[Bay] Song and Dance
Oct. 15th, 2020 07:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Song and Dance
Universe: Bayverse, pre-canon
Characters: Soundwave, Jazz
Rating: T
Description: Jazz is incomprehensible to Soundwave, and somehow, that’s the most intriguing thing about him.
For JazzWaveWeek, Day Five, Tradition
The music is loud and obnoxious, but it is the most popular band on Cybertron this decade, and in an effort to prove how very united and progressive they are, of course Optimus and Megatron had ensured they would be the evening’s entertainment.
Soundwave knows he is going to have a migraine by the end of the night, but needs must.
The security risks are beyond enormous. Across the way, on another balcony, he can see Optimus’ chief security officer watching the gathering with the same hawkish intent as Soundwave. In this, Soundwave feels a kinship with the erratic Red Alert.
Soundwave does not deny the necessity of the celebration, but it is far too chaotic for him. It sets his sensors on edge, and he’s had to reduce his empathic capabilities to their lowest reception so he can function.
He glances at his chronometer once more. Three hours and counting in this madness before he is free.
He once again scans the dance floor, cataloging and identifying each mech in the crowd. Some are happy with Optimus and Megatron’s ascension to the diarchy of Cybertron, as Prime and Lord Protector respectively. Others barely hide their distaste. They may not be so bold as to do something here, however. It would be too obvious.
No, these political scraplets will strike when it most benefits them, and when the consequences cannot fall on their own heads.
A whisper of noise distracts Soundwave. His peripherals ping, and he glances to his left to see Optimus’ friend, one of the lower-ranked of the security force, but somehow invited to this celebration as though he is of greater importance. Perhaps Prowl had sent him as an excuse to not attend. The Security Force Chief is known to avoid all social occasions.
“Looks like you got the best view,” Jazz says as he struts up beside Soundwave as though he’s been invited. He leans on the rail, scanning the crowd below. “Bit lonely though.”
“Jazz need something?” Soundwave asks.
Jazz looks over his shoulder, a slow smile curling his lips. He affects a lazy pose, as if he knows how attractive he is and isn’t afraid to use it.
“You should be down there, not up here,” Jazz says, sly and suggestive. “Everyone knows you are Megatron’s right hand.”
Soundwave tilts his head. “You up here also,” he points out.
“I know. Curious, isn’t it?” Jazz turns slowly, hooks his elbows on the rail and leans back, casual as you please. “Maybe that’s just because I’d rather be wherever you are.”
Soundwave finally tears his attention away from the floor below. Jazz is too clever to only spare him a few thoughts. “Jazz need something?” he repeats.
Jazz chuckles and dips into a shallow bow, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
Soundwave stares at him. “Explain.”
“It’s something of a tradition, don’t you know?” Jazz asks, hand still offered, looking up at Soundwave in a manner that might be coy for anyone else. “As our Prime and our Protector work together, so do the military and civilian forces. What better way to show our unity than a dance and a kiss?”
“Kiss,” Soundwave echoes before he can stop himself. He projects disbelief into his tone, and prods at Jazz’s field as best he is able, but the other mech might as well be a box of secrets. There’s no prying at the locks.
He does not know Jazz’s intentions, but he does know they cannot start the new diarchy with friction between the two halves of Cybertron’s leadership. Whether Optimus sent Jazz up here with the intention of building bridges along the growing divide, or Jazz took it upon himself, Soundwave does not yet know.
He suspects it is something of a game.
Jazz grins and his visor flashes brightly. “Well, I might have exaggerated on the last part. Can you blame me?” He wiggles his fingers. “Don’t leave me hanging, Sounders. I came all the way up here just to get my dance.”
Sincere or not, game or not, Soundwave is not above playing when it suits him.
“I do not perform,” Soundwave says.
Jazz, however, beams. “We can do it right here,” he says, and snags Soundwave’s hand, pulling him in close with a surprisingly strong grip. “It’s just a little shimmy and a turn and a spin.”
Soundwave does not dance. He has never bothered to learn how, and it has never been a skill he thought he ought to pursue. If his constant trampling of Jazz’s feet irritates the other mech, he makes no sign of it. He just grins and pulls Soundwave to the rhythm of the music echoing up to them, a vibrant beat that thrums through the floor and vibrates Soundwave’s armor.
“See?” Jazz says with a hip shimmy that is quite possibly illegal in three out of four city-states. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
“It’s tolerable,” Soundwave concedes.
Jazz laughs and spins them around, going so far as to dip himself, using Soundwave’s arms as leverage, matching the final beats of the song perfectly.
“I’ll take tolerable,” Jazz says as he pats Soundwave’s arm before straightening them. His grip on Soundwave’s hand, however, lingers. His thumb caresses the back of Soundwave’s hand. “Maybe with time I can bump that up to enjoyable.”
“Jazz incomprehensible,” Soundwave says.
Jazz laughs, and it’s the first truly genuine thing he’s done all evening. “Y’know, I get that a lot, but somehow from you, I consider it a compliment.” He bends down, pressing a kiss to Soundwave’s knuckles before letting his hand go. “I think you and I are gonna work well together.”
He straightens, visor flashing in a wink, and then he turns and struts away, whistling a nonsense tune which is soon buried in the musical noise rising up from the ballroom below.
Soundwave has no clue what Jazz had hoped to accomplish, or his intentions behind the whirlwind visit. He’s somewhere between annoyed and charmed, and he glares in Jazz’s wake long after it’s appropriate.
He returns his attention to the celebration below, trying to focus on possible threats, while his hand tingles where Jazz had kissed him.
Soundwave doesn’t know the name of the game, but if it’s a challenge Jazz wants, it is a challenge he’s going to get.
