Author's Note: I totally did not expect to do this, but... Well. Someone asked about how "Admitting Defeat" would affect the whole Sam/Bee relationship... and I decided that it would only matter if Bee got drunk. And of course, one thing led to another...
Needless to say, this fic will only make sense if you read the equally crack-ridden fic, Admitting Defeat. It will probably make sense without it... but honestly, why would you pass up a chance to read Stripper!Bee and Ironhide angsting? Come on. There'll probably be a short extra chapter to this, but I'm not sure so I'm marking it complete for now. Enjoy the not-quite-hentai goodness.
Sam doesn't babysit drunken robots out of principle. It's not that he doesn't find the idea completely and utterly hilarious; he simply knows that anyone who gets drunk tends to do stupid things... And when you're about as tall as the drunk's finger, you tend to want to stay out of their stupid antics.
Which is why he's surprised to find himself watching Bumblebee weave towards him from down the street, when he knows full well that Sam really can't dedicate the attention he needs.
His Camaro pulls up under his window and rolls down his windows, radio blaringly singing, "Wasted away again in Margaritaville..."
Sam winces even as he smiles, and calls back, "Get some sleep, Bee."
"Get outta my dreams, get into my car!"
The boy can't believe his friend wants him to come down there, get in an inebriated car, and expect to come back in one piece. Still, he rarely sees Bumblebee drunk and, honestly? It sounds... entertaining, to say the least.
So he leaves the house, wrapped snug in a jacket, and slides into the car with ease. "Alright, but I drive," he tells his friend, who blares the horn once and relinquishes control to the human. They both know where they're going: the overlook.
He drives slow and has to force Bumblebee to give up control at least three times, but they make it there in one piece, much to Sam's relief. He slides out and steps back as his friend awkwardly transforms into a giant robot, swaying a little on arched feet and looking, for all of Sam's imagination, just a little too close to blackout drunk than he'd like.
"You okay, Bee? You look..."
Music comes from the robot's chest, singing, "I walk in the bar, and the fella's all cheer – they order me up a whiskey and beer..."
"Oh no, Flogging Molly. You're wasted, aren't you?" A wince, "I wonder how bad the others were..."
"They... mm." Bumblebee flops to the ground, causing the earth below them to shudder faintly, and says, "They were all... flogging molly."
"That's not what I meant, but I get it. Are you okay?"
The bot grins easily at nothing in particular and says, "Mm. I had fun." He then makes an expression akin to a pout, and adds, "More fun when Ironhide joins, but I was... too much for him tonight. Depressing."
Sam raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Ironhide's a tub of fun when he's plastered, huh?"
Something inside Bumblebee's chest clicks and he makes a sound like a laugh – something Sam doesn't hear the other do often. "You have no idea. Though... though Optimus..." There's that goofy, robot grin again, "Optimus is... he calls you all squishies."
Sam laughs at that, eyes widening a little at the idea. "That's... that's very..."
"The term you use is... El-Oh-El, hm?"
His friend's use of internet acronyms makes the human laugh even harder, and he has to lean against Bumblebee's leg to keep from keeling over. Bumblebee hums a little, sending warm vibrations through Sam's hand, and he finds his laughter subsiding at the feeling.
"That's... wow. Huh, my giant robot protector is a big mechanical cat."
Bumblebee sighs and watches the human climb his leg and settle at his waist, sitting and curling up to keep warm. "Ironhide said something similar, last time we all got together," the robot says, sounding contemplative. "That was before he thought to not... 'Get wasted' with me."
The idea of Ironhide calling Bumblebee a cat both amuses Sam and... makes him feel a little worried. "What exactly were you doing that made him call you a cat?"
Bumblebee is silent for a few moments, and then the radio inside his chest crackles and fizzes out, "Nobody likes to spend the nights alone... Wouldn't you like to know me?" The radio goes dead and Sam takes a moment to digest the lyrics. Once he grasps them and filters them through every meaning they could have – which is sadly few – he decides that he's suitably... offended?
