Disclaimer: I don't own Trasnformers!
Please R&R
(The usual Crack. Enjoy!)
Sideswipe had finally managed to escape his room, which was a relief because Prowl was sick of helping Bumblebee squeeze through the vents to deliver him energon that Smokescreen seemed to have forgotten cleanly about, which added another reason to Prowl's growing list of 'Why I should Terminate my brother's Mating Protocols'.
At the moment, Jazz was currently sitting in his lap, his helm tucked neatly into Prowl's neck cabling and purring away like a cat that got the cream as the Praxian attempted to take notes on the high security file that Optimus had sent over a few breems ago. The Matrix Barer still too cowardly to be in the same room as the carrying Polyhexian after having his helm chewed on.
"Jazz. Could you please remove your servo from my doorwing?" he asked, shivering as fingers ghosted over the warm panels in a soothing pattern that made his recharge codes look more and more attractive.
The saboteur in his lap suddenly whimpered ducking closer with a small whine that made Prowl jump as the fingers were snatched away, the black and white music lover clearly taking Prowl's words as a rejection of his affections.
"Ah, the emotional stage," Prowl muttered to himself, abandoning his work to brush his own servo over Jazz's sensitive helm horns, "Shh, I didn't mean it like that. It was just distracting." He ventured to explain, the line having been rehearsed tediously by himself from a clearly outdated Cybertronian Parenting Manual when Ratchet threatened bodily harm if he didn't study up on the various helm-ache inducing stages of Polyhexian pregnancy, so far there had only been five processor crashes this week alone. "Do you want to go steal some oil cake from Mirage in the Rec-Room? I heard he baked it fresh this morning."
The snuffling TIC in his embrace let out a hiccupping purr and rubbed his helm against Prowl's chin, making Prowl chuckle and help his mate to stand, "Alright, let's go blackmail Mirage out of some oil cake."
With a joyful oil cake craving squeal, Jazz shot off down the corridor in the Rec-Room's direction as a blissfully unaware Mirage proudly pondered over which type of icing he wanted to decorate his cake with, pausing to flush his vents in a sneeze, wondering mildly who was talking about him as he went back to choosing his icing colours.
On his way to the Rec-Room, Prowl inclined his helm to bewildered looking Sideswipe who was currently trying to understand what a growling, obviously carrying, Smokescreen wanted. "He wants to go outside." Prowl offered as he strode by, fishing out his manual on Praxian Pregnancy that Ratchet had embarrassingly given him after the grumpy medic gave up trying to find Sideswipe and Sunstreaker one afternoon. "It's all here in this data-pad." he commented, tossing the object at a relieved looking frontline warrior that dutifully started to walk in the direction of the ARK's entrance, Smokescreen tagging along behind them beginning to purr happily, his doorwings fluttering in a wide arc.
"Why does he want to go outside?" Sideswipe asked almost fearfully as Smokescreen, fluffed up his wings enviously at Prowl when the older Praxian accidently brushed the red and black warrior's paint.
"Praxians are notoriously proud, jealous and vain carriers." Prowl said, partially admitting to have read the manual. "Have you ever heard of an earthen creature called a Chinchilla? Well, Praxians like sand baths too, it scratches off old sensors on our doorwings and allows new, healthier ones to grow. Smokescreen hasn't been Sand Bathing in a while, that's probably why he's being so pushy."
"Have you ever done it?" Sideswipe snickered as they reached the crossing point of the corridors. "It would explain why you, Smokey and Blue sometimes disappear for joors on certain evenings."
"Of course. It was a highly sociable pastime on Cybertron for Praxians," Prowl said almost as if he was offended, "I like my appearance to be clean and healthy. I suggest taking him down near the other side of the mountain, that's where the good sand bank is. Now if you will excuse me, I need to find Jazz before he eats all of Mirage's oil cake again."
Leaving Sideswipe with the possibly traumatising mental image of the logical SIC rolling around in fine sand like a pleased chinchilla, Prowl stalked back down the corridor, offering a greeting to Skyfire who was sitting at his monitor post, dutifully taking over from Red Alert for a few breems as the fritzing Security Director was dragged down the corridor by Inferno to get his helm checked by Ratchet again. Like the apparent barnacle he was, Starscream continued to constantly offer up various shiny items and clamber over the giant mech's frame like a jungle gym, hissing defensively whenever someone approached.
"Did you see Jazz wander by?" the SIC asked tiredly, dutifully taking a warning hiss from the Decepticon Air Commander currently perched on the shuttle's back in good grace.
"He ran by about a breem ago." Skyfire smiled warmly, before indicating the monitors, "I also have news of Bluestreak and Sunstreaker."
"Do elaborate." Prowl nodded, taking out his data-pad to take a few notes to hand over to Ratchet later.
"Bluestreak caught Sunstreaker about midnight and dragged him off somewhere out of camera range, Bluestreak is now currently scratching and rolling around in that sand bank on the other side of the mountain you Praxians like so much." The space fairing scientist chuckled, "I think Bluestreak is the one carrying, I haven't seen any sign of Sunstreaker yet."
"The joys of having carrying brothers," Prowl grumbled inclining his helm politely; silently excusing himself from Skyfire's presence as Starscream began to become more agitated with the tactician's presence. "Please keep me updated Skyfire."
"Will do." The pleasant natured mech smiled as Prowl continued on his way, the shuttle turning slightly to give a warning glare to the Decepticon attached to his back currently fiddling with his wings. "Starscream, if you bite my wing again, I swear I will intentionally fall on you this time!"
"If it wasn't a mad house before, it's certainly one now." The black and white Praxian grumbled arriving just in time to see Jazz finally steal a large segment of Mirage's cake, the noble hissing and spitting curses that would make even Ironhide blush.
"I thought he was supposed to be lazy and stay in his nest all day!" the blue and white mech ranted, almost pacing a hole in the floor as Jazz munched into the cake earning venomous glances from the ex-Towers mech.
"Ratchet commented that it might be a glitch in the programming. Thus he is a lot more active." Prowl replied, secretly enjoying the scene of the high bred noble trying to prod the carrying TIC away from his now ruined cake. "Look at it this way Mirage. Your cake is that good Jazz still wants to steal a piece even when he's pregnant."
A/N: Does anybody else now have the mental image of Datsuns rolling around in sand like Chinchillas?
Next time: Different POV! (Which will most likely be Sunstreaker since I seem to have neglected the other pairings and I am attempting to fix that...)