Title: Speechless

Characters: Jazz/Bluestreak

Universe: G1

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Description: There's a Bluestreak on his berth and Jazz had no idea how he got there.


When Jazz dragged himself to his quarters, put in his code, disabled his special security, and slunked into the room, he did not expect anything but dark silence to greet him.

Instead, there was a Bluestreak on his berth and Jazz honestly had no idea how the gunner got there. Though he was far from complaining.

It was like a 'facing fantasy come to life.

"Bluestreak?" he spluttered, startled enough that he stumbled back, aft hitting the door. "What are you- how did you- I mean-"

Words. He needed them and he didn't have them, much like an explanation.

Bluestreak grinned, doorwings performing an energetic flutter that no other Praxian on base would be caught using. It was too adorable. "Well, Sideswipe told me that Smokescreen told him that Tracks said that Blaster knew a certain someone had an interest in me."

He rose from the berth, all big blue optics and coy grin and inviting field that tingled enticingly against Jazz's own. "Apparently, that mech is you, though what I can't figure out is why I had to find out from the gossip chain. Could have said something, you know."

Jazz's mouth worked but no sounds emerged. At least, no intelligent ones. He was still stuck on the fact that Bluestreak was here.

"You... I... Prowl..." He made a helpless gesture that explained everything and nothing all at once.

Bluestreak arched an orbital ridge. "How do you think I got in here? Luck?" He slid closer to Jazz, each step filled with predatory intent. "Who else could hack your lock? I guess you could say he gave you his blessing. Or me. Take your pick." He shrugged.

Jazz's processor flat-lined. Prowl had helped Bluestreak sneak into Jazz's quarters for the sake of a midnight rendezvous? The very same mech who had lectured Jazz just last week for his inability to take the Autobot Code as anything but a guideline?

Bluestreak chuckled, his humor infectious. "Did I break you?"

Jazz's vents stuttered to life, vocals spitting static.

Doorwings lifted, purposefully enticing, as the overhead lights caught the sheen of plating that had been polished to perfection. "Or do you want me to go?"

"No!"

Jazz lurched forward and his faceplate burned, his denial coming out with too much force.

"I mean," Jazz said, trying to find his charm from wherever he'd suddenly misplaced it. "You're more'n welcome to stay."

Bluestreak grinned. "For a minute there, I thought you'd glitched. Then I would have to call Ratchet and he would have thrown something and blamed it on Prowl and none of us would get what we want."

"Well, maybe ya just have that effect on me," Jazz purred and closed the distance between them, grabbing Bluestreak's hand and pulling it toward his lips. "So how about that offer?"

The rolling desire in Bluestreak's field was all the answer Jazz needed.

He definitely owed Prowl big time.

And, apparently, Sideswipe, Smokescreen, Tracks and Blaster, too.


a/n: Jazz/Blue is rapidly becoming an OTP. Just so you know.

More fics to come!