[G1] Before the Thunder - Part One
Dec. 13th, 2017 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Before the Thunder
Series: G1, Mastermind
Characters: Bluestreak, Jazz, Soundwave
Rating: T
Enticements: BDSM themes
Description: Bluestreak has always had a hidden talent, and now that the war is over, someone is very interested in his secret.
It was with a skip in his step and anticipation in his spark that Jazz strolled through the corridors of the habitation wing, a grin on his lips that would have unsettled even the most stalwart of reformed Decepticon. Or supposedly at any rate. They were all of them, Autobot and Decepticon alike, reformed.
Jazz counted room numbers as he went, finding that the rhythm of it made for an almost song-like cadence, and when he arrived at the one he sought, pressed the buzzer with an urgency that betrayed his eagerness. He shifted from foot to foot, a whistle on his lips.
Some of that eagerness died, however, when the door opened and Jazz was met with a wave of field-led confusion. Judging also by the startled look on his face, Bluestreak had forgotten about their session for tonight, and that in itself was unusual enough to make Jazz concerned. Especially as Bluestreak sighed and palmed his face.
“I’m sorry, Jazz. I completely forgot. Things have just been pretty crazy here.”
“Things are always crazy, Blue,” Jazz replied with an easygoing grin, sliding into his investigative role like a second layer of armor. “It ain’t like ya to forget though. Frag, ya usually plan things down to the klik.”
A tired smile curved Bluestreak’s lips before he stepped aside, gesturing Jazz into his quarters. “I do my best. I want to be a good partner. That’s the reason I do that. Plus, for anxiety’s sake, I know a lot of mechs like to know what’s going to happen ahead of time. It’s about trust.”
“I know, Blue. It’s okay. I wasn’t complainin’.”
The door slid shut behind Jazz, tucking him into the quiet dim of Bluestreak’s quarters. Only a single lamp lit the main room, bathing the furniture in quiet shadows. Soft instrumental music played from the stereo system. There was a mound of fluffy pillows draped in soft blankets in the middle of the room.
Bluestreak’s calm down routine, Jazz knew it well. Concern notched into a higher level.
“Something up?” Jazz asked after he turned in a slow circle. He’d known something was wrong from the moment Bluestreak hadn’t appeared at his door at the appointed time, and hadn’t commed Jazz to let him know he was running late. Blue was many things, but irresponsible was not one of them.
He’d assumed that he’d confused where they were supposed to meet, and made his way to Bluestreak’s quarters instead.
Their plans for the evening, he now knew, were not going to happen. It was unfortunate, but Bluestreak couldn’t Dom if he had something else on his mind. It wasn’t safe for either of them.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Bluestreak sighed and dropped down into his pile of comfort, sensory panels flicking aside at the last second to prevent a jarred hinge. His biolights glowed eerie red in the dim of the room. “I think maybe I’m going mad or I’m getting as paranoid as Red or maybe I’m inventing a problem because I’m not adapting to the peace.”
Jazz blinked behind his visor and plopped his aft on the low table near Bluestreak’s mound. Usually this would garner him a chastisement, but this time, nothing. Something was really wrong. So he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and he pinned Bluestreak a look. Not sub to dom, but former commanding officer to former subordinate.
“Ya ain’t crazy, Blue. What’s going on?”
Bluestreak scrubbed at his chevron. “I don’t know. I thought I was imagining it at first, this feeling of being watched. It was only every now and again, and I figured, I was just antsy cause we were all on pins and needles after the signing of the first treaty, you know?”
Jazz nodded to show he was listening.
Bluestreak continued, “But it’s getting more and more frequent. I can’t ever see anybody looking at me and no one’s following me, but my panels are twitching, and I just feel like I’m being watched. It’s a prickle in my spinal strut and an itch in my processor.” He gnawed on his bottom lip and gave Jazz a hopeful look. “It’s not your team practicing on Praxians again, is it?”
“I wish it were, Baby Blue.” Anger stirred, rising in the pit of Jazz’s internals.
