"I just don't understand why he never gives up."
"I for one can't even understand why he's interested in the first place."
Sideswipe and Tracks were sitting in a corner in the rec room, drinking highgrade and watching the TIC of the Autobot army using every trick in the book in his never-ending endeavor to catch the attention of a certain black and white tactician. As usual, he was failing.
"I mean," Tracks continued, glancing over the edge of his cube at the two officers, "what is there even to like there at all?"
Sideswipe followed his friend's gaze.
"Well," he began hesitantly, "he is a Praxian. And pretty easy on the optics."
"Oh puh-leeesae!" Tracks retorted with a snort. "Mech's stiff, formal, has no sense of humor and the sex appeal of a brick. And a boring paint job."
The red Lamborghini mumbled a noncommittal reply to that. He really didn't want the red-faced mech to begin ranting about paint jobs. Primus knew he got enough of that slag from his twin. Instead he returned his gaze to the blatantly flirting Jazz. He wondered if Prowl could possibly be as blind to Jazz's advances as he seemed to be. Sure, it was well known that the mech rarely socialized with anyone at all and some had even suggested that he didn't have any kind of emotional coding at all, but Jazz was getting so obvious it was almost embarrassing to watch.
He was pulled from his musings by Smokescreen joining them at the table.
"Evening, mechs," the diversionary tactician said amicably. "Anything interesting going on?"
"Not really," Sideswipe answered, taking a sip of his highgrade. "We were just discussing Jazz's obsession with Prowl.
"Ah, our own personal soap opera," Smokescreen replied with a grin. "Well, you have to give the mech credit for his determination, if nothing else. How long has he been at it by now? 60 vorns?"
"Closer to 80, I'd say," Tracks snorted. "And Prowl still hasn't noticed. Fraggit, the mech has done just about everything except outright jumping him."
"What do you think, Smokey?" the red twin cut in. "You're the shrink, after all. Plus, you Praxians are supposed to be able to read each other better than anyone else, doorwings and all, right? Is it possible that our tactical genius actually doesn't realise what Jazz is doing? Or is he merely failing miserably at making Jazz understand that he isn't interested?"
"I don't know," Smokescreen confessed. "Prowl is extremely difficult to read, even for me."
"Well, it seems as if he at least got something through," Sideswipe commented as they saw Jazz leaving Prowl's table. He was smiling and swaggering as usual, but there was something slightly forced about his entire demeanor.
"I'll bet Prowl just admonished him for inappropriate public behavior or something," Tracks said. "Seriously, the mech could bare his spark before him and he still wouldn't get it."
"Now you're being unfair. Just because he doesn't enjoy blatant public displays of affection it doesn't mean he's sparkless, or stupid."
Tracks merely shrugged his shoulders, looking thoroughly unconvinced.
Smokescreen was just about to say something more when his doorwings registered a signal he didn't immediately recognize. He tried to decipher it, but soon realized it wasn't merely a signal, but a sound – a very, very low sound, which was why he'd felt it before he could actually hear it. The sound got stronger and then began to pulse, and by now other mechs had picked up on it as well. Conversations slowly died as everyone was trying to figure out where this strange resonance came from.
Smokescreen was the first to find the source and he almost fell off his seat in shock when he realized what it was. Incredulously he turned to look at the corner where Prowl was sitting.
Only he wasn't anymore. The black and white Praxian had stood up and something was suddenly very much different about him, even though Smokescreen for the life of him couldn't have said wherein the changes lay. His bearing was always proud, but now he looked majestic, his doorwings fanned out on full display. His face was a mask of perfect serenity, but his optics were glowing with an intensity that made them almost white.
He was looking at Jazz.
Then he started moving, and Smokescreen was suddenly glad he was sitting down, or he would have crashed in a heap on the floor when his knees gave.
Again, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what the mech did. Calling it 'walking' seemed like an insult to the smooth, flowing movements, but it was most definitely not a dance either. Just… grace. A fluidity of movement, every part of the frame shifting in perfect harmony. The sinuously sweeping doorwings looked like living art, and those hips… oh Primus, those hips!
Smokescreen had to actually reset his optics to be able to tear his gaze away. He shot a quick glance around the room and realized every mech was staring at the SIC with a mix of worry, shock and DO WANT! That is, everyone but Jazz, who merely looked delirious.
