Flashback - Rockabye - Closed

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::Prob'ly not,:: Jazz admitted, utterly unrepentant, his limbs finding their way into a comfortable position next to and over Optimus. One hand stroked gently down Bluestreak's back, trailing soothing EM waves while his field hummed more against Optimus' side. Jazz let his frame slowly relax and edge toward recharge on top of one of Optimus' arms.

Oh look, he'd managed to pin down Prime with nothing but an exhausted saboteur and a sleepy sparkling. He was just that good.

::Good thing you need to recharge, too,:: Jazz said, stretching out one leg and just so happening to lay it down snuggled closer to Optimus' side. ::Don't worry. I'll make sure we're outta your way long before you're up for duty again.::

Of course, Optimus was on medical leave and not up for duty for at least two cycles. Two cycles that Optimus probably hadn't planned on spending playing with and recharging on a sparkling's schedule, but Jazz knew for a fact that the psych officer would agree that there was no better way for their Prime to unwind.

And Jazz knew that Optimus knew that Jazz knew that any real work always took precedence. But there was real work and...all that other stuff that Optimus let distract him from resting. Jazz felt a moral obligation to replace that stuff with recharging and fun whenever possible. Primes were always critically low on those.


<<Jazz is good with ending this whenever. He's about falling asleep as he is.>>

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::Take your time,:: said Optimus, his glyphs even in comm quieted somewhat. He gave Jazz a look that said rather clearly that if not for Bluestreak, the recon agent would be out on his audial in the hallway right now. But at the risk of yet another bought of screaming from the tiny new-spark, Optimus elected to discard code of conduct for a few hours. ::My knee isn’t going to stop being broken before you two have a chance to recharge. Being in no hurry to incite Ratchet’s wrath, you have temporary asylum.::

Bluestreak appeared to have completely passed into muted unconsciousness, the strum of hir pin-prick spark a dwarf-star warmth against his external sensors. Careful of hir, Optimus moved back on the recharge slab until he could lean back against the wall, marginally shifting a rather stubbornly limp Jazz. Sitting back against the wall, he shot the saboteur a look that, for all its dryness, was nevertheless the look of someone saying ‘thank you’ though for what, precisely, he was giving thanks even Optimus could not have said.

Either way, he closed his eyes, offlined his optics and, at least of a while, let the war drift away.

fin?

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<<fin! \o/>>