Into the Wild Black (Jazz/everybody, R)
Title: Into the Wild Black
Author/Artist: raisedbymoogles
Rating: R
Warnings: Crack, sex, shameless concept-lifting, and Jazz.
Word Count: 2617
Summary: A little Star Trek, a little Titan A.E., a dash of Pirates of the Caribbean... and Jazz is an utter slut machine.
Prompt: Transformers (G1 AU), Jazz/anybody: pirates! - /Hey, ho, we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing - bold and brave and free, sailing for adventure on the deep blue sea/
They were the dream.
On the proud warship Broadside, the bold space pirates led by the notorious Jazz sailed through the stars. They knew no law but their own, gave quarter to none who crossed them. They flirted at the edges of Empire-controlled space and drove their enforcers to fits trying to catch them. Even among pirates, Jazz and the crew of the Broadside were respected and feared, and the tales of their exploits grew grander with every retelling. Some said that they had some magic, a charm that kept them out of the claws of the imperial armada. Those close to them knew that their charm was none other than Jazz himself.
***
The femme's hand left an imprint in Jazz's cheek and sent him spinning back into his stocky second, who caught him easily; as the femme huffed off, Springer offered, "You probably deserved that."
"What'd I do?" Jazz wondered as the green mech set him back on his feet. He was just overcharged enough to not have felt that, but not enough to pursue the femme who'd slapped him in the first place. Toshiba Station was crowded that cycle with pirates and travelers of all descriptions (assuming those descriptions included 'armed'). There would be other chances. There always were.
He was Jazz, after all.
***
Unit designated Jazz, wanted for eighteen counts of piracy, ten counts of failing to obey orders from marked imperial craft, six counts of stealing energon, eight counts of harboring fugitives from justice, and two counts of public lewdness. Subject is considered armed and dangerous. Recommended for termination.
***
Jazz sat up against the wall, watching his current light of love as she gazed out the clearsteel portal. "Whatcha lookin at, darlin'?" he murmured.
Arcee didn't respond right away, lingering at the portal as if she hated to tear her optics away. "After tonight," she murmured, "I probably won't see Toshiba Station again. ...Or you."
She turned back to him then, optics shimmering with emotion unspent - Jazz smiled and extended his hands to her, and she let him tug her back into the berth and into his arms. "You leavin' us?" he asked. "You know I'd miss my favorite barkeep, but hey, if the energon calls..."
"It's not quite like that," Arcee answered, nestling her head against Jazz's shoulder. "I didn't get another job; I took a commission."
"You goin' Imperial on us?" Arcee lifted her head to glare at him and Jazz raised his hands quickly. "Had to ask. So what's the gig?"
Arcee shook her head. "If I don't tell you, they can't torture it out of you when they finally catch you." Jazz had to laugh, all the more because he knew Arcee was serious and probably right.
"Well," he said instead. "If I'm your last bit of fun before you go off into the wild black yonder, I better make it good, right?"
As he lifted the femme's slighter body and settled her over his hips, Arcee purred. "I know you will. That's why I chose you."
***
In other news, today an imperial military installation on Acer Colony was attacked. There were no civilian casualties; two officers of the Empire were deactivated and thirteen were damaged. A terrorist group calling themselves the 'Autobots' has taken responsibility. Vox Commander Starscream issued a statement promising to find this group and bring its members to justice. Now to Reflector for today's sports...
***
At the edges of Decepticon-controlled territory, Jazz stood at the helm of the Broadside, gazing out into the blackness beyond. Stars glowed with a steady light, from molten crimson to sacred blue, spending their lives to shine for what was, on a cosmic scale, the briefest of moments.
From behind him, the gunner and fighter pilot Airazor mused, "Is it my imagination, or are the Decepticons extending their reach awfully quickly?"
"Star by star, system by system," Springer answered grimly, "more or less. The galaxy's getting smaller."
His words stilled all the crew to sober contemplation - from Airazor at the gunnery station, to the fighters Cliffjumper and Nightracer, to their scout Powerglide. All save Jazz, who laughed lightly at his second's words.
