Bird Song
Title: Bird Song
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
To be honest, it had been the sensor panels that had drawn his notice first. The twin extensions that moved like they had processors of their own (bad Jazz, no touchy), like their owner was dancing to a beat only they could hear. Not that the rest of Prowl wasn’t attention grabbing, but Jazz was from Polyhex, where dance was a way of life. The subtle flickers and gestures were his to examine and decode almost by spark right. And so scrutinise them he did.
Of course, the fact that Bluestreak and Smokescreen weren’t as reserved about fluttering their own panels helped a lot. The movements were similar, after accounting of individual variation, just understated, much like the SIC himself was, making them harder to read.
That Prowl seemed to have developed an aversion to interacting with the Ops mech outside of work made Jazz’s self appointed task even harder.
The saboteur couldn’t figure out what he’d done to keep the tactician away. Prowl had even started avoiding the other black and white when all he was doing was listening to music. He tried playing his songs at quieter volume, but all that did was shorten the time before the doorwinged mech made his excuses and departed from the area.
One might have told him to quit one or the other. But he’d be slagged before he gave up on Prowl, and no force on Cybertron was going to convince him to drop the tunes. If only he could figure out those sensor panels. The chevroned mech’s behaviour might make sense then.
Finally, after the umpteenth occasion of Jazz staring in hurt confusion as the tactician left the moment he joined Blaster in a song, the communications mech took hold of his friend’s shoulder and propelled him in the same direction.
“Go.”
“Wha?”
“Just ask Prowl what’s going on with him. He doesn’t stick around for long whenever I play stuff either, but this is the fastest I’ve ever seen him leave.” When the saboteur winced at that, the orange mech back-pedalled swiftly, trying to explain. “Frag, I’m not saying it’s you, alright? Our SIC might be holding out on an injury or something that’s-”
The tape player didn’t even have to finish his sentence. Jazz was already out the door and after the other black and white. Shaking his head, Blaster turned to his snickering cassettes with a sigh.
“Finally. I was getting sick of the kicked bumblepuppy look.”
= = =
Jazz caught up with the chevroned mech outside of Prowl’s quarters, reaching for the tactician’s arm just as he was walking through the door. The SIC stopped, surprise on his faceplates, and the Ops mech cycled air slowly, gathering the courage to actually ask his question.
“Just thought I’d ask. What did I do?”
Prowl’s bewildered expression didn’t fade, and Jazz clarified, sounding a little desperate.
“Is it the music? Am I too loud or too distracting? Is that why you never want to be around me? I can’t think of anything else I did to frag you off, and if I did I swear it was unintentional.”
The other black and white mech stared, then glanced down at the iron grip the saboteur had on his forearm. Quietly, Prowl vented air, then gently removed Jazz’s hand from his limb. The other mech’s visor flickered, then dimmed as he started to turn away, but stopped when the doorwinged mech didn’t let go.
“… Come inside?”
“Prowl?” Jazz was sure he sounded ridiculously disbelieving. The tactician looked as if he couldn’t quite believe it either, but he repeated the invitation, more resolutely this time as he released the saboteur’s hand, and eventually, the Ops mech followed him into the room. Prowl watched him shift from pede to pede, glancing about his quarters, then cleared his vocaliser softly.
“I apologise, Jazz. I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Mech, I just want to know why. Is it… is it me?”
The tactician was silent for a moment, and his sensor panels flickered briefly. Then… “In a way, yes.”
“… Oh.” Jazz suddenly found the floor to be thoroughly fascinating. A pair of white pedes came into his field of view, and a pair of white hands took hold of his own. He looked up at Prowl’s solemn expression, and marvelled at the uncertainty he saw in the other mech’s optics.
“And in a way, it is the music as well.”
“I’m sorry. I can set it to internal playback alone if it bothers you that much.”
“It isn’t the volume.”
“It’s not?” That ridiculously disbelieving tone was back again, and the tactician smiled at him, making his systems skip a beat.
“You tend to start singing along with the music.”
“… Frag. I am so sorry. I didn’t realise.”
“No, don’t be, you have a lovely voice.”
“Prowl. You’re making my processors ache. I don’t quite understand where you’re going with this. So… you don’t hate me and I still have a chance?” Completely baffled by now, the Ops mech paused at his slip, and again when the SIC fidgeted in embarrassment.
“I’m not good at this, Jazz. Perhaps it would be easier if I just…” Prowl leant in, laying a soft kiss on his lips, then pulled away, doors fluttering like Jazz had never seen them do before. Rebooting his optics, the visored mech felt a stupid grin start to pull across his faceplates.
“Well. I’m still confused. But now I’m confused and happy.” The chevroned mech actually laughed, and the saboteur laughed with him. “Prowl. Start at the beginning, and use small words so I can understand.”
The tactician shook his head, still smiling in amusement, then quietly replied.
“I… am attracted to you. Your voice draws my attention, and it… affects me.”
“… Come again?”
“If I had stayed in the rec room with you and Blaster just now, I imagine I would have.”
After Jazz’s CPU had rebooted itself, the visored mech made a rather undignified series of sputters. “You do just fine in meetings and briefings and such! I think I’d notice if you were off having a fragging overload in your chair!”