"...When you say... Do you mean that you and...?" Sam coughs and stares at his friend with wide eyes, "Just what are you saying exactly?"
"Drink liquid clocks until I see God... I asked you your name, you asked the time... You told me your stories, I told you mine, but there's so much we neglected to say." Silence between the three songs, and then Elvis quietly croons, "Oh baby, what do you want me to do?"
Sam's not sure but he thinks his friend has just given him an entire one-night-stand story in four songs. Which is – how? "How... When did that happen? Bee, talk to me here, don't just play Bright Eyes."
"I'm sorry, Sam," the robot says slowly, "I'm trying to... process the memories that would help you understand, cross-referencing them so that I might be able to explain them in a way you would comprehend. The music is somewhat easier."
"I just... You slept with Ironhide?"
Bumblebee exhales a little and then says, "Yes. In a way. A long time ago... thousands, thousands of years. He was... mm. I shouldn't be talking. Ironhide will blast me through the galaxy."
"Wait, so... you two were... a couple?"
"Um. Not... Not quite." Sam's sure that if his friend could, he would be blushing. "It was... more of a... job?"
Sam blinks, squeezes his eyes shut, and then blinks again. "A... job?"
There's a mechanical hiss, and Bumblebee allows a girl's voice to say, "The term is companion." Then, the robot says, "I hope that clears it up. I'd rather... not talk about it."
"...A companion? You – oh my god."
"Oh my god. My car is a prostitute?"
Bumblebee's engine rumbles in his chest and he snaps angrily, "That would mean... physical contact. And your 'prostitutes' seem to be... very much unlike what I was."
"Sam. I am... incredibly 'wasted' at the moment and I am divulging something personal about my past. I would appreciate it if you would not act as though it was a 'scandalous' job for me to have." A moment of silence and his friend adds as an afterthought, "I am also certain that, drunk or not, I could probably crush you with a finger. Please stop harassing the giant robot."
Sam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, Bee. It's just... That's not exactly a glamorous job on Earth. But... yeah. Okay, I'll drop it... I just... God, now I'm contemplating how the hell you would even... do that."
"Morals are quite different-"
"No, no, no," Sam cuts in, waving a hand, "I mean... the whole... You know what, never mind, this is probably the creepiest subject we've ever talked about and I'm gonna drop it."
Bumblebee, however, doesn't think twice about diagnosing the issue. "You are wondering about the physicality of such an interaction?"
"Well – no, I don't want to know, it's going to be horrible and ruin me forever."
Bumblebee frowns slightly – as much as he can – and then says, "It isn't a... messy process, like the one the Internet depicts." He watches the human wince with mild amusement, and says easily, "It's simply a connection between sparks." A radio commercial crackles, "No mess, no fuss; choose Bounty Plus!"
Sam can't find a proper answer to his friend and so he stays quiet.
"If you'd like," Bumblebee says helpfully, "I can show you how it works."
The boy winces, blushes hotly, and then looks at his friend. "Um. Bee... That's... You know, you're drunk. It's probably better for you not to... you know, do anything while you're..."
The radio snaps to life, almost defiantly, and a man sings, "You make me want you... an open invitation to the dance; happenstance set the vibe that we are in... No apology because my urge is genuine..."
And then, to Sam's great shock, his friend says, "I drank only to ask you, in the end – what the Internet calls 'liquid courage.' I simply... did not expect Ironhide to become the center of our conversation."
Sam watches his friend watch him, and then realizes that, to his horror, he's considering it.
"Bee, I... I mean, you're talking about... And couldn't your spark hurt me? You don't know what will happen if..."
"Sam," his friend says quietly, curling a finger gently around the human's waist and easing him closer to his metal frame, "I'm quite certain I know what I'm doing. I won't hurt you."
Sam can barely nod; Bumblebee adjusts himself into a lying position, holding Sam against his chest with that one finger. It's only when the bot carefully reaches and slides back part of his chest panel to reveal the glowing spark within that Sam realizes that he's about to have robotic sex with his car – with his best friend. Mikaela briefly enters his mind, but she races away as his eyes catch blue optics.
