[CtE] Diplomacy
Apr. 22nd, 2021 07:30 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Diplomacy
Universe: TF, Crown the Empire ‘verse
Characters: Jazz/Rodimus, Original Alien Character (s)
Rating: T
Description: Politics weren’t Rodimus’ strong suit, but at least he hadn’t outright threatened one of the Federation emissaries. Geez, Jazz.
For Oldenoughtoknowbetter, who gave me the prompt.
Rodimus hated diplomatic functions.
He hated the smiling, and the handshaking, and the polite conversation, and the pretend interest, and the thinly veiled threats and the empty promises of good faith and cooperation. He hated attending these things, and only did so because it was required of him, because as the heir-apparent to Optimus Prime, he would have to be skilled at diplomacy.
Grimlock wasn’t so bad. Starscream either. The Decepticons were generally good for telling it like it was, and Starscream especially could be counted on for making a sarcastic comment about one of the other diplomats. Rodimus laughed, though he shouldn’t have, until Ultra Magnus inevitably arrived to drag him toward some other high muckity-muck demanding attention.
Usually, it was a Neutral.
More rarely, it was some emissary from the Galactic Federation, some snotty alien species who thought they were better than the Cybertronians because they hadn’t had a civil war which ended up spilling onto other planets.
Jazz often attended these events because he was the audials and optics, seamlessly sliding through the crowd and picking up snippets of conversation no one would expect him to hear. He was charming, and seductive, and he always came back with the most delicious gossip.
Rodimus barely saw Jazz during these events, which was a shame because he could have used the distraction, but he resigned himself to the reality of it.
Until tonight.
For some reason, Jazz was sticking to his side like they were magnetically attached at the hip. He’d shooed off Ultra Magnus, he’d glared off Springer, and the only mech he seemed to tolerate with any of his usual charm was Optimus.
Rodimus had no clue what was going on in Jazz’s head, but now was not the time to bring up his odd behavior, because they were surrounded by Sharkticons in the shape of diplomatic emissaries.
And one of Rodimus’ least favorites was approaching now -- Regent Glaxio from the planet Exelon Five. The Exelons were an organic species, smaller than the average Cybertronian but larger than Jazz, with far too many arms, and far too many tentacles.
Also. They were… handsy.
Rodimus planted a smile on his face. “Nice to see you again, Regent Glaxio,” he said, offering a hand to the ambassador, who took it in two of her soft appendages, her long, long fingers wrapping around his wrist and caressing the thinner derma.
Jazz’s engine revved. He went stock still.
“It is a pleasure, as always, Rodimus Prime,” Glaxio said, her bubbly voice sounding weird through the universal translator. “You are truly a stunning representation of your species.”
Rodimus tried to take back his hand.
Glaxio’s grip persisted. It was no secret that many Exelons had a fondness for Cybertronians. There were many a Cybertronian who’d landed on Exelon Five during the war and found a place of refuge if they didn’t mind a little cross-species interfacing.
Rodimus was not one of those mechs.
“You flatter me once again, Regent,” Rodimus said. “Thank you for attending. It is important to us that we continue to foster a good relationship with our galactic neighbors.”
He tried to take back his hand again, but Glaxio stroked over his inner wrist again, finding a sensor with the practiced ease of one who had numerous Cybertronian berthmates before.
Jazz’s field flickered with agitation. “I’ll be having you release our Prime now, Regent,” he said, his tone pleasant and cheerful to anyone who didn’t know better. “He’s taken.”
“On my planet, there is no such thing,” Glaxio said, her gaze flicking to Jazz, but if she took any offense, there was no sign. “We all share and share alike.”
Jazz leaned in, curling an arm around Rodimus’ waist, while the other rested on Glaxio’s wrist, a light touch. “That’s nice, but you’re not on your planet right now. Yer on ours. And here, we don’t share.” His fingers flexed, too gentle to be a squeeze, but it was a warning nonetheless, before he released her wrist.
“As flattered as I am, my guardian is correct,” Rodimus said, keeping his tone bland. The last thing he needed was to cause another Incident. “My interest is reserved for my partner alone.”
Glaxio exhaled, a bubbly wet sound, and finally, her fingers uncurled from Rodimus’ wrist, withdrawing. “It is a shame, this. You really are quite lovely. We could make a beautiful peace together.”