“Speech is usually fine, but Praxians court with song.” Those damnable sensor panels rose up as Prowl nodded at them. “Our doors are configured to pick up all sorts of data, and they are usually exceptionally sensitive to sound and vibration, both of which are inherent elements of music.”
“Then, my tunes…”
“Coupled with the voice of a mech I was already drawn to…” The tactician shrugged. “I thought it best to reduce the possibility of having to explain until I’d figured out what to say to you.”
“… Wow.”
“Indeed.”
“What’s it like? Picking up sound with these panels? Must be wild.” The visored mech stroked a doorwing, feeling both it and Prowl shiver slightly from the touch. It was a while before the tactician spoke again.
“Would you like to experience it for yourself?” The saboteur glanced at the other mech, stunned at the offer, before nodding. The chevroned mech tugged him over to a wall, prompting him to lean back against it as they connected.
Jazz’s questioning look was met with a faint, almost smug smile (which was summarily kissed into submission), and when they parted, music started playing in the room, something familiar, something heady and thrumming that had Prowl dimming his optics as his doors quivered. The Ops head barely heard the tactician ask him if he was ready, and not just because of the volume. Prowl’s voice was rough and low, and Jazz wondered at how quickly the sound affected the other black and white.
“Hit me.”
Their connection opened up, and the saboteur immediately realised just why Prowl had him up against the wall. His knees went weak as he felt what the doorwinged mech felt, experienced the pulsing notes and throbbing bass in a manner he’d never dreamed was possible, each beat sending ripples of sensation through his circuits.
He must have cried out, because the music shifted, from rough and pounding to smooth and sensuous, the vibrations winding around them both, like a constant silken caress over his plating. Jazz clutched at Prowl, groped for that pale helm to kiss him again as the music shifted once more, this time to a classical number, soft and soothing, letting them wind down even as it made the tactician sigh against the saboteur’s mouth.
When the last chords faded, they stood like that a while more before Prowl stirred, reaching up to disconnect them. Jazz helped him, and then wrapped his arms about the SIC again.
“Y’know, I can’t help but be a little envious. My audios, sharp as they are, will never be able to match what your doors can do. But I understand why you’d want to avoid music.”
The doorwinged mech hummed in agreement. “At least when I’m in public. There’s only one individual I want to see me like this.”
Jazz grinned, then herded Prowl backwards until the tactician obligingly slid onto his berth, the visored mech following with an anticipatory smirk. “And I’m minded to keep it that way too. Now, you were saying something about my voice, singing, and overload?”
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Characters: Prowl. Jazz.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing.
To be honest, it had been the sensor panels that had drawn his notice first. The twin extensions that moved like they had processors of their own (bad Jazz, no touchy), like their owner was dancing to a beat only they could hear. Not that the rest of Prowl wasn’t attention grabbing, but Jazz was from Polyhex, where dance was a way of life. The subtle flickers and gestures were his to examine and decode almost by spark right. And so scrutinise them he did.
Of course, the fact that Bluestreak and Smokescreen weren’t as reserved about fluttering their own panels helped a lot. The movements were similar, after accounting of individual variation, just understated, much like the SIC himself was, making them harder to read.
That Prowl seemed to have developed an aversion to interacting with the Ops mech outside of work made Jazz’s self appointed task even harder.
The saboteur couldn’t figure out what he’d done to keep the tactician away. Prowl had even started avoiding the other black and white when all he was doing was listening to music. He tried playing his songs at quieter volume, but all that did was shorten the time before the doorwinged mech made his excuses and departed from the area.
One might have told him to quit one or the other. But he’d be slagged before he gave up on Prowl, and no force on Cybertron was going to convince him to drop the tunes. If only he could figure out those sensor panels. The chevroned mech’s behaviour might make sense then.
Finally, after the umpteenth occasion of Jazz staring in hurt confusion as the tactician left the moment he joined Blaster in a song, the communications mech took hold of his friend’s shoulder and propelled him in the same direction.
“Go.”
“Wha?”
“Just ask Prowl what’s going on with him. He doesn’t stick around for long whenever I play stuff either, but this is the fastest I’ve ever seen him leave.” When the saboteur winced at that, the orange mech back-pedalled swiftly, trying to explain. “Frag, I’m not saying it’s you, alright? Our SIC might be holding out on an injury or something that’s-”
The tape player didn’t even have to finish his sentence. Jazz was already out the door and after the other black and white. Shaking his head, Blaster turned to his snickering cassettes with a sigh.
“Finally. I was getting sick of the kicked bumblepuppy look.”
= = =
Jazz caught up with the chevroned mech outside of Prowl’s quarters, reaching for the tactician’s arm just as he was walking through the door. The SIC stopped, surprise on his faceplates, and the Ops mech cycled air slowly, gathering the courage to actually ask his question.
“Just thought I’d ask. What did I do?”
Prowl’s bewildered expression didn’t fade, and Jazz clarified, sounding a little desperate.
“Is it the music? Am I too loud or too distracting? Is that why you never want to be around me? I can’t think of anything else I did to frag you off, and if I did I swear it was unintentional.”
