[TF] On Target
Oct. 14th, 2020 07:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: On Target
Universe: G1
Characters: Jazz/Soundwave
Rating: T
Warning: Established relationship, Secret Relationship,
Description: Soundwave hates this compromise they’ve made as much as he understands the necessity of it.
For JazzWaveWeek, Day Four, Aftermath
Soundwave paces, tracing a familiar path, one he's worn in over at least a dozen occasions. It's too frequent, he realizes, and laments that this will have to be the last time they use this particular rendezvous.
He'll have his siblings start scouting for another location.
For now, Soundwave paces and tries not to stare at his chronometer. It will not move faster for his vigilance. There is still time. Jazz is not yet late.
"He comes, brother," Buzzsaw whispers across their link, his voice neutral. He's getting better at hiding his disapproval.
"He looks well," Laserbeak adds.
Soundwave pulses his gratitude, but keeps his relief. The warning is enough for him to compose himself, to appear as though he has not spent the last hour pacing. Though it takes all of his self-restraint not to run forward and scoop Jazz into his arms once his lover appears in the entryway, armor speckled with static mesh and nanite putty.
"Ain't you a sight for sore optics?" Jazz says with a big smile and a flood of affection in his field.
"Jazz well?" Soundwave asks, hands forming fists at his sides. He knows how much Jazz hates to be fussed over, and it's a war against his coding every time.
Jazz spreads his hands. "Come see for yourself, love. I know your coding must be givin' ya fits."
"Jazz mine," Soundwave reminds him as he gives in and physically checks the welds, the mesh, the putty. Ratchet, however, does good work. Always has. So long as Jazz doesn't over-exert himself, his self-repair should have him put to rights in due time.
"I know." Jazz waits with the patience of one used to Soundwave's hovering, his field lacking even a trace of exasperation. "You got good aim, Soundwave. Ratchet was surprised by how superficial it all was."
Soundwave's engine rumbles. He traces the edges of the static mesh, where his own artillery had punched holes in Jazz's armor. He hates himself. He hates this. He's never seen himself as the sort who would hurt the mech he loves.
This is what the war has done to them.
"Hey." Jazz grabs his hand and pulls it up to his mouth, feathering a kiss on Soundwave's knuckles. "It was my turn, remember?"
Yes, it was. That doesn't mean Soundwave has to like it. He hates this compromise they've made, neither of them willing to walk away from each other, or walk away from their respective factions. They can't afford to get caught, because it would be death for both of them, and they can't afford to even hint they might care for each other.
So they hurt each other.
Better that Soundwave aims for Jazz then let another Decepticon take the shot. They won't miss. They'll aim to kill. Soundwave aims to wound, to hurt, to incapacitate. He may not like the Autobots very much, but he cannot deny the skill of their Chief Medic.
Ratchet is one of the reasons the war has become such a stalemate.
It is also an argument Soundwave had lost, that Jazz should take on the majority of the attacks. The Autobots are better equipped for repairs, and it adds fuel to the theory Jazz and Soundwave loathe each other.
Forget the rivalry between Soundwave and Blaster. Jazz and Soundwave's hate for each other runs spark-deep. It's built on something pre-war, according to the rumors.
Soundwave cups Jazz's face, his thumb sweeping gently over his cheek. "This must end," he says, his spark aching.
Jazz turns into the touch, pressing a kiss to Soundwave's palm. "Hey, we're both working on it, remember? From the inside."
"What progress?" Soundwave asks, the ache in his spark growing. Circumstances have, time and time again, sought to part them, and the unfairness of the universe stomps down what little hope he has.
Yes, there's some truth to the rumor. Soundwave and Jazz had built something together pre-war, but it wasn't loathing. Had not the war erupted the way it did. Had not a single, bitter argument sent them in opposite directions when the world exploded around them, their lives would be much different.
Soundwave does not know how much longer he can do this. His spark breaks a little more every time Jazz goes back to the Autobots, and with every bullet he himself fires into his mate's frame.
"If I told ya that, I'd have to kill ya," Jazz says with a playful wink. He curls his hand around Soundwave's, however, and tugs him toward the makeshift berth they've assembled here. "Come on. We don't have a lot of time."
"This location exhausted," Soundwave informs him.
Jazz sighs. "Damn. I liked this one, too." He drops down onto the berth and pulls Soundwave with him, immediately tangling their frames together. "Sorry, not up to anything athletic this time, sweetspark. Your aim is a little too good."
Soundwave rumbles regret. He rests his palm on Jazz's abdomen, where a few inches to the left, he would have pierced Jazz's fuel tank. They've been on opposite sides of the battle for so long, they've turned this into an art.
They both know, however, either of them defecting would spell death no matter which side they go. Their only hope to be together is to end the war. This pointless, continuous, stalemate of a war.
Soundwave curls around Jazz, nuzzling his head, shielding Jazz's smaller frame from the dangerous world outside.
"Yeah, I figured you'd be like this," Jazz says, but he doesn't complain or try to squirm free. If anything, he just fits himself into the curves and angles of Soundwave's frame, his audial tucked to Soundwave's chassis.
He pats Soundwave's dock. "Lemme rest a bit. Soak ya up. Maybe we can play a bit before I leave, yeah?"
"Yes," Soundwave says, and tries to ignore the timer he has subconsciously running. They have limited time before they must return to their respective factions lest someone gets suspicious.
Jazz hums and settles in closer, idly stroking a scar from an old wound Jazz had caused. "We just gotta be a little more patient, love. Just a little longer."
Some day, his reassurance might even ring true.
For now, Soundwave will continue to aim carefully, and trust Jazz to do the same.
