer. About a foot away, triple checking to make sure he wasn’t in the SIC’s peripheral, his hand reached out ready to grab -
Less than a nanoklik later, Jazz felt his audios buzzing with static and the cold metal of the commissary floor. His helm ached and his arm was painfully twisted behind his back. Dully, he registered the high-pitched whine of a blaster warming up to fire, its muzzle pressing snugly against the back of his helm.
Rebooting his visor a few times, Jazz realized he was pinned face down to the floor. And the dozens of pedes surrounding him suggested everyone in the commissary was now watching. He attempted to rise, but was completely immobilized.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a sultry, deep voice asked above him.
“Uh…” was all Jazz could manage at the moment.
The hand gripping his arm tightened painfully and Jazz gasped.
“Prowl,” another booming voice said.
“Sir?” the sultry voice acknowledged.
“Release him,” the booming voice ordered.
The pressure immediately eased off Jazz’s back and arm. Jazz dazedly struggled to rise, feeling himself hauled up to his pedes. Blaster slapped the back of his head.
“You’re such fraggin’ idiot. I told you,” Blaster hissed.
Jazz shook him off and regained his bearings as a large red and blue mech stood before him.
“Is there a problem, Blaster?” Optimus Prime intoned.
“No, sir. Just helping Jazz here get settled in,” Blaster said.
Raising an optic ridge, Optimus nodded. “Very good. Jazz, is it? I’ve heard about you. Good things…and some not so good things. In the future, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”
Dumbly nodding, Jazz said, “Yes, sir.”
The prime turned to his SIC standing nearby. The tactician had a cool, bored look on his faceplate. “And Prowl, I thought we were clear about overreacting to invasions of personal space?”
Prowl indifferently flicked an elegant wing. “I felt the reaction was an acceptable response, Prime.”
The larger bot failed to suppress a chuckle behind his facemask. “Very well, but please try to exercise restraint. I need to go over some reports with you in my office.”
The SIC nodded and dutifully followed him out of commissary. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, the room filled with inane chatter. The incident would spread to the entire base before third shift.
Blaster shook his head and crossed his arms. “I hope you learned your lesson.”
“How did he know I was behind him?” Jazz pondered out loud.
A red mech standing nearby overheard and explained, “Because he’s evil.”
“He’s not evil, Sideswipe,” Blaster admonished. “It’s his wings.”
“The wings?” Jazz asked.
“They’re full of sensors. Very sensitive sensors. Prowl always knows if someone is behind him.”
Jazz stared at the direction the two officers had disappeared. “Mech, I think I’m in love.”
“Like I said, a fraggin’ idiot,” Blaster scoffed, trying to mask his amusement.
--
Over the next several vorns, Jazz made multiple attempts to touch Prowl’s aft. With zero success. When Jazz wasn’t trying to grope the SIC’s aft, the pair actually developed an easy rapport while working together on various missions. Jazz advanced quickly through the ranks of Special Ops. It didn’t stop him from attempting to cop a feel of the tactician’s aft.
It became a source of amusement between them, but Jazz secretly hoped to have the upper hand one day. He would touch that aft, or die trying. Even after they woke up on Earth.
--
The recon mission started as a simple recon mission, but turned into a rescue mission. Jazz, Prowl, Optimus, and Bumblebee were investigating rumors of Decepticon activity near a canyon. A series of large caverns lined the walls of the canyon creating the perfect cover for insidious plots. The thick walls of rock also acted as a natural dampener, making it difficult to identify and send signals.
All it took was Bumblebee losing his footing to tumble into Optimus who fell against Prowl who toppled into Jazz. And they all fell into a deep, hidden cavern below. Rocks covered the opening and plunged them into complete darkness. Dust filled the air and little rocks continued to clatter around as the debris settled.
“Everyone….cough cough….okay?” Optimus called out.
“Affirmative,” Prowl softly answered.
“Think so,” Jazz said.
“I’m stuck,” Bumblebee stated.
Jazz chuckled, standing to brush himself off in the dark. “We’ll find ya, ‘Bee. My headlights aren’t workin’. Anyone else?”
“All power systems are offline to conserve energy,” Prowl noted.
Optimus instructed, “Fan out and feel along the rocks slowly. We’ll find you, Bumblebee.”
The three standing mechs shifted carefully and methodically in the dark as they searched. Jazz bumped into a rock and cursed. Not even the lights from his visor or the optics of his comrades were lit. Shuffling further, Jazz bumped into another mech.
Quickly, Jazz realized this might be the perfect opportunity to finally grab Prowl’s aft. The dark, crowded cavern was disorienting, so the SIC’s wing sensors wouldn’t work as well. This was his chance!
Jazz eagerly reached out a hand to the mech he bumped into and felt a hip. He slid his hand down and gave the mech’s aft a firm squeeze. “Gotcha!”
All movement in the cavern froze. “That’s my aft, Jazz.”