If it wasn’t his team, then there was only one other mech who could be responsible for lurking around Bluestreak where he couldn’t see them. Bluestreak had been trained by Smokescreen to detect spies, and by Prowl to be aware of his surroundings. He was one of the most difficult mechs to sneak up on, outside of Jazz’s own unit. No casual mech could do it.
And it wasn’t Jazz’s team.
Bluestreak’s engine gave a thin whine, a reedy sound of stress. “Of course it isn’t,” he said, hands gripping the back of his neck. “You’d give me warning. You know how I feel about that kind of thing. You wouldn’t do that to me.” He ex-vented, sharp and hot.
Jazz leaned forward, resting a hand on Bluestreak’s knee. “Blue, look at me.”
Optics shifted toward him, flickering around the edges. Bluestreak’s field was a jittery mess, and his armor had started clicking as it settled around his seams. Jazz hadn’t seen him like this in a while. Not since the height of the war, when they weren’t sure anyone was going to survive. Like when Bluestreak had been taken by the Cons, one of Megatron’s numerous bids to trade for energon, and he’d come back to them beaten and damaged, but was never willing to say if it was because of the battle, or if some of the Cons had gotten bored during guard duty.
“I’m going to figure this out for ya. I promise. You don’t have anythin’ to worry about, okay? I’m goin’ to take care of it.”
Bluestreak loosed a shuddery ventilation and offered a smile that didn’t reach his optics. “I should’ve just come to you first. I know that. I just didn’t want you to think...”
“That you were losing it? Never.” Jazz squeezed Bluestreak’s knee and extended his field, offering warmth and comfort. “It’s my turn to take care of you for a change. Alright?”
A small laugh spilled out of Bluestreak. “Alright.” Some of the tension eased out of his frame, his doorwings settling. He had every confidence Jazz would find an answer.
Meanwhile, Jazz buried the fury infesting his spark way down. He hid it behind a smile, one Bluestreak could probably read, but that was the level of trust between them. The anger would be his fuel.
It carried him out of Bluestreak’s quarters a few hours later, after he’d spent some time cuddling with Blue on the mound of comfort, trying to soothe the distressed rattles in Bluestreak’s field. He’d left Bluestreak snoozing in the pile, fleece blanket tucked around his frame, music quieted to the lowest setting meant to calm.
The anger propelled Jazz two streets over, into the residential district that was more Decepticon than Autobot, even though said divisions technically weren’t supposed to exist anymore. Like, however, called to like. And no matter the iron-clad treaty, trust wasn’t so easy to gain.
It sounded like a fairy tale almost.
Jazz went to the highest hab-suite in the highest reconstructed tower, which had nearly a three-hundred sixty degree view of the city they’d chosen to rebuild in. It was the kind of place that belonged to nobility and high caste, ages ago. Now it was a nest for Megatron’s favorite spymaster.
You could take the war away from the spymaster, but not the need to spy and surveil.
Jazz and Soundwave had been playing this game of tag for centuries. It had been a challenge, to creep around one another, spying without being seen, getting into places they shouldn’t. By all rights, Soundwave’s suite should be the most heavily guarded building in the entire city.
But maybe he’d been a little too busy spying on cute sniper’s just trying to get on with their lives. Maybe Soundwave had been too focused on his stalkery behavior to pay attention to security, because Jazz broke into Soundwave’s home with barely any effort.
Alright, so it took him ten minutes to shatter the encryption, but that was beside the point. Jazz invited himself inside, confirmed no one was home, rummaged about in Soundwave’s storage room and snagged a box of candies.
He sat down on the couch, propped his feet on the table – Bluestreak would have flogged him for that, damn Soundwave, Jazz missed out on some good whipping this evening – and waited. He turned on the vidscreen, found a music broadcast channel, and turned on some raging good beats. He ate two boxes of candies, the anger broiling and roiling inside of him, before someone finally came home.
Jazz didn’t move, though he tensed, defensive protocols spinning into action. It was never easy to gauge Soundwave’s reactions. He might shoot first and ask questions later via a little mind-probing.