"When this galaxy goes," he told them, "we'll find another," and laid his hands on the ship's controls to awaken the seventh member of their crew: the ship itself.
Golden threads of energy laced along the console, teasing into Jazz's fingers to make him wriggle and laugh. That energy bound them together as no mere linkup could, and suddenly Jazz's awareness expanded to encompass another, a vast and solid being whose home was the void between stars.
At your command, captain. Broadside's voice inside Jazz's head and spark was amused and fond.
Jazz took a moment to luxuriate in the communion, not caring whether he looked a fool to his crewmembers. "Heading eight-three-seven by five point zero dash eight," he said aloud. "Transwarp factor three."
Broadside's engines fired, and Jazz melted against the console with a lusty moan.
***
Attention, all Decepticon craft. This is a priority alert. Class-one targets now approaching the planet Sekai on a sunside vector nine. Intercept and destroy.
***
The mech was nearly unconscious when the pirates found him, and so finely built that Jazz had no trouble carrying him across the dusty slums of Sekai back to their ship. Under the layer of grime he was a dusky blue, and he held his arm to his subspace access hatch as if some precious secret was kept there.
"Found some treasure, Captain?" Springer asked archly when Jazz trotted up the ramp with his prize in his arms.
"You know me," Jazz grinned. "I can't resist a pretty face- ow!" Jazz reeled back, surprised by an elbow to the face. The blue mech spilled out of the captain's grip and followed up his initial attack with a roundhouse kick that sent Jazz flat on his aft. The ungrateful rescuee didn't pause to gloat - he darted back, that sleek body possessed of tremendous speed, and might have gotten away entirely if it wasn't for Springer's clasping arms around his body.
"Hey!" the bulky green mech snapped as his captive struggled and kicked. "You always thank your rescuers like this?"
The blue mech stilled, optics flickering from Springer to Jazz and back. "My apologies," he offered finally, his voice quiet and cultured but strained with fatigue. "I had thought you were Decepticons."
Jazz huffed as he brushed off his plating. "You see a brand on us anywhere?" When the mech just stared, Jazz shook his head. "Never mind. My name's Jazz, and this is Springer. We're - heh, let's say soldiers of fortune, on the Broadside."
Springer let the blue mech down to stand on his feet, and he turned to address them both. "I am an Autobot scout," he said with great conviction. "My name is Mirage. If you truly are - soldiers of fortune, I would like to hire you as escorts."
"We don't come cheap," Springer answered doubtfully as Jazz nursed his sore backside. "You got credits on you?"
Mirage hesitated. "Not enough," he admitted with a wince. "I'll give you what I have. My - commander will cover the rest, once delivery is made."
Springer opened his mouth to protest, but Jazz pre-empted him with an arm over Mirage's shoulders. "We're on the job," he declared. "It'd take a smaller spark than mine to leave you marooned on a dustball like this."
"Well," Mirage demurred. "My concern is not for myself. It's for what I've stolen." He pressed a hand to his access hatch again. "The Heart of Cybertron."
His words left a silence over the crew. Springer stepped back a moment, looking up at Jazz. "Captain, this is over our heads."
Jazz actually laughed. "Yeah, but that's how I like it!" He took Mirage by the shoulders, face stretched in an almost manic grin. " 'Raj, babe, you just stole two hearts today. Our ship is yours, for the low low price of letting me buy you a drink."
Springer groaned and dragged them both inside.
***
PRIORITY ALERT: An imperial treasure has been stolen. The thief is known to be a member of the Autobots, but no visual is available. It is suspected he is traveling with a pirate crew (see attached information). Apprehend and recover the Heart. His Imperial Highness wishes the thief to be brought to him alive, but the pirates are to be terminated.
***
The violet symbol of the Decepticon Empire blazed against the pale metal of the battle cruiser accosting the Broadside, bristling with sharp sleekness as the ship itself bristled with weaponry. "This is Officer Prowl on Enforcer craft nine-six-one-one class B," said the calm voice over the comm. "Kill your engines and weapons systems and surrender."
