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silence-ofthe-llamas · 1 month ago

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Chapter two of Domino Milkshake!

Read here or on AO3!

A groon had gone by, and so far no one had suspected a thing.

The pair had made a habit of meeting at least once a week, either for a game, or for their daily ration of energon. If they crossed paths in the halls, Jazz would give a cheeky wave, or if he was feeling particularly daring and Prowl’s team was around, he’d blow him a kiss. Prowl was so incredibly easy to fluster, and when Jazz looked over his shoulder at him to watch him walk away, he could see his doorwings flicking and twitching like mad.

Oh, so cute.

Prowl would always return the wave, but never the kiss.

He’d come around eventually.

Jazz was in the rec room when Smokescreen finally cornered him. He’d been trying for at least a decacycle now, but Jazz was better than that, and had always managed to give him the slip. But today, it seemed his luck had run out.

“So, you’re the elusive Jazz.” Smokescreen said from behind him. Jazz jumped, whirling around to face someone who was almost identical to Prowl in silhouette, however colour, stance, and face? Couldn’t be more different. The Praxian mech sniffed, almost looming over Jazz. The shorter Polyhexian found himself having to lean back slightly. Primus, personal space clearly did not matter to this mech!

“That’s me. Who’s asking?” Jazz asked as he took a step back. Nope, no thank you! Too close!

“Smokescreen.” The mech replied, holding out his hand. “Prowls older sibling.”

“Oh!” Jazz exclaimed as he eagerly grabbed it and shook it. “You’re the gambling guy! Say, ain’t that risky? Ain’t Prowler ex-enforcer?”

“Prowler? You’re onto nicknames already?”

“He hates it.”

“So you use it at every opportunity?”

“It’ll grow on him.”

“Like a rash.” Prowl cut in, the pair jumping and turning, not realising that Prowl had appeared. “You’re needed.” He said, presenting his sibling with a datapad. Smokescreen onlined it and whistled.

“Looks important. Well, Jazz, it was a delight to finally meet you. Best be off. Don’t do anything silly, you too!” and with that, he sauntered out, lazily reading the datapad Prowl had given him.

“Are you both in tactical, then?” Jazz asked.

“Different areas, but yes.” Prowl replied. “Do you have time to drink together?”

“For you? Absolutely.” Jazz winked at him. Prowls doorwings twitched.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Jazz was learning new things about Prowl every day.

At first, he had figured that Prowl didn’t like going out much because it was just the way he was – a homebody, as it were, preferring the quiet and calm over the loud and boisterous. It was only when he accidentally dropped something behind Prowl and made the mech jump high enough to almost smack his head onto the ceiling that he discovered that Prowls doorwings were particularly sensitive to loud noises. It made him excellent at detecting things from behind, but it had its downsides too. Jazz had hastily apologised, quickly kneeling down to put the spilled contents back inside. Prowl had waved him off, kneeling down beside him to help.

“It happens.”

“Can you not dial the sensors down? I’m the same with these,” Jazz tapped his audial horns, “but I dial them down so I can stand ta be in the same room as other mechs breathin’.”

“I can,” Prowl replied with a slight inclination of his head, “however it can become uncomfortable over long periods of time, and it becomes difficult to adjust them back to their original levels.”

“Harder to filter out the white noise?”

“Precisely.”

“Ah.” Jazz frowned. “That’s a shame. A real cool bar opened up not too far away, apparently it’s Praxian themed.”

Prowls doorwings perked up in curiosity. “Praxian themed?”

“Yeah! Like, with your speciality engex, an’ crystals, an’ music.”

“I believe I can make an exception for one night.”

“I’ll ping you the details, then! When are you next free?”

Prowl paused for a moment and his optics dimmed as he checked his calendar. “I’m free this weekend, curiously enough.”

“Oh, that’s perfect!” Jazz bounced on his pedes. “Me too!”

“Did you meddle with our shifts again?”

“Amazin’ly it was not me this time.”

“Hmm.” Prowl’s doorwings flicked upwards in curiosity. “I wonder.”

“You don’ think...” Jazz slowly looked up at him, pausing in placing the spilled objects back in the box.

Prowl slowly looked back.

“They wouldn’t.”

“They would, they’ve done it for ‘Raj an’ Hound.”

Prowl’s face flushed, doorwings drooping down as he pressed his lips together into a thin line. “That is oddly embarrassing.”

“Do you think we should tone it down a lil’?”

“That may only be more suspicious.” Prowl tapped his bottom lip. “As bad as I feel for tricking others like this, if we tone it down now they may suspect we’re having issues, and try harder.”

“That’s true.” Jazz rubbed his face with his hands. “So this weekend?”

“I’ll meet you by the entrance.” Prowl said, placing the last of the spilled objects into the box.

