Work Text:
Music played in the background as a black hand slipped into his, pulling him into the center of the room. He focused on the face of the mech guiding him, keeping his gaze steady on the visor that covered the other mech’s own optics. As they moved, he noticed that their movements felt strained and awkward; nothing at all as they should be. Jazz’s lips tweaked upwards into an amused smirk and he stopped moving and dropped Prowl’s hands.
“Prowl,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You gotta stop thinkin’ so hard. You’re thinkin’ too much ‘bout the movement an’ not feelin’ the music.”
“Thinking is crucial to the learning process,” Prowl pointed out, giving a small, frustrated frown. “This is a difficult task, Jazz, and concentration is a requirement.”
The black and white saboteur shook his head. “What did I tell you?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips. “Dancin’ is an expression an’ it’s not that difficult t’learn.”
“I beg to differ,” Prowl replied. “So far, this has been quite difficult.”
Jazz gave a frown of his own. “That’s ‘cause you’re makin’ it difficult.” He stepped forward and took Prowl’s hands again, placing one of them gently against his hip and holding the other. “Listen t’me, Prowl. I want you t’stop thinkin’.”
“Jazz--“
The saboteur cut him off. “Stop thinkin’,” he repeated. “Jus’ let go an’ listen.”
Prowl looked about ready to protest again, but he merely gave a sigh and let his optics shuttered closed. The tactician was silent for a moment before he gave a nod, signaling to Jazz that he was ready to try again. Jazz smiled, waited for the right time to step in to the slow, steady rhythm of the music that flowed from the speakers of his music player. He moved, guiding Prowl’s movements with his arms and his voice, telling the other mech which steps to take, which move to make.
“Step back, pivot right,” he instructed. “That’s it.”
Prowl followed each direction, concentrating on Jazz’s voice. His head was tilted down, optics lowered as he committed himself to the dance. The music that Jazz had chosen to dance to filled his audio sensors, the Cybertronian instruments in the piece reminding the tactician of their home planet and times before the war broke out. This particular piece was a popular piece throughout Cybertron, known as being one of the greatest of the old masterpieces, hauntingly beautiful and filling listeners with a sense of desire.
Rather appropriate, Prowl thought, considering just why he’d asked Jazz to teach him to dance.
“You’re gettin’ the hang of it,” Jazz said suddenly, breaking through Prowl’s thoughts. “Not bad for a mech with two left feet.”
Prowl allowed himself to smile, both at his progress and the teasing praise the saboteur gave him. “Thank you, Jazz.”
Jazz returned the smile and continued to guide Prowl through the next steps of the dance. Prowl focused again on Jazz’s voice, letting his optics study the visored mech’s face as they danced. The lines of the other mech’s face were smooth, lighted by the glow of his visor. The smile on Jazz’s lips was slight, a bit crooked, and made Prowl’s spark pulse lightly within its chamber.
“So,” Jazz began as they continued to dance slowly. “You gonna tell me who it is?”
Prowl was pulled again out of his thoughts and he looked directly at Jazz’s optics, hidden behind his visor. “I’m sorry?”
“A mech like you doesn’t jus’ ask to learn to dance,” the saboteur told him. Jazz prided himself on his perception and knowledge of his fellow Autobots. “You got a reason, someone you wanna impress. Am I right?”
Knowing Prowl, Jazz didn’t expect an answer; the tactician was a private mech, keeping himself and his affairs out from under the spotlight. As far as Jazz knew, Prowl would not confide in him with anything such as this, considering his history with spreading gossip around the Ark’s crew.
“You are.”
Jazz stopped dancing, his movements brought to a halt by those two words. He stared at Prowl, a slight, confused frown on his lips as he processed what had just happened. He let go of Prowl and stepped back. “Come again?”
Prowl focused on Jazz’s visor, no sign on his face that he was anything but serious. “I said that you are my reason. I like you, Jazz. Very much. And I want to learn to dance for you.”
The black and white saboteur was, for the first time in a long while, speechless. His mouth was slightly agape as he continued to stare at Prowl. Beneath his visor, his optics searched for any sign that Prowl might be pulling his leg. Then he recalled that this was Prowl he was talking to.
“If you’re uncomfortable with this, Jazz, I will do no more about it,” Prowl said, the silence from Jazz prompting him to speak up.
Jazz shook his head fiercely, more to clear his processor than anything else. “You didn’t grow some cruel sense of humor, didya?” he asked.
Prowl looked at him directly, his optics a harsh, serious blue. “I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” he said.
Jazz stepped forward, bringing his hands up to the sides of Prowl’s helm. He leaned in slowly and let his helm touch gently to Prowl’s own. “You really wanted to learn t’dance for me? Because you like me?”
“That is what I said,” Prowl replied, voice soft.
A small shiver of happiness ran through Jazz’s body. A smile curled over his lips. “Thank you, Prowl,” he murmured. He leaned further in and pressed his lips to Prowl’s.
The kiss was short, but it was enough to tell Prowl that Jazz felt the same. When their lips parted, Jazz let his arms slip around Prowl’s waist. He left his head against the tactician’s, content to stay where he was. The music that he’d been playing for them to dance to reached his audios once again and he began leading Prowl into another dance.
“Jazz,” Prowl began.
“Shh,” Jazz cut him off. “Don’t spoil this moment.” He lifted his head to smile at Prowl. “Just dance with me.”
A smile forming on his own lips, Prowl did just that.