Powerglide slapped his hand over the speaker as if to drown out the Decepticon officer's voice. "He's got us dead to rights, Captain," he reported, unable to keep the fear from his voice. "Orders?"
From the back of the bridge, Mirage pressed a hand to his access hatch again, as if to reassure himself that his precious cargo was still there. "Give me to him," he said abruptly. "You can still get the - the Heart away from him before he realizes your deception."
"And leave you to die?" Nightracer asked - an honest question, not a rejection of the idea.
Mirage smiled thinly at her. "I doubt the Decepticons are feeling quite that merciful." He moved aside as Jazz passed him from the command chair, nudging Powerglide aside to take the comm station.
"Hey, sexy," he purred into the transmitter. "I got a better idea. Why don't you pop on over to my ship and I'll show you some non-regulation uses for those stasis cuffs?"
Prowl and Mirage spluttered at the same time; Jazz switched the transmitter off to laugh. "Captain!" Powerglide protested, scandalized.
"I say again," Prowl said firmly, as Jazz waved him down with a grin. "Kill your engines and weapons systems-"
"What's the name 'Heart of Cybertron' mean to you?" Jazz drawled, and there was a moment of silence over the radio.
"An ancient treasure," the officer answered slowly. "It was said to be the source of goodness in all Cybertronian sparks, and as such, was considered sacred. It was lost long ago, and many people still mourn its loss."
Jazz's laugh was almost brittle. "Guess your bosses aren't much for the old stories, huh, Prowl? Turns out someone found the Heart. It's been used to power the shipyards at Sekai." When Prowl didn't respond, Jazz lowered his head. "I ain't much for spirituality, Prowl, but I gotta say - that shook me. Usin' the Heart of Cybertron to build warships? Usin' its energy to feed Megatron's powerlust? There's somethin' wrong with that."
For a moment, the silence was complete as the void of space. The pirates stood where they were, paralyzed by fear and sorrow as Jazz bent his head slowly over the console.
"Why should I believe you?" Prowl's voice was thick with static.
"Power down your weapons an' we'll let you dock up to the Broadside," Jazz answered, and not even Springer protested. "Then you can see the Heart for yourself, and hear where it came from."
"Understood," was the prompt, military reply. "I'm complying now."
"And bring your stasis cuffs," Jazz couldn't resist adding. Fed up, Powerglide shoved him out of his comm station.
***
To all freedom-loving beings of the galaxy:
The Decepticons' tyranny has gone unchecked for far too long. Their rule has cast everyone into untold suffering. How many of you fear to walk the streets of your own cities by night, lest you be met by the soldiers of the Emperor? How many fear to let their creations roam free, how many silence themselves for fear of their rulers' wrath? How many have gone into exile, unable to bear the burden of life under these ruthless despots?
We are the Autobots. We are through bowing our heads to these tyrants. We will retake our worlds, and let peace and democracy grow where once there was only the barren sand of terror. Our numbers are few, but our sparks beat strong and we will never surrender. If you feel as we do, join us. Help us cast off the yoke of oppression and bring about a new day of freedom.
***
Prowl, his chest scraped clean of its purple symbol, walked beside Jazz as they escorted Mirage down into the abandoned mine where the Autobots were based. "Some shinin' tower of freedom," Jazz observed, but after walking its halls he had to admit he was impressed. The Autobots' base was clean and bright, filled with mechanicals and organics of all descriptions bustling about on errands of their own. The mechs fielded their share of curious stares as Mirage led them to the conference chamber where his commander waited; Prowl ignoring them all with lofty dignity, Jazz grinning and shimmying his hips at everyone who caught his optic. Only one of his admirers responded: a slight pink femme who leaped on him, kissed him full on the lips, and scampered away before Jazz could say a word.
"Do you flirt with everyone?" Mirage muttered.
"Well, there's some people I ain't met yet," Jazz answered modestly, still thrumming with pleasure from Arcee's kiss, and Mirage and Prowl shared a longsuffering look.
