A/N: This was a little gift fic I wrote for my friend, cavecat, over on LJ a while back. I didn't realize that I hadn't posted it over here until today. Just a little harmless thing. Hope you enjoy! :) Title is from Othello: "Trifles as light as air/Are to the jealous confirmations strong/As proofs of holy writ" because it didn't have a title and I googled for jealousy quotes. XD
Word count: 1,045
Disclaimer: Don't own them. :(

Prowl had finally had enough.

He knew Jazz was desirable--Primus, that was something of which he was very well aware. Everything Jazz did, even something as mundane as walking, was done with such elegance and ease that it leant him the appearance of dancing. The curves of his chassis, the musicality of his voice, the kindness that was second nature to him--everything about the saboteur added up to one gorgeous package that Prowl found too difficult to resist.

Their relationship was relatively young, especially by Cybertronian standards. An attraction had been present, but muted, between the two for vorns. However, the fury and desperation of the war on Cybertron was not conducive to a healthy, functioning relationship. The calm pace on Earth led Prowl to the logical conclusion that it was the perfect time to pursue a romantic relationship that had otherwise been nearly impossible to maintain.

They had been moving slowly, spending their off hours together talking, reading, and playing games. As such, the physical aspect of their relationship had remained rather chaste. Neither one wanted to rush things and take the chance of ruining such a good thing.

By tacit agreement, they had not revealed their progressing relationship to any of the crew. It seemed like a more prudent idea to let the relationship take its own pace, and if the rest of the Autobots of the Ark knew, interference was sure to occur.

Well, Prowl admitted to himself, the agreement hadn't been so tacit.

"Jazz, I think it may be best if we keep our..." Prowl trailed off, keeping his optics on the Risk piece in his hand.

"Hook up? Affair? Canoodlin'?" Jazz offered helpfully from across the board.

Prowl went on as though he didn't hear the other mech. "...our relations, to ourselves at first."

Jazz moved a rather large contingent over towards the Soviet Union. "'Relations', huh? Why you figure that?"

Prowl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his attention half on the board game in between the two of them. "You know that it is not logical to move your men..." He drifted off at the look Jazz sent him--eyebrow cocked and a slight smile tugging at his lips— "Right. I just think it best to let this...this progress at its own...on its own," he finished, feeling incredibly inarticulate and inadequate. A slightly ill feeling settled in his tanks at Jazz's reaction to his babbling explanation.

"So, what you're saying is you wanna keep us a secret," Jazz summed up in a flat voice. Prowl made as if to speak, but Jazz interrupted. "Naw, man, it's cool," he grinned, though it seemed a little strained. "I get you. It'll just be easier that way." He looked down at the board. "It's your move."

And at first, it had worked out well enough. No 'bot nagged the two of them about their…relationship…and it was fairly easy to keep work and personal life separated. But Prowl had forgotten to take a closer look at the downsides of their actions—mainly that since no one knew they were together, and thus felt it was perfectly alright to make inappropriate advances on Jazz—many while Prowl was in the same room.

Like now, for instance. Prowl had walked into the rec room to retrieve a cube before heading back to his quarters, and was met with the sight of the twins, Bluestreak, Wheeljack, and Jazz playing a card game. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had seated themselves on either side of Jazz and were situated a little too close for Prowl's comfort.

Even as Prowl waited for a cube to fill, Sideswipe leaned over and pointed out something to Jazz, speaking in a low murmur that Prowl couldn't hear. Jazz smiled and attempted to slide to the side only to be backed in by Sunstreaker. Prowl watched the scene playing out in front of him, feeling like he never had before.

Jealousy was something Prowl had very little experience with. It was simply illogical to covet something another 'bot had—if Prowl wanted it, he would simply obtain it or do without. But this was a different brand of jealousy, something completely foreign to the tactician. He knew Jazz would not do anything untoward with the twins, but the mere sight of the red and yellow 'bots slinking close to his Jazz was enough to send his battle computer into overdrive. His coolant system seemed to have abandoned its proper function; he could feel a heat begin to burn, raging through his systems like a building caught aflame.

Over at the card game, Sideswipe leaned over and ran a light finger against one of the horns on Jazz's helm.

Something inside of Prowl snapped.

Forgetting his now full cube of energon, the SIC stalked over to the table occupied by the other 'bots. Hearing his footsteps, all five players looked up in surprise. Jazz smiled, relief that the twins had backed off evident in his voice when he next spoke. "Heya, Prowler! Wanna get in on the next game? We're playin' Euchre, know you like that—"

Jazz was cut off as Prowl abruptly pulled his chair back and yanked the saboteur up by one of his shoulder struts. The rest of the mechs in the rec room looked on in amazement and a type of dawning horror as one of their commanding officers dipped Jazz backwards over his arm and proceeded to kiss the ever living slag out of him.

Jazz tensed up and made a rather embarrassing sound, somewhere between a mewl and a squeak, before throwing his arms around Prowl's steady shoulders and kissing him with all the passion he could. After a few minutes of this attention Prowl straightened up, pulling Jazz up with him. The tactician looked down at his thoroughly kissed and rather dazed partner and then up at Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, a possessive glint in his optics. The two front liners put their hands up and cringed, suddenly fearing for the safety of some components very near and dear to them.

His attention was dragged back to Jazz, however, when the other mech leaned up to murmur in his audio.

"Though I appreciate the sentiment," Jazz laughed breathlessly, "I think Bluestreak might be scarred for life."