Wow, sorry for the delay, people. I didn't mean for it to take this long, but this part kept going and going and I couldn't find a good place to cut it off. Also, for some reason my brain had decided to be incredibly foggy and no amount of tea was helping.
Warning: This chapter contains sex.
(Author's notes at end of chapter)
Brainwaves (part 8)
The torrents of information slowed, finally, to a trickle, and Sam's awareness returned to himself, to himself and to Bumblebee, locked together, in this twilight world where the whole universe lived in a single thought, and lifetimes passed between fingertips like grains of sand. He could feel himself, in his stupendous new form, cradling Bee against his chest, wrapping strand upon strand of consolation around him, as one might bandage a wound.
"I'm here," he whispered, "I came back to you... And now that I'm not soft and squishy you're going to have an even harder time getting rid of me."
"I hope so." There was a long, weary pause, and then a flow of relief. "Ratchet says your memory pathways are stable now. It's safe to disconnect."
Before Sam could say anything else, Bee's presence disappeared and he found his optics suddenly online once more. It was an experience reminiscent of his first awakening, in that he couldn't move, and faces were staring down at him, but unlike that first time, he had the sensation of his arms wrapped around something: a heavy, but reassuring weight that was cradled against his chest.
His optics scanned the faces, seeing Ratchet, Optimus and Ironhide. "Where's Bumblebee?"
"Right here," mumbled the heavy thing on Sam's chest.
"It was quite extraordinary," Ratchet said. "I'd put your motor functions offline as before, and you were lying quietly with Bumblebee sitting beside you, when suddenly you reached up, very calmly, and pulled him down."
"I guess I knew he needed a hug," Sam said, thinking of the distressing experiences they had both shared just moments before. He wished that they had been able to stay longer, that he'd been given more time to reassure Bee, then realized that he had been given more time: a lifetime; and the sooner he got on with living it, the better. "So, umm, Ratchet, not that I'm not enjoying this or anything, but could you, you know, turn my stuff back on so I can move again?"
"Your 'stuff'?" Ratchet repeated, dryly. "Of course, let me just turn your 'stuff' on for you..." He flipped something in Sam's neck and the former human found he could move again.
Sam gave Bumblebee a pat on the back and opened his arms, allowing the yellow bot to get up before pulling himself to a seated position as well. "What's the news?" he asked. "Am I okay now?"
"You seem to be, as far as I can tell," the medic said. "Especially given the situation." There was a brief pause. "Sam, I'm really sorry to have to broach such a painful topic so soon, but I need to know about your experiences. Specifically, do you remember anything from after the... accident?"
The former human nodded, grateful that Ratchet hadn't asked him to relate his whole story, since there were parts of it he preferred not to think about too closely - once was more than enough. It was somewhat less painful, at least, to recall the events that had happened after the end of his human life, muddled as they were in a haze of only partial self-awareness, but Sam spoke hesitantly as he explained the extraordinary happenings that had somehow led to this new existence. As he finished relating his tale, everyone was silent.
"This would seem to corroborate your theory, Ratchet," Optimus said, finally.
The yellow-green rescue bot nodded. "Yes, it's really quite strange. You see Sam, we think that, as you destroyed the Allspark, it created one last spark, but, rather than bonding to a machine and converting it, it instead bonded to you somehow, to what you, as a human, would have called your soul, the essence of what makes you who you are. We aren't exactly sure why this would have happened, there is no reason for a spark to seek out pre-existing organic life when its function is to create a new life all its own. Perhaps the spark was weakened somehow, due to being created almost in the same instant as the Allspark's destruction, and it looked for some way to strengthen itself, finding kinship in your soul, which, from everything I have read, seems to be a human's spark..."
"Please continue, Ratchet," said Optimus pointedly.
"Err, yes," the Autobot healer made a sound remarkably like clearing his throat. "In any case, Sam, I think the spark bonded with your soul and then went dormant. Then, when you... when your human body was damaged beyond repair, and your soul left your body, it carried the spark with it. Once released the spark became active and sought to fulfill its original function, which is to create mechanical life, and began searching for suitable technology to convert in order to do so. Normally such a conversion would have been instantaneous, with the new Cybertronian being similar to a human infant, in that it must learn and gain experience in order to develop the thoughts and traits that will characterize it as an individual. Your spark was different, because it already had a wealth of information available to it, courtesy of your human experiences, so conversion progressed much more slowly, as it had to not only create your body, but write all your memories in a compatible format. The fact that it seems to have done so successfully, preserving the person that you were before the conversion, is nothing short of miraculous."
