[Fic] Foreign ways
Title: Foreign ways
Day: 3
Prompt: Less than lovers, more than friends
Verse: pre-war G1-AU
Rating: R
Words: 13,484 (excluding the bonus scene which does not match the prompt)
Other Characters: Smokescreen, Cliffjumper, Sentinel Prime, various OCs
Warnings: talk of suicide; tissues might be a good idea towards the end
Summary/Notes: set well before the war on a Cybertron where each city has its own well-defined culture and mecha usually stay close to their city of activation, Prowl reluctantly visits Iacon and comes across a mech who will change the course of his life forever.
Written for the prowlxjazz community birthday challenge. Due to size I've had to split this into three segments, but it's to be read as a single story :)
The door closed behind the secretary and Prowl settled carefully onto the visitor's chair in front of the wide desk. The mech on the other side of the desk ignored him entirely, and Prowl held back on a strong desire to point out his host's rudeness only because that would not make this process any easier. Instead he shifted his gaze to the one window in the room and out at the cityscape.
He had been in Iacon less than an orn, arriving in the early evening of the orn before, but he already wished very much he were back in Praxus and not stuck in this crowded city of looming towers. The Praxian Embassy was decorated with art and colours of their home state but it could not hide the utalitarianist architecture, and the stunted excuse for an indoor crystal garden in the entranceway just made him feel worse.
He told himself to relax. His surroundings were not to blame for his current emotional state, it was the tumult of the past few decaorns was to blame; but knowing that and coping with it were entirely different matters.
Two short decaorns ago he had been at his own farewell party. After many decades of service at the civic centre he had resigned from his post, as expected, and his colleagues all wished him well. His sparkmate, Rapidfire, had been at his side - the first and only time he had come in to the office - and he had been content to give up his working life in exchange for the changes to come.
It was all planned, of course. Once the preliminary request to Vector Sigma had been approved, obviously one of them had to stop working and unlike in lower class families where either partner in the relationship might choose the role, his role as caretaker had been destined from before his own activation. Over the vorns he had had various tutors preparing him for this role, and now that the petition was going forward he knew precisely what to do. Except...
He forced fresh air through his intakes, trying to maintain his calm.
By now they should be making their final petition to the priests, generally a formality, and double-checking the specifications on the programming and frame design. Five orns from now he should have had a newly activated sparkling to bring home and care for. Instead, at the last possible moment Rapidfire had received a request to lecture for several decaorns at the Iacon Academy; an offer he had accepted. All of their carefully laid plans had been put on hold - such an honour could not be lightly turned down, or so Prowl was assured - and suddenly they were travelling.
He had not minded retiring from work. Raising two sparklings - one to carry the family line, one to offer as partner to another just as he had been offered to Rapidfire's family - was the core of his purpose. It was what he had been created for. He loved his job, and was good at it, but he would have time enough to start a career again afterwards.
The problem was not what he was supposed to do, but what had disrupted that plan. Rapidfire would be busy here in Iacon but there was no such activity for him. Easy for his sparkmate to say that it was only for three decaorns, he was not the one who would have nothing to occupy himself with. He was accustomed to being busy, and the thought of thirty orns with nothing to occupy himself with was unbearable. Rapidfire, thankfully, had seen reason and had made contact with the Praxian Embassy here in Iacon to see if they could find him some temporary work.
Which is why he was here. He had been met by the ambassador who had been properly polite but had not lingered, and now he waited for the Placements Officer to consider the information before him
He refused to fidget in spite of the uncomfortable chair. Mecha without back protrusions would no doubt find the thick contour foam padding a luxury but it left him perched awkwardly on the edge of the seat with his doorwings splayed in an ungainly fashion to avoid brushing against the malleable surface. Being made to look foolish did nothing to help his case, and he regretted this as a first impression, but since he had already sat down he was not going to stand again or it would look even worse. He did wonder, though, why the Praxian Embassy would have such inappropriate furnishings.
