Word Count: 1,053
AN: Some time, but not much, has passed (they haven't hit the recharge berth yet). Our favorite black and whites have come to a tentative truce in order to get some work done. I tried to write that scene, but the mechs refused to cooperate. Also, quite a bit of time had passed in between when the first and second chapter were written. Fair warning. :)
"How're we gonna do this?"
"I mean...I'm me. You're…you. And we're, yanno, stuck to each other."
"And then there's the greater issue."
"The space monkeys."
"Terrifying space monkeys. Make quite a mess when they get loose."
"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying, are you."
Jazz pulled a moue of dissatisfaction (yes it was a moue of dissatisfaction, and if anybot called it a pout he would slag them) and rested his forehead on Prowl's shoulder. "No, you're not," he answered himself. Prowl didn't even bother making a noise to tell Jazz how uninterested he was in carrying on a semi-pleasant conversation while in probably the most awkward position in the history of ever.
Jazz had been in more uncomfortable positions, yes. In fact, this position wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that Prowl tolerated Jazz's presence at the best of times. Or for the exact positioning of their various limbs.
Jazz's mouth twisted in contemplation. His legs, which were straddling Prowl's lap, began swinging in the air. Prowl made a strangled sound and then fell into silence.
'Well,' Jazz thought, 'if he's not gonna pay attention to me, and I can't do any work myself...might as well entertain myself.'
He was still for a moment before he began pulling his hands, magnetized to Prowl's chestplates, a small distance away from their spot. They came about 6 inches out and then began shaking with the force of the polarization, before snapping back to their original position. The hand stuck to Jazz's aft twitched, but Prowl didn't say anything. So Jazz did it again, this time attempting to pull his hands out a bit further. He succeeded for about two minutes (during which Prowl became mysteriously tense and made yet another strangled sound) before his hands snapped back even harder than before. The sound seemed to echo in the silent office, and Jazz couldn't help but cringe. There was a cracking sound, and then Prowl's hand on Jazz's aft actually clenched, as if the tactician had tried to make a fist. Then, Prowl finally turned his head to look at the mech straddling him.
Jazz hadn't moved his head from its position on Prowl's shoulder, so their faces were now uncomfortably close. There was a silence of a different sort, now—one that Jazz wasn't sure he wanted to break.
"Is there something you need, Jazz?" Prowl murmured and the husky tone to his words made something in Jazz's servos shiver.
"Well…" Jazz started. Sure, there were a lot of things he needed. Like right now, Jazz wouldn't mind it if Prowl moved his head just a little closer so he could see if his lips really tasted as good as they looked...
'Wait just a klik--what!?' Jazz jerked his head back and forth in emphatic "no," hoping that his gross but momentary lapse had gone unnoticed by Prowl.
Prowl seemed to follow Jazz's head, drifting a little closer. "Jazz," he said. The saboteur's intakes skipped.
"…Prowl?" he asked lowly. Both mechs sat still, so close that if one of them leaned forward, their lips would brush.
The tone indicating someone was waiting at the door to Prowl's office chimed. Jazz and Prowl jumped back from one another, resulting in a few moments of unbalance leading Prowl to grasp at the desk in front of him with his free hand. The data pad he was holding fell to the crowded surface.
Prowl turned his head toward the door and, in a harsh tone, said, "Enter."
Jazz looked at the data pad which Prowl had been holding. There was a crack in it, fissures breaking out from where Prowl had been holding it. Before Jazz could ruminate on why the data pad was suddenly broken, the door opened and Ironhide stepped in, a stoic mask in place.
"Yes, Ironhide?" Prowl fairly growled, and Jazz turned as much as he could to face the other mech.
Ironhide's lips twitched, but he admirably kept a straight face. "I was just checkin' in, seein' how work was goin'."
Jazz quirked an optic ridge. "Riiiight. An' you've done this in the past…how many times?"
Prowl's mouth turned down on one side. "Indeed."