The door opened and lights flooded the main room, illuminating Jazz on the couch. He popped another fizzy candy into his mouth, gaze pinned on Soundwave as he slipped inside and the door closed behind him. Jazz didn’t see any symbiotes, but that didn’t mean some of the brats weren’t tucked away inside Soundwave’s dock.
Jazz casually lifted a remote, clicked the vidscreen to mute. He tossed said remote onto the table, scraped his feet against the edge of the table, and narrowed the light of his visor.
“So,” Jazz said, enunciating the word with a pop of his lips. “Wanna tell me why you and yer little critters are stalking my boy Blue?”
Soundwave’s visor hardened. He stared at Jazz, pose relaxed, but there was menace coiled in it. He didn’t have his sonic cannon – terms of the treaty, no one was allowed to walk around visibly armed. His sonic cannon was in his berthroom. Jazz had already moved it elsewhere, just in case Soundwave got any ideas.
“Business mine,” Soundwave finally answered, vocals as steady as a cucumber and no hint of surprise in his field.
Cold as ice, that one.
Jazz popped another candy into his mouth and noisily crunched on it. “When it concerns my mechs, it becomes my business, too.” He crossed his ankles and tilted his head. Challenging.
Soundwave hadn’t moved from in front of the door. “Bluestreak not yours.”
“He is where it counts.” Jazz tossed the empty box onto the table and folded his hands over his abdomen. The fact that his hands were visible was a small concession. “Tell me why.”
Silence.
Soundwave stared at him as though he had lasers buried behind his visor. He shifted his weight, barely noticeable, but it was telling.
Was Soundwave nervous? No, it couldn’t be. Ashamed? A stretch.
Jazz sighed and abruptly sat up, his feet hitting the floor. “Alright then.” He slapped his thighs and stood up. “Guess I’ll just stroll right into Prowl’s office and let him know you’re violatin’ the terms of the treaty. He’s been itchin’ to catch a Con in the act. This’ll make his night.”
“Negative.” A single step forward. Panic?
Jazz rolled his neck and pinned Soundwave a look. “Then tell me.”
Soundwave’s weight shifted again. There was a flash of something in his field, there and gone again. He looked, of all things, like he was fidgeting. Which was not something Jazz had ever attributed to the stoic communications officer. Oh. Jazz had stumbled into something tasty here.
“Interest… personal,” Soundwave finally said, as though he’d had to force the words out, through a strangled vocalizer.
“Oh? Now I’m listening.” Jazz propped his hands on his hips, but didn’t sink back into the couch yet. The implied threat to play tattletale was still present. “Tell me more.”
Soundwave’s hands pulled in and out of fists. Another tell. Someone was off their game tonight. “No.”
Jazz laughed. “Oh, Sounders, that’s not how this game is played. You got an interest in my mech Blue and I gotta know why. I ain’t walking out that door still I get a satisfactory answer.” He tilted his head, let light flicker across his visor. “So either you tell me what I want to know, or my next stop is Prowl’s office. I know he’s still there. Silly mech always burns the midnight oil.”
Soundwave’s engine gave a little hitch. Indecision wrote into every clamped piece of armor. In the way Soundwave held himself, still as a statue. He stared at Jazz as though he could intimidate by glare alone. Yeah, that probably worked on a lot of mechs, who knew about Soundwave’s capabilities and feared them.
It didn’t work on Jazz. He just grinned, making sure to show denta. He was the shadow that crept in the night. He was the monster in the closet and under the berth. He wasn’t afraid of an emotionally stunted block of non-personality.
“I’m waiting,” Jazz said, singsong. Because he had to push. That was what made it fun. Maybe it was a risk. Maybe Soundwave would do something drastic, though that seemed more Starscream’s style. Soundwave was far too rational for heat of the moment actions.
Still.
A cornered mechanimal was a dangerous one. And Jazz had the feeling he’d trapped one pretty piece of prey.
“Bluestreak talented,” Soundwave finally said.
Jazz almost laughed. “Yeah, I know he is.” His lips curled into a smirk because he knew it. He fragging knew it.