"Wow," said Sam, trying to absorb what he had been told, what he had experienced in the world of his memories only moments before. He should have died. He had died, but now, somehow, he was alive again.
He had never considered himself especially religious. Sure, he had done the whole Sunday school thing as a kid, and his parents had tried to keep up church attendance for a while, figuring it was their job to instil some sort of moral compass in their son. Eventually, those habits had just sort of faded away after he had gotten old enough to decide he preferred to sleep in on Sundays. All he had finally retained, beyond the comfortable familiarity of prayers and litanies, knowing when to stand and kneel, and that, once the service reached a certain point, it wouldn't be long before recession and the fellowship hour, when there was tea and coffee for the adults, and all the cookies and juice the kids could eat... Beyond all that was the thought that maybe there was something out there, outside human understanding, although he couldn't decide if it was truth or wishful thinking. Now he had, not exactly proof of such a thing, but definitely something that seemed to defy any other explanation he could think of.
"Sam?" asked Ratchet worriedly. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," he said. "I was just thinking that I'm really lucky to be alive."
"And we are extremely lucky to have you back," said Optimus, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You were missed..."
"If I may," Ratchet said, "there are just a few more things that I want to cover. Sam, you are a full Cybertronian now, but you are completely unique thanks to your human heritage, and, while you seem to have survived the worst part of your transition, I am unsure of what, if any, issues you may face in the future. You see, your CPU scans still read as partially human. Of course you're still in the process of adapting, so that could change with time."
"Do you think the remnants of his humanity will cause any more problems?" Optimus asked.
"Sam will have to be closely observed, but at present I don't anticipate any," said the rescue bot. "There may, however, be some minor inconveniences. Sam, there is much unused data left over in your memory banks from your human existence, protocols for controlling the functions of your organic body, for example. There is no way to safely purge this information, but even if there were, I am not sure if I would recommend it - it's scientific value is beyond priceless..."
"Focus, Ratchet," Optimus said, gently.
"Right, yes, minor inconveniences. Owing to this leftover data, you may experience sensory 'ghosts' once in a while, feel things, or smell things, or taste things as you would remember them from your human life."
Sam thought for a moment. Compared to all he had survived recently, those things hardly seemed to be a major problem. "But that's it, right? No more going crazy and attacking everybody?"
"No, that part seems to be at an end. In fact, you appear to be doing so well, that if there are no more episodes in a few days, we can talk about training you in some of the more advanced aspects of your body, things like communication via radio signal, accessing the Internet, combat and weapons training..."
"That last part had better be soon," said Ironhide, who had been silent up until this point. "More Decepticons are bound to show up sooner or later, and now that the boy is one of us, he's going to be a target. They aren't going to check if he knows how to shoot back before they take him out."
"Weapons..." Sam said, and shuddered. He had never even held a gun before, the fact that he now had weapons systems built into his body made him very nervous, and, despite Ironhide's dire predictions, he was quite glad that they weren't turned on at present.
"Thank you, Ironhide, for that valuable insight," muttered Ratchet, "and for upsetting my patient."
"I'm just saying, we can't keep coddling him indefinitely..." the weapons specialist replied defensively.
"Take a look at what I've seen in his mind and then tell me we're coddling him." Bumblebee's voice was very quiet and unusually cold as it interrupted the black Autobot's words.
"Try me," said Ironhide challengingly. "I have seen things in my lifetime that would make your paint peel."
"So have I," said Ratchet, "but I downloaded the autopsy reports myself, along with the accompanying photographs, it was rather disturbing."
"He wasn't killed instantly." Bumblebee's voice went from cold to trembling. "I saw it. I saw everything."
"Everyone, please calm down," Optimus cut in to the fray. "Remember what you are talking about and who is listening. This situation has been upsetting for all of us, and it is correct that Sam needs to learn complete mastery of all the things he will need to survive as soon as possible, but not today." He turned his attention to Sam who had been trying to block out the conversations around him. "Sam, you and Bumblebee have both had a very difficult experience, you should take some time to relax. I believe you were planning to wash Sam before this all got started, weren't you, Bumblebee?"
"Yes," said Bumblebee. "There is still enough daylight left. Shall we go, Sam?"
The blue bot tilted his head in concern. "I don't know, Bee. When we were going through my memories, you had a pretty rough time in there, too. Do you, you know, want to go lie down or something?"