She reached up, as if she intended to touch his face, but Jazz’s engine revved again -- audibly, a growl this time -- and Glaxio seemed to think better of it.
“Ya can make peace with words,” Jazz said. “Or else you’d be a pretty poor diplomat, right?” He grinned, a smile with too much denta for it to be anything but a threat.
Glaxio withdrew, pressing both sets of hands together in front of her body, just the fingertips touching. “You are correct,” she said, to Jazz, before she looked at Rodimus, the slightest curve to her thin lips. “Perhaps I shall see if the Decepticon commander is more inclined to sharing.”
Rodimus snorted before he could stop himself. “Good luck with that. I don’t know which of the two is more possessive in that relationship -- Grimlock or Starscream.”
Amusement danced in Glaxio’s eyes. “Possessive, yes.” She chuckled, still an odd and bubbly sound. “Your partner would know something of that as well.”
She drifted away before Rodimus could retort, and frankly, he was too glad to see her go. Let someone else navigate that minefield.
Rodimus sighed. “That was not very discreet.”
Jazz looked up at him, face full of innocence Rodimus did not believe for a second. “There’s diplomacy and then there’s rudeness, and that was fragging rude.” He pressed his fingers in on Rodimus’ backstrut, chaste but pointed. “You’re mine.”
Well, that explained why Jazz was sticking particularly close this time around at least.
“You do realize I have zero interest in berthing an Exelon, right? I mean…” Rodimus made sure they were reasonably alone before he let himself shudder. “They’re squishy.”
“It’s not about what you’d do, it’s about her touching things she shouldn’t,” Jazz retorted and he pulled out a meshcloth, already pre-dampened. “Here. Your hand is probably all sticky now.”
Rodimus chuckled, but accepted the offer because Jazz was correct. Where Glaxio’s fingers had teased into his seams there was now an oily residue.
“You should talk to Xaaron next,” Jazz suggested. “He can keep his hands to himself.”
“And where will you be?” Rodimus asked.
Jazz took the dirtied rag and tucked it back into some invisible pocket. “Right next to you.”
Of course.
Well, at least Rodimus wouldn’t be bored.
***
Universe: TF, Crown the Empire ‘verse
Characters: Jazz/Rodimus, Original Alien Character (s)
Rating: T
Description: Politics weren’t Rodimus’ strong suit, but at least he hadn’t outright threatened one of the Federation emissaries. Geez, Jazz.
For Oldenoughtoknowbetter, who gave me the prompt.
Rodimus hated diplomatic functions.
He hated the smiling, and the handshaking, and the polite conversation, and the pretend interest, and the thinly veiled threats and the empty promises of good faith and cooperation. He hated attending these things, and only did so because it was required of him, because as the heir-apparent to Optimus Prime, he would have to be skilled at diplomacy.
Grimlock wasn’t so bad. Starscream either. The Decepticons were generally good for telling it like it was, and Starscream especially could be counted on for making a sarcastic comment about one of the other diplomats. Rodimus laughed, though he shouldn’t have, until Ultra Magnus inevitably arrived to drag him toward some other high muckity-muck demanding attention.
Usually, it was a Neutral.
More rarely, it was some emissary from the Galactic Federation, some snotty alien species who thought they were better than the Cybertronians because they hadn’t had a civil war which ended up spilling onto other planets.
Jazz often attended these events because he was the audials and optics, seamlessly sliding through the crowd and picking up snippets of conversation no one would expect him to hear. He was charming, and seductive, and he always came back with the most delicious gossip.
Rodimus barely saw Jazz during these events, which was a shame because he could have used the distraction, but he resigned himself to the reality of it.
Until tonight.
For some reason, Jazz was sticking to his side like they were magnetically attached at the hip. He’d shooed off Ultra Magnus, he’d glared off Springer, and the only mech he seemed to tolerate with any of his usual charm was Optimus.
Rodimus had no clue what was going on in Jazz’s head, but now was not the time to bring up his odd behavior, because they were surrounded by Sharkticons in the shape of diplomatic emissaries.
And one of Rodimus’ least favorites was approaching now -- Regent Glaxio from the planet Exelon Five. The Exelons were an organic species, smaller than the average Cybertronian but larger than Jazz, with far too many arms, and far too many tentacles.