Pieces fell into place, like a puzzle filling in from the inside out. Dots connected. Plans drew. Victory rang like a bell in the back of his processor.
Like called to like. No fragging wonder. He and Soundwave had always played this game, and now there was a prize on the line. The prize wasn’t Jazz’s to win, otherwise he would have had it already. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it harder on Soundwave. Or easier, depending on what would be more entertaining.
Bluestreak was his, in the berth or out of it. It wasn’t a matter of ownership. It was a matter of protecting the things he loved. And like the Pit was Jazz going to let some two-bit Decepticon lay hands on his Blue without knowing for sure Soundwave deserved it.
His grin widened even further. Jazz dropped his hands and strode around the edge of the low table, barely making a whisper of sound.
“Ahh, I get it now,” he purred as Soundwave watched him, lights shifting behind his visor, like he thought he might get attacked. “It’s okay, Sounders. You’re an emotionally and socially stunted machine. Happens to the best of us. But even machines have desires, don’t they? Even someone like you.”
Jazz looked Soundwave up and down. He barely came up to Soundwave’s chassis, frag that height difference, and Soundwave was taller than Bluestreak even. More massive as well. But Jazz could easily imagine Soundwave on his knees. Could imagine the straps wound around his frame.
Submission would suit him.
“The war’s pretty much over you know,” Jazz continued, ignoring the silence. That was the game. “Instead of stalking him, you could try having a conversation.”
Soundwave said nothing, but the sudden burst of heated ex-vent said it all. Jazz almost laughed again. A conversation. Right. Soundwave was known for being a stunning conversationalist.
Then again, Blue was awful good at filling the silence. Maybe they were better suited for each other than immediate appearance suggested.
Jazz leaned in closer, looking up the length of Soundwave’s frame, and poked him in the middle of his undecorated dock. “Tell you what. Not that I think you don’t already know, but humor me.”
He smirked and leaned back, noticing with satisfaction as Soundwave’s defensive armor clamp eased. Silly mech. Just because he leaned back didn’t mean Jazz wasn’t any less dangerous. Clearly this topic had thrown Soundwave off his game.
“Blue’s working tomorrow night,” Jazz said as he planted his hands back on his hips. “Swing by for a chat. Ya never know. It could be a dream come true.” He flashed his visor in a wink.
Soundwave’s ventilations stuttered. “Jazz offering assistance?” He couldn’t have sounded more surprised if he tried.
“I got a thing for lost causes.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Besides, like you said, Blue’s not mine. Not the way you want him to be.”
If his smile looked like a predator with prey between its teeth, well, Jazz wasn’t too upset by that. He had Soundwave exactly where he wanted him. But most of all, he had an answer for Bluestreak.
Jazz knew he was right.
Soundwave would be there tomorrow. He’d find the courage to set foot into an establishment he’d only seen from a distance, because there was a hunger inside of him. One that no energon could sate.
Jazz knew that hunger. It broiled in his tanks, too. Bluestreak couldn’t be the fuel to fully sate him. Jazz was still looking for his. But maybe Soundwave would get lucky. He only had to be brave enough to find out.
Jazz rapped the back of his knuckles against Soundwave’s dock. “I’ll see you there, Sounders,” he said cheerfully and slipped around the communications mech, inviting himself to use the door to make his escape.
Soundwave didn’t give chase. No, he had far too much on his processor for that.
Tomorrow would tell.
~
Baby Blue,
I looked into your little problem, and I’m happy to report that it’s been handled. No more shall you be stalked. You’re not in any danger, Scout’s honor. Well, except maybe to your virtue, hah. But I know you can take care of yourself.
You got a secret admirer, Blue. I convinced him to say hello so keep an optic out. And if he doesn’t, well, I’ll handle it. Prowl might get to arrest himself a Decepticon, and you know how much he’s been looking forward to that. I got your back, darling. Anytime. Just give me a ring, and I’ll be there.
Hugs and kisses!
~Jazz.
