Jazz had a problem.
A big problem.
And that problem was named Harry Potter.
It wasn't just that Harry had single-handedly annihilated a group of Decepticons like it was a minor inconvenience. It wasn't even that he had done it without breaking a sweat, magic crackling through the air like a storm waiting to break.
No, the real problem was that Jazz didn't want to share him.
Not with Optimus.
Not with Ratchet.
Not with anybody.
Harry was his.
And he didn't know what the hell to do about it.
"You're actin' weird," Harry said one evening, wiping grease off his hands as he leaned against the workbench.
Jazz, currently in his alt-mode, hummed noncommittally. "Nah."
Harry raised an eyebrow, eyes sharp, perceptive. "You've been lurking."
"Lurkin'?" Jazz scoffed, revving his engine in protest. "Ain't no lurkin' goin' on, mech. Just keepin' an optic out."
"For what? Decepticons?"
"Yeah. That."
Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar."
Primus help him, Jazz was in trouble.
Because Harry was right.
He wasn't sticking around just for security reasons. He wasn't watching Harry just because he was concerned about enemy attacks.
He was doing it because the idea of leaving—of letting the others know about Harry—made his circuits glitch.
Because they'd want him.
Ratchet would be up his aft about getting Harry involved in Autobot business. Bumblebee would latch onto him in that way he did with all humans. Optimus—well, Optimus would probably want to have some deep philosophical talk about their "responsibility to protect such a powerful ally."
Jazz scowled at the thought.
No.
No, he liked things the way they were. Just him and Harry.
And he wasn't planning on changing that.
But of course, the universe hated him.
Because two weeks later, Optimus called.
"Jazz, you've been off the grid," Prime's voice rumbled through his comms. "Report."
Jazz gritted his denta.
"Just layin' low," he said casually, optics flicking to Harry, who was busy welding something at the back of the shop, muscles flexing under his tank top.
"You were attacked," Optimus said. "We picked up residual Decepticon energy signatures near your location."
"Handled it."
There was a pause. "Alone?"
Jazz hesitated. Slag.
Optimus was sharp. He knew Jazz wasn't the type to go solo against multiple Decepticons without backup.
"You should return to base," Optimus continued. "If there is an increase in Decepticon activity, we need to coordinate."
Jazz clenched his jaw.
"I'm good here, Prime."
Another pause.
Then, "What aren't you telling me?"
Jazz shut off the comms.
He wasn't dealing with this right now.
Harry was his.
And he wasn't sharing.
Harry, for his part, was very aware that something was up.
Jazz had been hovering. More than usual.
At first, it had been subtle. Just hanging around the shop, making excuses to stay late. Then it became more obvious. Jazz would not let him out of his sight. Any time Harry even looked like he might leave town, Jazz was suddenly right there, engine purring, waiting to escort him.
It was honestly kind of cute.
And a little hot.
Harry wasn't blind.
Jazz was sleek, fast, and—if Harry was reading the signs right—just a tiny bit possessive.
And Harry liked it.
So he decided to test it.
"You know," he mused one evening, casually stretching (and totally not flexing his muscles just to see Jazz's reaction), "I was thinking of taking a trip. Maybe head down to the city for a weekend."
Jazz's engine revved.
"Ain't safe," he said immediately.
Harry smirked. "Oh? You worried about me?"
Jazz transformed in a flash, folding into his bot mode, arms crossed as he loomed over Harry. "Yeah."
Harry blinked.
Okay. That was new.
Jazz had never been this direct before.
A slow grin spread across Harry's face as he stepped closer, tilting his head up to meet those glowing blue optics. "You do realize I can take care of myself, right?"
Jazz's servos twitched. "I know that. Doesn't mean I gotta like it."
Harry let out a low hum, something dangerous sparking in his green eyes. "You know, Jazz… if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to keep me all to yourself."
Jazz stiffened.
Harry leaned in, voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Are you?"
Jazz's optics flickered, scanning him, hesitating—then finally, finally, he growled, "Yeah."
Harry's smirk widened.
Well.
This was going to be fun.