Turned Off

Time: Earth

Sideswipe stood back for a moment to admire his work. Yes, yellow really did bring out steel blue, but it didn't look so good on Tracks. Especially not post-it note yellow. He may not have Sunny's artistic eye, but he figured that a bronzer yellow would go well with the vain mech's optics and his personality, or he could just stick to his normal cobalt. He ensured his 'masterpiece' was still in recharge before he left the lounge. Two pranks in one night. He felt accomplished.

He tucked his hands behind his back, hiding the evidence of his earlier prank, and made his way to the wash racks. He even paused to chat with a few of his friends along the way. See he could be a nice, civil mech unlike certain Dandelions of Death. He cleaned the evidence of his pranks from his hands, and road dirt from his body.

Arms slid around him from behind, and he felt the twin pinpricks of a chevron. Sideswipe stiffened, optics wide. 'It can't be. He wouldn't dare, not in full view of Red's camera.' The mech behind him nibbled on the edges of the warrior's windshield. His vision darkened as he imagined his lover behind him, doorwings flared in arousal. His cortex turned the rumble of the other mech's engine into a familiar purr. Fingers dug into his abdominal plating and Sideswipe's own engine crooned to life. 'Oh, Primus, I need to get with Prowl.'

Sideswipe leaned back into the shorter mech. Datsun short. Air whispered from his ventilator as he mouthed his lover's name. The exploratory fingers caressed his headlights. Sideswipe moaned, systems heating in response to the sensory input.

'Why not? Prowl will never know. He's here, right now, and you won't get in trouble for it.'

The other mech slid around to press against the warrior's front, chestplate to chestplate. Deft fingers slid into armor seams and warm lips captured the red twin's. Sideswipe kept his optics offline, allowing his fantasy to play in his mind. He found himself leaning into the kiss, responding to the touch. His own hands lifted and he gripped the doorwings he knew were there.

"Sides."

Just like that his fantasy broke. He activated his optics and stared down at the grey Datsun. "Bluestreak." He couldn't quite modulate the disappointment out of his vocalizer. His engine softly puttered out and his circuits cooled.

Bluestreak regarded him with suspicion. "Why weren't your optics on? Was I boring you that much? Because I'm sure I can think of something more exciting if that's the case. I know you hate being bored, it's almost like what the humans call an allergy with you. You just begin itching to do something."

Sideswipe grunted and silenced the gunner with a lust less kiss. Bluestreak responded eagerly, pressing against the red twin, while his fingers resumed their dance over sensitive circuits.

It wouldn't be the first time Sideswipe had a fling with Bluestreak. Prowl had the idea that one way to draw suspicion of any kind off of them was for one of them to have plausible deniability. The tactician calculated that it would look odd if both of them remained completely unattached for an extended period of time. Sideswipe would be the first to admit that Prowl was the bigger mech. He would never have been able to stand idly by, knowing his lover was in the arms of another.

Although those previous times had been with both Prowl's knowledge and permission.

Sideswipe broke away and took a step back. "I can't."

Bluestreak frowned. "Now you can't? You didn't seem to mind a few klicks ago. And I know I'm not the best looking mech, and that I talk a lot, but that never seemed to bother you before."

'Ah Blue, all you need is to be colored black and white and you'd be perfect.' But he couldn't exactly say that. "It's not you Blue, it's me.

The Datsun's doorwings drew back. "You've been watching too much human TV if you think I'm going to believe that. I never thought you liked soap operas anyway. That always seemed more like Blaster, or Hound. You remember how they would always watch those vidcordings of 'Lost without Recharge,' and 'Sparked at the Moment'. I don't think even they ever used such a silly line."

Sideswipe's jaw worked as he tried to think of a smart retort.

"What? Are you thinking about someone else? Smokescreen? Streetwise? I'm here, right now. They aren't." Bluestreak's grip on Sideswipe's waist tightened. He pulled the red twin in for another kiss.

Primus, Blue. Did you read my mind earlier?

A little voice in the back of his cortex, the one that always got him in trouble had to add in, Prowl would understand. It's all in the name cover-up. At the same time, he ached for Prowl, and he couldn't pretend talkative Bluestreak was the quieter, soft-spoken tactician by a long shot. He didn't want to hurt Bluestreak's feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to desire Bluestreak. He indulged in the seductive kiss for only a moment longer before he firmly pulled himself away. "I can't, Bluestreak. I'm sorry."