Jazz had been expecting a mech on a throne, maybe with a cape and a crown, trying to look like an Emperor-in-training. The mech who met them in the conference chamber was imposing, yes, but in the same way construction equipment is imposing: strong, solid, built for heavy labor. Aside from the red insignia all the Autobots sported, he wore no trappings of office. "I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots," he said to them, extending his hand. "For bringing Mirage back to us, you have my gratitude. The Heart of Cybertron is valuable, but never as valuable as the life of one of my people."
"Sir," Prowl said, straightening to perfect military attention, "I am Prowl, formerly an officer of the Decepticon Imperial Enforcer fleet. I request permission to join the Autobots."
It was clear he expected to be rejected outright, for he startled in surprise when Optimus laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "You are welcome here, Prowl. See our medics to get a sigil." Prowl saluted, and Optimus turned to Jazz. "I don't suppose I can interest you in joining as well. I've heard of your exploits; your skills would be an asset to us."
"Well, I can't speak for my crew," Jazz mused. "But I guess I gotta join, now that Mirage and Prowl are both yours." He grinned wickedly. "Never gonna find a sexier couple of mechs in the galaxy."
"Jazz!" Prowl and Mirage protested in unison; Jazz cracked up, waving his hands at them in entirely inadequate apology. Mirage huffed and grabbed Prowl's arm, pulling him from the room.
"Are you certain?" Optimus Prime asked quietly, once they were gone. "We're not pirates, Jazz. You won't have the kind of freedom you're used to."
"You of all people, sayin' that," Jazz chuckled. "There's freedom and then there's freedom, Optimus Prime. I'm doin' this 'cause I want to."
The Prime nodded, accepting. "Welcome to the Autobots, Jazz."
"Can't promise you won't regret it," Jazz answered airily. Optimus was about to protest until Jazz gripped his aft firmly and ran.
***
ADDENDUM: Unit Jazz is confirmed to have joined the Autobots. Defections, installations lost to sabotage and pro-Autobot graffiti have all increased exponentially since then. Containment procedures have proven ineffective. Awaiting further orders.
Author/Artist: raisedbymoogles
Rating: R
Warnings: Crack, sex, shameless concept-lifting, and Jazz.
Word Count: 2617
Summary: A little Star Trek, a little Titan A.E., a dash of Pirates of the Caribbean... and Jazz is an utter slut machine.
Prompt: Transformers (G1 AU), Jazz/anybody: pirates! - /Hey, ho, we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing - bold and brave and free, sailing for adventure on the deep blue sea/
They were the dream.
On the proud warship Broadside, the bold space pirates led by the notorious Jazz sailed through the stars. They knew no law but their own, gave quarter to none who crossed them. They flirted at the edges of Empire-controlled space and drove their enforcers to fits trying to catch them. Even among pirates, Jazz and the crew of the Broadside were respected and feared, and the tales of their exploits grew grander with every retelling. Some said that they had some magic, a charm that kept them out of the claws of the imperial armada. Those close to them knew that their charm was none other than Jazz himself.
***
The femme's hand left an imprint in Jazz's cheek and sent him spinning back into his stocky second, who caught him easily; as the femme huffed off, Springer offered, "You probably deserved that."
"What'd I do?" Jazz wondered as the green mech set him back on his feet. He was just overcharged enough to not have felt that, but not enough to pursue the femme who'd slapped him in the first place. Toshiba Station was crowded that cycle with pirates and travelers of all descriptions (assuming those descriptions included 'armed'). There would be other chances. There always were.
He was Jazz, after all.
***
Unit designated Jazz, wanted for eighteen counts of piracy, ten counts of failing to obey orders from marked imperial craft, six counts of stealing energon, eight counts of harboring fugitives from justice, and two counts of public lewdness. Subject is considered armed and dangerous. Recommended for termination.
***
Jazz sat up against the wall, watching his current light of love as she gazed out the clearsteel portal. "Whatcha lookin at, darlin'?" he murmured.
Arcee didn't respond right away, lingering at the portal as if she hated to tear her optics away. "After tonight," she murmured, "I probably won't see Toshiba Station again. ...Or you."
