Chapter Text
Jazz was sitting on his favorite chair in his new apartment watching the flow of traffic on the aerial highways. The soaring pillars that held up the slightly swaying throughways looked like the spines of an ancient beast. He was chatting with Prowl. They made an effort to call each other every cycle (sometimes more than once).
:I was thinking of visiting you in Polyhex in the coming orn, if that would be amenable to you?: Prowl said carefully.
They had been working on Prowl asking for permission instead of imperially stating his intentions. It was still a work in progress.
:Yeah?: Jazz asked teasingly, :Are ya gonna write it off as a business trip?:
Prowl’s voice was warm, :Any trip to spend time with you is always for pleasure, my Jazz.”
:Flatterer.: Jazz murmured with a chuckle. :Is it jus’ gonna be ya, or are ya plannin’ this t’ be a family trip?:
:I thought I would bring Bluestreak with me. I’m sure he’d love to see you. Unfortunately, Smokescreen is already away for an extended stay in Tetrahex.:
:Bummer ‘bout Smoky, but ya know I’d love t’ see Blue, too.” Jazz agreed with a smile.
Prowl seemed to hesitate for a moment, :...I might have an ulterior motive for bringing him.: He admitted.
Honesty. They were working on that too.
:Mm hum?: Jazz just hummed encouragingly.
:If possible, I should like to make my intentions of courting you known to your carrier… traditionally. And to make amends.:
That’s right. They had yet to do the Acceptance Feast with Dolce. But considering Jazz’s carrier’s feelings on how the Viscount had treated his only creation, despite their reconciliation, that might be very uncomfortable for Prowl. Jazz had done his best to sooth and cajole his carrier with a version of the truth that had painted Prowl in a slightly better light than the “he’s a noble and can’t be with a commoner” lie. It was more the more honest, “he was afraid of his psychotic brother doing more damage, and accidentally hurt us both trying to protect me” portion of the truth.
Dolce had certainly been more understanding, even softening slightly, but still considered Prowl something of an entitled idiot.
Jazz chuckled. :Bringin’ reinforcements?:
:Perhaps?: Prowl hedged, amusement coloring his tone. :I most likely will need any assistance I can procure to assure your carrier that I desire to court you properly. And to make up for my previous failings.:
:Jus’ talk like tha’ ‘round ‘im with a bit more grovelin’ an’ I think ya’ll be fine.:
:Somehow, that does not fill me with confidence, my Jazz.:
:Ya know I’m teasin’. Ya’ll be fine:
Probably. Eventually.
A few decacycles later Prowl and Bluestreak were in Polyhex. Prowl had booked one of the fancy hotels so as not to draw more of Dolce’s ire by “inappropriately” staying at Jazz’s apartment without a chaperone. Dolce was well aware that things had progressed beyond that particular point in Jazz and Prowl’s relationship, but he was very keen on his petty agenda. He planned to make Prowl work hard for his approval.
The cycle of the Acceptance Feast, Dolce was busily cooking in his kitchen, having requested (read demanded) that the Feast be held at his apartment rather than Jazz’s or any sort of “neutral ground”. Jazz had just sighed and passed the message along with a warning to anticipate a hard time.
When Jazz answered the door, Bluestreak beamed at him and stepped forward to wrap him in a hug. “It’s so good to see you, Cree!”
“Hey, Blue. I’ve missed ya.”
Bluestreak stepped back. Behind him, Prowl was smiling with pride and warmth. Then they stepped into the apartment as Jazz motioned them in. After entering, Prowl gently took Jazz’s servo and placed a kiss on the back of it.
“Hello, my Jazz.” He murmured.
“Hey, Prowl.” Jazz grinned.
“A-hem!” Dolce announced his presence from the kitchen with an arch look and his servos on his hips.
Bluestreak brightened. “‘Ri-Dolce! It’s so wonderful to see you again.” He practically bounced over to Jazz’s carrier and enveloped him in a hug. Jazz could see Dolce’s expression melt into one of adoration as he returned the hug.
You clever glitch.
Jazz’s amusement must have seeped into his field, because Prowl covertly caught his visor with sly optics.
But Prowl’s respite didn’t last long. After Dolce had gotten his hug and exclaimed over Bluestreak’s final upgraded frame, his keen optics turned onto the Viscount.
“So, ya finally decided to show yar faceplates to me, eh?”
Prowl bowed his helm and dipped his wings to the mech. “I have come to ask for both your forgiveness and your blessing. Forgiveness for the pain I caused both Jazz and yourself. And your blessing to court your creation.” Out of subspace, he produced a container of pale blue high-grade. Jazz wondered momentarily just how expensive of a vintage the offering was. Prowl would no doubt have spared no expense.