Jazz almost fell to the floor in shock. Prowl, agreeing with something he said outside of work? Well, he would have almost fallen to the floor if he wasn't stuck in this awkward position. With Ironhide pretty much leering at them. At least it wasn't Optimus Prime leering at them. Not that Prime would leer, or rather, he probably would, but his face mask would hide it. Sneaky fragger.
Ironhide could no longer keep a straight face; he smirked. "Okay, maybe I was sent t' make sure y'all hadn't up and killed each other yet." Seeing the decidedly Not Amused looks on the second and third in command, he quickly added, "An' I can see yer doin' just fine. So. I'm just gonna…" He looked at Prowl, and then Jazz, his smirk growing into a full blown slag eating grin, "Git outta here and let Prime know everything's just peachy!"
Ironhide quickly turned to leave but paused in the doorway. The reason became clear as Sideswipe poked his head into the office, whipped up a camera, took a shot, and then disappeared, his cackles ringing throughout the halls of the Ark. As soon as Sideswipe was gone, Ironhide bolted, throwing a hasty, "Bye!" over his shoulder before the door closed behind him.
There was silence for a few moments before Jazz chanced a look up at his current chair. Prowl was staring blankly at the closed door, his mouth slightly agape. Jazz couldn't help it. He snickered. And then his snickers turned into giggles. Which turned into full out laughter.
Prowl rebooted his optics and then looked down at the mech sprawled on his lap, helpless with laughter. The tactician could not stop a smile from curling his lips, or even a few chuckles from escaping his vocalizer. "I suppose this situation is highly…unusual from an outside viewpoint."
Jazz stopped laughing long enough to rest his forehead on Prowl's shoulder again, looking up at him as he responded, "'Unusual'? Prowl, I'm practically giving you a lap dance while you're working."
Prowl opened his mouth to respond when the door chime rang again. Prowl frowned, muttering about madhouses and bots actually having work to do, before sighing out, "Enter."
Bluestreak hurried in, two cubes of energon in his hands. "Hey guys!" He greeted enthusiastically. "I was in the rec room when Ratchet walked in and grabbed me by the doorwing—I really don't like it when he does that, but he's Ratchet, so I figure it's better not to complain because he could probably do something a lot worse than that to me—and told me to bring you all some energon. I didn't put up a fight because I wanted to see how you two were doing—I was really worried when you all got blasted with that Ultra Magnetizer Whatchamacallit Doodad, I'd be really sad if anything happened to either of you." He stopped, having already set the cubes on Prowl's desk within easy reach.
"Thank you, Bluestreak," Prowl said warmly. Jazz nodded and grinned.
"Yeah, thanks Little Boy Blue."
Bluestreak looked up at his two superior officers with a smile on his face. "Oh, it's no problem. You both do everything you can to help me and the other Autobots, it's the least I can do. I figure we have to help each other out. I mean, look at you two—the only reason you're stuck this way is because you both were trying to get the other out of harm's way," Bluestreak continued on, not noticing the suddenly stiffened postures of the magnetized mechs. "Really, that's awesome. Care and concern at its finest. I know I'd do the same for 'Jack and I hope he'd do the same for me. Well, I have to be off, I've got long range patrol and I want to get out on time!" Bluestreak gave a last grin and a wave, and then was gone.
Jazz risked a side glance at Prowl's face and was unsurprised to see the stiff, emotionless features there. Attempting to end the uncomfortable silence, Jazz reached for an energon cube, only to have his hand snap back to Prowl's chestplates. He let out a frustrated grunt and Prowl made an undistinguishable noise.
"Prowl," Jazz ventured, "I think you're gonna have t' help me out here."
Prowl dropped his gaze down to the cubes on his desk, then Jazz, and then the cubes again. "You mean feed you," he monotoned.
Jazz nodded. Prowl made a strangled sound and leaned forward, ignoring Jazz's protests of being squished, and banged his head on his desk.
'Yep,' Jazz thought resignedly from his position between Prowl and the desk, 'Most awkward position in the history of ever.'
AN: Thanks for all of the lovely reviews--I'm glad that this is proving interesting and amusing for you! Reviews are awesome, and let me know what I'm doing right or need to work on.
Thanks for reading! :D