***
a/n: Two more parts to come!
Feedback would be quite lovely. Thank you for reading!
Series: G1, Mastermind
Characters: Bluestreak, Jazz, Soundwave
Rating: T
Enticements: BDSM themes
Description: Bluestreak has always had a hidden talent, and now that the war is over, someone is very interested in his secret.
It was with a skip in his step and anticipation in his spark that Jazz strolled through the corridors of the habitation wing, a grin on his lips that would have unsettled even the most stalwart of reformed Decepticon. Or supposedly at any rate. They were all of them, Autobot and Decepticon alike, reformed.
Jazz counted room numbers as he went, finding that the rhythm of it made for an almost song-like cadence, and when he arrived at the one he sought, pressed the buzzer with an urgency that betrayed his eagerness. He shifted from foot to foot, a whistle on his lips.
Some of that eagerness died, however, when the door opened and Jazz was met with a wave of field-led confusion. Judging also by the startled look on his face, Bluestreak had forgotten about their session for tonight, and that in itself was unusual enough to make Jazz concerned. Especially as Bluestreak sighed and palmed his face.
“I’m sorry, Jazz. I completely forgot. Things have just been pretty crazy here.”
“Things are always crazy, Blue,” Jazz replied with an easygoing grin, sliding into his investigative role like a second layer of armor. “It ain’t like ya to forget though. Frag, ya usually plan things down to the klik.”
A tired smile curved Bluestreak’s lips before he stepped aside, gesturing Jazz into his quarters. “I do my best. I want to be a good partner. That’s the reason I do that. Plus, for anxiety’s sake, I know a lot of mechs like to know what’s going to happen ahead of time. It’s about trust.”
“I know, Blue. It’s okay. I wasn’t complainin’.”
The door slid shut behind Jazz, tucking him into the quiet dim of Bluestreak’s quarters. Only a single lamp lit the main room, bathing the furniture in quiet shadows. Soft instrumental music played from the stereo system. There was a mound of fluffy pillows draped in soft blankets in the middle of the room.
Bluestreak’s calm down routine, Jazz knew it well. Concern notched into a higher level.
“Something up?” Jazz asked after he turned in a slow circle. He’d known something was wrong from the moment Bluestreak hadn’t appeared at his door at the appointed time, and hadn’t commed Jazz to let him know he was running late. Blue was many things, but irresponsible was not one of them.
He’d assumed that he’d confused where they were supposed to meet, and made his way to Bluestreak’s quarters instead.
Their plans for the evening, he now knew, were not going to happen. It was unfortunate, but Bluestreak couldn’t Dom if he had something else on his mind. It wasn’t safe for either of them.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Bluestreak sighed and dropped down into his pile of comfort, sensory panels flicking aside at the last second to prevent a jarred hinge. His biolights glowed eerie red in the dim of the room. “I think maybe I’m going mad or I’m getting as paranoid as Red or maybe I’m inventing a problem because I’m not adapting to the peace.”
Jazz blinked behind his visor and plopped his aft on the low table near Bluestreak’s mound. Usually this would garner him a chastisement, but this time, nothing. Something was really wrong. So he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and he pinned Bluestreak a look. Not sub to dom, but former commanding officer to former subordinate.
“Ya ain’t crazy, Blue. What’s going on?”
Bluestreak scrubbed at his chevron. “I don’t know. I thought I was imagining it at first, this feeling of being watched. It was only every now and again, and I figured, I was just antsy cause we were all on pins and needles after the signing of the first treaty, you know?”
Jazz nodded to show he was listening.
Bluestreak continued, “But it’s getting more and more frequent. I can’t ever see anybody looking at me and no one’s following me, but my panels are twitching, and I just feel like I’m being watched. It’s a prickle in my spinal strut and an itch in my processor.” He gnawed on his bottom lip and gave Jazz a hopeful look. “It’s not your team practicing on Praxians again, is it?”
“I wish it were, Baby Blue.” Anger stirred, rising in the pit of Jazz’s internals.