“It’s a date!” Jazz winked at him, hoisting the box back up and holding it securely.

He missed the way Prowls face turned bright pink, doorwings hiking upwards into a sharp v.

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The Praxian themed bar was definitely Praxian, Jazz thought as they walked in. They certainly delivered on their promise of it being like Praxus away from home – Prowl looked like a youngling in a sweet shop, doorwings twitching and trembling, optics bright like stars. Jazz couldn’t help but watch him as he looked around.

There were only a handful of other mechs in there – the bar had only just opened for the night, and the pair of them had only just gotten off shift. No doubt the other Praxians on the base would be joining them soon.

While Prowl was busy admiring a crystal cluster on the bar, Jazz turned his attention towards the drinks menu. He flipped it over. And back again. And over again.

He didn’t understand a single word of it. It took him a moment to realise that it was a totally different language, and it caught him completely off guard.

“Prowl?” Jazz quietly hissed, pointing wildly at the menu. “What is this?!”

Prowl leaned over his shoulder to peer down at the menu. If it were even possible, his optics brightened further. “That’s native Praxian, it’s our language. Shall I ask for a translated menu?”

“You have a different language?”

“Of course we do.” Prowl gestured for the bartender, another Praxian. Jazz watched in silent bewilderment as Prowl said… something that bartender laughed at, before nodding and ducking down below the bar and presenting Jazz with a menu that he could read with an apology.

“We haven’t had many non Praxian patrons.” He explained with an apologetic smile.

“Nah, it’s fine!” Jazz rubbed the back of his helm. “I just really wasn’t expecting it.”

He read through the menu. Every single item was of Praxian origin, and most of it he had never even heard of before, let alone tried. He suddenly felt extremely out of his depth.

“Do you want me to order something for you?” Prowl quietly asked him noticing the expression on Jazz’s face.

“I have no idea what I’d even like.”

“I’ll make a guess. Why don’t you go and find us somewhere to sit?”

Jazz immediately surveyed the area. They shouldn’t sit somewhere too close to the speakers – Prowl’s doorwings and his own audial horns would never forgive him. Being too close to the bar would also be annoying – it was a prime spot, and they’d be forever surrounded by others.

He eventually settled on a table in the corner – far away enough from sources of noise to be relatively comfortable, but close enough to the amenities to have easy access to everything and a good view of the room. Jazz wondered how much of his special ops side had an influence on his choice.

There were more menus on the table. He picked one up, staring intently at the foreign words as if willing them to magically change before his eyes.

“What’re you doing?” Prowl asked, sliding into the seat next to him and placing a brightly coloured cube in front of him.

“I wanna learn this.” Jazz announced, nose still pressed into the menu.

“You’re not going to learn it by staring at it.” Prowl laughed. “Here,” he shuffled to be closer to him, thighs almost touching, and presenting Jazz with the translated menu. “You’ll want this too.” He pointed to a word on the Praxian menu. “What do you think this means?”

“My guess is on ‘energon’ or ‘high grade’, it’s repeated a lot.”

“Good guess, it means ‘beverage’. We don’t distinguish between high grade or energon.”

“How can you tell which is which?”

“The ingredients.”

Jazz playfully flicked Prowl in the shoulder. “Alright, smart ass.”

The bar slowly filled as Jazz picked his way through the menu, Prowl correcting him along the way. Jazz correctly guessed what Prowl had ordered for him – literally translated, Green sunset beverage, and Prowl had been correct in that Jazz would like it. The two nursed their drinks, quietly enjoying the others company. Prowl seemed perfectly content enough to listen to the music, but Jazz wasn’t.

“Is this the music you grew up with?”

“Yes.” Prowl replied, sipping his high grade. “The whole bar is extremely nostalgic, this is typically what entertainment spaces look like in Praxus.”

Jazz’s optics swept through the bar again. Lots of deep, rich reds, speckled with gold. Crystals on every available surface. Plush cushions on low backed chairs. Tapestries and fabrics adorning the walls.

“Praxus must be so beautiful.” Jazz found himself saying.

“It is.” Prowl placed his chin in his hand, fondly looking out at nowhere in particular. “I want to go back one day.”

“Maybe you’ll get assigned ta Praxus eventually.”

“Praxus is a neutral state, they have no Autobot outpost within their boarders. It will be a leisure visit.”

“The way things are going, it wouldn’t surprise me if they eventually did.” Jazz frowned at the last dregs in his cube. He swiftly downed them. “Another? I’ll pay this time.”

“I will come with you.” Prowl said, making to stand.

“What if we lose our table?”

“I have it in good faith that this table has been reserved for us.” Prowl said, nodding towards the bartender. They caught their optics and he gave them a small bow. Prowl mirrored him.