Clearly there were very few Praxian visitors ever to grace this room.
"I did send my resume ahead." he pointed out as the minor official continued to ignore him in favour of his screen. "If there is no work available at the Embassy I would have appreciated being informed in advance so I could make other arrangements."
He had no patience for this waste of his time, he wanted to be busy. Even manual labour was preferable to being bored at home, particularly in this new apartment. He understood that they had had to accept what accommodation the Academy supplied but he very much regretted the cramped living space and lack of a garden.
Primus, he wanted so much to be back home in Praxus.
"We have a job for you, that's not the problem." his host huffed at him rudely. "We had your job lined up just the moment we got your request, but this... this... This is highly irregular. Highly irregular. There are proper channels for these things, and yet we can't exactly just ignore it... Well what does it matter? You're only here for a short while; one job's good as another and it would be a better use of your skill set. Here. Your assignment."
A datapad was thrust at him and Prowl rose to take it. The header caught his optic and he frowned.
"I requested duties here with the ambassador..."
"Means nothing if Prime himself wants you. Which he does. Well, his office does, anyway. Same thing in the end. Now get going, I've notified them you're on your way."
It was late in the afternoon when Jazz finally made it back to the office, almost time for the work shift to end. He handed in the package he had been sent to retrieve, then heard an unfamiliar voice coming from Redmark's office and poked his head around the corner.
Sitting at Redmark's desk was an entirely unfamiliar Praxian. The surface usually sporting scattered datapads was now immaculate and there was a neat pile of outward-going reports that he would have to deliver in the morning, but he barely even noticed them. This mech was gorgeous. His colouration was mostly white with rich purple contrasts that nicely complemented the deep red of his chevron.
"Can I help you?" the mech asked, and Jazz sauntered inside, pleased to find a strong voice accompanying the appealing outward appearance.
"I was about t'ask you th'same thing." he grinned. "Name's Jazz. An' you are...?"
"Ah, the courier." the mech nodded in recognition. "I am Prowl."
"Well, pleasure t'meetcha, Prowl."
He reached out his hand in greeting but Prowl simply looked at him blankly, and then Smokescreen was there knocking his hand down unsubtly as he walked past.
"This is the last of the daily reports for sign-off, sir, but it can wait until the morning - no-one expected you to be this efficient on your first day."
Instead of handing it to him Smokescreen put the pad down on the desk and stepped away, forcing Prowl to pick it up from there. Irritatingly formal, in Jazz's estimation.
"I shall do so, then." Prowl nodded, setting it aside and rising. "I should be leaving."
Jazz took his chance to speak up again.
"We're all headin' out for drinks. Why doncha come?"
"I can't do that."
"Sure ya can. One drink. You won't be out late."
Prowl shook his head, sweeping past him.
"I'm sorry, I can't."
Jazz watched as he transformed and drove away, frowning.
"What's up with that mech?"
"He's high-rank." Smokescreen shrugged. "And probably not the primary. Slagged if I know why he's even here."
"Say what?"
"The ranking families arrange their relationships at the same time as they go to petition for the spark. Based on his frame design I would've said Prowl's high enough to have been primary, but the way he acts? No way."
"Still not followin' ya, Smokey."
"Don't you care about anything if it's not music? I've told you this before. One of the pair gets all the authority - that's how they decide which family line they're representing. Prowl gave up his heritage and adopted his partner's the moment they were mated, and he has to defer in everything else, too. Stupid slagging system. In a job like this he can show as much authority as he likes, but outside it? Forget it. Anyway, come on, the others are already going."
"Yeah, comin'." Jazz told him absently, barely noticing when his friend drove off.
Paired up before activation? Destined to be subservient from before activation? No wonder Smokey had left Praxus first chance he got. Of course it also meant that Prowl was sparkmated, and thus unavailable
Sighing in regret for the chance lost before he even knew it existed, he turned to follow the others.