If it wasn’t his team, then there was only one other mech who could be responsible for lurking around Bluestreak where he couldn’t see them. Bluestreak had been trained by Smokescreen to detect spies, and by Prowl to be aware of his surroundings. He was one of the most difficult mechs to sneak up on, outside of Jazz’s own unit. No casual mech could do it.
And it wasn’t Jazz’s team.
Bluestreak’s engine gave a thin whine, a reedy sound of stress. “Of course it isn’t,” he said, hands gripping the back of his neck. “You’d give me warning. You know how I feel about that kind of thing. You wouldn’t do that to me.” He ex-vented, sharp and hot.
Jazz leaned forward, resting a hand on Bluestreak’s knee. “Blue, look at me.”
Optics shifted toward him, flickering around the edges. Bluestreak’s field was a jittery mess, and his armor had started clicking as it settled around his seams. Jazz hadn’t seen him like this in a while. Not since the height of the war, when they weren’t sure anyone was going to survive. Like when Bluestreak had been taken by the Cons, one of Megatron’s numerous bids to trade for energon, and he’d come back to them beaten and damaged, but was never willing to say if it was because of the battle, or if some of the Cons had gotten bored during guard duty.
“I’m going to figure this out for ya. I promise. You don’t have anythin’ to worry about, okay? I’m goin’ to take care of it.”
Bluestreak loosed a shuddery ventilation and offered a smile that didn’t reach his optics. “I should’ve just come to you first. I know that. I just didn’t want you to think...”
“That you were losing it? Never.” Jazz squeezed Bluestreak’s knee and extended his field, offering warmth and comfort. “It’s my turn to take care of you for a change. Alright?”
A small laugh spilled out of Bluestreak. “Alright.” Some of the tension eased out of his frame, his doorwings settling. He had every confidence Jazz would find an answer.
Meanwhile, Jazz buried the fury infesting his spark way down. He hid it behind a smile, one Bluestreak could probably read, but that was the level of trust between them. The anger would be his fuel.
It carried him out of Bluestreak’s quarters a few hours later, after he’d spent some time cuddling with Blue on the mound of comfort, trying to soothe the distressed rattles in Bluestreak’s field. He’d left Bluestreak snoozing in the pile, fleece blanket tucked around his frame, music quieted to the lowest setting meant to calm.
The anger propelled Jazz two streets over, into the residential district that was more Decepticon than Autobot, even though said divisions technically weren’t supposed to exist anymore. Like, however, called to like. And no matter the iron-clad treaty, trust wasn’t so easy to gain.
It sounded like a fairy tale almost.
Jazz went to the highest hab-suite in the highest reconstructed tower, which had nearly a three-hundred sixty degree view of the city they’d chosen to rebuild in. It was the kind of place that belonged to nobility and high caste, ages ago. Now it was a nest for Megatron’s favorite spymaster.
You could take the war away from the spymaster, but not the need to spy and surveil.
Jazz and Soundwave had been playing this game of tag for centuries. It had been a challenge, to creep around one another, spying without being seen, getting into places they shouldn’t. By all rights, Soundwave’s suite should be the most heavily guarded building in the entire city.
But maybe he’d been a little too busy spying on cute sniper’s just trying to get on with their lives. Maybe Soundwave had been too focused on his stalkery behavior to pay attention to security, because Jazz broke into Soundwave’s home with barely any effort.
Alright, so it took him ten minutes to shatter the encryption, but that was beside the point. Jazz invited himself inside, confirmed no one was home, rummaged about in Soundwave’s storage room and snagged a box of candies.
He sat down on the couch, propped his feet on the table – Bluestreak would have flogged him for that, damn Soundwave, Jazz missed out on some good whipping this evening – and waited. He turned on the vidscreen, found a music broadcast channel, and turned on some raging good beats. He ate two boxes of candies, the anger broiling and roiling inside of him, before someone finally came home.
Jazz didn’t move, though he tensed, defensive protocols spinning into action. It was never easy to gauge Soundwave’s reactions. He might shoot first and ask questions later via a little mind-probing.