"What I want, Sam, is to wash you," Bee said.
"If you're sure..."
"I need to do this," the yellow Autobot said. "Please."
"Alright, but if you get tired, just let me know, okay?"
They made their way outside and around to the back of the building where they had been such a short time ago, though it seemed much longer. The supplies were where they had been left, and there was nothing for Sam to do but transform and give himself up to Bumblebee's ministrations.
He watched through the optical sensors located in his headlights as the yellow bot began by squirting a small amount of automotive cleanser into a larger oil drum than the ones they had been using to drink from. Water from the hose followed, and soon this makeshift bucket was filled with soapy water.
Next the hose was turned on Sam. He was surprised to find that although the water was cold, it did not bother him as it would have in his human body. Rather than experiencing a shock, all he felt was the pleasurable contrast between the heat of the sun beating down on him, and the refreshing coolness of the water.
Bee made sure that the strong spray of water caressed every part of him, starting with the roof and working its way downwards towards the tires, paying special attention to problem areas like the front grille where bugs and other nastiness often accumulated. It was difficult to completely see what the other bot was doing, so when the spray of the hose directed itself into his wheel wells he gave a yelp of surprise, which quickly turned into a gasp of relief as the pressure of the liquid released a clump of dirt that had been wedged there since his escape into the wilderness.
Each well was given a similar treatment, and Sam realized that it actually was quite pleasant to feel the water touch him there even when there was nothing to dislodge. When the hose was turned to the areas under his bumpers, it felt even better, and as his diligent washer finished treating the blue SUV's front end and made his way towards the back, Sam found that anticipation made the next touch of the water all the more delicious.
Finally Bee finished spraying him down, and turned off the hose. Sam assumed he was getting the bucket, but he couldn't quite see from this angle. Suddenly, there was a snap-hiss, that sounded suspiciously like a low-level weapons discharge, and then one of those huge, fluffy sponges from the crate, now laden with generous amounts of soapy water, descended onto his roof. Sam groaned at the unexpected rush of sensation - the water was warm, no, make that hot, blissfully hot after the coldness he had been hosed down with, and it felt amazing.
"Bee, how did you...?"
"Don't talk, Sam," said Bumblebee, "just relax and enjoy." Taking up the hose, he meticulously laved the SUV's roof with cold water, washing away the soap residue so it wouldn't dry and spot. He then got to work on the rest of Sam's chassis, doing each side individually with that wonderful, hot, soapy sponge and then rinsing with the invigorating cold water from the hose.
Being so much bigger than Sam had been in his human form, and operating with a bigger sponge, it should, by rights, have taken Bumblebee less time to complete the job, but instead, incredibly, the yellow bot took even longer. With infinite tenderness and patience he saw to every single detail, including some so small that Sam himself might have overlooked them. By the end of it, the Grand Vitara was wishing very much that SUVs could purr.
Bee gave him a final rinse, then took one of the large cloths that had been provided and began drying the Suzuki off, starting at the top and working his way down. Sam left off the thought of purring and settled for something he could do, which was moaning. The alternating hot washes and cold rinses had left his metal more sensitive than he ever could have dreamed possible, and the delicate caress of the soft fabric over his frame felt entirely too calculated to be innocent.
As Bee finished drying him, Sam felt himself relax, and realized he had been unconsciously bouncing on his tires, pushing himself against the yellow bot's rhythmically stroking hand. He thought the worst was over, but he was wrong.
"Now we should apply this paint scratch remover they sent," said Bumblebee helpfully.
Great, just what he needed, more rubbing of his achingly responsive bodywork. "And, umm, how long will that take?" he asked, cautiously.
"I estimate about 30 minutes to apply, and then another 30 for the product to dry." Ever so delicately, the cloth swept over his back end, even though he knew he was already completely dry.
A whole hour! "Uh uh, Bee, no way, maybe later, but definitely not now..." He transformed back into robot mode and stalked towards the yellow bot, who dropped the cloth he had been using with an adorably startled squeak as he was enfolded within strong blue arms, and swept to the ground. "Teach me how to do that," Sam whispered demandingly, nuzzling the other's neck as he settled himself between sunshine coloured legs.
"But Sam," Bumblebee drew out the single syllable of the name into an inadvertent whimper, "you already know how to wash a car..."
