Right. This is actually the third piece in this series. You can read the second here. The next one will focus on Prowl's side of things.
Prompt: Forelsket (Norwegian) – The euphoria you experience when you’re first falling in love
Summary: It was a gentle rush; the world spinning so fast around him, but so clear. A thing of wonder.
Jazz couldn’t help but marvel at the way his life had changed in just two decacycles. He always seemed to have a true smile on his face now. Here he was, in a good position, friends to go out with, work was interesting, and a partner he liked. His faceplates heated a little. ‘Like? Tell it like it is Jazz, you love the mech!’
Even a megacycle ago, such a thought would have had him running scared. In love? In his experience, love came with the prerequisite that you matched with another of similar background – in other words, one from a city with another of a city. Or a nomad with another nomad. Which would have conflicted with Jazz’s own desires for a permanent place that was his, and tethers to keep him there.
Desires that were quickly becoming reality. In Praxus, he seemed to have found the place of his own he’d longed for.
His partner, Prowl, walked by, reading a datapad. Jazz enjoyed the view of happily twitching sensory wings, and the caress of an EM field tinted with happiness-concentration-greeting was just energon icing on the oil-cake. Returning to his reflective thoughts, he savoured for a moment the buoyant feeling of euphoria he’d discovered a decaorn ago. It was with him whenever he was with Prowl now, a joyous feeling that was just barely tinged with sorrow – he couldn’t spend all of his time with Prowl, so when he left Prowl’s side it was with a mild resigned sadness.
Prowl was a lot of fun when you got past the stoicism – a very snarky sense of humour that was so subtle most didn’t even realise they’d been zinged. Prowl also had a very filthy set of denta when the mood struck him; not that anyone knew that. He thought that Prowl’s vocabulary of swearwords even exceeded that of a medic he’d known back in Iacon. ‘Whatever happened to Ratchet anyway? I’m sure he’ll do just fine for himself though’.
Even the hobbies – they’d had a case, half a decacycle ago, where the manager of one of the art galleries in Praxus had been replacing works with very good forgeries. Prowl had displayed his knowledge of painting, setting Jazz’s curiosity afire. As a result, when the case finished, Prowl reluctantly brought him to a little gallery in a quiet part of town, where it was immediately obvious that the owner knew him very well. The gallery had a number of pieces that Prowl had done, some even for sale, and Jazz had marvelled once again at the depths to his partner. 9 groons later Jazz walked away with a painting tucked in his subspace, an embarrassed-but-pleased partner to his left, and a better understanding of both art and said partner.
That painting had pride of place on the wall of his apartment.
The snacks to the younglings at the local schools didn’t really surprise him. Jazz knew his partner had a soft spark when it came to littlies. He’d even play skip-rope with them, having found a piece of cable long enough and affixed handles to it. There was something about the young ones of their race that made Prowl a bundle of carrier instincts. He never relaxed or was as happy in quite the same way, as when he was covered in sparklings. Jazz thought it was cute.
In fact, Jazz hoped that Prowl would become his partner in all things. He wasn’t sure if his feelings were entirely reciprocated however, and as such had kept the depth of them to himself.
Though, he’d noticed some interesting glances being cast his way of late…