"I... don't know what to do," Sam mumbles awkwardly, feeling the other's finger tighten slightly against his waist and then remove itself.
"...Just slide as close to my spark as you can," Bumblebee responds, cautiously adding, "Don't touch it."
Sam nods and drags cold air into his lungs, sliding along yellow metal and looking at the glowing, slightly pulsating shard in Bumblebee's chest. It looks like it's been taken straight from the Allspark – if a little worn around the tips – and Sam glances at Bumblebee briefly before cautiously reaching out a hand to the glow.
The spark shimmers and something happens – Sam finds himself gasping for breath as small currents snap between him and the spark, Bumblebee letting out a quiet sigh of pleasure. Emboldened by his friend, the human pulls himself over the gap in the bot's armor and closes his eyes, resting his hips just against the edge –
The energy pulls towards him and grabs at every living molecule of his body, sending huge, mind-numbing vibrations through his bones. He twists his fingers and grips at folds in Bumblebee's armor, moaning at the sheer connection, sure that he's never going to think again – his friend is making the strangest, most delicious sounding noises he's ever heard, and every inch of metal below him is shuddering –
He pulls back and groans as the connection fails, feeling the metal shifting under him slightly. "B-B-Bee," he rasps, suddenly and absolutely terrified. That's power, pure and complete and if he stays like that –
Blue optics settle on him and Bumblebee gently slides a finger along the human's spine. "It's okay. Promise. Just... just, try, one more time?" His friend – the giant robot, who can crush him with a finger – is pleading with him, and Sam can't deny that even thinking about the connection causes painfully good feelings to rise in his stomach, and so he quietly nods. His jeans are tight; the fabric and the friction of metal below him add a strange touch to something already so bizarre.
He sees the glow of the spark flicker brightly as he moves forward once more, and pulls himself close to it once more – the pure bliss erupts violently once more, and now he can feel Bumblebee shaking and can hear him making weird, almost sobbing sounds that remind him of Sector Seven and bad –
Ooooh is all his mind can gather as he accidentally twitches, grinding his hips against metal. Ooooh is all he can think as he does it again, grasping at armor and clenching his teeth against the bare edge of Bumblebee's armor. In the middle of his complete and total unraveling, he can hear an echo of Ooooh from his friend.
And then there's a sudden jerk and Sam loses his grip on one side of the spark's holding unit, hand falling below and just brushing –
He's dimly aware of the white hot pain flashing through the side of his hand that had touched the spark, but the sudden surge races through him and nearly wipes his mind completely blank. Through the haze of this, he can hear Bumblebee crying out loudly, and can hear the radio fizzing and popping and tuning in and out of focus; "Come on, come on, touch me baby; fuck me like you want me; I want to hold you close, soft breath, beating heart; I want you you you you you you you-"
Sam feels something hot and hears an electronic cry, something much harsher and stronger than the spark pulsing through him, and the radio keeps crying, "You you you," even as his mind hits a peak and –
Bumblebee shudders and tries to move as Sam pulls away from the spark, tries to grab his human and make sure he's not dead –
Sam groans quietly and tries to place his thoughts in order, but all he knows is that the radio is static and he can feel hot, slick heat in his pants and cool, quaking metal.
"Sam," Bumblebee says, feeling as though his voice capacitor has been ripped out once more and reapplied with duck tape, "Sam."
"...present," the human responds after a long moment. "...hand hurts."
"Y-you... you shouldn't have... ooooh."
Sam can feel nothing but pure contentment, even with his hand throbbing with a new burn, and he asks, finally, "Stay here?"
The radio stammers out the response, skipping a little as though out of breath, and Sam finds himself dozing into sleep as the man singing croons, "Why don't you stay with me; share all your secrets tonight... We can make believe the morning sun never will rise; come and lay your head on this big brass bed... And we'll be alright as long as you stay with me."