Work Text:
Prowl was finishing reading the last report that was lying on his desk, one of Jazz's. Sometimes he was incredibly harsh if there wasn't enough information but this was concise without being too vague, complete, and honestly the best report to date. Not to mention, in Prowl's offhand admission, the rhythm of the words almost perfectly fit the song he had playing faintly in the background. He wouldn't dare publically admit he loved human music, let alone club music written by what humans called a "drag queen". He had a reputation to uphold as the straightlaced Cybertronian who preferred old Cybertronian music.
While reading, he almost seemed to murmur the lyrics to the song. "Walk down the runway, another payday, cover of magazine..." He started humming the next line despite having it memorized, a small smile playing on his lips.
Deft digits started typing back to Jazz on his own datapad.
Jazz, I thank you quite well for the report. On time, clear, and concise.
I am already making note of your observations to put into my next
tactical report. I think that about cover girl, put the bass in your walk.
In his rush, Prowl had not noticed that his datapad had auto-completed the statement with the lyrics to the very song he had just been listening to before the playlist turned to the next song. He tapped to send, then stood to start tidying his desk, his hips seeming to sway to the next song. His wings seemed to dance to the words themselves. Once the desk was tidied, he looked up, his optics widening and his face flushing.
"So, Prowler, it was you I caught watching RuPaul's Drag Race with Bluestreak!" Jazz leaned in, propping his elbows on Prowl's desk to turn his face up toward Prowl playfully. "I thought Cybertronian media was your only thing?"
Prowl gave a flustered look. "So what if I was watching with my twin?"
"Prowl, honestly." Jazz stood up straight. "It's no one's business but yours. But you don't have to be ashamed of what you like."
Prowl gave a relieved sigh. "I'm just so used to that reputation that I...get defensive." He rubbed his arm meekly.
"Don't forget what your mama said: people been talkin' since the beginning of time." Jazz's tone became stern. "Unless they're paying your bills, pay those glitches no mind."
Prowl suddenly felt himself busting into giggles. "I know you got that from a song."
"Mhm. And I know you know what song. Ain't no shame, 'cause you're on another echelon, and you don't have to look up to anyone who gams along." Jazz smirked.
Prowl puffed out his cheeks slightly. "You missed a whole couple lines in that one." He then started reciting with a near perfect beat. "I'm that Glamazon, they know my name because I'm on another echelon, Miss Automatic Supersonic, I'm a Sass-a-Tron, and I ain't looking up to anyone that gams along."
"HOLY PRIMUS PROWL, WAIT A KLIK!" Jazz blurted.
Prowl tilted his helm and said simply, quirking a wing. "What?"
"Perfect rap, right on beat, right on time with the song just now. You didn't tell me you knew the lyrics to Call Me Mother!" Jazz said, gesticulating wildly toward the music player, then toward Prowl, with his open hands.
Prowl chuckled. "You never asked what songs I knew." He leaned in and winked, gently tapping the tip of Jazz's olfactory sensor. "I know quite a few of the songs." He slowly slid from behind his desk and wrapped his arms around Jazz.
"Take my hand, I've got a place for you, out on the dance floor." He whispered into Jazz's audial.
It was at that moment that Jazz shivered and whispered back. "One more time, I want to rendezvous, out on the dance floor."
Prowl would twirl Jazz gently, gazing into Jazz's optics behind the visor softly. Jazz leaned his helm against Prowl's chevron with a smile. His digits brushed along the base of Prowl's wings softly, causing the Praxian to shiver in return. Jazz twirled Prowl softly this time, pecking a kiss against his lips. Little things like this had been the foundation of their relationship even vorns ago.
Prowl fixed his gaze on Jazz once again. He didn't need words in the moment, pressing his chevron against Jazz's forehelm. The Praxian Kiss, as it was known, was his way of showing his love and trust--he loved and trusted Jazz enough in the moment to press his chevron, vulnerable and fragile, against Jazz's forehelm.
Jazz gave a softened look. "I need to work on mission assignments But...before I go..." He gripped to Prowl's hands. "Don't let nobody tell you you ain't beautiful. Love you, Prowler." He kissed Prowl's hand one last time. "You better work it, Prowler. Don't be ashamed." He then winked. "Our little secret 'til you're comfortable though."