She turned back to him then, optics shimmering with emotion unspent - Jazz smiled and extended his hands to her, and she let him tug her back into the berth and into his arms. "You leavin' us?" he asked. "You know I'd miss my favorite barkeep, but hey, if the energon calls..."
"It's not quite like that," Arcee answered, nestling her head against Jazz's shoulder. "I didn't get another job; I took a commission."
"You goin' Imperial on us?" Arcee lifted her head to glare at him and Jazz raised his hands quickly. "Had to ask. So what's the gig?"
Arcee shook her head. "If I don't tell you, they can't torture it out of you when they finally catch you." Jazz had to laugh, all the more because he knew Arcee was serious and probably right.
"Well," he said instead. "If I'm your last bit of fun before you go off into the wild black yonder, I better make it good, right?"
As he lifted the femme's slighter body and settled her over his hips, Arcee purred. "I know you will. That's why I chose you."
***
In other news, today an imperial military installation on Acer Colony was attacked. There were no civilian casualties; two officers of the Empire were deactivated and thirteen were damaged. A terrorist group calling themselves the 'Autobots' has taken responsibility. Vox Commander Starscream issued a statement promising to find this group and bring its members to justice. Now to Reflector for today's sports...
***
At the edges of Decepticon-controlled territory, Jazz stood at the helm of the Broadside, gazing out into the blackness beyond. Stars glowed with a steady light, from molten crimson to sacred blue, spending their lives to shine for what was, on a cosmic scale, the briefest of moments.
From behind him, the gunner and fighter pilot Airazor mused, "Is it my imagination, or are the Decepticons extending their reach awfully quickly?"
"Star by star, system by system," Springer answered grimly, "more or less. The galaxy's getting smaller."
His words stilled all the crew to sober contemplation - from Airazor at the gunnery station, to the fighters Cliffjumper and Nightracer, to their scout Powerglide. All save Jazz, who laughed lightly at his second's words.
"When this galaxy goes," he told them, "we'll find another," and laid his hands on the ship's controls to awaken the seventh member of their crew: the ship itself.
Golden threads of energy laced along the console, teasing into Jazz's fingers to make him wriggle and laugh. That energy bound them together as no mere linkup could, and suddenly Jazz's awareness expanded to encompass another, a vast and solid being whose home was the void between stars.
At your command, captain. Broadside's voice inside Jazz's head and spark was amused and fond.
Jazz took a moment to luxuriate in the communion, not caring whether he looked a fool to his crewmembers. "Heading eight-three-seven by five point zero dash eight," he said aloud. "Transwarp factor three."
Broadside's engines fired, and Jazz melted against the console with a lusty moan.
***
Attention, all Decepticon craft. This is a priority alert. Class-one targets now approaching the planet Sekai on a sunside vector nine. Intercept and destroy.
***
The mech was nearly unconscious when the pirates found him, and so finely built that Jazz had no trouble carrying him across the dusty slums of Sekai back to their ship. Under the layer of grime he was a dusky blue, and he held his arm to his subspace access hatch as if some precious secret was kept there.
"Found some treasure, Captain?" Springer asked archly when Jazz trotted up the ramp with his prize in his arms.
"You know me," Jazz grinned. "I can't resist a pretty face- ow!" Jazz reeled back, surprised by an elbow to the face. The blue mech spilled out of the captain's grip and followed up his initial attack with a roundhouse kick that sent Jazz flat on his aft. The ungrateful rescuee didn't pause to gloat - he darted back, that sleek body possessed of tremendous speed, and might have gotten away entirely if it wasn't for Springer's clasping arms around his body.
"Hey!" the bulky green mech snapped as his captive struggled and kicked. "You always thank your rescuers like this?"
The blue mech stilled, optics flickering from Springer to Jazz and back. "My apologies," he offered finally, his voice quiet and cultured but strained with fatigue. "I had thought you were Decepticons."