Rapidfire had left early to visit Prowl at the Embassy late in the afternoon and was rather upset when he did not find him there. His temper was certainly not improved when he learned that Prowl had been sent to the Prime's administrative office. The only mitigation was that Prowl was already home when he got there.
"I said you could work at the Praxian Embassy, not go knocking door to door for a job!"
"It was the Embassy Office who gave me the assignment." Prowl pointed out, busy tending the tiny potted crystal garden they had brought with them. "And I don't see why you're so upset. It's practically the same as my job back in Praxus..."
"Former job."
Prowl flinched at the harsh reminder and Rapidfire regretted his words immediately. The stress of the application process had gotten to both of them, and this sudden shift to Iacon had been an unwelcome addition even though it was a signal honour. He modulated his tone and wrapped an arm around his partner's waist, pulling him towards him and away from the delicate crystals.
"Don't be like that, Prowlie. We talked about this, remember? If we're going to start a family then you need to stop working."
"You agreed I could continue working until the activation." Prowl reminded him quietly. "Our petition hasn't even been granted yet."
"I know, but when we set the date I didn't know I was going to be asked to be guest lecturer. It's only for a few decaorns, can't you wait that long? Think of it as a vacation."
"I like to be busy."
Rapidfire gave in. It did not matter that much; it truly was only a few decaorns then they would be back in Praxus and undertaking the final negotiations for the petition. And if he had to be working for any foreigner, at least it was for the Prime. Not ideal, but not shameful either.
"Alright." he agreed, smiling when Prowl peered at him uncertainly. "You can keep the job. Just don't get too attached to it, that's all."
"Of course not. So. How was your orn?"
"Fantastic. Why don't we sit down - this might take awhile!"
Rapidfire continued to enthuse about his first full orn of lectures and the intelligent questions he had
been asked by the local academics, but Prowl found his attention wandering. Not to his own day though that too had been busy, and not so much to their new surroundings, but to the one mech who had made such a strong impression on him: the courier named Jazz.
What was it about him that made him so intriguing? he fretted.
The mech's frame was nondescript giving no hint of his background, though his speech patterns strongly suggested Kaon. His detailing was beautiful, mostly simple black with swathes of white and delicate highlights in red and azure blue. The stubby angled sensor horns on his helm were more commonly a minibot feature but they suited him well, and the visor was an exotic addition. All in all a flamboyant appearance, but in truth it was his smile that had captivated him.
At one point, to his shame, he had even missed Jazz's words while staring at those lips and wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He was still wondering now.
He stopped that line of thought hurriedly, flustered. He had never been unfaithful to Rapidfire, had never even thought of it. It was not that he could not appreciate the aesthetic beauty of others but this was the first time anyone had ever evoked such a visceral response from him. He wanted to kiss Jazz, not as he would to greet a friend and not even as he would in affection for his mate, but passionately.
Physical intimacy was unspeakably vulgar, of course; he knew that. Commoners indulged in the practice, touching with no sense of propriety, but only because they had not been properly tutored. At a much younger and bolder age, shortly after being paired, he and Rapidfire had experimented a bit with touch during their intimacies just out of curiosity, but it had been awkward and embarrassing and they had soon returned with relief to the purity of non-tactile spark merging, sharing only energy fields and emotions.
Around Jazz, though, Prowl was dismayed to find himself wondering what it would feel like to touch that matte plating. And what it would be like to have those expressive hands on his own body...
"Prowl?"
He refocused, mortified.
"My apologies, Fire, my thoughts were elsewhere."
"I could tell." Rapidfire sounded amused. "Your engine is revving. Shall we make it an early night?"
Perhaps that would help, Prowl considered. It had been awhile since they had last shared, just purely due to the preparations for the sparkling and then the sudden request for Rapidfire's expertise here in Iacon. Perhaps it would help to reduce the entirely inappropriate lust claiming him.