Sideswipe turned the shower off and walked out, dripping wet. He stomped down the corridors of the Ark and nearly mowed Jazz over, so distracted was he.

"Whoa, Sideswipe." Jazz grinned as he wiped at the wet spots on his chestplate arms and legs. "Ratchet'd have a fit if someone slips an' hurts themselves in one a' yer puddles. Might wanna dry off." Jazz pulled a towel of subspace, though what he was doing with one was beyond the warrior. Sideswipe took the proffered cloth. The saboteur's grin widened, a truly typical Jazz feat, as it never seemed possible, but he always managed it. "Prowl wouldn't be terribly happy if he found out yer leavin' a mess for someone else ta clean up."

Sideswipe paused to stare at the saboteur. Jazz's grin gave away nothing but his amusement. The red twin quickly wiped off the last noticeable drop and shoved the towel into Jazz's hand. He quickly got away from the saboteur. Such an innocent little statement, so why did it send his fuel pump racing with panic. Jazz had the uncanny habit of making Sideswipe insensibly nervous. Like he knew The Secret. How Sideswipe couldn't figure out. He'd have to talk to Prowl, maybe the tactician could think of anything that might have given them away. In the morning. Midnight had come and gone while he was busy.

Sunny already lay in recharge when Sideswipe entered their quarters. He shelved his launcher and climbed onto the top bunk. Sideswipe clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the orange ceiling, settling his systems into recharge. When he shuttered his optics, the feeling of phantom fingers on his chest, and phantom lips on his neck, brought him right back online. His ventilators worked to cool off the heat brought on by his engine suddenly coming to life. Sideswipe laid there, half expecting Bluestreak, or, even better, Prowl, to materialize next to him.

His berth suddenly jolted. "Sides, you'd better not be plugged into yourself up there. I'm trying to recharge here, and I can't if your engine's droning."

Sideswipe harrumphed, but cut his engine off. "You're the one who needs to self-stimulate. I've got mechs jumping me in the wash racks."

The berth jolted again from another vicious kick. "Shut up, bro. At least I don't have nothin' to hide. So who's jumping you in the showers?"

"Well, he's a Datsun."

Sideswipe could almost feel Sunny start in surprise. "He wouldn't dare," the gold twin hissed. "Not under Red's camera, not here in the ark."

Sideswipe grinned to himself, he couldn't quite resist nettling his brother. "You know Red enjoys the show."

An annoyed growl rumbled from Sunstreaker's vocalizer. "All right, smart aft. So who was it- Wait, it was Bluestreak wasn't it? He and Hound were chugging high-grade when I left the lounge." A pause. "Did you?"

"No."

Sunstreaker chuckled. "Got yourself all revved up over it though, didn't you? What'd you do imagine it was Prowl?"

"Thought you wanted to recharge Sunny." Sideswipe had no desire to tell his brother just how revved up he'd gotten.

"Slagger. Don't wake me up again."

The red twin could hear his brother's systems cycling down again for recharge. Sideswipe went through the various ways of arranging for a rendezvous with his superior officer, until he finally settled on one. Hopefully the tactician could escape his duties for a few megacycles. Sideswipe still wanted to talk to him about Jazz.

"Jazz ta Prowl."

Prowl snapped online from a deep recharge. He lay still for a moment as his systems booted up. "Prowl here."

"Sorry ta wake ya, but Gears just found Tracks in th' training room."

Prowl sat up and swung his legs off the berth. He registered the time on his chronometer: 0630. "This is unusual… why?"

Jazz chuckled over the comm. "Th' fact that he's tied up t' th' punchin' bag an' covered in sticky notes."

The second-in-command indulged in a chuckle to himself. "I would rate that as unusual." He stood and strode out of his quarters. "Did he say who did it?" Though he didn't really have to ask. He knew who it was. It had Sideswipe written all over it.

"Ah, c'mon. Y'know why he's the favorite target of our fav'rite pranksters. It's imposs'ble ta wake him, when he's rechargin'. Are y'comin'?"

A frown crossed Prowl's face, although the Porsche couldn't see it. "Jazz, untie him. This isn't a human circus."

"Aww, yer no fun Prowl."

He could already hear Tracks' voice reverberating through the vents. "My sense of fun tends to dissipate in the face of grumpy, sleepy mechs." He pulled up the duty roster. "Ratchet is presumably in recharge. If he wakes up, I'm sending him to you."

"Man, Prowl, that's mean. What'd I do to deserve this?"

