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silence-ofthe-llamas · 15 days ago

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Chapter 5 of Domino Milkshake! Aka the "SOULMATES CONFIRMED" Chapter :D

Read here or on AO3!

“I still cannot believe that you completed your training that quickly. And top grades, too.” Smokescreen whistled, looking at the datapads in his hands. “You’re showing me up.”

“The middle child tends to be the smartest one.” Prowl replied, reclining gracefully in the chair. Smokescreen gave him a look of disapproval.

“It’s the eldest, Prowl. The eldest is often the smartest.”

“We don’t know who is eldest out of the two of us.”

“Given how I was in my youngling frame far, far before you, I think we can safely assume it is me.”

“You can.”

“Oh, stop it, it’s embarrassing. Now we’re on the topic of family, though, have you called Bluestreak lately?”

“I’ve been messaging with him, but no calls. Were you going to give him a call?”

“Video, yeah. After my shift tomorrow. Want to join me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, I should actually be serious for once.” Smokescreen cleared his intake, coughing into his fist. “So, you did brilliantly in your training, and passed your exams with flying colours, welcome to the tactical department of Special Operations. In the Autobots, the only ones who know about your battle computer are you, I, the CTO, and our wonderful Prime himself.” Smokescreen stacked the datapads in front of him and took another one out of a drawer in the filing cabinet behind him. “So we’ve decided that it’s best, and safest, if you operate under a number of different names whilst making your plans, so if we have any spies amongst us, or if any of these plans fall into the wrong hands, it makes it harder for them to link them all back to you, and also keeps it hidden from other Autobots. Makes that target you’re painting on your back just that little bit smaller, and means it’s less likely to be the topic of the latest gossip.”

“Ratchet doesn’t know?” Prowl asked in surprise.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Smokescreen replied. “Obviously, if it ever happens to come up, he will be made aware before cracking your helm open.”

“I’d hope.” Prowl frowned. “And I don’t imagine my battle computer will be what makes it to the grape vine.”

“Ah, yes.” Smokescreen grinned. “Your budding little romance with Jazz is rather popular, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm.” Prowl looked vaguely embarrassed. “No thanks to you, I imagine. When do I begin my work?”

“Today.” Smokescreen smirked at him. “Here’s the details you need, you’re joining the Echo team. And remember: there’s absolutely no shame in loving someone-”

“Smokescreen!” Prowl hissed, snatching the offered datapads from him. “Primus, I am so glad we’re not related sometimes! I am being asked about your betting pools!”

“Oof! A fatal blow!” Smokescreen mock swooned, clutching his chest and delicately laying the back of his hand across his forehead. “How ever shall I survive? My own brother...”

“My own brother is making betting pools about my relationship!”

“Hey, hey, it’s all for a good cause. Bluestreak’s education isn’t going to fund itself!”

Prowl scoffed in disbelief and rolled his optics. “Education is free in Praxus.”

“He wants to come to Iacon.” Smokescreen replied. “You can ask him about it tomorrow. I finish at seven.”

Prowl ex-vented heavily and stood. “I will see you at seven, then.”

“See you~” Smokescreen cheerily waved. Prowl resisted the urge to give him the middle finger.

There was a saying in Praxus that you chose your family, but sometimes Prowl wished that he had chosen a different one.

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

Two decacycles had passed until Ratchet deemed it acceptable to remove the brace from Jazz’s arm.

In the meantime, Jazz had dutifully worked hard, sometimes accompanied by Prowl. The crystal he’d given him sat happily on the table, Jazz singing away to it as he worked. Prowl had been right – it most certainly did help him concentrate on his work, paradoxically.

A small, small, red crystal was beginning to bloom.

He had also taken Prowl up on his offer to help him in the washrack, much to the absolute delight of the rest of the crew. Many, many a wolf whistles were had as Prowl helped Jazz reach the bits he couldn’t quite get to.

But now? That horrible, itchy, clunky, and frankly annoying brace was removed. He was free, finally free! Finally free, and on a mission.

His mission? Find Prowl.

Jazz skipped through the base, Blasters latest mixtape playing internally.

That morning, over their breakfast ration of energon, Prowl had informed Jazz that he’d completed his training and was beginning his work as a Special Ops tactician. Jazz was completely over the moon with delight – he’d work with Prowler! Wohoo!

Smokescreen had been extremely loose lipped on where Prowl was. The moment he’d seen Jazz poking his head in through the door to tactical, he’d promptly spilled the beans on Prowls exact location, down to what seat he was sat in. And so he had thanked him, and bounced on in.

Team Echo worked in the Echo room, which was extremely easy to find. Jazz promptly located it, his music loudly playing internally, and took a moment outside to pump himself up. You’re looking fabulous, mech, he told himself. No one can say no to you.

Jazz seductively leaned in the door frame, ensuring that the light hit his frame in all of the right places. Arm up, gently bent at the elbow to force his chest out. Hand on thigh, opposite leg slightly raised. Visor locked onto Prowl, ignore the room around him.

Prowls optics were bright like suns, and Jazz knew he had succeeded in getting his attention. Just why his face was going oh so very red Jazz didn’t know. All the same, he winked and sauntered into the room, pausing his music.