Jazz felt his spark stutter. Oh dear Primus, no. “Prowl…?”
“I’m over here,” Prowl said with laughter evident in his voice from the other side of the dark space.
“Jazz, while I’m flattered, please take your hand off my aft,” Optimus rumbled, failing to suppress a chuckle.
The ops mech rapidly pulled his hand away as if burned. “Oops?”
-end-
A/N: Sorry this is so late. It’s before midnight here in Chicago (barely). Such a long day. I had this done earlier and just wanted to edit, but alas, real life. My roommate’s dog was attacked by another dog. Twenty staples to seal up her wounds! We spent a few hours after work this evening at the vet’s office. I also have my story complete for tomorrow, but will edit it in the morning when I’ve had some sleep. *yawns* Goodnight!
Title: Can't Resist
Prompt: groping in the dark
Verse: G1-ish
Rating: PG/K+
Word Count: 1,662
Warnings: Uh...groping? Slight crack.
Summary: Jazz is feeling a little handsy. And really, who can blame him?
It was an indisputable, conclusive fact agreed upon by all members of the Autobot faction - the second-in-command had a great aft. Like, stellar. Indecently and impeccably molded. Shining contours framed by elegant sharp wings. Easily mesmerizing in black and white. It practically beckoned, “Stare at me. Caress me. Touch me.”
Of course, you were a complete and total idiot to attempt such a thing. If you were brave (or stupid) enough to try copping a feel of Prowl’s infamous aft, you would meet the business end of an acid pellet rifle and be zapped on the spot by burning blue optics. No one even came close to actually touching that glorious aft, of course. Prowl was much too aware of his surroundings. Even behind him.
It didn’t stop mechs from trying.
--
Walking down the corridor of the Iacon base, Jazz and Blaster rounded the corner laughing at old memories. Jazz recently transferred from another base outside Perihex for reassignment with the main Special Ops division. A former classmate and childhood friend, Blaster volunteered to help him acclimate to the base.
“Mech, we were wild during our time at the Academy, huh?” Blaster chuckled.
Jazz smiled fondly. “Yeah, we were stupid glitches.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Jazz,” Blaster said, slapping his old friend on the back.
The saboteur grinned in response. “’Bout time I got this transfer. Just wish it wasn’t ‘cause another Ops agent got scrapped on the last infiltration mission.”
“Gotta take it as it comes,” Blaster said solemnly.
They stopped their trek at the commissary. Blaster spread his arm wide and said, “Well, this is the end of the tour. Refuel and kickback station.”
“Kickback station? That an official name?” Jazz teased, elbowing his taller companion.
The communications officer laughed. “Nah, but it should be. I’ll put it in the suggestion box.”
“Right on, mech…so which dispenser would ya recommend - …?” Jazz trailed off.
A few steps ahead, Blaster glanced behind him to find Jazz stopped at a standstill. “What are you looking at?”
Jazz dumbly gestured with his mouth open toward a black and white mech speaking with Wheeljack and Perceptor across the room.
“Oh no,” Blaster murmured, shaking his head in amusement.
“Who…is that? And where did Primus sculpt that gorgeous aft?” Jazz said with a slight tremor running from his horns to pedes.
“In Praxus. Did you even notice his wings?” Blaster said. “But before you get your processor runnin’ too hot, don’t even think about it.”
Jazz tore his gaze away from the deliciously round aft to look at his friend. “Why not?”
“Because that’s Prowl.”
“…and?”
The communications officer shook his helm in disbelief. “Don’t you know any of the command staff, Jazz? Prowl is second in command of the Autobots.”
“…and?”
“And that should be reason enough! Besides, you wouldn’t even manage to get within six inches of his backend.”
“Is that a challenge, mech?” Jazz felt his fingers twitch in anticipation. It would be oh so sweet to run his hands all over that shiny aft.
“No, it’s not a challenge. You’ll get slagged!” Blaster warned.
Jazz waved him off. “Oh come on, mech. An officer like that sits at a desk all day fillin’ out reports. I’m one of the best Ops agents we’ve got. He’d never see it comin’.”
“Have it your way,” Blaster shrugged.
With a wink of his visor, Jazz went to the dispenser for a cube. He mingled at various tables, but constantly kept his eye on the taller black and white across the room. Slowly, he made his approach as the commissary filled with a high traffic of mechs milling about. He subtly darted and weaved between the tables and bots, getting closer and closer. About a foot away, triple checking to make sure he wasn’t in the SIC’s peripheral, his hand reached out ready to grab -
Less than a nanoklik later, Jazz felt his audios buzzing with static and the cold metal of the commissary floor. His helm ached and his arm was painfully twisted behind his back. Dully, he registered the high-pitched whine of a blaster warming up to fire, its muzzle pressing snugly against the back of his helm.