"That's not what I mean, I want to know how to make you go crazy like I am right now." How he wished he still had teeth! Something in him wanted to bite, badly, but he settled for turning his attention to the other side of Bee's neck, pressing his face into it, remembering that night in the back seat, when he had done the same thing to Mikaela as he groaned his desperate release. Mikaela had smelled like Herbal Essences shampoo, and sweat-gilded skin, Bee smelled like sun-warm metal; both aromas intoxicated him.
"You already know how to do that, too," said Bumblebee, beginning to work his fingertips under the edges of Sam's armour, causing the former human to remember their aborted explorations earlier this morning, and the delicious moan he had inadvertently wrung from the yellow bot by touching the inner workings of the gloriously complicated thighs that now cradled him. It had only been a few hours since that time, but it felt like it had been so much longer. After the harrowing experience of witnessing the end of his human life and the beginning of his robot existence, Sam thought it had been more than long enough, and his body seemed to agree with him, already sensitized circuits thrumming even more insistently to Bee's teasing caresses.
Both the pleasant, and not so pleasant memories served to inflame him, adding a poignant urgency as Sam initiated touches of his own, investigating what he could do to return the pleasure he was receiving. The position they were in was not conductive to covering a lot of territory, but he was reluctant to abandon it, bracing himself on his forearms as he stared at the astonishing mechanical being that lay beneath him.
Because it was so natural to him, it didn't register at first that there was something wrong, well, not wrong, exactly, but definitely unexpected. To Bumblebee's infinite credit he did not sound exasperated as he finally brought the situation to Sam's attention. The fact that the yellow Autobot also did not stop his questing for sensitive spots beneath the armour of his blue partner's back would account for the reason his words took a moment to sink in. "Sam, you are attempting to mate with me in the human fashion."
"Huh?" A muted, clanking sound filtered into his consciousness, suddenly making sense as Bee's words were belatedly interpreted. Making the connection between words and sound gave him his first realization: that he was gently, but insistently grinding his featureless crotch against the equally unassuming plane of Bee's own pelvic armour. The fact that it felt incredibly good led him to the second: he had the hugest, most painfully pleasurable, most powerful erection he had ever experienced in his life.
Oh, he didn't actually have an erection - even with his less than stellar science record he knew the odds of million year old alien robots having physiologies identical to humans would be microscopic - but that didn't change the fact that he could feel that familiar presence at his groin, rigid and aching, so incredibly engorged and wanting that it bent almost backwards against his belly. Ratchet had mentioned sensory ghosts of his human existence, but Sam would never have expected them to take the form of a phantom penis, never mind one that felt so excruciatingly real.
"Oh god, Bee," he groaned, trying to stop the frantic motions of his hips. "I can feel it." The unbelievability of the situation struck him: here he was, practically on the verge of getting off from a non-existent sex organ while dry humping an alien robot who also had no genitalia.
Said alien robot didn't seem to mind all that much, but it was obvious the situation was not affecting him the way it was Sam, although the seductive tone of voice as he next spoke, and the words that were spoken, suggested that it potentially could: "Show me."
The blue bot halted his efforts, realizing what Bee was talking about. "You mean like, before, sharing thoughts?"
"That sounds great, better than great actually" he said, remembering how Bee had reacted to some of the pleasant experiences from his human life that Sam had shared with him before. "But I don't know..." He pulled himself back, feeling around his own armour, remembering the cable that he had seen connecting himself and Bumblebee that first time he woke up. "Isn't there supposed to be a cord or something?"
"Here," Bee sat up, pressing a seemingly innocuous place on Sam's armour which obligingly slid open, revealing a small socket and a plug next to it. He grasped the plug, pulling it towards himself, and a length of cord emerged, having obviously been wrapped up somewhere safe inside to avoid tangles. The yellow bot then opened a similar panel on his own chest, and Sam saw an identical set of connectors to his own. Bee fed Sam's plug into the socket and then unravelled his own length of cable, handing it trustingly to Sam and laying back on the ground. "You do this one."
Carefully, Sam repeated the action he had seen Bee do on himself. "Establishing connection," read the status bar in front of his vision, startling him for a moment. He couldn't believe how fast he had grown accustomed to the things in front of his optics, to the point where he only noticed them if he wanted to, or if something changed and drew his attention.
It was the first time that they had attempted this while he was fully conscious, and it felt very different, much more exciting somehow, to look into Bee's softly glowing optics, and suddenly feel that other, inward awareness as it clicked into place, allowing him to see far more of his incredible machine lover than vision ever could.