And that was when Prowl's EM field expanded and washed over them, so intense that it filled the air with sizzling static, and the temperature in the room suddenly seemed to have risen remarkably. Smokescreen heard several sets of cooling fans engage, and it took a moment for him to realise that his own were among them.
He hadn't seen a display like this in vorns, not since the fall of Praxus. But that Prowl of all mechs..
Shaking his helm as if to break the haze of desire Smokescreen belatedly pulled forth a set of long-disused sub-routines and activated them. Immediately he felt his processor clear and his frame began to settle again, no longer affected by the arousing signals emitted by the other Praxian. Spell broken he could now return to watching the scene with a different kind of interest and not a small amount of amusement.
Prowl had by now reached the table where Jazz sat. Reaching out with one hand he touched the crown of the saboteur's helm with his middle finger, then slowly traced a line down Jazz's forehelm, visor and olfactory sensor. Reaching the mouth he followed the lines of the smiling lips from corner to corner, then continued down and in under the chin. Gently tilting the saboteur's helm backwards Prowl then bent down and kissed him fully on the lips.
Smokescreen heard more than one engine stutter at that point and grinned as he looked around and saw the thoroughly thunderstruck look on everybody's faces. Unable to resist the temptation he took a couple of photo captures, knowing he'd have a great deal of fun teasing his friends about this later.
After what seemed like an eternity the two officers' kiss broke and for a moment they just stayed there, forehelms touching and looking into each other's optics. Then Prowl stepped back and held out both hands, palms up, waiting for Jazz to take them. The slightly smaller mech did so without hesitation and allowed himself to be pulled to his pedes by the tactician. Once stood he remained still as Prowl slowly completed a full circle around him, once again tracing the most distinctive profile lines with a single digit and moving with that so-sensual-it-must-surely-be-illegal grace.
Once the circle was complete he stopped in front of Jazz, placed his hand over the saboteur's spark and bowed his helm. Again they just stood there for a moment, then Jazz's hand rose and raised the Praxian's helm by the chin, just like Prowl had done with him before. The normally stern tactician's face radiated emotion, joy on a level none of the bots present had ever seen before, and Jazz looked equally elated.
The suddenly Prowl bent down, lifted Jazz bridal style and carried him briskly out of the rec room.
A full 30 seconds passed in silence in the wake of the two officers' exit. Then:
"What the FRAG was that!?"
Sideswipe's exclamation seemed to release the spell and everyone started talking at once.
"Did you just see what I saw?"
"I don't believe it! Prowl!?"
"How the Pit did he manage to move like that?"
"Prowl doesn't do emotions for frag's sake, least of all in public. He must have been overcharged or something."
Smokescreen just laughed.
"Would you mind explaining what the frag just happened?" a somewhat shaken Sideswipe asked, this time directing his question at Smokescreen.
The diversionary tactician leaned forward with a playful grin, pretending not to notice how half the rec room was suddenly listening to him.
"That, my dear Sideswipe, was a formal, Praxian bonding proposal."
Again the room lapsed into a few seconds of stunned silence before exploding again.
"What!?"
"Did he say bonding?"
"He can't be serious!"
"It must be a virus. Or a prank. It can't be real!"
"Prowl? PROWL!?"
Smokescreen just kept grinning and turned his gaze to Tracks, who still sat staring, literally open-mouthed, at the door where the two black-and-whites had left. The corvette's fans were still working hard and his wings were quivering with arousal.
"Well, what do you say, Tracks?" the brightly coloured Praxian said, nudging the other mech with his elbow. "Not bad for a mech with the sex appeal of a brick, eh?"
The red-faced mech finally snapped out of it, closed his mouth and looked around with an air of utter embarrassment. Grabbing his cube of highgrade he downed it all in one go, then rose on slightly unsteady legs and, after a mumbled excuse, fled the scene.
He wasn't the only one. Quite a few bots had already left and some of the ones still there looked as if they were just trying to calm down enough to be able to move without embarrassing themselves too badly. Smokescreen couldn't quite hold back a chuckle at the thought of Prowl, of all mechs, being the cause of half the crew rushing off for cold showers or some private time in the first available secluded area, with or without company.
And speaking of company…
Smokescreen turned back to Sideswipe, who was looking at him with a hungry expression. He did not need to ask what the red Lamborghini was thinking, and he certainly didn't mind.
"So, your place or mine?"