TF: Turnabout Is Fair Play
Rating: R
Series: G1
Summary: Prowl finds himself watching Jazz work and decides to exact a little revenge
Pairings: Jazz/Prowl
Warnings: Mech smex implied!
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten…
Authors Notes: This was written for
vejiraziel who has been wonderfully sweet in writing several people fics to cheer them up, even though she’s not well herself (don’t think I didn’t notice your mood icon sweetie!). Hopefully this’ll make her feel a little better. This also marks the first time I’ve ever called Prowl Prowler in any of my stories.
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Prowl leant against the door, watching quietly as Jazz typed frantically, frequently referring to the data pad at his side. Normally it was Jazz watching Prowl work. This was a strange reversal, but a last minute request from Optimus Prime had meant that Jazz had needed to write up a report. Jazz had apologised profusely, before turning around and heading away from their quarters. They were both officially off-duty and had planned on curling up together and not leaving their quarters until their next shifts. Prowl had merely inclined his head and smiled, following Jazz down the corridor to his office. He mused as he watched the Porsche work; optics lingering over the curves of his partner’s chassis. He could now understand why Jazz never complained (too much) about him working.
Quietly, he stepped closer, not able to resist the urge to lay his hands on Jazz’s shoulders. He knew that Jazz revelled in the power he held when Prowl was working, and he was curious to know how it felt. Gently flexing his fingers, he rested his hands on Jazz’s shoulders eliciting a soft, surprised gasp.
“Shouldn’t be so focussed on your work.” He whispered, close to Jazz’s audios.
“Nnnnhh.” Jazz muttered under his vocaliser, trying his best to ignore the tingles shooting through his circuits as Prowl moved his fingers across the roof of his alt-mode.
“Concentrate now.” Prowl murmured, ghosting fingers back and forth across the smooth metal of Jazz’s chassis.
“Bit hard when you’re doing that Prowler.” Jazz managed to force out, whimpers punctuating his sentence as Prowl’s hands moved to more sensitive areas.
“I’m not doing anything.” Prowl replied as innocently as he could. How was it Jazz could keep his vocaliser sounding so innocent and even when he did this to Prowl? Prowl was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain a calm voice; registering the effects he was having on Jazz only serving to increase his own desire for the saboteur.
“Like slag you’re not.” Jazz moaned, twisting round in his chair and pulling Prowl down to kiss him. He pulled Prowl into his lap, hands rapidly finding the most sensitive seams on the Datsun’s chassis. All thoughts of teasing fled Prowl’s processor as Jazz’s hands found their way to his door wings and he arched into the touch.
It was only after they’d both recovered from their mutual overloads that Prowl thought to ask about the report Jazz needed to finish.
“Finished it before you even started teasing me Prowler.”
“What?”
“Figured ya might be curious and try to tease me like I tease you.”
“Indeed.” Prowl couldn’t be angry at that, not when he was curled up against Jazz’s side, the cool metal of the floor welcoming against his overheated chassis.