Neither of them moved. It was like that other first time, when he had entered Mikaela, who, despite not being a virgin, had still needed a moment to adjust to his invasion.
"Touch me, Sam," said Bumblebee, and he didn't mean with hands.
Remembering what the yellow bot had wanted, he returned his awareness to the false sensation of human arousal that still lingered within him, wound even tighter by the idea of actually being connected to Bee, even if it was in a different fashion than his human instincts had been programmed to make him crave.
"More," Bee whispered, beginning to shift slightly on the hard ground, "give it to me..."
It was just the sort of thing any male, poised above his lover in an intimate embrace, would long to hear. A tickle of mischief at the edge of his thoughts told him that Bee was well aware of the fact, and had deliberately chosen the words for their desired impact.
"I would love to," he replied, "only I don't know how."
"Like this..." Suddenly he felt the presence of something being nudged towards him, the sensation of his consciousness being hijacked by a force much, much stronger. All at once the pleasure he was feeling doubled as every circuit in his body seemed to light on fire with single minded fervour. Although less intense than the focused sensation of an erection, the tingling, full-bodied awareness, the anticipation, more than made up for it in sheer volume.
When Sam could almost think again, he made an attempt to return the gesture, tentatively gathering up his own excitement, the pent-up, searing need that focused itself in the phantom projection of his human body, and pushed it into Bee, forcing immediate immersion in the experience rather than a gradual absorption of what it meant. The yellow robot beneath him let out a startled cry and clasped at him fitfully, both physically and mentally, trying to bring him closer.
They pulsed together, almost as one, thoughts becoming an astonishingly powerful surrogate for the physical act he could no longer accomplish in this robotic form. He felt Bee reaching towards him, reaching inside of him, a vital energy, moving with a directed purpose that Sam couldn't identify, one that was textured with soft mental glee, like a child who was playing with a new toy.
The purpose of Bee's game soon became clear as Sam found himself convulsing, hands clawing deep into the dirt, wracked by the sensation of an orgasm he should no longer be capable of.
"Bee, what are you doing?" Sam groaned.
"Exploring..." said the yellow bot enigmatically. "Want another?"
Orgasms were great, who wouldn't want another?
Sam screamed, a harsh, metallic sound as a second orgasm washed over him.
"You sure have lots of these saved up in here, Sam," said Bee in amusement, his presence a fluttering, flitting, searching thing that seemed eager to touch ever part of him at once.
A third orgasm hit, followed by a fourth and a fifth. Sam tried to communicate through the agony of pleasure, but it was too much. And they just kept coming. One after another, after another, after another, and he remembered every pulsing, clenching, grinding, agonizingly exquisite one.
He'd had his first orgasm back in 2003...
"November 17, 2003," Bee supplied, with a smugness that did not go unnoticed, even in Sam's nearly overloaded state.
...and with an average of one orgasm a day, that would make...
"1460 orgasms, Sam... Enjoy."
"Oh my god, Bee, what have you done?" Sam moaned, but with their connection he already knew: every orgasm he had ever experienced, locked together in a feedback loop that blew his mind.
He lost count at somewhere around thirty-six, distantly aware of ungodly screaming that must have been coming from him. He even thought he might have heard Ratchet coming to check on them, but by that point he wouldn't have cared if the whole gang of Autobots had settled down to watch.
It was too much. His fingers dug great furrows in the dry soil as he shuddered atop Bee, trying to find sanity amidst the gorgeous madness. It was too much for him to handle on his own, this wonderful gift that Bee had given him. It was time to return the gift.
Marshalling his concentration, he plunged forward into the link they shared, hearing Bee cry out. He pushed further, finding none of the barriers that had blocked him before. Joy and gratitude surrounded him: joy in his pleasure, and gratitude for his return against impossible odds. Just how impossible those odds had been coloured Bee's thoughts with a similar urgency to Sam's.
Touching the keen edge of that desperation broke something within him, and a new, and powerful sensation crashed over him, one that made the roar of human sex feedback nothing more than a vaguely pleasant background noise. It was like being zapped with a few thousand volts of electric, white-hot bliss, making his whole body spasm and contract. Dimly, he was aware of an answering convulsion from the yellow bot beneath him before the world went dark.
So there it is, the finally piece of the puzzle of why Sam is the way he is. Yes, I couldn't resist using the World's Greatest Plot Device (the Allspark) but I hope my take on it is at least interesting to people.
I'm not sure what else to say, really. Stay tuned for more.