The door opened and lights flooded the main room, illuminating Jazz on the couch. He popped another fizzy candy into his mouth, gaze pinned on Soundwave as he slipped inside and the door closed behind him. Jazz didn’t see any symbiotes, but that didn’t mean some of the brats weren’t tucked away inside Soundwave’s dock.
Jazz casually lifted a remote, clicked the vidscreen to mute. He tossed said remote onto the table, scraped his feet against the edge of the table, and narrowed the light of his visor.
“So,” Jazz said, enunciating the word with a pop of his lips. “Wanna tell me why you and yer little critters are stalking my boy Blue?”
Soundwave’s visor hardened. He stared at Jazz, pose relaxed, but there was menace coiled in it. He didn’t have his sonic cannon – terms of the treaty, no one was allowed to walk around visibly armed. His sonic cannon was in his berthroom. Jazz had already moved it elsewhere, just in case Soundwave got any ideas.
“Business mine,” Soundwave finally answered, vocals as steady as a cucumber and no hint of surprise in his field.
Cold as ice, that one.
Jazz popped another candy into his mouth and noisily crunched on it. “When it concerns my mechs, it becomes my business, too.” He crossed his ankles and tilted his head. Challenging.
Soundwave hadn’t moved from in front of the door. “Bluestreak not yours.”
“He is where it counts.” Jazz tossed the empty box onto the table and folded his hands over his abdomen. The fact that his hands were visible was a small concession. “Tell me why.”
Silence.
Soundwave stared at him as though he had lasers buried behind his visor. He shifted his weight, barely noticeable, but it was telling.
Was Soundwave nervous? No, it couldn’t be. Ashamed? A stretch.
Jazz sighed and abruptly sat up, his feet hitting the floor. “Alright then.” He slapped his thighs and stood up. “Guess I’ll just stroll right into Prowl’s office and let him know you’re violatin’ the terms of the treaty. He’s been itchin’ to catch a Con in the act. This’ll make his night.”
“Negative.” A single step forward. Panic?
Jazz rolled his neck and pinned Soundwave a look. “Then tell me.”
Soundwave’s weight shifted again. There was a flash of something in his field, there and gone again. He looked, of all things, like he was fidgeting. Which was not something Jazz had ever attributed to the stoic communications officer. Oh. Jazz had stumbled into something tasty here.
“Interest… personal,” Soundwave finally said, as though he’d had to force the words out, through a strangled vocalizer.
“Oh? Now I’m listening.” Jazz propped his hands on his hips, but didn’t sink back into the couch yet. The implied threat to play tattletale was still present. “Tell me more.”
Soundwave’s hands pulled in and out of fists. Another tell. Someone was off their game tonight. “No.”
Jazz laughed. “Oh, Sounders, that’s not how this game is played. You got an interest in my mech Blue and I gotta know why. I ain’t walking out that door still I get a satisfactory answer.” He tilted his head, let light flicker across his visor. “So either you tell me what I want to know, or my next stop is Prowl’s office. I know he’s still there. Silly mech always burns the midnight oil.”
Soundwave’s engine gave a little hitch. Indecision wrote into every clamped piece of armor. In the way Soundwave held himself, still as a statue. He stared at Jazz as though he could intimidate by glare alone. Yeah, that probably worked on a lot of mechs, who knew about Soundwave’s capabilities and feared them.
It didn’t work on Jazz. He just grinned, making sure to show denta. He was the shadow that crept in the night. He was the monster in the closet and under the berth. He wasn’t afraid of an emotionally stunted block of non-personality.
“I’m waiting,” Jazz said, singsong. Because he had to push. That was what made it fun. Maybe it was a risk. Maybe Soundwave would do something drastic, though that seemed more Starscream’s style. Soundwave was far too rational for heat of the moment actions.
Still.
A cornered mechanimal was a dangerous one. And Jazz had the feeling he’d trapped one pretty piece of prey.
“Bluestreak talented,” Soundwave finally said.
Jazz almost laughed. “Yeah, I know he is.” His lips curled into a smirk because he knew it. He fragging knew it.
