Jazz stormed though the entryway for the tactical division of the Autobot army, his expression daring anyone to try and stop him. None of them would after the last time that someone had attempted to halt his progress towards his goal. It also helped that, almost every time he did this, he had the backing of the Chief Medical Officer and his Prime. The former held more weight with everyone on base, so no one dared to even step in his way.
The door to his destination did not open to any of the codes he tried – including the Prime's, which he should not have known. That brought a growl from his vocalizer as he pulled a cable from his wrist joint and ripped the plate covering the locking mechanism's internals so he could plug in and force the door to open. Mere kliks later saw that taking place and the angry saboteur stalking into the office of his closest friend – though the relationship was rather difficult to define at that time as it had moved beyond mere friendship but had not taken that last step into lovers.
"Do ya know how long ya've been in 'ere?" he demanded, moving around the overburdened desk to pull the tactician from his workload. He spun the chair that his partner's perfect black aft was seemingly glued to and tore the infernal data pad from white hands, tossing it on the desk.
Dim gold optics hazily followed the progress slowly before Jazz grasped his chin and jerked that gaze back to him. "Well? Do ya?"
"Too long," the tactician murmured, slowly moving to go back to work. The motion was abruptly aborted as the other black and white jerked him back around.
"Slaggin' right! Now get ya aft outta that chair and in a berth!"
"Don't want to," he protested, attempting to go back to work again. "Berth isn't right. No warm frame and music."
That stopped Jazz cold for a moment as the knowledge slowly sunk in. With a small, rueful smile, he pulled Prowl's chair around again and gathered a weakly resisting frame to him. "If Ah'd known ya weren't gettin' yer snugglin' quota in, Ah wouldn'ta been so mad, Prowler." He picked the now limp and fitfully purring mech up, wrapping white arms around his neck and lifting the tactician up before quickly positioning white thighs on his hips. His own arms came around to support aft and doorwings.
"Let's get ya ta berth, ya stubborn kitten," he murmured, nuzzling the edge of a ruby chevron before moving out of the still open door to the tactician's office, heading towards his room so that he would be able to lock everyone out. "Ah'ma promise ya snuggles for the next orn straight."
Golden optics lit slowly, looking just past the saboteur's shoulder tiredly, a purr still rumbling from his chassis to signal his contentment. His gaze caught on the mess of his lock. "Next time, just use your own code. Grapple is sick of fixing that lock."