My bunnies are strange little things...
Don’t Touch!
Author: Thalanee
Verse: AU (my It’s A Game- Verse)
Word Count: 2000 words.
Rating: pg 13
Warnings: pure and utter crack
Disclaimer: I only wish they belonged to me, but they don’t.
Summary: Prompt: Jealousy. What will Jazz do if someone else tries to hit on Prowl? Are you really sure you want to know?
Author’s Notes: Thanks to renegadewriter8 who gave me the bunny and all my reviewers who gave me so much positive feedback for this verse!
I know I promised a new chapter of Things We Do For Love next, but I desperately needed something funny and the bunny insisted.
I blame temporary loss of sanity for this! XD
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If looks could kill no force in the entire universe, not even the combined effort of Unicron and Primus, would have been able to save the bot Jazz’s death glare was directed at.
Considering that what he was observing happened in the cyberspace of the online game “The Great War” maybe he could make looks kill? The whole concept seemed very tempting right now. Hacking the game’s server didn’t take that much effort, too. Jazz had done it before countless times… All it would take was rewriting a little piece of code and his optics would be able to burn other bot’s characters to little piles of ash once he took off the visor (just like one character in that Earth movie could...).
Growly noises erupted from the silver mech, prompting a confused look from the other three mechs about to log into the game. Craning their necks they looked at the screen Jazz was sitting in front of, intending to find out just what had ticked off the silver mech so badly that he was making growly noises at the screen.
Currently most mechs of the two factions were engaged in what could be referred to as a free for all brawl at the entrance of an old ruin. For both the Autobots and the Decepticon that particular ruin was of great interest, because it was supposed to harbor an ancient artifact: the ‘Cons needed it as an assembly place for their newest doomsday device and the ‘Bots wanted it so the Cons couldn’t use it. For that reason both factions were locked into little one on one fights with each other, directed by Prowl and his bunch of tacticians up on one hill top and Shockwave and Soundwave on the other. Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp had intended to join the fun when they had noticed Jazz glaring icicles at the scene.
The reason for Jazz dark, uncharacteristically murderous mood?
Another mech. Touching. His! Prowl!
Granted, he was only touching Prowl’s hands, but he was openly flirting with Prowl. And the worst thing about it all was Prowl’s obliviousness to it all. Usually a confused, oblivious Prowl was a very sexy Prowl in Jazz’s optics, but right now the saboteur found himself wishing his partner wasn’t that dense when it came to flirting.
“You know, you could simply defect, go ‘Con and kill the idiot’s character.” Skywarp’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “It’s not like Smokescreen doesn’t deserve it.”
“Don’t tempt meh, guys. Ah’m that short of getting in, going over there and throttling him already.” Jazz snarled back, emitting a noise a human would have identified as that of a kettle about to boil over, when he saw the blue Praxian “accidentally” brushing a hand against one of the delectable white wings Jazz loved to touch. “Da only problem Ah got is that Ah’m dead, remember?”
Starscream snorted, his ruby optics narrowing slyly. “As if that ever stopped you. Why not create a new character and just trash him? I know you have another as backup stored somewhere. It would be a matter of seconds.”
“Oh no, Ah have something very special in mind for that little slagger.” Jazz hissed, not noticing that his sharp silver claws were leaving dents in the table. The seekers watched in amusement. The trine knew that when Jazz got creative things got interesting and they would turn ‘Bot before missing a single second of it.
But after a few more minutes of Jazz alternately chewing holes into the table or snarling at the screen they exchanged looks, wiggling their wings at each other in the language familiar to Vosnians and Praxians. After some deliberation and careful thinking a round of metal, mesh and claws (the Cybertronian equivalent of rock, paper, scissors) determined who would speak up. Thundercracker lost.
:: Why do I have to do this again? :: he asked a last time, before resigning himself to his fate.
:: Because you are so much braver and stronger than we are :: Starscream shot back, while Skywarp grinned cheekily, giving TC a thumbs up.
“So… what are you going to do?”
Jazz grated his denta, before finally bursting out loud. “Ah don’t know, alright?! Ah can’t decide on anything, nothing seems scary enough.” The last sentence came out as a whine, before Jazz thumped his head against the table.
“Let’s hear it,” Skywarp offered, “maybe we can help.”
Looking at the purple seeker speculatively, Jazz remembered that ‘Warp was one of the greatest pranksters the game and real life had ever seen. Azure visor gleaming he imagined what they could accomplish if they really worked together. Oh, yes, that Smokescreen wouldn’t know what hit him…
“Alright, but let meh get ma new character online beforehand. Then we can plot.”
And then Skywarp uttered one idea Jazz could actually have kissed him for. “Why not use your old character? Return from the dead so to speak?”
Blue visor met red optics.
And their owners grinned maliciously. This was going to be soo good!
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Meanwhile Prowl was busy directing the battle and ignoring Smokescreen’s advances.
The tactician wasn’t nearly as oblivious to the blue bot’s advances as Jazz had thought. Prowl had noticed… after some time, anyway, and decided the best way to deal with the unwanted attention was to ignore its source. Unfortunately that plan had backfired, now the blue mech was convinced that the black and white was just playing hard to get.
