Chapter Text
“What the—?”
Prowl smiled when Jazz’s confused exclamation announced that he’d finally made it to his desk. It had been almost torturous, waiting for him to finish saying good morning to all their fellow coworkers. Steeling his courage, Prowl stood up and walked over to join his lover in front of the enormous box that had replaced his chair.
“Merry Christmas,” he said, perching on the corner of Jazz’s desk. “What do you think?”
“This is from you?” Jazz stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “This’s why you had to work late last night, isn’t it? I knew you weren’t really behind on that project!”
“I did have work,” Prowl insisted, “but I also wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, consider me surprised!” Jazz ran his hands over the huge present, feeling for the edge of the bright paper so he could unwrap it. “What’d you do, get me a new chair? Come on. Office furniture is a lame Christmas present. Even in an office.”
“It’s not your only present,” Prowl promised; something Jazz knew perfectly well thanks to the growing stack of gifts beneath the tree in their shared apartment. “But I wanted to give you this one here.”
“Needs an audience, does it?” Jazz gestured to the people turning in their chairs and peeking over filing cabinets to see what the commotion was about.
Having their attention directed at them actually made Prowl a bit nervous, but it also helped to distract him from his other anxiety. He had been counting on that to keep him from backing out, and so far it was working. “You do seem to be gathering a crowd,” was all he said. “Perhaps you shouldn’t keep them,” or me, “waiting.”
“Oh, alright. I suppose I could open it. I can’t possibly get any work done without a chair anyway.” That made Prowl chuckle, as it was undoubtedly meant to. Jazz getting his work done was still an occasional point of contention between them. They’d come a long way since that first Christmas together though, especially since becoming a couple. Prowl being moved to a different team when they announced their relationship so they no longer worked directly together had made a big difference.
The wrapping paper didn’t stand a chance once Jazz finally tore into it. The box was nearly as tall as he was, so there was quite a lot of it on the floor when he finished. “Ah ha!” he said triumphantly, pointing to the now clearly revealed picture of an office chair on the side. “See? A new chair. You’re way too predictable, Prowl.”
“Am I?” Prowl arched his eyebrow. “I suppose you must be right. After all,” he took a slow, deliberate sip of his coffee, “everyone knows it’s impossible for a box to contain anything other than what the label says it does.”
Jazz glared playfully at the onlookers who dared to giggle at that. “Okay, okay, I’m opening the box! And if it’s a chair, I’m gonna brain you all with it.” That just made them laugh harder, and Jazz laughed with them a moment later when he got the top of the box open. “Everyone’s safe! It’s not a chair!”
“Then what is it?” someone yelled out.
“Iiiiiit’s… packing peanuts!” Jazz announced dramatically, reaching into the box and lifting out an armful of tiny styrofoam bits. “Just what I always wanted! Hooray!” Unsurprisingly, his next move was to throw them up in the air to rain down on everyone and everything in the vicinity. Static made them stick to hairdos, sweaters, and computer monitors like little puffs of pastel snow.
“Just remember who has to clean all this up,” Prowl reminded him, covering his coffee so none of the styrofoam could fall into it and melt.
“You’re right. I should make sure the cleaning crew knows just how much we really appreciate them!” Jazz punctuated his sentence with another armful of styrofoam. Some less fortunate (or less clever) members of the office bemoaned the contamination of their coffees. “Just kidding. I know you’re the one who’ll have to clean it up.”
“Me?” Prowl blinked innocently. “You’re the one throwing it everywhere.”
“And you’re the one brought it in here,” Jazz countered, “and made it impossible to open without—” He broke off, thumping his hand against something inside the box. “Hold on, I think I found — seriously Prowl? Another box?”
Sure enough, after rustling through the styrofoam a little more, Jazz was able to extract another box, wrapped in the same paper as the first. It was a large box, though nowhere near as large as the one it had come out of. Jazz kicked the now-empty (save for additional styrofoam) first box aside and braced the new one against his desk.