Dolce just looked at him for a few kliks before accepting the highgrade with a slightly approving sound. “Well, at least ya’ve read up on our traditions. I’ll give ya that.”
Prowl dipped his wings again. “Thank you for allowing myself and Bluestreak into your home.”
“Th’ younglin’ is always welcome. And ya, well, let’s just say ya’re on a probationary period, shall we?”
And the gauntlet had been thrown.
For the next half a joor Jazz and Bluestreak watched the verbal sparring match with varying levels of amusement and concern. Dolce kept volleying pointed questions and sharp statements that Prowl would carefully answer while simultaneously attempting to gently flatter. When he seemed like he might flounder, Bluestreak (and sometimes Jazz) would speak up to assist his beloved ‘Tor.
All the while Dolce was busily finishing up the fuel for the Acceptance Feast. In the past the Feast was made up of many courses and rigid etiquette. But modern times had given way to a more relaxed family meal with intent. A time where both families of the courting pair mingled and got to know one another. Jazz felt a momentary stab of sadness that his sire wasn’t around for this milestone, but the feeling was fleeting. He knew his sire would have supported him.
This Acceptance Feast would only be a small gathering, but an important one.
Jazz bit back a smile as they sat around the table. Dolce came out from the kitchen and set down bowls of traditional Polyhexian stew; energon infused with a concoction of crushed and powdered minerals.
As they dug in, Bluestreak took a few bites and happily complimented Dolce on how delicious the fuel was; Jazz added his own thanks for ‘Ri having made one of his favorites. It was hearty, flavorful and nostalgically tasty. He looked over at Prowl with a smile and then proceeded to watch, bemused, as a silent exchange unfolded in front of his visual center between the Viscount and his carrier.
After one bite of his stew, Prowl had seemingly frozen in place, optics paling slightly and darting over to Dolce. Dolce, for his part, was watching Prowl keenly with the tiniest sly smirk, then he asked sweetly, “Do ya like th’ stew, Prowl?”
Prowl swallowed and said carefully. “...Yes. Thank you for making it.”
“Good, good. An’ ‘ow do I know ya’re not gonna go back on yar words an’ ‘urt my sparklin’ again?” Dolce asked archly.
“I will not, and I will do whatever it takes, however long it takes, to prove that to him and you.” Prowl took another bite of his stew almost as if answering a challenge.
What the frag was going on?
After a few kliks of them staring at each other, Dolce was suddenly all smiles.
“Good t’ ‘ear it! Let me get you some more stew.” And with that he whisked away Prowl’s full bowl and went back to the kitchen.
A few breems later, he came back and set the bowl back down in front of the Praxian. “There ya are. Fresh from th’ pot.”
...That wasn’t the same bowl.
Jazz recognized it. Oh it was from the same set, but Jazz had broken it as a youngling and Brightside had ever-so-carefully glued it back together. The cracks were almost invisible, unless somebot knew where to look for them.
But Jazz did know where to look.
And that wasn’t the bowl Prowl had just been eating out of.
Jazz threw a look at his carrier from behind his visor.
What did you just do, ‘Ri?
Prowl dutifully took another spoonful. An almost unnoticeable pause stalled the Praxian’s movements for half a klik, then his doorwings relaxed a fraction.
“Thank you, Dolce.”
“Aw, ya can call me ‘Ri like Jazzy does.”
Prowl cycled his optics, surprised. Then a very small smile pulled at his dermas as he recognized the blessing for what it was. “...Thank you, ‘Ri.”
“Wha’ did ya do, ‘Ri?” Jazz asked after Prowl and Bluestreak had left for the evening.
Dolce just cycled his optics innocently. “Wha’ do ya mean?”
Jazz huffed and crossed his arms. “Ya know exactly wha’ I mean.”
Dolce cracked after only a few moments. “I might have put a little extra caesium in ‘is firs’ bowl. Just as a little warnin’.”
“‘Ri!” A startled bark of a laugh left Jazz’s vocalized. “Were ya tryin’ t’ burn a hole through ‘is glossa?”
“I was testin’ ‘im. An’ ‘e passed.” Dolce looked far too pleased with himself. “As long as ‘e keeps treatin’ ya right, ‘e ain' t got notin’ t’ worry ‘bout from me.”
Jazz huffed. “...Fine, ‘Ri. But no more of tha’, a’ight? ‘E’s doin’ ‘is best.”
“Does ‘e still make ya happy?” Dolce asked with a sudden shift to seriousness.
A soft smile inadvertently came to Jazz’s dermis. “Yeah, ‘Ri. ‘E does.”