He prayed it would, because he had no idea how else to resolve this.
"You can't have him."
"What?" Jazz roused out of his thoughts, blinking at his brother.
Ricochet sat across the table from him, folding his arms.
"Whoever you're smitten with. It's someone you can't have."
Jazz snorted.
"I ain't 'smitten' wit'anybody. Anyway, why're you up here this early - the place's full up."
"I thought the boss might gimme the rest o'the night off."
"Forget it." Jazz said flatly.
"Aw come on, Jazzy, just one night? It's still my bar to run..."
"Yeah but it's still my credits keepin' ya open. Did you make your lease payment today?"
"Of course! The receipt's in the office. Why don't you trust me?"
"Because sometimes y'lie to me." Jazz pointed out simply, then cocked his head to the side. "I had an interestin' call from an old friend of yours today. Goldbit. He says if I can confirm you've been makin' all your payments on time for the last vorn he'll look at reinstatin' your casino licence. Now why would he call me t'ask that, eh?"
Ricochet had flinched the moment Goldbit's name was mentioned and now smiled uneasily.
"Well he probably wants the profits. We did okay, here..."
Jazz leaned forward, scowling at his wayward brother.
"Listen to me good, Ric. You promised me you weren't gonna gamble again. You promised you wouldn't go anywhere near a bettin' table again. That's why I agreed t'help pull ya outta debt an' get this place kosher again. I catch you talkin' to Goldbit about bringin' tables back in an' I'm outta here an' takin' my credits wit'me."
Ricochet pouted and swore to him that he had no idea what Goldbit was planning, then made an excuse to rush back to the bar. Jazz sighed, leaning back in his chair and contemplating his drink.
The problem was, if Ricochet did get himself in trouble again he would probably help him again, and both of them knew it. They knew each other far too well.
And Ricochet was right on the money when it came to his infatuation with Prowl. His feelings for the visiting Praxian were completely inappropriate. He would never act on them, of course, but he would be just as happy when the temptation left again. In the meantime, though, what to do? Avoid him? That would be awkward. Carry on wishing and hoping, knowing it would never go anywhere?
"Jazz, m'mech, you're pathetic." he muttered in disgust, and rose.
He was not in the mood for company tonight, he might just head home early.
"You've got to stop doing that, you know." Smokescreen muttered at Jazz as the courier came around the corner.
"Doin' what?" Jazz asked, a little startled to find the mech waiting for him.
"Touching him. Don't tell me you don't see him flinch."
Ah.
"All I did was take the pad he handed me."
"He was going to put it down for you to pick up."
"Sounds like a waste o'effort t'me, I was right there."
Smokescreen continued to grumble at him but Jazz slipped away, changing into his alt mode and heading off towards the Altihexian Consulate.
Prowl did flinch every time Jazz brushed up against him, but more as though he were startled than offended. And he said nothing to stop it - if he did, if he even started to, Jazz would do as he asked. Instead, he almost seemed to be contriving situations where it might happen.
Almost as though he were flirting.
It was not at all serious, of course. Jazz knew when he was outclassed and accepted it, and Prowl was already sparkmated and from what he had heard soon expecting a sparkling to raise: he was not going to put all of that at risk for a dalliance with a commoner, and Jazz's own sense of decency would not have allowed it if the Praxian's prudence slipped.
And yet, there was an undeniable attraction there. From the moment he had first seen Prowl, before he had even known his name, there had been a sense of recognition. A pulse in his spark. Under different circumstances he would not have hesitated to woo him, to seduce him...
Enough. He stopped himself sharply. Prowl might be flirting with him, might even be attracted to him, but he was not free to act on that attraction and Jazz would not force the issue.
They would have their fun for a few more orns, dancing round each other as not quite lovers, yearning to be more than friends, then Prowl would go home to Praxus and life would go on as normal. Simple as that.
On to segment 2