***
Universe: G1
Characters: Jazz/Soundwave
Rating: T
Warning: Established relationship, Secret Relationship,
Description: Soundwave hates this compromise they’ve made as much as he understands the necessity of it.
For JazzWaveWeek, Day Four, Aftermath
Soundwave paces, tracing a familiar path, one he's worn in over at least a dozen occasions. It's too frequent, he realizes, and laments that this will have to be the last time they use this particular rendezvous.
He'll have his siblings start scouting for another location.
For now, Soundwave paces and tries not to stare at his chronometer. It will not move faster for his vigilance. There is still time. Jazz is not yet late.
"He comes, brother," Buzzsaw whispers across their link, his voice neutral. He's getting better at hiding his disapproval.
"He looks well," Laserbeak adds.
Soundwave pulses his gratitude, but keeps his relief. The warning is enough for him to compose himself, to appear as though he has not spent the last hour pacing. Though it takes all of his self-restraint not to run forward and scoop Jazz into his arms once his lover appears in the entryway, armor speckled with static mesh and nanite putty.
"Ain't you a sight for sore optics?" Jazz says with a big smile and a flood of affection in his field.
"Jazz well?" Soundwave asks, hands forming fists at his sides. He knows how much Jazz hates to be fussed over, and it's a war against his coding every time.
Jazz spreads his hands. "Come see for yourself, love. I know your coding must be givin' ya fits."
"Jazz mine," Soundwave reminds him as he gives in and physically checks the welds, the mesh, the putty. Ratchet, however, does good work. Always has. So long as Jazz doesn't over-exert himself, his self-repair should have him put to rights in due time.
"I know." Jazz waits with the patience of one used to Soundwave's hovering, his field lacking even a trace of exasperation. "You got good aim, Soundwave. Ratchet was surprised by how superficial it all was."
Soundwave's engine rumbles. He traces the edges of the static mesh, where his own artillery had punched holes in Jazz's armor. He hates himself. He hates this. He's never seen himself as the sort who would hurt the mech he loves.
This is what the war has done to them.
"Hey." Jazz grabs his hand and pulls it up to his mouth, feathering a kiss on Soundwave's knuckles. "It was my turn, remember?"
Yes, it was. That doesn't mean Soundwave has to like it. He hates this compromise they've made, neither of them willing to walk away from each other, or walk away from their respective factions. They can't afford to get caught, because it would be death for both of them, and they can't afford to even hint they might care for each other.
So they hurt each other.
Better that Soundwave aims for Jazz then let another Decepticon take the shot. They won't miss. They'll aim to kill. Soundwave aims to wound, to hurt, to incapacitate. He may not like the Autobots very much, but he cannot deny the skill of their Chief Medic.
Ratchet is one of the reasons the war has become such a stalemate.
It is also an argument Soundwave had lost, that Jazz should take on the majority of the attacks. The Autobots are better equipped for repairs, and it adds fuel to the theory Jazz and Soundwave loathe each other.
Forget the rivalry between Soundwave and Blaster. Jazz and Soundwave's hate for each other runs spark-deep. It's built on something pre-war, according to the rumors.
Soundwave cups Jazz's face, his thumb sweeping gently over his cheek. "This must end," he says, his spark aching.
Jazz turns into the touch, pressing a kiss to Soundwave's palm. "Hey, we're both working on it, remember? From the inside."
"What progress?" Soundwave asks, the ache in his spark growing. Circumstances have, time and time again, sought to part them, and the unfairness of the universe stomps down what little hope he has.
Yes, there's some truth to the rumor. Soundwave and Jazz had built something together pre-war, but it wasn't loathing. Had not the war erupted the way it did. Had not a single, bitter argument sent them in opposite directions when the world exploded around them, their lives would be much different.
Soundwave does not know how much longer he can do this. His spark breaks a little more every time Jazz goes back to the Autobots, and with every bullet he himself fires into his mate's frame.
"If I told ya that, I'd have to kill ya," Jazz says with a playful wink. He curls his hand around Soundwave's, however, and tugs him toward the makeshift berth they've assembled here. "Come on. We don't have a lot of time."
"This location exhausted," Soundwave informs him.
Jazz sighs. "Damn. I liked this one, too." He drops down onto the berth and pulls Soundwave with him, immediately tangling their frames together. "Sorry, not up to anything athletic this time, sweetspark. Your aim is a little too good."
Soundwave rumbles regret. He rests his palm on Jazz's abdomen, where a few inches to the left, he would have pierced Jazz's fuel tank. They've been on opposite sides of the battle for so long, they've turned this into an art.
They both know, however, either of them defecting would spell death no matter which side they go. Their only hope to be together is to end the war. This pointless, continuous, stalemate of a war.
Soundwave curls around Jazz, nuzzling his head, shielding Jazz's smaller frame from the dangerous world outside.
"Yeah, I figured you'd be like this," Jazz says, but he doesn't complain or try to squirm free. If anything, he just fits himself into the curves and angles of Soundwave's frame, his audial tucked to Soundwave's chassis.
He pats Soundwave's dock. "Lemme rest a bit. Soak ya up. Maybe we can play a bit before I leave, yeah?"
"Yes," Soundwave says, and tries to ignore the timer he has subconsciously running. They have limited time before they must return to their respective factions lest someone gets suspicious.
Jazz hums and settles in closer, idly stroking a scar from an old wound Jazz had caused. "We just gotta be a little more patient, love. Just a little longer."
Some day, his reassurance might even ring true.
For now, Soundwave will continue to aim carefully, and trust Jazz to do the same.