Pieces fell into place, like a puzzle filling in from the inside out. Dots connected. Plans drew. Victory rang like a bell in the back of his processor.
Like called to like. No fragging wonder. He and Soundwave had always played this game, and now there was a prize on the line. The prize wasn’t Jazz’s to win, otherwise he would have had it already. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make it harder on Soundwave. Or easier, depending on what would be more entertaining.
Bluestreak was his, in the berth or out of it. It wasn’t a matter of ownership. It was a matter of protecting the things he loved. And like the Pit was Jazz going to let some two-bit Decepticon lay hands on his Blue without knowing for sure Soundwave deserved it.
His grin widened even further. Jazz dropped his hands and strode around the edge of the low table, barely making a whisper of sound.
“Ahh, I get it now,” he purred as Soundwave watched him, lights shifting behind his visor, like he thought he might get attacked. “It’s okay, Sounders. You’re an emotionally and socially stunted machine. Happens to the best of us. But even machines have desires, don’t they? Even someone like you.”
Jazz looked Soundwave up and down. He barely came up to Soundwave’s chassis, frag that height difference, and Soundwave was taller than Bluestreak even. More massive as well. But Jazz could easily imagine Soundwave on his knees. Could imagine the straps wound around his frame.
Submission would suit him.
“The war’s pretty much over you know,” Jazz continued, ignoring the silence. That was the game. “Instead of stalking him, you could try having a conversation.”
Soundwave said nothing, but the sudden burst of heated ex-vent said it all. Jazz almost laughed again. A conversation. Right. Soundwave was known for being a stunning conversationalist.
Then again, Blue was awful good at filling the silence. Maybe they were better suited for each other than immediate appearance suggested.
Jazz leaned in closer, looking up the length of Soundwave’s frame, and poked him in the middle of his undecorated dock. “Tell you what. Not that I think you don’t already know, but humor me.”
He smirked and leaned back, noticing with satisfaction as Soundwave’s defensive armor clamp eased. Silly mech. Just because he leaned back didn’t mean Jazz wasn’t any less dangerous. Clearly this topic had thrown Soundwave off his game.
“Blue’s working tomorrow night,” Jazz said as he planted his hands back on his hips. “Swing by for a chat. Ya never know. It could be a dream come true.” He flashed his visor in a wink.
Soundwave’s ventilations stuttered. “Jazz offering assistance?” He couldn’t have sounded more surprised if he tried.
“I got a thing for lost causes.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “Besides, like you said, Blue’s not mine. Not the way you want him to be.”
If his smile looked like a predator with prey between its teeth, well, Jazz wasn’t too upset by that. He had Soundwave exactly where he wanted him. But most of all, he had an answer for Bluestreak.
Jazz knew he was right.
Soundwave would be there tomorrow. He’d find the courage to set foot into an establishment he’d only seen from a distance, because there was a hunger inside of him. One that no energon could sate.
Jazz knew that hunger. It broiled in his tanks, too. Bluestreak couldn’t be the fuel to fully sate him. Jazz was still looking for his. But maybe Soundwave would get lucky. He only had to be brave enough to find out.
Jazz rapped the back of his knuckles against Soundwave’s dock. “I’ll see you there, Sounders,” he said cheerfully and slipped around the communications mech, inviting himself to use the door to make his escape.
Soundwave didn’t give chase. No, he had far too much on his processor for that.
Tomorrow would tell.
Baby Blue,
I looked into your little problem, and I’m happy to report that it’s been handled. No more shall you be stalked. You’re not in any danger, Scout’s honor. Well, except maybe to your virtue, hah. But I know you can take care of yourself.
You got a secret admirer, Blue. I convinced him to say hello so keep an optic out. And if he doesn’t, well, I’ll handle it. Prowl might get to arrest himself a Decepticon, and you know how much he’s been looking forward to that. I got your back, darling. Anytime. Just give me a ring, and I’ll be there.
Hugs and kisses!
~Jazz.
a/n: Two more parts to come!
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