Jazz huffed as he brushed off his plating. "You see a brand on us anywhere?" When the mech just stared, Jazz shook his head. "Never mind. My name's Jazz, and this is Springer. We're - heh, let's say soldiers of fortune, on the Broadside."
Springer let the blue mech down to stand on his feet, and he turned to address them both. "I am an Autobot scout," he said with great conviction. "My name is Mirage. If you truly are - soldiers of fortune, I would like to hire you as escorts."
"We don't come cheap," Springer answered doubtfully as Jazz nursed his sore backside. "You got credits on you?"
Mirage hesitated. "Not enough," he admitted with a wince. "I'll give you what I have. My - commander will cover the rest, once delivery is made."
Springer opened his mouth to protest, but Jazz pre-empted him with an arm over Mirage's shoulders. "We're on the job," he declared. "It'd take a smaller spark than mine to leave you marooned on a dustball like this."
"Well," Mirage demurred. "My concern is not for myself. It's for what I've stolen." He pressed a hand to his access hatch again. "The Heart of Cybertron."
His words left a silence over the crew. Springer stepped back a moment, looking up at Jazz. "Captain, this is over our heads."
Jazz actually laughed. "Yeah, but that's how I like it!" He took Mirage by the shoulders, face stretched in an almost manic grin. " 'Raj, babe, you just stole two hearts today. Our ship is yours, for the low low price of letting me buy you a drink."
Springer groaned and dragged them both inside.
***
PRIORITY ALERT: An imperial treasure has been stolen. The thief is known to be a member of the Autobots, but no visual is available. It is suspected he is traveling with a pirate crew (see attached information). Apprehend and recover the Heart. His Imperial Highness wishes the thief to be brought to him alive, but the pirates are to be terminated.
***
The violet symbol of the Decepticon Empire blazed against the pale metal of the battle cruiser accosting the Broadside, bristling with sharp sleekness as the ship itself bristled with weaponry. "This is Officer Prowl on Enforcer craft nine-six-one-one class B," said the calm voice over the comm. "Kill your engines and weapons systems and surrender."
Powerglide slapped his hand over the speaker as if to drown out the Decepticon officer's voice. "He's got us dead to rights, Captain," he reported, unable to keep the fear from his voice. "Orders?"
From the back of the bridge, Mirage pressed a hand to his access hatch again, as if to reassure himself that his precious cargo was still there. "Give me to him," he said abruptly. "You can still get the - the Heart away from him before he realizes your deception."
"And leave you to die?" Nightracer asked - an honest question, not a rejection of the idea.
Mirage smiled thinly at her. "I doubt the Decepticons are feeling quite that merciful." He moved aside as Jazz passed him from the command chair, nudging Powerglide aside to take the comm station.
"Hey, sexy," he purred into the transmitter. "I got a better idea. Why don't you pop on over to my ship and I'll show you some non-regulation uses for those stasis cuffs?"
Prowl and Mirage spluttered at the same time; Jazz switched the transmitter off to laugh. "Captain!" Powerglide protested, scandalized.
"I say again," Prowl said firmly, as Jazz waved him down with a grin. "Kill your engines and weapons systems-"
"What's the name 'Heart of Cybertron' mean to you?" Jazz drawled, and there was a moment of silence over the radio.
"An ancient treasure," the officer answered slowly. "It was said to be the source of goodness in all Cybertronian sparks, and as such, was considered sacred. It was lost long ago, and many people still mourn its loss."
Jazz's laugh was almost brittle. "Guess your bosses aren't much for the old stories, huh, Prowl? Turns out someone found the Heart. It's been used to power the shipyards at Sekai." When Prowl didn't respond, Jazz lowered his head. "I ain't much for spirituality, Prowl, but I gotta say - that shook me. Usin' the Heart of Cybertron to build warships? Usin' its energy to feed Megatron's powerlust? There's somethin' wrong with that."
For a moment, the silence was complete as the void of space. The pirates stood where they were, paralyzed by fear and sorrow as Jazz bent his head slowly over the console.
"Why should I believe you?" Prowl's voice was thick with static.
