The Way She Moved.

A/N: ANOTHER random inspiration one-shot. I am on a roll with all this ideas coming out of the top of my head stuff…well, insomnia helped a little. A lot. Basically concocted the whole thing for me. When I was young, I used to have this walking problem, where I would walk so awkwardly I tripped. A lot. And then I was like, 'I should use that as a one-shot!', only instead of letting people trip, I'll make it attractive!

And Cy and Bee just popped in my head. Now that I think about it, my subconscious is bullying me into writing a one-shot for every couple. This would usually make people cry, having their other halves bully them, but since I'm That Girl, I go with the flow, unless I don't like it, then I make a sharp U turn. So…who are the other unfortunate pairings? Maniacal grin

I did my best to put them in character, I really did, so please don't come after me with pitchforks and moldy cheese. Also, I have no idea whatsoever about cortexes, cerebral or not, so do not take anything technically, as this was written by a person who watched Cyborg talk in techno-limbo way too many times, even though she has no idea what it means.

P.S. Anyone who suggests slash, kindly read my opinion of them in my profile, and then type.

He liked it. How she walked. How she sashayed down confidently, with undeniable grace. How her boots, sharp and pointy as hell and darker than ink, sounded resonantly on the hardened floor with a strong clack. Her arms hung loosely and casually, but there was still an aura of warning around them; unspoken strength within them. Her hands gripped her two stingers as they swung at her side, and he could see the calluses on the cocoa skin.

When she moved, two words instantly came into his mind. The first word was 'lethal'. The second word was much more personal, and much more dangerous: 'sexy'. He bet she didn't know how her hips would always tilt slightly with each step, showcasing her body, luring him. He bet she never realized how she walked, one boot pointed towards an invisible line in the middle, leg fully extended like a cartoon woman with fishnet stocking trying to get a ride, as if she was balancing confidently on a tightrope, stepping across it without breaking a sweat. When she walked past him, it was as if God had hit the slow motion button on the Remote Control of Life, stretching the moment of Bumblebee stroll from end to end, until he could see every single detail and commit it to memory.

Stance: candid, frank, yet rigid, and ready to pounce at the first sign of peril. Eyes: chocolate brown, heavy black lashes, lined with steel, intense, never wavering. Lips: two plump rose petals that protruded defiantly, crimson, scarlet, pure, unadulterated red, gleaming as if from a lip gloss commercial.

He flexed his limbs; he could feel the grinding a thousand minuscule metal cogs and bolts mashing together, all cased in glowing blue technology. When he had first gotten his…transformation, he had found it unbelievably, a hundred percent weird. And ten percent grossed out. His movements were stiff, brittle at first, his mechanic limbs flexing awkwardly, as he moved with equal awkwardness.

At night, he would often wake up to find himself face to face with a mirror, and he would use his sleek fingers to stroke his robotic face. Where has my skin gone? He would wonder, as his crimson eye glowed brilliantly. My fingers? My arms? Where is the pulsing blood and sinew, the ivory bones and rich flesh? Where was the grace that used to belong to my body, how I could move everything effortlessly, without thought?

For the longest time, he couldn't, wouldn't oil himself. He let rust tinge his joints, until every time he moved little amber flakes would shower the ground. It was only until his arm fell off, as the blue light dimmed and died, a reluctant appreciation flared within him, some kind of fascination for the intricate puzzle wires, the copper labyrinth of a PC card (A/N: yes…I think I inhaled too much solder fumes in woodwork).

After that, he had been fine with him. He even reveled in the fact, and flicked a self-satisfied smile as he launched his sonic canon. His shout of triumph became the most notably famous catchphrase ever. 

He liked to ignore the sarcastic edge in Raven's voice when she said it. Yes, he was half made of metal, but he was still kick-ass, and only in rare occasions did his lack of human parts spiked up a flare of frustration.

Perhaps that's why he liked Bee so much. The fluidity of her movements hit him like a sledgehammer. And he fell. Hard. The way she flew! Weaving gracefully through the sky, bits of flaming metal, and spurts of vile goo, as her agile wings flitted in an incomprehensible blur behind her, stingers out, firing another round of yellow, branding rays.

