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Prowl never expected to find himself dating a musician. Especially not the famous Jazz of Polyhex. But he and the musician had hit it off when Prowl was worked security for him on his visit to Praxus, and that had turned into much more.
Until Prowl had a ticket to Jazz’s big concert, and an obligation to go. He’d said he would, after all. And he did want to hear Jazz play. But Prowl had never been much for crowded, noisy places. He could barely stand the bullpen at the precinct at times. He would do this, though. He could do this. For Jazz.
A few joors later, Prowl was deeply regretting his decision. Mecha were shoulder to shoulder, cheering and singing along to Jazz up on the stage. Prowl had good tickets, down by the stage, which meant it was also the loudest and the rowdiest. Speakers pumped bass out into the stadium, vibrating Prowl’s plating down to the struts, and he kept being jostled this way and that by the mecha around him. The individual in the seat next to his was extremely overcharged, and kept slipping a hand around Prowl’s waist as he hollered up at the band onstage. Prowl peeled the wandering hand off several times, but it always found its way back.
By the end of the evening, Prowl thought it fair to say he was a mess. He had considered leaving early, but it would’ve been too difficult to get out of his center-front seat. Plus, a few times during the concert, Jazz had looked down at him with that blue visor, and Prowl remembered why he had agreed to come in the first place.
The next day, Prowl was supposed to be getting ready for a date with Jazz. Instead, he was laying in his berth under a heavy, weighted blanket, trying to will his plating to stop vibrating and itching with remembered touch.
A ping came at the door, and Prowl reluctantly dragged himself out of the berth to answer it. He would just have to hope Jazz didn’t mind rescheduling.
When the door opened, the broad grin on Jazz’s face fell at the sight of his boyfriend. Now concerned, he let himself in so that the door could shut again. “Prowler? What’s wrong, you look terrible.”
“I’m sorry.” Prowl knew how he looked. Armor clamped too tight, optics dim, his wings twitching repetitively with the sensor-ghosts of every mech who had touched them the night before. “I do not think I can go out today.”
“Well, course not.” Jazz said softly, “Anything I can do to help? What d’ya need?”
Prowl slowly sank down to sit on his couch. “My blanket, from off my berth?”
“Right away.” Jazz hustled himself back to the berthroom, hefting the weighted blanket with a soft ‘oof.’ He didn’t comment on it’s weight, though, just brought it back to Prowl and helped drape it over his wings and shoulders. “Anythin’ else?”
“Energon?” Prowl had yet to fuel that cycle. “In the cupboard, I have extra low grade.”
Jazz got that as well, opening it for him before handing it over.
Once Prowl had his request, Jazz took a place on the couch next to him. “Touch, or nah?”
Prowl shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Don’ be, darling.” Jazz wasn’t offended, just rearranged himself so there was no danger of their plating touching. “You clearly got somethin’ going on. Whatever you need today, that’s what we doin.”
“I have trouble in crowds.” Prowl felt compelled to explain. “Even accidental touch from so many mecha is. . .. difficult. I am also very sensitive to loud music.”
“An’ ya still came to the concert?” Jazz tilted his head. “Awww, Prowler. You shoulda said somethin’. I gave ya the ticket cause I thought you’d enjoy yerself, not cause I wanted ya to push yerself and get hurt.”
“I wanted to see you play.” Prowl said with a slow shake of his helm. “They say that recorded music has nothing on music performed live. Unfortunately, I could not hear anything over the vibrations on my sensors.”
“Babe. If you ever wanna see me perform live, all ya gotta do is ask.” Jazz gave him a soft smile. “I’m happy ta play for you, anytime.”
“Maybe a little later?” Prowl said hopefully. “Once I stop shaking.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Eventually, Prowl did indeed stop shaking. He and Jazz talked about anything and everything, his boyfriend’s voice smoothing over the itch of his plating and the tremor in his wings. After a few joors, Jazz was able to place an arm over Prowl’s shoulders, it’s weight grounding just like his blanket. The soft, fuzzy fabric was white-noise to the sensors of his frame, helping them reset, and Jazz’s voice was the same to his processor. Familiar comfort.
Jazz’s electro-bass sounded completely different went not plugged into massive, stadium speakers. He kept the tune slow and simple, the thrum of the plucked strings mixing with soft, staccato slaps of the neck and body of the instrument. It was nothing like the high-energy songs he played for the crowds. Prowl swayed, rocking to the rhythm, and Jazz said nothing about his little tics. Just kept playing, and wasn’t even upset when Prowl fell back into recharge.
Earth was a beautiful medley of music. Jazz, of course, was partial to the genre he had named himself after, but he enjoyed it all. His own music evolved, because Earth-Cybertronian fusion was where it was at. He recorded a few albums and released them, getting himself a fan following amongst the Humans. Still, he was surprised when a letter arrived at the Autobot’s public inbox inviting him to perform at the Portland Jazz Festival.
Jazz, of course, agreed, but he had a few stipulations. Because he wanted his Conjunx to be able to attend.