“Heya Prowler.” Jazz greeted, sliding in to sit on the table in front of him, taking care to block Prowls view of his terminal whilst not sitting on anything delicate. “Are ya busy tonight?”

Prowl had to reset his vocaliser a few times before he could respond. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking I’d go dancing.” Jazz dreamily replied, chin in his hands. “I’m finally free, I’ve got so much energy I wanna burn off. And we need ta celebrate your promotion!”

“I finish at six.”

“Perfect! I’ll see ya then.” Jazz squeezed his hand, hopping off the table and sauntering back out, giving him a quick wave from the door before disappearing.

He excitedly bounced away, giddy and grinning. He was so excited to finally be able to go out with Prowl again! Sure, they’d spent some time together at the base – mostly board games, the strange movie nights that were sometimes held in the rec room on the bottom floor, and tending to the crystals (Jazz still hadn’t let Prowl see his, wanting to keep it as a surprise) together. But Jazz wanted something more fun, more high energy.

He wanted to dance.

But for that, he would need a crew. He pulled up a map of the base, considering his options.

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

Prowl hadn’t a single clue how he’d gotten away with that.

He’d heard Jazz coming, singing along to his music as he approached, and looked up in time to see him leaning in the doorway, light falling on him in such a way that accentuated the curve of his thighs, the dip of his waist, the gentle slope of his chest, the dimples in his cheeks and the way his neck was exposed-

And his engine had revved.

Actually, audibly revved.

His coworkers had promptly lost it, breaking out into roaring laughter. It was so, so obvious that Prowl had done something, especially if his face was as red as it felt.

Yet Jazz had simply been politely confused, and perched on the table in front of him and invited him out that evening while Prowl desperately tried to stop his engine from revving again.

The moment Jazz had left, he slowly sunk down, burying his face into his hands whilst the others giggled and snickered into their hands. Excellent that they were finding enjoyment in his pain, wasn’t it? If only Prowl could see the humour in the situation too.

His shift couldn’t end soon enough. He waited for the rest of his team to leave, gently teasing him as they went, warning him to not keep Jazz waiting. His doorwings bristled in embarrassment and contempt, but he resolutely stayed, staring at his terminal screen.

“This is the worst.” He groaned into his hands. He’d become undone, a mess, if he saw Jazz again.

But he had appearances to keep up. He’d have to go. And besides, Jazz had said that he had wanted to celebrate his promotion too.

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

Jazz had managed to summon a small crew of mechs to lay siege to Iacons vibrant night life.

Sunstreaker, a mech Prowl only knew through reputation – an ex-gladiator from Kaon with a unique ability to get into scraps, however extraordinarily vain. Prowl wondered if the two were related at all. Sideswipe, Sunstreakers twin brother. Another ex-gladiator. Didn’t even know the definition of vanity. Mirage, Bumblebee, and Blaster had also answered his summons.

It was an extremely odd crew, to say the very least.

Prowl didn’t think he’d be staying out for too long.

He sat alone at a small table, tucked away in the corner to keep his doorwings out of reach of overcharged mechs with no concept of personal space, and resigned himself to an evening of people watching while he tried to make his drink last as long as possible.

Jazz would be having exactly none of that.

He flopped down next to Prowl with a sigh of pure joy, wriggling up to his side and leaning his head against his shoulder.

“You should come and join me.” Jazz said, dancing his fingers down Prowls arm, gently sliding over his hand and tracing the rim of Prowls glass. “It’s more fun than it looks.”

Prowl snorted in disbelief. “I have two left pedes. It would be fun for nobody.”

“Weren’t you gonna teach me how to dance?”

“I don’t think there’s any need for that. You’re excellent enough already, I would simply tarnish your expertise.”

“Don’ be like that, Prowler.” Jazz laughed. “I didn’t take you to be shy.” He moved his hand to cover Prowls, gently intertwining their digits together.

“I’m not,” Prowl replied, his other hand moving to cover Jazz’s, thumb gently rubbing Jazz’s, “I simply do not wish to give you sub par instruction.”

“Awww.” Jazz placed his other hand on top of Prowls, leaning more insistently into his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll be fine!”

“How about this, then. I will teach you if you teach me your sign language.” Prowl bargained. Jazz grimaced, hands twitching from where they rested amongst Prowls.

“Aww, Prowler. So unfair. I can ask, but...”

“What if I said this instead; you ask, I teach.” Prowl squeezed his hands. “No matter the answer.”

“Deal.” Jazz squeezed his hands back. He turned to observe around them, hunting down Mirage and Bumblebee. He spotted Bumblebee from across the room, and waved to grab his attention. Attention received, Jazz extracted his hands from Prowl and moved in a flurry of hand signs.

Bumblebee made what Prowl could only guess was a very stern negative gesture.

“I take it that was a resounding no.” Prowl said, taking a sip from his drink.

“Yup. Big ol’ nope.”

“I appreciate the effort regardless.” Prowl nodded, placing what was left of his drink down, pushing it towards Jazz. “Help me finish this, then we can get started.”