***
Universe: Bayverse, pre-canon
Characters: Soundwave, Jazz
Rating: T
Description: Jazz is incomprehensible to Soundwave, and somehow, that’s the most intriguing thing about him.
For JazzWaveWeek, Day Five, Tradition
The music is loud and obnoxious, but it is the most popular band on Cybertron this decade, and in an effort to prove how very united and progressive they are, of course Optimus and Megatron had ensured they would be the evening’s entertainment.
Soundwave knows he is going to have a migraine by the end of the night, but needs must.
The security risks are beyond enormous. Across the way, on another balcony, he can see Optimus’ chief security officer watching the gathering with the same hawkish intent as Soundwave. In this, Soundwave feels a kinship with the erratic Red Alert.
Soundwave does not deny the necessity of the celebration, but it is far too chaotic for him. It sets his sensors on edge, and he’s had to reduce his empathic capabilities to their lowest reception so he can function.
He glances at his chronometer once more. Three hours and counting in this madness before he is free.
He once again scans the dance floor, cataloging and identifying each mech in the crowd. Some are happy with Optimus and Megatron’s ascension to the diarchy of Cybertron, as Prime and Lord Protector respectively. Others barely hide their distaste. They may not be so bold as to do something here, however. It would be too obvious.
No, these political scraplets will strike when it most benefits them, and when the consequences cannot fall on their own heads.
A whisper of noise distracts Soundwave. His peripherals ping, and he glances to his left to see Optimus’ friend, one of the lower-ranked of the security force, but somehow invited to this celebration as though he is of greater importance. Perhaps Prowl had sent him as an excuse to not attend. The Security Force Chief is known to avoid all social occasions.
“Looks like you got the best view,” Jazz says as he struts up beside Soundwave as though he’s been invited. He leans on the rail, scanning the crowd below. “Bit lonely though.”
“Jazz need something?” Soundwave asks.
Jazz looks over his shoulder, a slow smile curling his lips. He affects a lazy pose, as if he knows how attractive he is and isn’t afraid to use it.
“You should be down there, not up here,” Jazz says, sly and suggestive. “Everyone knows you are Megatron’s right hand.”
Soundwave tilts his head. “You up here also,” he points out.
“I know. Curious, isn’t it?” Jazz turns slowly, hooks his elbows on the rail and leans back, casual as you please. “Maybe that’s just because I’d rather be wherever you are.”
Soundwave finally tears his attention away from the floor below. Jazz is too clever to only spare him a few thoughts. “Jazz need something?” he repeats.
Jazz chuckles and dips into a shallow bow, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”
Soundwave stares at him. “Explain.”
“It’s something of a tradition, don’t you know?” Jazz asks, hand still offered, looking up at Soundwave in a manner that might be coy for anyone else. “As our Prime and our Protector work together, so do the military and civilian forces. What better way to show our unity than a dance and a kiss?”
“Kiss,” Soundwave echoes before he can stop himself. He projects disbelief into his tone, and prods at Jazz’s field as best he is able, but the other mech might as well be a box of secrets. There’s no prying at the locks.
He does not know Jazz’s intentions, but he does know they cannot start the new diarchy with friction between the two halves of Cybertron’s leadership. Whether Optimus sent Jazz up here with the intention of building bridges along the growing divide, or Jazz took it upon himself, Soundwave does not yet know.
He suspects it is something of a game.
Jazz grins and his visor flashes brightly. “Well, I might have exaggerated on the last part. Can you blame me?” He wiggles his fingers. “Don’t leave me hanging, Sounders. I came all the way up here just to get my dance.”
Sincere or not, game or not, Soundwave is not above playing when it suits him.
“I do not perform,” Soundwave says.
Jazz, however, beams. “We can do it right here,” he says, and snags Soundwave’s hand, pulling him in close with a surprisingly strong grip. “It’s just a little shimmy and a turn and a spin.”
Soundwave does not dance. He has never bothered to learn how, and it has never been a skill he thought he ought to pursue. If his constant trampling of Jazz’s feet irritates the other mech, he makes no sign of it. He just grins and pulls Soundwave to the rhythm of the music echoing up to them, a vibrant beat that thrums through the floor and vibrates Soundwave’s armor.
“See?” Jazz says with a hip shimmy that is quite possibly illegal in three out of four city-states. “It’s not so bad, is it?”
“It’s tolerable,” Soundwave concedes.
Jazz laughs and spins them around, going so far as to dip himself, using Soundwave’s arms as leverage, matching the final beats of the song perfectly.
“I’ll take tolerable,” Jazz says as he pats Soundwave’s arm before straightening them. His grip on Soundwave’s hand, however, lingers. His thumb caresses the back of Soundwave’s hand. “Maybe with time I can bump that up to enjoyable.”
“Jazz incomprehensible,” Soundwave says.
Jazz laughs, and it’s the first truly genuine thing he’s done all evening. “Y’know, I get that a lot, but somehow from you, I consider it a compliment.” He bends down, pressing a kiss to Soundwave’s knuckles before letting his hand go. “I think you and I are gonna work well together.”
He straightens, visor flashing in a wink, and then he turns and struts away, whistling a nonsense tune which is soon buried in the musical noise rising up from the ballroom below.
Soundwave has no clue what Jazz had hoped to accomplish, or his intentions behind the whirlwind visit. He’s somewhere between annoyed and charmed, and he glares in Jazz’s wake long after it’s appropriate.
He returns his attention to the celebration below, trying to focus on possible threats, while his hand tingles where Jazz had kissed him.
Soundwave doesn’t know the name of the game, but if it’s a challenge Jazz wants, it is a challenge he’s going to get.