Prowl stiffened, his movements growing jerky with contained anger. He cut off the communications. If he responded to that, he'd explode. If he exploded, he risked revealing his secret. He couldn't do that, didn't dare. He stopped at the entrance to the training room to compose himself.

"When I get my hands on that arrogant, stupid Lamborghini, I'll make him wish Ratchet had gotten a hold of him instead. I'm covered in glue. My finish is ruined!"

Jazz barely contained his snickering as he pulled yellow Post-It notes off Tracks' back. The tiny yellow squares littered the ground around the two sports cars.

"Are you saying you saw him do it?" Prowl examined the scene in an attempt to find evidence of the perpetrator. He wasn't surprised to not find any.

Tracks paused in picking at another square to look at the Datsun. "Well, no…" He suddenly stepped forward, prodding a finger at Prowl's chest. "But you know it was him! You're not going to let him get away with this again, are you?"

Prowl tilted his head, his optics continuing their scan of the room. "If we can prove it was him, I'll deal with it."

Tracks shook his fists at the ceiling. "Argh! You know it was him! Who else would pull such a childish stunt?"

Finished with his scan, he turned to the blue warrior. "He is innocent until proven guilty. You know that." He smiled reassuringly. "At least you weren't damaged, this time."

"Not damaged? Didn't you hear me? My finish is ruined, how can I look my best when I'm covered in glue?"

"Hey Huffer!" Jazz called to the minibot who walked into the room. "Why don't you come over here and help Tracks get all these sticky notes off."

Tracks stiffened, shooting Prowl a pleading look.

"My finger joints are all stiff, but I guess I can try." The little minibot pulled one of the yellow papers off Tracks' leg.

Prowl wore his blank face. "I'm going to look at the video feed, there should be something there." The tactician turned and headed out, Huffer's and Tracks' complaints echoing in his receptors.

Jazz slid up beside him, smile in place. "Need some energon? I figured y'musta come straight here and could use a refueling."

Prowl shook his head. "I'll grab it on my way to the command center. Thank you though."

Pounding feet was the only warning Prowl was given. He suddenly found the world spinning, and hands grabbed his arms to steady him. Red flashed before his vision before his optics rebooted themselves. The other mech pressed a crumpled ball of paper into his hands. That single action narrowed the identity of the individual down to one mech.

"Sorry Prowl." Sideswipe waved and continued his dash down the hall.

"Sideswipe, where were you last night?" Turning to block Jazz's view, his doorwings rising in faux ire, Prowl uncurled his fingers.

"Talking with Smokescreen, showered , then I hit the berth." A pause. "Why?"

Seemingly meaningless markings covered the paper, but Prowl picked out a bold curving hump followed by three chevron-shaped lines. The hill, third shift. Most of the crew would be offline in recharge. "I was wondering if you knew anything about Tracks?" Three clicks in the transmission gave agreement to the rendezvous.

"Tracks? What about Tracks?" Came the well-practiced innocence.

Jazz snickered as Prowl flicked his doorwings in annoyance.

"Well, guess y'couldn't expect no better from him."

Prowl shrugged. "Didn't hurt to ask."

"Oh and about th' video feed…" Jazz had Prowl's full attention. "Th' cameras have been fritzing again."

The tactician wanted to do nothing more than bang his head against the wall. There went that idea. Still he could at least try, a shot in the dark, as the humans might say. He swung by the lounge and retrieved a mug of energon for himself, forcing Jazz to get his own.

"Don't you have patrol?" Prowl didn't raise his eyes from the report in his hand.

"Check the roster again."

Prowl paused to glare at the Porsche. "What did you bet about this time?"

"Th' next target. 'Screen thought for sure it'd be Jack's lab."

Prowl rapped his fingertips against the back of the datapad in his hand. He didn't like it when Jazz pulled stunts like that and the saboteur knew it.

"Hey Prowlie, shift's covered, right? Ain't that all that matters?"

The second-in-command rumbled indecipherable words. Jazz laughed and hooked his arm around Prowl's waist, spinning him merrily. Prowl slapped a hand over the mouth that swooped down for a kiss. Jazz didn't even pause, but released him, grin still in place.

"Well, I'm gonna see if Blaster feels like a com'dy. Y'wouldn't wanna sneak outta work and join us?"

Prowl gulped his energon down and tossed the empty cup at Jazz. He turned on his heel and walked away. His audio receptors caught the sharp smack of Jazz catching the cup.

"Hey now, Prowlie, mechs get in trouble for throwing things." Jazz called after Prowl.