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

Smokescreen did not expect to find his brother dancing in a club in Iacon, and yet here he was, watching Prowl dancing with Jazz in a club in Iacon. He suddenly stopped in the doorway in surprise.

That was a Praxian dance.

Prowl was teaching Jazz tradition Praxian dances.

He lowly whistled. He didn’t think Prowl would ever do that, he was never the sentimental type.

Jazz appeared to trip over his own pedes, falling into Prowls arms, the pair looking at each other and laughing (Prowl! Laughing!), and Smokescreen shook his head in disbelief. He knew Jazz well enough to know that he was far too coordinated to ever trip over his own pedes. He’d 100% done that on purpose.

But he didn’t get it. Why the silly, unnecessary flirting? He already had Prowl hook, line, and sinker – that much was obvious – so why did Jazz feel the need to continue?

Mysterious. Very mysterious indeed.

Eventually, though, Prowl left the dancefloor, slipping back onto his table. Smokescreen glided over, weaving through the crowd, and slid into the seat next to him.

“I’m surprised you still remember how to do that.”

Prowl almost jumped out of his skin, swear caught in his throat.

“Primus, Smokescreen!”

“What? Did you numb your wings or something?”

Prowls doorwings twitched. “Somewhat. The sound is a bit...”

“Aggressive?”

“Aggressive.”

“Hmm.” Smokescreen stirred his drink with a straw. “Why do you come to these kinds of places, then, if you can’t handle them?”

“Jazz likes to try new things.”

“The Praxian place is new. And easier on your wings.”

“I don’t want it to become boring to him.”

“I see.” Smokescreen sipped from his drink as an easy silence fell over them.

Prowl watched Jazz dancing, doorwings gently bobbing to the beat, chin resting in his hands. He hadn’t realised he was smiling until he spotted his reflection in Smokescreens glass.

He didn’t recognise the expression on his face. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen on himself before.

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

Prowl had excused himself early, citing exhaustion and his doorwings aching. While that was true – his wings were beginning to hurt more than he could stand to ignore, and he was tired, he was also concerned that the longer he stayed there, watching Jazz dance, mixing in a few of the moves Prowl had taught him in with his own routine, the more he’d fall into his infatuation, and the harder it would be to keep up the act.

He was awoken from recharge by a light knocking at his door. He crept out of his berth, peering through the eyehole.

“Jazz?” Prowl blearily opened the door, stretching. “Is everything okay?”

“I just wanted to make sure ya were okay.” Jazz replied. “Can I come in?”

Prowl stepped aside, flexing his doorwings as he rubbed the sleep out of his optics. “I am fine, just tired.”

“Did I wake you?” Jazz nervously asked, fiddling with his own fingers.

“I was in an extremely light recharge, it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry- oh? Is that one of the crystals?” Jazz suddenly pointed at something behind Prowl. He turned to look – and sure enough, on the shelf behind him, was a line of the crystals he’d been tending to. And the one Jazz was pointing at was a bright, vibrant blue, eerily like the colour of his own visor.

“Yes. They all seem to have grown very well.”

“It’s such a bright colour. Which one is it?”

“The...” Prowl swallowed hard. His hesitation was ridiculous – Jazz didn’t know the superstition surrounding this particular variety, it was fine. “It’s the one where its care determines its characteristics.”

“It’s so cute.” Jazz cooed, moving closer to inspect it. “Such a vibrant colour, too!”

“I fed it well.”

“I still need to show you the one you gave me. I wanted ta leave it as a surprise, until it got bigger.”

“How big is it?” Prowl asked, sitting down on his berth. His frame still ached with exhaustion, and sitting was so much easier on him than standing.

“Ah guess… like an egg?” Jazz shrugged.

“Very good, for a beginner.”

Jazz beamed with pride as he plopped himself down next to Prowl. The smell of high grade almost smacked him in the face.

“… How much more did you drink after I left?” Prowl tentatively asked.

“Shots may have been involved.” Jazz admitted.

“Oh, Primus.” Prowl dragged a hand down his face. It was a true testament to Jazz’s tolerance levels that he was still as coherent as he was, but Prowl wasn’t the type to let him wonder around the base whilst out of sorts. “You’re staying here tonight.”

“Oh, Prowler~” Jazz leaned into him, hand resting on his chest.

“I wont disturb you.” Prowl continued as if Jazz hadn’t said anything, standing and pulling Jazz up with him. “You can sleep wherever you want.”

Jazz simply plopped himself down onto Prowls berth, still warm from where he’d been laying on it.

“But that’s- okay, okay, fine.” Prowl moved to be in the berth opposite, settling himself down and making himself comfortable. “Goodnight, Jazz.”

“G’night, Prowler.” Jazz curled up on the warm spot, nuzzling his face into Prowls pillow and breathing in deeply as his visor slowly darkened.

Prowl took a moment to simply watch Jazz, frame slowly relaxing, a gentle smile on his face, before turning off the light.

#jazzprowl #tf jazz #tf prowl #maccadam #llama writes #tf fic #Domino Milkshake #Aka 'it'll never be red...' 'oh my god it's red??'

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