Common Distractions

Notes: Thanks to myrrhibis for beta'ing, I appreciated it a lot. ^_^
 

There were certain….perks to being an officer in the Autobot cause. One of Prowl’s favorites was that his quarters had better soundproofing than most. He enjoyed nothing more then to come back to his quarters after a long, grueling day of dealing with bored Lamborghini twins and being welcomed by Primus blessed silence. It was Prowl’s own personal sanctuary and to a control freak like the SiC, such serenity was essential.

But right now, Prowl was anything but serene as he squirmed uncomfortably beneath talented hands and a distracting mouth. His doorwings were trapped beneath him but whenever Prowl opened his mouth to protest, a most undignified moan escaped his vocalizer instead. White hands caught in the curve of wheel-wells and the tactician was rewarded with a growl from his molester.

Jazz retaliated mercilessly as dental plates found sensitive wiring inside the crook of the Datsun’s neck and bit down softly.

“Primus-nng!” Who would have thought that Prowl could be so vocal? Of course, Prowl could be accused of being the poster-mech for ‘repressed’ but Jazz liked to pride himself on being the one to drag such sounds out of the stoic officer.

A part of Prowl’s mind argued that this was degrading and rather risky…not to mention a human thing to do. If Jazz accidentally pulled another power cable free again, Ratchet would have both their hides. The medic didn’t find it funny when he was pulled out of his bunk in the middle of the night to reconnect torn cables and cords. Ratchet’s wrath had been quite vocal and had tested the bounds of the soundproofing inside Prowl’s quarters.

The Datsun wanted to vocalize such protests but his vocalizer was still on the fritz and seemed to only be able to create broken moans and whimpers.

Jazz knew they were both racing headlong into overload and found his vaunted self-control was slipping steadily. “Ung….Prowl…” He managed as his fingers glided along sensitive plating and circuits underneath Prowl’s armor. His own power systems were beginning to flash warnings in front of his optics as overwhelmed cooling systems circulated air through their intakes at an unsteady rate.

In response to Jazz’s ministrations, Prowl arched up with a choked sound and brilliant blue optics flared briefly before bleeding in color. Overload sent the tactician’s systems into temporary lock. Gears ground and air hissed before he fell back limp against the recharge berth. Unthinkingly, strong fingers clenched down on the metal in Jazz’s wheel wells. Metal buckled beneath the force of Prowl’s strength and Jazz’s vocalizer managed a strange two-toned cry of mingled pain and pleasure as his sensors translated the feedback to his cerebral cortex.

Lines of code flashed before dimmed optics and air pinged through overheated engines as their systems revved down. Jazz somehow ended up collapsed on top of Prowl seemingly without a single connected wire. The tactician tried to work up some kind of annoyance when yet more paint scratched and dents were added to his aching door-wings. But he couldn’t seem to manage it. Energon coursed through his fuel lines and it was all Prowl could do to twitch a finger.

Movement came slowly and Prowl managed a tired little satisfied smirk managed to move one shaking hand down the line of Jazz’s back. The muffled moan of approval he got made Prowl’s smirk widen just a hair.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer’re one r’pressed mech, Prowly?” Jazz mumbled into Prowl’s neck.

“Hrmph. I was fine until a certain tenacious slagger came along and distracted me from my reports.” Prowl taunted without any real rancor.

“It was close ta midnigh’ I was doin’ ya a favor.” The saboteur shot back unrepentant. “Doin’ a good deed, savin’ ya from yer piles o’ datapads.” When Jazz was still euphoric and recovering from overload, his lower Polyhexian inflections were heavier. Jazz had been produced and brought online in one of the more seedy parts of an already seedy city. It had taken vorns for Jazz to shed most of his accent but it was heavier in times like this. “Ya should be thankin’ me.”

Prowl refused to admit it but he found it strangely charming. There was something so intrinsically foreign about Jazz that Prowl found he could spend hours simply trying to understand the workings of the saboteur’s mind.

“Yer thinkin’ too much.” Jazz mumbled tiredly. Dark hands glided slowly down Prowl’s flanks and the arrogant little slagger actually snuggled into a more comfortable place in the crook of Prowl’s arm. “Don’ think so hard, jus’ a’cept.”

Prowl froze for a split second as he processed Jazz’s mumbled words. The very idea of asking him to not think was outright ludicrous and he tilted his head to look down at the saboteur with a troubled expression. “Jazz…”

The dimmed visor flashed up at him in annoyance and Jazz just nipped Prowl in a chiding manner. “Just offline fer now. We’ll band out da dents in da mornin’ Ya can yell at me all ya want tomorrah.” Another unrepentant grin;

If he possessed the ability, Prowl would have rolled his optics heavenward. “Bossy.” He commented.

“Ya bet yer aft.” And black fingers tickled the seams of Prowl’s armor lazily.

Another raggedly drawn breath sputtered in the Datsun’s intakes as he fought not to squirm. Primus curse the saboteur for exploiting his inborn ticklishness. “Bastard!” Prowl growled his favorite human curse and caught Jazz’s hands in his own. “Settle down and let me recharge.” A crested head lay against stubby black horns as the tactician pinned his partner’s arms against his chest in a quietly intimate embrace.

“Love ya too.” The Porsche murmured with a cheeky grin. But he did settle down and relaxed back into the curve of Prowl’s fenders, his head leaning into the warm metal of the Datsun’s hood. It was the quiet whirl and purr of a finely tuned engine that lulled Jazz into recharge and the blue visor dimmed slowly into a restful offline state.

Listening to the slow drop in Jazz’s breathing, Prowl lay still and ignored the slight twinges from his doorwings. The sweeping metal limbs would go numb eventually, the Datsun knew this from experience. A few cramps and knotted wires the next day were worth the chance to have his partner here and in his arms. Cheesy and slightly mushy aside, the anal-retentive, control freak bastard in Prowl liked that he could keep an eye on Jazz and that nothing would go wrong tonight.

Besides, he could always get Jazz to massage the cramps out tomorrow. With a downright diabolical little smile, Prowl powered down his optics and initiated his recharge cycle.