Also. They were… handsy.
Rodimus planted a smile on his face. “Nice to see you again, Regent Glaxio,” he said, offering a hand to the ambassador, who took it in two of her soft appendages, her long, long fingers wrapping around his wrist and caressing the thinner derma.
Jazz’s engine revved. He went stock still.
“It is a pleasure, as always, Rodimus Prime,” Glaxio said, her bubbly voice sounding weird through the universal translator. “You are truly a stunning representation of your species.”
Rodimus tried to take back his hand.
Glaxio’s grip persisted. It was no secret that many Exelons had a fondness for Cybertronians. There were many a Cybertronian who’d landed on Exelon Five during the war and found a place of refuge if they didn’t mind a little cross-species interfacing.
Rodimus was not one of those mechs.
“You flatter me once again, Regent,” Rodimus said. “Thank you for attending. It is important to us that we continue to foster a good relationship with our galactic neighbors.”
He tried to take back his hand again, but Glaxio stroked over his inner wrist again, finding a sensor with the practiced ease of one who had numerous Cybertronian berthmates before.
Jazz’s field flickered with agitation. “I’ll be having you release our Prime now, Regent,” he said, his tone pleasant and cheerful to anyone who didn’t know better. “He’s taken.”
“On my planet, there is no such thing,” Glaxio said, her gaze flicking to Jazz, but if she took any offense, there was no sign. “We all share and share alike.”
Jazz leaned in, curling an arm around Rodimus’ waist, while the other rested on Glaxio’s wrist, a light touch. “That’s nice, but you’re not on your planet right now. Yer on ours. And here, we don’t share.” His fingers flexed, too gentle to be a squeeze, but it was a warning nonetheless, before he released her wrist.
“As flattered as I am, my guardian is correct,” Rodimus said, keeping his tone bland. The last thing he needed was to cause another Incident. “My interest is reserved for my partner alone.”
Glaxio exhaled, a bubbly wet sound, and finally, her fingers uncurled from Rodimus’ wrist, withdrawing. “It is a shame, this. You really are quite lovely. We could make a beautiful peace together.”
She reached up, as if she intended to touch his face, but Jazz’s engine revved again -- audibly, a growl this time -- and Glaxio seemed to think better of it.
“Ya can make peace with words,” Jazz said. “Or else you’d be a pretty poor diplomat, right?” He grinned, a smile with too much denta for it to be anything but a threat.
Glaxio withdrew, pressing both sets of hands together in front of her body, just the fingertips touching. “You are correct,” she said, to Jazz, before she looked at Rodimus, the slightest curve to her thin lips. “Perhaps I shall see if the Decepticon commander is more inclined to sharing.”
Rodimus snorted before he could stop himself. “Good luck with that. I don’t know which of the two is more possessive in that relationship -- Grimlock or Starscream.”
Amusement danced in Glaxio’s eyes. “Possessive, yes.” She chuckled, still an odd and bubbly sound. “Your partner would know something of that as well.”
She drifted away before Rodimus could retort, and frankly, he was too glad to see her go. Let someone else navigate that minefield.
Rodimus sighed. “That was not very discreet.”
Jazz looked up at him, face full of innocence Rodimus did not believe for a second. “There’s diplomacy and then there’s rudeness, and that was fragging rude.” He pressed his fingers in on Rodimus’ backstrut, chaste but pointed. “You’re mine.”
Well, that explained why Jazz was sticking particularly close this time around at least.
“You do realize I have zero interest in berthing an Exelon, right? I mean…” Rodimus made sure they were reasonably alone before he let himself shudder. “They’re squishy.”
“It’s not about what you’d do, it’s about her touching things she shouldn’t,” Jazz retorted and he pulled out a meshcloth, already pre-dampened. “Here. Your hand is probably all sticky now.”
Rodimus chuckled, but accepted the offer because Jazz was correct. Where Glaxio’s fingers had teased into his seams there was now an oily residue.
“You should talk to Xaaron next,” Jazz suggested. “He can keep his hands to himself.”
“And where will you be?” Rodimus asked.
Jazz took the dirtied rag and tucked it back into some invisible pocket. “Right next to you.”
Of course.
Well, at least Rodimus wouldn’t be bored.