Jazz lowly whistled. “You’re scary, mech.”

“I simply know how to talk.” Prowl replied.

There was a small queue at the bar, so the pair of them had time to study the menus. Prowl had taken the translated copy with them – it was far too early to get Jazz ordering off of it.

“What did you get last time? This one?” Jazz asked, pointing at a drink.

“I did.”

“Hmm...” Jazz carefully studied the menu. “I wonder what you’d like?”

“Do you wish to order for me?”

“Yeah! It’ll be fun.”

Jazz was too busy looking at the menu to notice how Prowls doorwings seemed to flutter in happiness.

While Jazz ordered, trying his best to order in the Praxian language and endearing himself so to the bartender and earning him a free drink, Prowl looked around the other patrons of the bar.

Praxian, praxian, praxian. Praxians everywhere. It felt oddly like home, if it weren’t for the somewhat substantial numbers of non-praxians in the bar too. His doorwings lazily flicked in surprise when he spotted a red and blue praxian with a yellow chevron. He should have known.

He turned and grabbed the bartenders attention as they handed Jazz their drinks, saying something too fast for Jazz to understand. The bartender nodded, and briefly disappeared behind a corner, returning moments later with a woven mesh basket in hand full of rust sticks.

“What’d you get this for?” Jazz gestured to the gently glowing rust sticks.

“Look behind me, but do not make it obvious. We have company.”

Jazz was thankful for his visor making it harder for mechs to pinpoint exactly what he was looking at. He glanced over his shoulder, and spotted them.

A group of mechs from tactical – Jazz had seen many of them with Prowl before, they were likely his team – and Smokescreen. Of course, it’d be Smokescreen here too. They’d really have to keep their act up tonight.

“Oh.” Prowl quietly said. He was looking straight over Jazz’s shoulder, into the crystal behind him. “It looks like some mechs in your department are here too.”

Jazz glanced around them – Prowl could probably see the reflection in the crystal – and sure enough, by the door, there they were.

“Cheeky buggers.” Jazz grumbled, taking a sip from his cube.

“I feel we will be under much scrutiny.” Prowl took a rust stick and offered it to Jazz. “Take it.”

Jazz did as told.

They sat back down at their table again, backs facing the wall. Jazz appraised the rust stick he’d been given.

“What’s the significance of this?”

“Simply a gift. Typically, those dating in Praxus will give each other edible goods. They have other more traditional Praxian snacks here, but rust sticks are a much safer bet.”

“Ooh. I’ll have ta keep an eye out, then.” Jazz popped it into his mouth, sucking on it like an oddly shaped lolly pop.

“Oh, Primus.” Prowl slapped a hand over his face in embarrassment. “Do you have to maintain optic contact as you do that?”

“Absolutely.” Jazz said around it.

-----------------------------------------------------------

They’d been there long enough to have had more cubes between them than they’d like to admit. Jazz had made it a personal challenge to make it through every single drink on the menu, but Prowl had quickly put a stop to that particular endeavour.

Jazz absently stirred his drink with a rust stick, watching the dance floor. Prowl looked between the two with fear. Please, no. Please. Not with his brother watching!

“What kinda dance is that?” Jazz asked.

“It is a Praxian one, if that is what you are asking.” He replied. “It’s not particularly special, simply one we do at social gatherings.”

“You have special dances?”

“We do.” He risked a glance at Jazz. He was looking at him like a puppy, visor bright and almost glistening with his overcharge. “No. I am not dancing.”

“Please?”

“My brother’s here.”

“Pleeeaaase?”

“I am far too overcharged.”

“Spoil sport.”

“I fear for your physical integrity.” Prowl finished what was left of his drink. “I much prefer you untarnished by my two left feet.”

“Naaw~” Jazz gently tapped him on the nose. “You’re so sweet to me.”

“Drink.” Prowl ordered, holding his cube up to his face. Jazz batted his hands away and drank, finishing his drink. He stuck the rust stick into his mouth, sucking on it again. Prowl rolled his optics at him.

“You’re the worst. Come on, I am taking you home.”

They waved to the bartender as they left, Jazz clinging onto Prowl for balance.

“I think I drank way too much.” He laughed. “Your stuff is so sweet but so potent.”

“I did warn you.”

“The world is spinning.”

“And you wanted to dance.”

“How come you’re fine?” Jazz huffed in thinly veiled jealousy.

“Because I both paced myself and didn’t drink as much as you did.”

“I was too excited about new things.” he whined.

“It was extremely endearing.”

Jazz’s hand slipped down Prowls arm, gently teasing the cabling at his wrist, and intertwined their fingers.

“You know you don’t have to.” Prowl quietly whispered to him.