kinkfest | Transformers (Jazz/Blaster) (Reply)

Title: Encore
Author: Apathy
Rating: PG-13 at absolute most.
Warnings: Again with the sap. Not nearly as kinky as the prompt would suggest, for which I apologise. (Frankly, I was looking forward to it being kinky. Hmph. Stupid unco-operative brain.)
Word count: 961.
Prompt: Jazz/Blaster: Stimulation through music - "I got cat class, I got cat style"
Summary: In which Jazz has sucky taste in dance music, but better taste in other things.
A/N: Sorry about the lateness! RL does not seem to appreciate that I'm trying to work to a timetable, here. *grumble* Any recognisable lyrics belong to their owners, i.e. not me.

'You've been watching way too much MTV, my man.'

Jazz doesn't break step for a moment, doesn't even turn his head to make eye contact. He continues his routine, smooth and sure as if he's done it a thousand times before. Which, knowing him, he probably has.

'Aw, you're just jealous.'

'Of a 'Bot who knows Britney Spears' entire collection of music videos inside-out? You've got to be kidding me.'

Jazz smirks, expression self-satisfied and come-hither and at least ten other things all at once. His movements carry just enough of a self-aware absurdity to keep Blaster more amused than captivated, although it's a fine line.

Blaster casts his somewhat bleary gaze over his surroundings. Empty energon cubes litter the room like casualties of a particularly delicious war. Jazz had suggested a little celebratory drink -- although celebrating what, Blaster still doesn't know -- and 'a little celebratory drink' had quickly given way to getting smashed and playing Spin the Dial. Jazz, being Jazz, has an unerring ability to randomly pick out every song that sets Blaster's teeth on edge. Blaster's pretty sure he does it deliberately, although he has no idea how, given that it's his dial.

Jazz executes a neat little turn that should be impossible, given his size and weight distribution. 'You wish you could move like me.'

Blaster slumps back further against the wall, a particularly chirpy and insistent energon buzz whispering to him that he really is more comfortable down here on the floor, and why would he want to move? 'I can't deny that. But I also can't deny that I wish you had better taste in music. Like that of, oh, say, yours truly.'

And that is enough to get Jazz to stop dancing, if only for a moment. His expression is positively wounded. 'I did not just hear that.'

Blaster raises energon cube number five in mock toast. 'I'm afraid you did, buddy.'

However, Jazz is obviously some sort of master tactician, able to turn any disadvantage to crushing victory within seconds.

He starts singing along. Badly. And loudly. Very, very loudly.

'Give me a siiii-iiiign....'

Blaster grimaces, clamping his hands over already-sensitive audials tweaked to painful clarity via four cubes of high-grade. He turns his own volume down, but that just makes Jazz caterwaul louder.

He presses down with the heels of his hands, attempting to crush his audials into his cranium. Deafness would be a blessing from Primus himself. He sighs. 'And they say romance is dead.'

'Hit me, baby, one more time....'

Jazz accompanies the line with a couple of aft-slaps. The resulting image is wedged firmly in some place between 'utterly ridiculous' and 'disturbingly enticing'. Blaster flails mentally for an appropriate reaction, and eventually settles for an expression just short of 'stunned mulletroid', before snapping out of it and laughing helplessly.

Jazz grins at that, and flops down beside him, finally deciding to take mercy. Blaster cautiously removes his hands from where they have attempted to become one with the sides of his head, and changes the station to something more soothing before some lunatic Porsche decides to inflict more torture upon him. Said lunatic Porsche, for his part, seems content to just lean against his shoulder and run his fingers along the dials, touch light enough to be felt, but not heavy enough to do anything.

Well, besides making Blaster occasionally hitch in new and exciting ways, anyway.

He seems to be somewhat fixated, and Blaster is content to let him play for awhile, but the nagging feeling that's been at the back of his processor all evening refuses to go away. Eventually, he caves in.

'Jazz, man, what's up with tonight? You said that we're celebrating, but that don't feel right.' He frowns slightly. 'We haven't defeated the 'Cons in over a week, and unless I'm sadly mistaken, tonight isn't some anniversary of ours, either. What's the big occasion?'

Instead of replying with words, Jazz gently depresses Blaster's eject button. The suddenness of the sensation and the boldness of the move take Blaster by surprise, but he keeps quiet, quirking an optic ridge in mild confusion.

Jazz takes something small from subspace: a tape, which he slides into place before clicking the tape door shut. Slowly, carefully, he presses play.

Blaster almost chews the tape in shock.

Perfection is issuing from his speakers. Sheer, crystal perfection. He knows it intimately, has replayed it in his mind countless times over the millennia.

He hasn't heard it in over eleven million years.

He turns his head to stare at Jazz, whose expression is inscrutable. Somehow, through some feat of magic or Primus or who knows what, Blaster manages to get his mouth to move.

'You... but... but... how?'

Jazz smiles lopsidedly. 'You like it?'

'Do I like it?' The hard-won ability to open and close his mouth and have sound come out is precariously close to abandoning him once more. 'Jazz, this is Octave's rendition of Bassclef's 712597135th aria, recorded at the Grand Concert Hall with the Iacon Symphony Orchestra! It's the single greatest recording in Cybertron's history!'

He sobers a little. 'Jazz, the last copy was destroyed in the fighting almost ten million years ago.'

Jazz's smile turns enigmatic. 'Guess not.'

Blaster shakes his head disbelievingly. 'How did you....'

'I have my ways.'

Further questioning proves futile, so Blaster says the one thing that he feels sums up the situation as best as possible.

'You're amazing, man. Like, words-have-yet-to-be-invented-to-describe-you amazing.'

The smile turns cocky, voice lively with barely-suppressed mirth. 'Of course I am.'

'Heh.' Blaster delivers him a friendly elbow to the side, but no more is said.

The two of them settle more comfortably against each other, optics offline; and for a few perfect minutes, Cybertron flourishes once more.