This is a response to a promt on a Livejournal community (pj paintstreaks). I had to include the quote "Come on Prowl! Try me on, I'm comfy!" Strange, yes. The prompter's explanation is under the community, if you care to see the method behind the madness.

Anyways, enjoy!

Of all the things Jazz was, he prided himself the most on being a patient mech.

He had to be, really – it came with the job. He very well couldn't just go up to his intended target and ask, "Could you please create an opening through which I might sabotage your plans for evil?" Patience was key. It was an art form, one which he had perfected over the vorns. Hardly anything got to him anymore. Setbacks, bad luck, and spoiled plans rolled off him easier than rain slid off of Sunstreaker's overly-waxed point job. An automatic response in his CPU always reasoned that everything would end as it should with time.

But now, all that was blown to the Pit.

He had fraggin well had enough of Prowl.

He couldn't take it anymore. The little voice that had once appealed him to let time sort things out was now screaming for action.

The plain and simple truth was Prowl was a terrible flirt. The sideways glances when he though Jazz wasn't looking, the lingering touches that lasted a little too long for a content friend, the fluttering and twitching of the doorwings (he'd learned that one from watching an obviously-infatuated Bluestreak trying to win over Sunstreaker), the consistent invitations to get some energon with him or play one of his strategy games – it was nearly impossible to ignore the fact that Prowl had a thing for him.

This was no problem for Jazz. In fact, he was actually quite pleased to know that his feelings were mirrored. No, the thing that wore down Jazz's patience and started to grind on his last sensory node was Prowl's apparent lack of courage to take things any further.

Contrary to popular belief, he did notice Prowl's flirting. He had simply refused to act on it up until this point, wanting to see if Prowl really, truly was serious about his feelings for him and how he would handle them.

But Jazz was done waiting.

Something had to be done, and it had to be done now.

"Prowl, when're you gonna grow some spinal struts an' ask me out already?"

The tactician froze. He was in the rec room, in the middles of playing a game of chess with Bluestreak. He stared at Jazz with slightly open mouthplates, one of his bishops still hanging mid-air in his motionless hand. After gaping at the saboteur for a moment, he finally spoke.

"What?"

"You heard me," Jazz snarled, jabbing a finger viciously in his face. "I'm sick 'n tired of all yer flirting. Would it be so hard t' jus' ask me on a proper date?"

Prowl suddenly looked embarrassed. His optics began bouncing all over the room, counting the number of bots that had heard Jazz's unexpected outburst and were now watching intently.

"Jazz," he muttered on his vocalizer's lowest setting, trying to ignore a now snickering Blue, "I don't think this is the time or place to be discussing –"

"Don't you give me that, you slagger," Jazz cut him off, jabbing his finger at him again and actually poking the mortified Datsun in the noseplates. "You ain't gonna talk 'bout it at all if'n I don't start it for you, an' I'm startin' it now." The Porsche crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his friend-cum-romantic-interest with a calculating glare.

"Now tell me," he said evenly. "Why won' you just admit you like me?"

"I… I d-don't –" the Datsun stuttered, looking anywhere and everywhere but at Jazz.

"You don't like me," Jazz repeated, raising one optic ridge. "So all this flirting is just t' lead me on and get my hopes up fer nuthin?"

"No – no, that's not what I –" Prowl brought his optics up to meet Jazz's for the first time. The wonder and hope in them was so cute Jazz almost cracked his façade and smiled. "What?"

The saboteur gave a dramatic sigh.

"I said," he reiterated, drawing out each syllable as if he were speaking to a particularly dim-sparked youngling (Though that ain't far off, he thought to himself), "are you flirting wit me cuz ya like me, or should I jus' go find some other mech ta fantasize about?"

Prowl blinked his optics once, twice, thrice, his faceplates blank. After an agonizingly long stretch of silence, he spoke softly.

"You… you reciprocate my –"

"Yes I reciprocate, you bit-brain," Jazz said, rolling his optics. This was really getting ridiculous. "Now… whatcha gonna do about it?"

Prowl looked down at the floor again. "I do not… I do not think it wise for two senior officers to compromise their position by –"

"What a load-a slag!" Jazz cried, cutting him off for the third time. "Lookit Prime and Elita, for Primus sakes. You think yer commanding officer is compromised?"

"I did not say –"

"Sure ya did." Jazz raised an optic ridge. "Or was that just anuther one o' yer stupid excuses?"

Prowl didn't answer. Jazz gave another sigh through his vents.

"Come on, Prowl!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "Try me on! I'm comfy," he added, giving his aft an enticing rub as if to show off such level of comfort. This elicited a laugh from Ironhide from across the room.

"Looks real enticin' from here, Prowl," the weapons specialist chuckled. "I say go fer it."

At the sudden reminder there were other mechs in the room, Prowl gave a little cringe of embarrassment. Jazz could feel the heat from such radiating off of him from where he stood. After a moment of pondering, Prowl looked up at Jazz.

"You are certain you would want me?" he said, so quietly Jazz almost didn't hear.

Realizing words were just not working well for the mech, Jazz reached out and grabbed him by his chevron, jerked him out of his seat, and pulled him in for a kiss that did not quite muffle his cry of surprise.

Jazz was in heaven. He barely heard the cheers and hoots of approval from the bots around them. As the kiss broke, though – too soon for his liking – he did hear Smokescreen's cry for them to get a room, a recommendation the Porsche was all too happy to follow.

He woke from recharge the next morning in a pleasant haze. It took only a moment to realize just why he was so giddy, as Prowl had his arms firmly wrapped around his waist, preventing him from rising, and was using one of Jazz's own arms as a pillow.

Feeling his lover stir, Prowl onlined his optics. Jazz grinned down at him.

"What'd I say," he said, wiggling his arm-cum-pillow slightly. "'M I comfy or what?"

Prowl only smiled, shuttering his optics and snuggling even closer to Jazz.

"I could certainly get used to it."

Finite!

Whatcha think? :D