“I’d guess a new computer based on the size of this, but it doesn’t weigh enough.”
“The first box didn’t weigh enough to be a chair,” Prowl pointed out.
Jazz stuck his tongue out at him. “Remind me to weigh all my presents in the future.” The wrapping paper soon joined the growing pile of debris on the floor, and Jazz opened the box without bothering to look at what the text on the side said. Just as well, since what he found was—
“More packing material!” This time in the form of masses of crinkled strips of paper, which formed streamers to the styrofoam’s confetti when Jazz started lofting it into the air as well. “You sure know what I like, Prowl.”
“I rather thought so.” Prowl surveyed the expanding circle of destruction around Jazz. “I know you like playing with things, and that you like making messes.”
“Heh. Suppose I do at that.” A few more handfuls of crinkled paper went flying, much to everyone’s amusement. “But I like getting actual presents too!”
“And I know that,” Prowl assured him, trying to assure himself in the process. “Keep going.”
Jazz did, though he rolled his eyes at Prowl when he found another wrapped box buried in the paper. “Really? How many of these are there?”
“That,” Prowl said mysteriously, “would be telling.”
“You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”
Prowl tried to focus on the words rather than the slight edge of irritation in Jazz’s voice. At least he still seemed to enjoy tearing the paper off yet another box. He didn’t make as much of a production out of the tissue paper inside as he had with the other packing materials, however. Instead, he simply wadded it up into balls and tossed them aside until he reached another box and repeated the process.
And repeated it again.
And again.
By the time he finally got down to the tenth box, which was small enough it fit in the palm of his hand, Jazz was looking genuinely frustrated. “This had better be the last one,” he grumbled, surrounded by empty boxes and shredded wrapping paper. “I can’t believe you! Just how long did you spend doing this, anyway?”
“You know what time I got home last night,” Prowl said, trying for teasing to cover his growing tension, but not quite pulling it off. Jazz’s annoyed expression melted away into one of concern at the vulnerability in his voice, and he set the box down on his desk so he could take Prowl’s hand instead.
“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not mad. I’m… well, okay, I’m not lookin’ forward to cleanin’ up this mess, yeah, but I’m not mad.” He squeezed Prowl’s hand. “Unless that last box is a pack of travel tissues or something.”
“It’s not,” Prowl whispered, suddenly unable to tear his gaze away from his now very cold coffee. The rest of the office picked up on his embarrassment and did their best to pretend not to listen (though they were all far too curious about the last box after so much buildup to actually leave now).
“Then we’re okay.” Jazz squeezed his hand again. “We are okay, aren’t we?”
We. “Yes.” Prowl set down his coffee and picked up the box, still holding onto Jazz’s hand. Forcing himself to look Jazz in the eye, he slid slowly off the edge of the desk to kneel in the scattered shreds of paper and packing peanuts. He watched Jazz’s eyes get wider and wider as it started to sink in — the size of the box, the pose Prowl was assuming.
Prowl could feel Jazz’s hand start to tremble in his.
“Prowl…?”
“Jazz.” Ignoring the gold and green paper still wrapped around it, Prowl held the real present up like the jewelry box it was. “Will you… will you…” Nerves and emotion nearly strangled his words, but somewhere Prowl found the strength to continue. “Will you spend Christmas with me?” He smiled hopefully. “All your Christmases with me?”
The room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop as Jazz let go of Prowl’s hand to take the box. He peeled the paper away from it gently, almost hesitatingly, and the soft gasp he let out when he saw the black velvet underneath was almost deafening.
Everyone held their breath as he lifted the lid to reveal a simple, unmistakable gold band.
“Oh… Prowl…!!” Jazz threw himself into Prowl’s arms, knocking him into the discarded boxes and tissue paper. “YES!”
The office cheered as Jazz blatantly broke the rules regarding PDAs to kiss Prowl senseless. Prowl, happier than he could remember ever being in his life, didn’t reprimand him.
He just kissed back.