"Power down your weapons an' we'll let you dock up to the Broadside," Jazz answered, and not even Springer protested. "Then you can see the Heart for yourself, and hear where it came from."
"Understood," was the prompt, military reply. "I'm complying now."
"And bring your stasis cuffs," Jazz couldn't resist adding. Fed up, Powerglide shoved him out of his comm station.
***
To all freedom-loving beings of the galaxy:
The Decepticons' tyranny has gone unchecked for far too long. Their rule has cast everyone into untold suffering. How many of you fear to walk the streets of your own cities by night, lest you be met by the soldiers of the Emperor? How many fear to let their creations roam free, how many silence themselves for fear of their rulers' wrath? How many have gone into exile, unable to bear the burden of life under these ruthless despots?
We are the Autobots. We are through bowing our heads to these tyrants. We will retake our worlds, and let peace and democracy grow where once there was only the barren sand of terror. Our numbers are few, but our sparks beat strong and we will never surrender. If you feel as we do, join us. Help us cast off the yoke of oppression and bring about a new day of freedom.
***
Prowl, his chest scraped clean of its purple symbol, walked beside Jazz as they escorted Mirage down into the abandoned mine where the Autobots were based. "Some shinin' tower of freedom," Jazz observed, but after walking its halls he had to admit he was impressed. The Autobots' base was clean and bright, filled with mechanicals and organics of all descriptions bustling about on errands of their own. The mechs fielded their share of curious stares as Mirage led them to the conference chamber where his commander waited; Prowl ignoring them all with lofty dignity, Jazz grinning and shimmying his hips at everyone who caught his optic. Only one of his admirers responded: a slight pink femme who leaped on him, kissed him full on the lips, and scampered away before Jazz could say a word.
"Do you flirt with everyone?" Mirage muttered.
"Well, there's some people I ain't met yet," Jazz answered modestly, still thrumming with pleasure from Arcee's kiss, and Mirage and Prowl shared a longsuffering look.
Jazz had been expecting a mech on a throne, maybe with a cape and a crown, trying to look like an Emperor-in-training. The mech who met them in the conference chamber was imposing, yes, but in the same way construction equipment is imposing: strong, solid, built for heavy labor. Aside from the red insignia all the Autobots sported, he wore no trappings of office. "I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots," he said to them, extending his hand. "For bringing Mirage back to us, you have my gratitude. The Heart of Cybertron is valuable, but never as valuable as the life of one of my people."
"Sir," Prowl said, straightening to perfect military attention, "I am Prowl, formerly an officer of the Decepticon Imperial Enforcer fleet. I request permission to join the Autobots."
It was clear he expected to be rejected outright, for he startled in surprise when Optimus laid a hand gently on his shoulder. "You are welcome here, Prowl. See our medics to get a sigil." Prowl saluted, and Optimus turned to Jazz. "I don't suppose I can interest you in joining as well. I've heard of your exploits; your skills would be an asset to us."
"Well, I can't speak for my crew," Jazz mused. "But I guess I gotta join, now that Mirage and Prowl are both yours." He grinned wickedly. "Never gonna find a sexier couple of mechs in the galaxy."
"Jazz!" Prowl and Mirage protested in unison; Jazz cracked up, waving his hands at them in entirely inadequate apology. Mirage huffed and grabbed Prowl's arm, pulling him from the room.
"Are you certain?" Optimus Prime asked quietly, once they were gone. "We're not pirates, Jazz. You won't have the kind of freedom you're used to."
"You of all people, sayin' that," Jazz chuckled. "There's freedom and then there's freedom, Optimus Prime. I'm doin' this 'cause I want to."
The Prime nodded, accepting. "Welcome to the Autobots, Jazz."
"Can't promise you won't regret it," Jazz answered airily. Optimus was about to protest until Jazz gripped his aft firmly and ran.
***
ADDENDUM: Unit Jazz is confirmed to have joined the Autobots. Defections, installations lost to sabotage and pro-Autobot graffiti have all increased exponentially since then. Containment procedures have proven ineffective. Awaiting further orders.