Walking seemed woefully inadequate describing her steps. She slinked, as coolly as a stream of water, gait proud and loose. Bumblebee moved in ways he couldn't. Her sass hit all the right triggers in villains he couldn't. Some people would see the situation, and be insanely jealous. He got himself sucked into the situation, and found that it was a massive turn on.

He liked to think it was because he had loose screw or two (literally) rattling around in his cerebral cortex, and not the inner ravings of some kind of weirdo.

Robin also liked to think his dedication to Slade was a required duty, and he was merely fulfilling it, and it wasn't the first sign of OCD.

Maybe it was just his weakness. Unlike Robin who would drink in everything, he usually had a tendency to highlight a feature, and concentrate solely on it. Which, in this case, was how Bee moved.

Or more importantly, how she was moving towards him.

Panic. Panic. Panic. The little red siren installed into his cortex had gone off, triggered by the surge of stress that invaded his human brain half. Sweat trickled into the contours of metal. He could already feel the malfunctioning gears spewing a cascade of ominous sparks.

"Hey, Sparky!" It still amazed him that he could simultaneously cringe at the nickname while shoot Beast Boy a death glare as he snickered once again.

"What is it?" The irritation in his voice was poorly disguised, and expertly faked as his eyes pinged back to Bumblebee's stride as she advanced. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped, a good feet away from his face.

"Looks like somebody peed in your coffee today." Her warmth breath melted into the air as he desperately tried to detach his eyes from her legs, noting how her hips were tilted sassily to one side even as she was standing, and her fingers managed to skim them even though she was clutching the stingers as her hands went on her hips.

Out of desperation, he tore his eyes into meeting her head on, only to find a large pair of hazel orbs pinning him down, the pure intensity of it burning him.

He promptly looked down again as Bee began to talk. Something about Titans East, though he caught the words 'Brother Blood' and 'Evil' and something about nuclear tsunamis or something.

"Sparky, are you even listening to me? Get your head out of la-la land and back to Earth now." Irritation was creeping into Bee's voice now too as she prodded him with her stinger.

"Uh…" He mouth fumbled for a witty response, or at least something that didn't make him sound like a complete and total idiot. His mind sought refuge in replaying what just happened, as he was daydreaming and sounding a hell lot like he could become the next William Shakespeare, only people would understand what he was saying.

"I like it!" Shit. When did that come out of his mouth?

"What?"

"How you walk!" Shut up. Shut up. He forcefully clamped his mouth up to avoid any other uncharacteristic displays of non-manly, weird confessions.

"You like how I walk." She repeated each word slowly, rolling it around in her tongue like a piece of candy before hanging them in the air like overripe fruit.

"You're just so graceful, y'know?" He spread his arms out sheepishly.

"Well, I think it's kinda cute. A little weird, but cute." His heart lightened a bit. "So…you find it…what, when I do this?" Before he could answer, she had stepped forward, so that their faces were only an inch apart.

"Well, I think it's kinda cute. A little weird by walking that way, but cute." Cyborg's breath mingled with hers as they edged nearer, until their noses were a centimeter apart from touching.

And then, inexorably, inevitably, they were kissing. She was warm, a pulsing ball of heat and flesh. He felt her hand resting light on his bionic arm; somehow it felt strange for the skin to touch metal as a series of currents ran through him. His own hand gripped the back of her neck tighter.

It was hard to describe how it felt. As if his own body had been numbed with needles and branded, sense of feel dulled, until she touched him. It was as if he had never felt anything properly before she had touched him. It was feather light, but it spread of icy shower of sparks, it tingled.

It made him feel human.

And it also ended way too soon.

She turned to pull away, but he could tell it was difficult, seeing as his hand was threaded in her hair, which had tumbled down from its usual twin bobs into a river of curls and refusing to let go. She was now staring at him defiantly; daring him to have an epiphany, kiss her, anything. Their breathes came out in short pants, faces flushed with excitement.

"Y'know," Cyborg whispered to her, hushed, resolute. "I really do like how you move. But—" He leant forward again and captured her lips in a hard kiss. "I like this better."

The End,

so go and review already, people. Love, Mooncatcher