Mind the signs 3
My characters decided it was time for another one of these. I think this is just a series of Prowl and Jazz drabbles where I just and utterly completely fail at shipping.
Peer Pressure - In which Jazz plans a seduction...and it goes about as well as he expected, really...
He stopped and stared for several long breems, his expression becoming increasingly unhinged the longer he looked. Finally he couldn’t help himself.
“Stop laughing. No. Seriously. STOP.”
Prowl waved a hand weakly. “I’m sorry but were you really expecting me to take you seriously?” It took a great deal of effort but he managed to swallow the last of his laughter.
Jazz leveled a glare at the amused tactician. “Well. Yeah. You really don’t know anything about tact.”
The current object of his ire took another look at him and started laughing again. “Jazz…just get out. Before I comm Ratchet about the dubious state of your sanity.”
The saboteur’s scowl deepened. “I’ve been assured that you should have found this irresistible and you would have been unable to do anything but confess your hidden feelings for me.”
“My hidden feelings?” Prowl repeated incredulously. He stared hard at the insane menace seated in his berth and Prowl’s face became increasingly disturbed as he sought to understand Jazz’s motives…and failed. “Has someone scrambled your processor with a virus?”
Jazz cast Prowl an annoyed look. “You mean you haven’t been discretely flirting with me for the past thousand vorns?”
The tactician shuttered his optics at him before lapsing into quiet laughter once more. “No. Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“No, but everyone else seems to be convinced that that what we’ve been doing,” Jazz idly scratched an audio horn, only to have the movement arrested by the garish decorations he’d adorned himself with. He tried to remove his servo but that only served to further entangle it and he gave up with a loud exvent.
“So, you gave into peer pressure?” Prowl leveled an admonishing look at his comrade. “Is that the reason for this…abomination in my room?”
“Mechs were very insistent. They seemed to have a lot of wild ideas of what we should be doing and how to do it. So I figure this way would shut everyone up and give me some peace and quiet. Admittedly, this would have been the strangest seduction in my life, but I try not to judge a bot by their kinks.”
“I…see,” the tactician winced as something snapped and was launched across the room somewhere into his belongings. “Now that we’ve cleared this misunderstanding up, could you please remove yourself and your accompanying atrocity from my vicinity?”
“Not a problem, Prowl,” Jazz answered easily. He made to rise; displacing a cloud of glitter as he did, then he froze. “Slag.”
“I was vaguely curious as to how you managed to get in here like that but I suspected the answer would be traumatizing,” Prowl mentioned, backing away carefully. He discreetly sent a comm call to Ratchet for assistance.
“No, no, I’ve got this.” Jazz evidently had hacked the line.
Prowl raised an optic ridge dubiously. “Really?”
The saboteur straightened to his full height and the outfit was ripped to pieces. Prowl wasn’t sure how exactly he’d procured the human garment in mech sized proportions but found that he had no desire to learn any more of this insanity than he already had been exposed to.
“That is so much better,” Jazz exclaimed with relief, yanking a rogue ribbon off his helm. “Can you really believe that there are bots that go crazy for this stuff? How do they even to the good parts when these things fall apart at the slightest movement?”
“I’m still struggling to understand how the crew decided that I fell into that lunacy,” Prowl observed neutrally, eying the mess of shredded clothing around his berth. Someone was going to have to clean that up and knowing Jazz, it wouldn’t be him.
“Hey,” Jazz said, “At least I didn’t blindfold myself. Raj was really convinced you’d go for that.”
The tactician’s faceplates took on a pained look. “We have thermal vision.”
“I know.”
“Motion trackers.”
“I know.”
“Spark scanners.”
“I know.”
“Sight is almost redundant.”
“Yep.”
Prowl looked a little lost and Jazz knew he was wondering why anybot would find such a thing arousing but the tactician was far too sensible to ask. “Don’t worry,” he assured him. “I’ve spoken to Red and access to the internet is going to be severely restricted from now on. It’ll be easy to enforce because Ratchet is convinced that they’re slowly going insane from all the exposure and he's prepared to back up Red.”
“So that’s the real reason behind this. Your processor has been degraded due to overexposure.”
Jazz finally started laughing. “Course not Prowl. I just wanted to see the look on your face. And it was worth it, mech, it was worth it.”