The other black and white mech stared, then glanced down at the iron grip the saboteur had on his forearm. Quietly, Prowl vented air, then gently removed Jazz’s hand from his limb. The other mech’s visor flickered, then dimmed as he started to turn away, but stopped when the doorwinged mech didn’t let go.
“… Come inside?”
“Prowl?” Jazz was sure he sounded ridiculously disbelieving. The tactician looked as if he couldn’t quite believe it either, but he repeated the invitation, more resolutely this time as he released the saboteur’s hand, and eventually, the Ops mech followed him into the room. Prowl watched him shift from pede to pede, glancing about his quarters, then cleared his vocaliser softly.
“I apologise, Jazz. I did not mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Mech, I just want to know why. Is it… is it me?”
The tactician was silent for a moment, and his sensor panels flickered briefly. Then… “In a way, yes.”
“… Oh.” Jazz suddenly found the floor to be thoroughly fascinating. A pair of white pedes came into his field of view, and a pair of white hands took hold of his own. He looked up at Prowl’s solemn expression, and marvelled at the uncertainty he saw in the other mech’s optics.
“And in a way, it is the music as well.”
“I’m sorry. I can set it to internal playback alone if it bothers you that much.”
“It isn’t the volume.”
“It’s not?” That ridiculously disbelieving tone was back again, and the tactician smiled at him, making his systems skip a beat.
“You tend to start singing along with the music.”
“… Frag. I am so sorry. I didn’t realise.”
“No, don’t be, you have a lovely voice.”
“Prowl. You’re making my processors ache. I don’t quite understand where you’re going with this. So… you don’t hate me and I still have a chance?” Completely baffled by now, the Ops mech paused at his slip, and again when the SIC fidgeted in embarrassment.
“I’m not good at this, Jazz. Perhaps it would be easier if I just…” Prowl leant in, laying a soft kiss on his lips, then pulled away, doors fluttering like Jazz had never seen them do before. Rebooting his optics, the visored mech felt a stupid grin start to pull across his faceplates.
“Well. I’m still confused. But now I’m confused and happy.” The chevroned mech actually laughed, and the saboteur laughed with him. “Prowl. Start at the beginning, and use small words so I can understand.”
The tactician shook his head, still smiling in amusement, then quietly replied.
“I… am attracted to you. Your voice draws my attention, and it… affects me.”
“… Come again?”
“If I had stayed in the rec room with you and Blaster just now, I imagine I would have.”
After Jazz’s CPU had rebooted itself, the visored mech made a rather undignified series of sputters. “You do just fine in meetings and briefings and such! I think I’d notice if you were off having a fragging overload in your chair!”
“Speech is usually fine, but Praxians court with song.” Those damnable sensor panels rose up as Prowl nodded at them. “Our doors are configured to pick up all sorts of data, and they are usually exceptionally sensitive to sound and vibration, both of which are inherent elements of music.”
“Then, my tunes…”
“Coupled with the voice of a mech I was already drawn to…” The tactician shrugged. “I thought it best to reduce the possibility of having to explain until I’d figured out what to say to you.”
“… Wow.”
“Indeed.”
“What’s it like? Picking up sound with these panels? Must be wild.” The visored mech stroked a doorwing, feeling both it and Prowl shiver slightly from the touch. It was a while before the tactician spoke again.
“Would you like to experience it for yourself?” The saboteur glanced at the other mech, stunned at the offer, before nodding. The chevroned mech tugged him over to a wall, prompting him to lean back against it as they connected.
Jazz’s questioning look was met with a faint, almost smug smile (which was summarily kissed into submission), and when they parted, music started playing in the room, something familiar, something heady and thrumming that had Prowl dimming his optics as his doors quivered. The Ops head barely heard the tactician ask him if he was ready, and not just because of the volume. Prowl’s voice was rough and low, and Jazz wondered at how quickly the sound affected the other black and white.
“Hit me.”
Their connection opened up, and the saboteur immediately realised just why Prowl had him up against the wall. His knees went weak as he felt what the doorwinged mech felt, experienced the pulsing notes and throbbing bass in a manner he’d never dreamed was possible, each beat sending ripples of sensation through his circuits.
He must have cried out, because the music shifted, from rough and pounding to smooth and sensuous, the vibrations winding around them both, like a constant silken caress over his plating. Jazz clutched at Prowl, groped for that pale helm to kiss him again as the music shifted once more, this time to a classical number, soft and soothing, letting them wind down even as it made the tactician sigh against the saboteur’s mouth.
When the last chords faded, they stood like that a while more before Prowl stirred, reaching up to disconnect them. Jazz helped him, and then wrapped his arms about the SIC again.
“Y’know, I can’t help but be a little envious. My audios, sharp as they are, will never be able to match what your doors can do. But I understand why you’d want to avoid music.”
The doorwinged mech hummed in agreement. “At least when I’m in public. There’s only one individual I want to see me like this.”
Jazz grinned, then herded Prowl backwards until the tactician obligingly slid onto his berth, the visored mech following with an anticipatory smirk. “And I’m minded to keep it that way too. Now, you were saying something about my voice, singing, and overload?”