Chapter Text
Prowl woke up to the steady sound of his bondmates vents and the childhood sound of birds singing, the song they always did after it had rained. The familiarity of it made his chest tighten in joy, and he couldn’t help but curl up against Jazz, burying his face into whatever part of him he could reach.
Being back in Praxus was strange, but it felt amazing. He hadn’t been there since he’d transferred out all those vorn ago – as a neutral city state, it had wanted to stay firmly out of the conflict, and Prowl was unable to go whilst he store bore the badge of the Autobots. Besides, duty called enough to keep him busy and firmly in Iacon, and if it came about that Autobots were hanging around in Praxus? Well, the Decepticons would just take that as a threat. It didn’t bear thinking about.
But badges could be removed. The correct documents could be applied for. And so that was how Prowl found himself with his family, back in Praxus on a trip to visit Bluestreak.
Smokescreen had opted to find a hotel on his own – didn’t want Prowl pushing his nose into his business, most likely – and Prowl wouldn’t be surprised if they found him the next day significantly richer, hungover, and absolutely stinking of smoke. Gambling in Praxus was not like gambling in Iacon, that was for sure.
Bluestreak himself lived in their old flat, but the other two rooms (previously his own and Smokescreens bedrooms) had been rented out to other students. It gave Bluestreak some extra cash to play around with (not that he knew it – Prowl and Smokescreen transferred it into his account very quietly indeed. As far as he was concerned, Smokescreen was taking it to use as his gambling fund) and his two brothers a peace of mind that he had enough to comfortably live off of.
Prowl stood, quietly creeping towards the window. He peeled back a section of the curtain, careful to not wake Jazz with the early morning light.
Their hotel had a wonderful view.
He looked behind him, over his shoulder. And if that wasn’t a wonderful view, too. Jazz so rarely managed to continue recharging if something in the room changed. Whether it be the sound of his own engine, someone moving, a light turning off, Jazz would always wake up.
But right now, he slept soundly, and Prowl couldn’t help but watch with a soft smile on his face, golden light from the rising star gently illuminating the room.
“How did you two meet anyways?” Bluestreak asked, laying on his tummy as he playfully poked at a new crystal growth in the ground of the park. Prowl and Jazz were sat behind him on the edge of a fountain, Jazz sipping away at a cooled cube of energon, Prowl munching on energon sorbet. Smokescreen lounged to the side in the warm rays of their closest star, enjoying the good weather. Iacon had been so dreary.
Jazz and Prowl shared a look. Did they finally spill the beans, all these vorn later? Smokescreen would be so cross with them, but it was so long ago now… The humour the pair felt spilling out over the bond told them both all they needed to know.
The beans would have to be spilled.
“We were transferred to Iacon at the same time.” Prowl began. “We briefly met during orientation.”
“And then our little Prowl was so smitten with Jazz they just had to go on a date, and the rest is history.” Smokescreen teased, playfully tapping the top of Bluestreaks doorwing. The youngest Praxian jerked away, laughing and complaining about it tickling.
“Well, actually...” Jazz said, grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. “That’s not quite how it went.”
Smokescreens face fell. “What?”
“We were pretending, for a bit.” Jazz explained.
“Both of us were tired with others trying to set us up, so we both went along with it after Jazz claimed to Blaster that he was dating me.”
“Very not sober, I will add.”
“Eventually, though…” Prowl looked at Jazz, doorwings flicking.
“You’re not still pretending, are you?” Bluestreak nervously asked. “This isn’t you two coming out all… ‘surprise! It’s all a lie!’, right?”
“No, no!” Prowl was quick to reassure him. “We’re not pretending anymore – Primus, we’re bonded – that wouldn’t work.”
“Ugghh.” Smokescreen groaned into his hands. “You two are going to be the death of me.”
“You don’t have to change any bets, do you?”
“No, that’s the worst part. I do. Someone betted that! I- I have to go back and recollect all of the credits, and then adjust for inflation,” Smokescreens fingers flew as he mentally counted everything. “And then redistribute!”
“Oh, Sigma, I’m so sorry-” Jazz was laughing, so he didn’t sound too genuine, but the apology was clear in his field. Prowl was biting his index finger to keep the giggles at bay, looking off into the distance as though searching for a distraction to keep himself together.
“When did you actually start?” Smokescreen demanded, glaring at them.
“Ahh… Mag’s leaving celebration, I think?” Jazz tapped his bottom lip in thought.
“Yes, with Silverstreak.”
“Poor mech...”
“I still hold no reservations.” Prowls doorwings flicked.
“Oh, Prowl, that makes what you did even worse!” Smokescreen howled in laughter. “Ugh! You had all of us tricked for so long! I hate you both so much!”
Bluestreak watched them as if he were watching a match of tennis, clearly extremely entertained. “Who was the one who made the winning bet?” He curiously asked.
Smokescreen paused for a moment as he checked his databanks, and had a very strange expression on his face.
“Smokescreen?” Prowl asked, putting his sorbet aside and reaching forwards to place a hand on his shoulder.
“Orion Pax.” He quietly said.
“Orion – you don’t mean…?”
“Optimus?” Jazz choked.
“Oh, that is excellent.” Smokescreen had a devious grin on his face. “Then in that case, you two can deliver the good news yourselves!”
“How was your holiday?” Optimus kindly asked the pair as he sat with them in the rec room.
Jazz silently pulled a credit chip out of his subspace, and Prowl a datapad, the pair placing them down in front of him.
“It was wonderful, thank you.” Prowl replied.
“Lot’sa fun music!” Jazz grinned at him. “I really think we could do with more crystals around here, too. Makes the place really come alive.”
Optimus looked down at the two items in front of him. “And what would these be?”
“Winnings for bet number 4927.” Prowl replied. “It seems there was a mistake, and the credits had to be redistributed.”
“4927? That was vorns ago.” Optimus replied, onlining the datapad. He didn’t even remember what the bet was!
His optics brightened as he read the text in front of him. Oh.
“Excellent. I was wanting to buy myself a new polish.”
“How did you know?” Jazz asked.
Optimus simply winked and tapped his nose, collecting his winnings and the datapad and stashing them away into his subspace. “Good day to you both. I trust you will both be present at the meeting this afternoon?”
“Of course.” Prowl replied.
Optimus nodded and turned to leave.
In all honesty, it had been obvious that the two were faking it. Since when did two mechs who were already together give each other such longing looks?