Convincing him was another matter.
“I’d really like it if ya came.” Jazz said softly to Prowl.
The Praxian shifted uncomfortably. “I am not sure. You know that I don’t like concerts.”
“I know, sweetspark.” Before the war, Jazz had gotten used to not having Prowl at his performances. He didn’t blame Prowl, of course. The Praxian could not control the way his sensors reacted to noise and crowds. “But I chatted with the organizers o’ the show about makin’ sure you can enjoy, if ya want. It’s outdoors, so no worries about persons of our stature. An’ it won’t be like my old concerts on Cybertron. Jazz festivals are real chill. The humans won’ be mobbin’ the stage or jostlin’ against ya. I promise.”
“Well.” Prowl leaned against him. “Perhaps I can try.”
As promised, the festival was located outdoors. Prowl and Jazz pulled up in car form and deployed their holoforms to find out where they were meant to go.
The venue was nice, at least. As promised, it was outdoors on a large field of grass, in the shadow of an impressive bridge along a river. There was a stage, which Jazz could never hope to fit on, and a line of booths that presumably belonged to sponsors.
One of the organizers found them, and after a brief confusion as to who they were, explained how things would work. A fenced off area next to the stage was for Jazz to perform from. The man apologized for not being able to find a Cybertronian sized stool for Jazz to sit on, but Jazz just laughed and reassured him he’d brought his own.
There was another fenced off area at the top of the grassy slope, this was a seating area for Prowl, and Jazz when he wasn’t playing. That it was also furthest from the stage did not bother either Cybertronian, their optics and audials were far more efficient than humans, and this way they wouldn’t block views. Large pieces of plywood had been laid down leading to the seating area and the stage, so that the pair could drive in and not harm the grass.
The pair took their place in their designated seating area, settling in and carefully replacing the fencing behind them, as festival-goers began to trickle in. The two Cybertronians garnered plenty of attention, of course, but the fencing did it’s job at keeping them at a safe distance. Jazz was happy to lean down and answer questions, while Prowl sat quietly and set his conjunx do the talking. His wings had started to do a little back and forth wave, a self-soothing gesture, but that was just a general sign he was uncomfortable. Jazz reached around a wing to rub his conjunx’s back.
Then the music started and the humans settled down onto their blankets to watch. There was no raucous cheering or crowding the stage as there had been at the Cybertronian concerts Prowl had attended. People listened politely, clapped when the songs finished, gave brief cheers for especially popular favorites. That it was outdoors meant the sounds didn’t reverberate uncomfortably, though Prowl still clipped on a pair of audial dampers that filtered out certain frequencies and softened others. His weighted blanket was in his subspace, just in case he needed it, but he was starting to doubt he would.
Finally, it was Jazz’s turn to perform. The crowd went silent as the, to them, looming Cybertronian took his place next to the stage and pulled out his Aghartan Electro-Bass.
“Hey, everybody.” Jazz addressed the crowd with one of his dazzling smiles. “Wanna thank you all for invitin’ me here to play. You might know me, my name is Jazz. Good thing I ain’t at a rock festival, yeah?”
Brief laughter from the crowd.
“Now, a course, my name wasn’t always Jazz. Didn’t figure out what that was ‘til I landed on ya’ll beautiful planet.” Jazz continued. “My real name is-“ He gave a brief burst of CYbertronian “- which is a kinda music back home. It involves playin’ with the beat, raggin’ the time, swingin’ the notes, and improv. Sounds familiar.”
Some cheers from the jazz-loving crowd.
“I love that our two planets got somethin’ so wonderful in common.” Jazz adjusted himself to be ready to play. “I’m gonna play a few different things today. Got some covers o’ earth music, some original Cybertronian pieces, an’ a few earth-Cybertronian pieces I been makin’ lately. Hope you enjoy.”
Then, Jazz started to play and things fell quiet except for his music. Prowl, at the top of the hill, smiled and rocked to the beat as he enjoyed his Conjunx play.
Later that evening, back at the Ark, Prowl and Jazz leaned against each other in berth and talked softly about the day.
“So, how was it?” Jazz was rubbing Prowl’s back again, right below his lightbar where he liked it best.
“It was enjoyable.” Prowl responded. He had all of his usual cool-down items, but found himself not needing any of them. With his wings trapped in the pile of pillows on their berth, Prowl quietly tapped out a beat on his thigh instead to sooth his need for movement. A trick Jazz had taught him. “I would not be adverse to attending more of these outdoor jazz shows, if you wanted to go. The crowds were quiet, the music not overwhelming, the people kept at a comfortable distance.”
“A ringing endorsement.” Jazz teased. He knew what Prowl was really trying to say, though. He had enjoyed himself. “Maybe when we got time, I’ll see ‘bout going to some more. Think I got a couple more invites in the mailbox.”
“You can always play for me, too.” Prowl said quietly into Jazz’s plating.
Jazz kissed the top of his helm. “Always.”