"Privilege of rank," Prowl tossed back.

He turned a corner and nearly ran Sunstreaker over. The two Autobots shared a long look, both warning the other against speaking. Sunstreaker rubbed at a scuff from the impact with Prowl and stalked off.

The tactician watched the golden warrior continue down the hall and let himself relax in the slightest. Sometimes he wondered how things would be if he didn't have to hide his love for Sideswipe. Somehow he doubted Sunstreaker would welcome him with open arms and spark. But at least he wouldn't be pestered by unwanted advances.

Ironhide stood in front of the monitors, arms crossed over his chest. Prowl flicked his doorwings in surprise. "Where's Red Alert?"

Ironhide snorted. "Tol' him ter get lost. He hasn't recharged in three days. Tol' him I'd let Ratchet turn him into a toaster if he was caught."

A smile touched Prowl's lips. Red Alert distrusted the CMO, with his constant threats. The Security Officer was convinced Ratchet would follow through one of these days.

"I don't suppose we have footage of the training room from last night?"

Ironhide entered a few commands. "Nope. Sorry thar, Prowl. They weren't working, still aren't."

Prowl narrowed his optics. Why would Smokescreen think someone was going to set a prank in the lab? "Wait, what about Wheeljack's lab?"

Ironhide shook his head. "Not since 'Jack blew them up th' other day. Grapple hasn't had a chance to replace them." The old mech grumbled. "We should move th' lab out to the old medical bunker."

"It's too exposed there. That's why we moved the med bay back inside, remember." Prowl ran calculations through his battle computer.

"Yeah, yeah."

It wouldn't be too hard to do something to Wheeljack's lab. There were enough inventions to cater to the simplest of pranksters, much less the Prankster Prime. The only problem was that many of those inventions had a tendency to…

The Ark shook and rumbled.

… explode.

Ironhide turned wide optics on the tactician. Though the older mech shouldn't be surprised by the occurrence, it happened often enough that even Red Alert was inured to them.

"Chip was helping Wheeljack this mornin'."

Prowl whirled around and charged down the hall, doorwings flared stiffly behind him. "Prowl to Ratchet."

"Get First Aid to slagging do it," came the sleepy snarl. "Wheeljack deserves it if 'Aid crosses wires fixing him."

"Chip was in there as well."

Prowl quietly muted his side of the channel of blistering words that followed.

"First Aid," Ratchet snapped over a general line,"report to Wheeljack's lab." The CMO switched back to private. "I'm on my way."

Smoke, grisly and green, poured from the blackened, partially-opened doorway. A grey hand gripped the edge of one of the doors. Prowl braced his own hands and shoved the doors the rest of the way apart. He caught the inventor as he staggered out of the lab.

His broken vocal indicators sparked, lighting up his charred and wrecked armor. Chunks had been taken out of his shoulder and thighs, exposing broken wires. Wheeljack leaned heavily against Prowl, coughing to clear his ventilators.

In his left hand he cradled the swooning, bloody body of Chip.

"Smoke's noxious," the inventor choked. He put action to words and moved away from the tactician, sliding along the wall and away from his lab.

Prowl paused to glance at the mess inside the lab, and then swept over to support Wheeljack. Not even half a breem later, First Aid appeared and took the human away from Wheeljack.

Ratchet was right behind his apprentice. The CMO glanced at Wheeljack, but his optics focused on Chip.

Wheeljack repeated his warning about the smoke and Ratchet all but dragged them into the med bay. Prowl waited, patient but worried, while Ratchet examined Chip. True to his words, he let First Aid work on Wheeljack. Tools designed especially to treat their small human friends retracted into Ratchet's fingers. An oxygen mask covered the boy's face, and white bandages wrapped his head. The CMO stalked over to glare at his best friend.

"What slagging aft-headed thing were you working on this time?"

Prowl continued to wait, the question had been crackling in his vocalizer since he'd seen Chip in Wheeljack's hand.

"Schematics."

Both tactician and the two medics blinked. "Schematics did that?" Ratchet jabbed a finger at the bandages.

"No…" Wheeljack winced as First Aid fiddled too close to still sensitive wires.

"Then what?" Ratchet exploded.

"Spring loaded trap. Is he okay?" Wheeljack suddenly asked, straining to see around the medic's boxy form.

Prowl turned to Ratchet for the other question he wanted answered.