Sighing Prowl wished Jazz was there, but the silver mech had died spectacularly (heroically, a voice sounding oddly like Jazz corrected in his head), being torn in two by Megatron and had yet to return with a new character.
Why Smokescreen thought he had a chance was beyond Prowl anyway. Everyone knew he was with Jazz, and everyone also knew the silver mech and he were bonded. Or at least they should by now, considering the many and various ways Jazz found to court him and claim him as his for all bots to see. One would have to be very slow in the processor to miss that.
Smokescreen was anything but slow, but Prowl had missed a crucial variable in that equation. For Smokescreen was fairly new to this game, and while he had watched the two-mech-soap-opera that was Jazz and Prowl, he had failed to notice that they were bonded and no one had told him, since every bot considered it common knowledge.
He had been warned to keep his hands of the black and white Praxian, if he wanted to survive, but didn’t take the warnings seriously.
So far Prowl hadn’t acknowledged any of his advances, but Smokescreen was determined to have the other Praxian at least go on a date with him. It would be his chance to woo the other away from the silver Polyhexian.
Grinning Smokescreen stepped closer to Prowl, and upping the game, pressed a servo to the other’s white back just beneath the doorwings. “Hey, once this battle is over we should go get some energon together, get to know each other, you know?”
Golden optics narrowed in what Skywarp had once termed the Scowl of Doom. “Please cease this behavior at once. I am already spoken for, as you very well know.”
“Aw, don’t be like that.”
What happened next was an unfortunate mix of bad judgment and very bad timing, if you looked at it from Smokescreen’s perspective at least.
In an attempt to get into Prowl’s good graces Smokescreen slithered closer, missing the way white claws flexed and doorwings rose in annoyance. However, he couldn’t miss the way the ground in front of them trembled slightly, a small mound of Earth forming.
Suddenly, a clawed silver servo shot out of the ground, covered in earth and in a slight frey sheen, prompting a very unmechly shriek from the blue Praxian. Especially when the mound grew bigger and a silver mech literally clawed his way out from under the ground, snarling and growling incoherently, the formerly blue visor glowing a dark grey.
The battle stopped as everyone stared at the spectacle (or in the case of three freshly logged in seekers filmed it for future use).
It was unmistakably Jazz’s frame, but it looked wrong. One could also see the remnants of the large tear in the silver chassis, courtesy of the Decepticon leader.
Prowl leaned back, unable to tear his optics from the silver chassis. At first he thought he thought someone allowed themselves a very bad joke, but then he noticed the odd little bursts of mischief flowing over his bond with Jazz, not to mention the very familiar twinkle in the other’s visor and the way he obviously had to fight down the large grin threatening to appear on his face. The doorwinger didn’t know exactly what his mate was up to, but he decided to sit back and watch. Just this once.
Never let it be said that he was above petty revenge.
Stretching out his servos in front of him, Jazz shambled in Prowl’s and Smokescreen’s direction, moaning theatrically. “My Prowl…” He had planned to speak more, but as it turned out, he didn’t need to. As soon as he so much as looked at the blue mech, Smokescreen turned around and ran, shrieking something about zombies and not wanting his processor eaten (now there was a bot who had watched too many of the wrong Earth movies, Jazz thought).
Jazz followed him for a while, which resulted in Smokescreen establishing a new record for the speed a bot could achieve on foot.
Cackling, Jazz congratulated himself on an entrance well down, when he was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their vocalizer. Turning around he was greeted by Prowl regarding him with a raised optic ridge. Glittering golden optics betrayed the doorwinger’s mirth concerning his mate’s antics.
“Hi Prowler, ya like ma new get up? ‘S all the rage now.” He posed, showing off his “zombified” self.
“How in Primus’ name did you come up with that?” Prowl asked.
“Sadly, Ah can’t lay claim ta that idea alone. ‘Warp helped.” He pointed to the purple seeker up in the sky who waved back enthusiastically, while Thundercracker held up a madly laughing Starscream so he wouldn’t plummet out of the sky.
“I might have known.”
“Ah had ta teach the newbies ta keep their servos off of ya.”
“Are you quite done?” Prowl asked dryly, wings twitching minutely.
“Nah, not yet, babe.”
“Considering that you have already scared away the competition quite thoroughly, there is little else that remains to be done.”
“But Ah still have ta show’em all yer mine, Prowler.” Jazz pouted. “Wouldn’t want anyone else ta make tha same mistake.”
“Do I even wish to know what else you have planned?”
A roguish grin was the only answer as Jazz stepped closer.
His optics widened as Prowl realized what Jazz was about to do. “Oh no, don’t even think about it.” He tried to sound serious about it, but there was the slightest sound of laughter in his voice, betraying his excitement.
But it was too late anyway. Jazz, picking up on his Prowl’s real mood, had already bent down and in a single swift movement slung Prowl over his shoulder, carrying his unresisting mate off, crossing through the whole battlefield of mechs and femmes frozen in whatever position they had been in during Jazz’s grand entrance, leaving a sea of turned heads in his wake.
He walked toward the highly convenient sunset, Prowl in his arms, while everyone stared and the seekers overhead laughed themselves silly.
Author’s Notes 2: See? I told you it was crazy…
I blame a bunny over on the tf bunny farm that said that Jazz returns from the dead, for real, as a zombie or otherwise…