Rebooting his visor a few times, Jazz realized he was pinned face down to the floor. And the dozens of pedes surrounding him suggested everyone in the commissary was now watching. He attempted to rise, but was completely immobilized.
“What do you think you’re doing?” a sultry, deep voice asked above him.
“Uh…” was all Jazz could manage at the moment.
The hand gripping his arm tightened painfully and Jazz gasped.
“Prowl,” another booming voice said.
“Sir?” the sultry voice acknowledged.
“Release him,” the booming voice ordered.
The pressure immediately eased off Jazz’s back and arm. Jazz dazedly struggled to rise, feeling himself hauled up to his pedes. Blaster slapped the back of his head.
“You’re such fraggin’ idiot. I told you,” Blaster hissed.
Jazz shook him off and regained his bearings as a large red and blue mech stood before him.
“Is there a problem, Blaster?” Optimus Prime intoned.
“No, sir. Just helping Jazz here get settled in,” Blaster said.
Raising an optic ridge, Optimus nodded. “Very good. Jazz, is it? I’ve heard about you. Good things…and some not so good things. In the future, I suggest you keep your hands to yourself.”
Dumbly nodding, Jazz said, “Yes, sir.”
The prime turned to his SIC standing nearby. The tactician had a cool, bored look on his faceplate. “And Prowl, I thought we were clear about overreacting to invasions of personal space?”
Prowl indifferently flicked an elegant wing. “I felt the reaction was an acceptable response, Prime.”
The larger bot failed to suppress a chuckle behind his facemask. “Very well, but please try to exercise restraint. I need to go over some reports with you in my office.”
The SIC nodded and dutifully followed him out of commissary. As soon as they disappeared around the corner, the room filled with inane chatter. The incident would spread to the entire base before third shift.
Blaster shook his head and crossed his arms. “I hope you learned your lesson.”
“How did he know I was behind him?” Jazz pondered out loud.
A red mech standing nearby overheard and explained, “Because he’s evil.”
“He’s not evil, Sideswipe,” Blaster admonished. “It’s his wings.”
“The wings?” Jazz asked.
“They’re full of sensors. Very sensitive sensors. Prowl always knows if someone is behind him.”
Jazz stared at the direction the two officers had disappeared. “Mech, I think I’m in love.”
“Like I said, a fraggin’ idiot,” Blaster scoffed, trying to mask his amusement.
--
Over the next several vorns, Jazz made multiple attempts to touch Prowl’s aft. With zero success. When Jazz wasn’t trying to grope the SIC’s aft, the pair actually developed an easy rapport while working together on various missions. Jazz advanced quickly through the ranks of Special Ops. It didn’t stop him from attempting to cop a feel of the tactician’s aft.
It became a source of amusement between them, but Jazz secretly hoped to have the upper hand one day. He would touch that aft, or die trying. Even after they woke up on Earth.
--
The recon mission started as a simple recon mission, but turned into a rescue mission. Jazz, Prowl, Optimus, and Bumblebee were investigating rumors of Decepticon activity near a canyon. A series of large caverns lined the walls of the canyon creating the perfect cover for insidious plots. The thick walls of rock also acted as a natural dampener, making it difficult to identify and send signals.
All it took was Bumblebee losing his footing to tumble into Optimus who fell against Prowl who toppled into Jazz. And they all fell into a deep, hidden cavern below. Rocks covered the opening and plunged them into complete darkness. Dust filled the air and little rocks continued to clatter around as the debris settled.
“Everyone….cough cough….okay?” Optimus called out.
“Affirmative,” Prowl softly answered.
“Think so,” Jazz said.
“I’m stuck,” Bumblebee stated.
Jazz chuckled, standing to brush himself off in the dark. “We’ll find ya, ‘Bee. My headlights aren’t workin’. Anyone else?”
“All power systems are offline to conserve energy,” Prowl noted.
Optimus instructed, “Fan out and feel along the rocks slowly. We’ll find you, Bumblebee.”
The three standing mechs shifted carefully and methodically in the dark as they searched. Jazz bumped into a rock and cursed. Not even the lights from his visor or the optics of his comrades were lit. Shuffling further, Jazz bumped into another mech.
Quickly, Jazz realized this might be the perfect opportunity to finally grab Prowl’s aft. The dark, crowded cavern was disorienting, so the SIC’s wing sensors wouldn’t work as well. This was his chance!
Jazz eagerly reached out a hand to the mech he bumped into and felt a hip. He slid his hand down and gave the mech’s aft a firm squeeze. “Gotcha!”
All movement in the cavern froze. “That’s my aft, Jazz.”
Jazz felt his spark stutter. Oh dear Primus, no. “Prowl…?”
“I’m over here,” Prowl said with laughter evident in his voice from the other side of the dark space.
“Jazz, while I’m flattered, please take your hand off my aft,” Optimus rumbled, failing to suppress a chuckle.
The ops mech rapidly pulled his hand away as if burned. “Oops?”
-end-