"He almost wasn't. He will be okay, though. Mild concussion, smoke inhalation, poisoning. Luckily I got to him before it became much worse." Ratchet wasn't being egotistic, but truthful. First Aid wouldn't have known what to do about the human besides the most basic of treatments. The junior medic liked the humans well enough, unlike certain golden twins, but tended to disregard their medical needs.

Ratchet eyed the inventor. "So what the slag exploded."

"The weights attached to the net hit my explotivegidget."

Prowl watched as the CMO considered whether he could be still mad at Wheeljack. Normally he would have found the scene amusing, but looking at the little body on the medical berth, he couldn't find anything funny.

And he knew who was to blame. Even if he had no proof.

And that made him furious.

Sideswipe stared up at the stars, twirling a branch in his fingers. He wondered if Prowl was going to renege on his promise to meet out here. When he'd returned from patrol, Prowl had called him into his office. The tactician had very coldly asked about his whereabouts again. It wasn't until after talking to Prowl that he heard about Chip.

The branches cracked and moaned with the weight of something pressing against them, and Sideswipe turned, gun in hand. Moonlight gleamed off a white chest and helm. Sideswipe put his gun away and reached out to draw the Datsun to him.

Prowl stood there, unresponsive as Sideswipe lavished him with kisses. The warrior ran his fingers up Prowl's back and dug them into the joints of his doorwings. The panels moved, and the white and black mech grabbed at Sideswipe as he sagged. Both of their engines rumbled as Sideswipe pressed his lover to the soft earth. Prowl gripped Sideswipe's arms as the larger mech pressed his fingers under plating to reach sensitive circuits. Yet the Datsun still didn't return the caresses or the kisses. Sideswipe murmured words for his lovers audio's only, capturing his lips in a deep kiss.

A moan rumbled from the Datsun's chest, and one of his white hands traced a line from the red arms up to Sideswipe's face plate. Prowl's fingers gently caressed the warrior's cheek.

Sideswipe nipped at Prowl's lips, and turned his attention on the wires and cables of the other's neck.

Prowl's fingers pressed the red twin's face away.

The two stared at one another, until the black and white mech sat up, forcing Sideswipe to his aft.

"I can't do this, not right now."

Gears ground in frustration as the Lamborghini growled. "Why?"

The tactician shook his head, refusing to look at the warrior. "I can't be your lover, the officer in me is getting in the way."

"What?" Shock doused Sideswipe's purring engine.

Seeming to realize what he had implied, Prowl took one of the red twin's black hands into his own. "Just right now. I'm too mad. I look at you, and all I can see is Chip, bleeding in Wheeljack's hand."

The warrior opened his mouth, denial on his vocalizer.

"Don't. Don't lie to me. Not when we're here as equals." The black and white doorwings drooped. "Why did you have to do that when you knew you were going to request a rendezvous."

"I didn't know." Sideswipe said softly.

Prowl's gaze settled on the red twin.

"Prowl, I'm-"

"If you continue in that circuit, I'm going to drag you down to the brig right now, and slag what anyone thinks."

The red twin sighed. "Can we talk about something else, then?"

Prowl was silent a moment, his doorwings shifting as he considered the warrior. "About?"

"Jazz."

Air hissed from the tactician's ventilators, drawing Sideswipe's guilty, wondering optics. "What about Jazz?"

Sideswipe related the disturbing, one-sided conversation he'd had with the saboteur. Sideswipe thought he imagined the brief look of panic on Prowl's face, one that was quickly replaced by a neutral mask. "Prowl, did we give ourselves away? Does Jazz know? Does anyone else know?"

"I'm sure it was simply coincidence."

Sideswipe narrowed his optics. The tactician didn't believe in coincidence, for logic and coincidence didn't mesh very well. "Prowl, is there anything I should know?"

The second-in-command stood and stepped over to Sideswipe. He bent down and placed a kiss on the warrior's cheek. "I love you," he whispered before he straightened and walked away.

"Slaggit, Prowl, that's not answering my question."

"I will answer when I am ready to, not before."

Sideswipe dug his fingers into the dirt packed from their weight. "What the slag is that supposed to mean?"

"Please, just trust me."

The warrior threw himself onto his back, arms spread. Slag, frag, slotted smelting scrap. Prowl was hiding something. The tactician, who hated evasion and omission, was not telling the truth somewhere. And slaggit, he still wanted Prowl.

Author's note: I feel like I keep introducing questions and not answering them. So, here's the answer to how Prowl handles Sider's pranks. Thanks for the comments so far, hope you're still enjoying the ride.