END
A/N: Look, my headspace characters are complete and utter trolls when it comes to each other and shipping.
Peer Pressure - In which Jazz plans a seduction...and it goes about as well as he expected, really...
He stopped and stared for several long breems, his expression becoming increasingly unhinged the longer he looked. Finally he couldn’t help himself.
“Stop laughing. No. Seriously. STOP.”
Prowl waved a hand weakly. “I’m sorry but were you really expecting me to take you seriously?” It took a great deal of effort but he managed to swallow the last of his laughter.
Jazz leveled a glare at the amused tactician. “Well. Yeah. You really don’t know anything about tact.”
The current object of his ire took another look at him and started laughing again. “Jazz…just get out. Before I comm Ratchet about the dubious state of your sanity.”
The saboteur’s scowl deepened. “I’ve been assured that you should have found this irresistible and you would have been unable to do anything but confess your hidden feelings for me.”
“My hidden feelings?” Prowl repeated incredulously. He stared hard at the insane menace seated in his berth and Prowl’s face became increasingly disturbed as he sought to understand Jazz’s motives…and failed. “Has someone scrambled your processor with a virus?”
Jazz cast Prowl an annoyed look. “You mean you haven’t been discretely flirting with me for the past thousand vorns?”
The tactician shuttered his optics at him before lapsing into quiet laughter once more. “No. Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“No, but everyone else seems to be convinced that that what we’ve been doing,” Jazz idly scratched an audio horn, only to have the movement arrested by the garish decorations he’d adorned himself with. He tried to remove his servo but that only served to further entangle it and he gave up with a loud exvent.
“So, you gave into peer pressure?” Prowl leveled an admonishing look at his comrade. “Is that the reason for this…abomination in my room?”
“Mechs were very insistent. They seemed to have a lot of wild ideas of what we should be doing and how to do it. So I figure this way would shut everyone up and give me some peace and quiet. Admittedly, this would have been the strangest seduction in my life, but I try not to judge a bot by their kinks.”
“I…see,” the tactician winced as something snapped and was launched across the room somewhere into his belongings. “Now that we’ve cleared this misunderstanding up, could you please remove yourself and your accompanying atrocity from my vicinity?”
“Not a problem, Prowl,” Jazz answered easily. He made to rise; displacing a cloud of glitter as he did, then he froze. “Slag.”
“I was vaguely curious as to how you managed to get in here like that but I suspected the answer would be traumatizing,” Prowl mentioned, backing away carefully. He discreetly sent a comm call to Ratchet for assistance.
“No, no, I’ve got this.” Jazz evidently had hacked the line.
Prowl raised an optic ridge dubiously. “Really?”
The saboteur straightened to his full height and the outfit was ripped to pieces. Prowl wasn’t sure how exactly he’d procured the human garment in mech sized proportions but found that he had no desire to learn any more of this insanity than he already had been exposed to.
“That is so much better,” Jazz exclaimed with relief, yanking a rogue ribbon off his helm. “Can you really believe that there are bots that go crazy for this stuff? How do they even to the good parts when these things fall apart at the slightest movement?”
“I’m still struggling to understand how the crew decided that I fell into that lunacy,” Prowl observed neutrally, eying the mess of shredded clothing around his berth. Someone was going to have to clean that up and knowing Jazz, it wouldn’t be him.
“Hey,” Jazz said, “At least I didn’t blindfold myself. Raj was really convinced you’d go for that.”
The tactician’s faceplates took on a pained look. “We have thermal vision.”
“I know.”
“Motion trackers.”
“I know.”
“Spark scanners.”
“I know.”
“Sight is almost redundant.”
“Yep.”
Prowl looked a little lost and Jazz knew he was wondering why anybot would find such a thing arousing but the tactician was far too sensible to ask. “Don’t worry,” he assured him. “I’ve spoken to Red and access to the internet is going to be severely restricted from now on. It’ll be easy to enforce because Ratchet is convinced that they’re slowly going insane from all the exposure and he's prepared to back up Red.”
“So that’s the real reason behind this. Your processor has been degraded due to overexposure.”
Jazz finally started laughing. “Course not Prowl. I just wanted to see the look on your face. And it was worth it, mech, it was worth it.”
END
A/N: Look, my headspace characters are complete and utter trolls when it comes to each other and shipping.