ChirpingBirb
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Rodimus watched the actions, his grin unwavering. “Yeah, I probably smell weird to you,” he said, his voice relaxed and conversational. “All that polish and hot metal. Not exactly ‘fresh ocean breeze,’ I bet.” He gestured vaguely with his chin toward his own torso. “And this must look even stranger. Clothes. Can’t imagine you have much use for them down there.”
Getaway’s optics narrowed at the stream of words, the clicks from earlier replaced by a low, guttural hum that vibrated through the mer’s chest and into Rodimus’s. It was impossible to tell if it was a sign of understanding or annoyance. The mer’s hand abandoned the fabric of the shipsuit and moved upward, his fingers tracing the line of Rodimus’s collar.
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Jazz looked Prowl up and down, his gaze lingering on the Duke’s lips. "You want to learn? You want me to show you how it's really done? Let me be so bold."
Prowl stared at him, his processor clearly trying to analyze the request. "Boldness is an acceptable variable in this equation," he said, his tone cautious. "I accept your proposal."
Series
- Part 2 of A Terrible Cover
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"Help me... wash up?" he repeated slowly, the words tasting like a bad joke. "I have been cleaning my own chassis since I was a sparkling. I don't need 'help' from a random, off-the-shelf grunt."
"Ah, but that's the thing!" Swindle pressed on, his oily voice gaining confidence as he spun his tale. "I was given very specific instructions by your manager. I was told to ensure a pristine cleaning experience. Only the best."
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His gaze dropped, his expression turning calculating, predatory. "Then you'll make up for it. Now."
The demand was so abrupt, so characteristically Starscream, that Skyfire could only stare for a moment. "Make up for it?"
"Interface with me," Starscream commanded.
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"I am interested," Prowl admitted, the words sounding foreign and unfamiliar on his glossa.
Jazz stared at him, certain he had misheard. "Interested? In what? My amateur analysis of bridge engineering? Or my completely fabricated theories on energon cohesion?" He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Come on, your Grace. You don't have to play games. You caught me. Just tell me what the price is."
Prowl took a step closer, his movements deliberate and graceful. "It seemed to me," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that sent a jolt straight to Jazz’s interface panel, "that in the ballroom, you were attempting to initiate a courtship. Or was I misreading the subtext of our conversation?"
Series
- Part 1 of A Terrible Cover
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