And now the conclusion of the story! hehe
Three hours later, still in the recreation room…
It was finally the end of a long day for the femme commander. Elita had been a little envious that her mate was able to take the majority of the day off only because she couldn't join him. She didn't let him know that. One inkling of emotion across their spark bond that she wanted to give in to his affections and Optimus wouldn't have left so willingly.
Typical however, the one day Optimus decides to take off she couldn't be with him. Oh well, at least he was able to relax, something she knew he needed. It wasn't very often the Optimus took time for himself. He was always in demand from his officers, the humans…her. All that was in addition to his battling the Decepticons.
Prowl had informed her when Optimus left the base with Jetfire sometime in the afternoon and said he'd have Teletran track the duo just in case. Prowl wasn't really that worried, he just liked to know where his Prime was like any good second in command would. Elita wasn't too worried either. Everyone knew Optimus and Jetfire together were two mechs the Decepticons knew not to trifle with unless they had an entire armada backing them.
So while Optimus was having fun, Elita had worked diligently and hadn't given her sparkmate a spare thought until a couple of hours ago when a fuming Chromia stomped into the femme commander's office. Chromia's visit was short yet volatile! The femme complained about insensitive mechs, mainly Ironhide opting to go drinking with Optimus and Jetfire instead of joining her for a quiet evening alone in their quarters.
Elita's first instinct had been to go down to the recreation room to find out just how much Optimus had been drinking. She hated it when he was over energized. Not that she didn't want him having fun. It was just that Optimus was not an easy mech to move around once he passed out, especially by a femme her size! He had a tendency to get too cuddling with her when he was over energized and would almost squish her unknowingly.
However, she'd changed her mind when Chromia mentioned that it'd been a really long time since she'd ever seen Optimus so relaxed. Instead, Elita pointed out that if Chromia wanted alone time with her mech then she never should have gone with Ironhide to the recreation room for some high grade. And Ironhide was mech who loved drinking and would never turn down a good time with the other mechs. He knew Chromia would eventually forgive him. Plus, he never did it that often.
So when Elita's duty for the day was done and she finally arrived in the recreation room to find Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Bumblebee cuddled together and passed out on the floor near the door, she wasn't surprised. Her olfactory senses caught wind of a familiar burning beverage that made her chuckle to herself.
"Plasma shooters? You poor younglings. How dare they take advantage of you like that," she chuckled, gently stepping around the three young mechs.
Her destination, the only occupants in the room at a table nearest the high grade dispenser, Mirage, Wheeljack and Prowl appeared to be passed out while the others were animatedly chatting with each other. She smiled upon seeing how relaxed and worry free Optimus was. The mech worried and fretted about everything, as any good leader would. Ironhide, Ratchet, Jetfire and Jazz were equally relaxed and all smiles, smirks, and giggles.
"Oh, I like this one!" Ratchet exclaimed and they leaned over, huddling around him.
"Nice!" Ironhide whistled.
"No wait! You'll like this other one better!" Jetfire smiled, as he rummaged through scores of datapads scattered on the table.
Elita raised an optic ridge. What the frag was so interesting? No way they were working! Right?
"Slag, where did it go?" Jetfire grumbled.
"I think Prowl has it, Jet," Jazz grinned, reaching and trying to pry the datapad from Prowl's grip. The mech was passed out with his head on the table, face right on the datapad.
"Prowl said he wanted a better look!" Optimus laughed and the others broke out wildly giggling.
"I guess he liked that one," Jetfire snickered getting a glare from Jazz.
"Come on Prowler, let it go," Jazz cooed, still unable to retrieve the datapad from his lover's hands.
"No! I have to finish my work!" Prowl exclaimed, jerking his head up, stubbornly clinging to the datapad.
"You're not at work babe!" Jazz shouted, now caught in a tug-a-war over the datapad with Prowl.
"I have to finish my report!" Prowl yelled with the other mechs about to bust a seam from laughing so hard at their second in command.
"Get it from him Jazz!" Ironhide cheered.
"I'm tryin'! He's got a death grip on it!"
With a strong heave and a grunt, Jazz finally wrenched the datapad free. The he winced when Prowl fell hard to the floor, right on a doorwing. The others laughed wildly. Even Elita quietly chuckled at the comical display.
"Slag, here Jet!" Jazz said, tossing the datapad over.
"He'll be alright," Ratchet laughed as Jazz helped Prowl to his feet. "Just bring him by the medbay…in the morning after I've sobered up!"
"What the frag happened?" Prowl asked Jazz, staggering.
"You kind of fell…on accident," Jazz replied, guiding his mate towards the exit.
"How much have you guys had to drink?" she laughed as how Prowl could barely walk and Jazz was no better.
"Honestly, at this point, I don't even want to know," Jazz smiled as the femme commander got closer. "Come to join the party?"
"Hey, she looks like the femme in that picture!" Prowl said excitedly, his optics roaming over her form appreciatively. "Yup, I'd bet on it. What's your name femme?"
"Prowl, that's Elita."
"No!" Prowl gasped, optics wide as they could be. "Jetfire had a picture of Elita! In her protoform!" Elita's optic ridges shot up! Jazz's optics nearly popped out of their ports. Oh slag! "Does Optimus know?"
"It wasn't you Elita!" Jazz firmly and quickly said, smacking his sparkmate on the head. "It wasn't you Elita. I swear."
"Oh, so you saw it too?" she demanded to know, glaring at the saboteur.
Before Jazz could even respond, Prowl had one of his own. And Jazz had never been so glad to see puke in all his life as Prowl just purged his tanks all over the floor. The femme commander jumped back and the saboteur took advantage.
"Oh, slag…later Elita!" Jazz yelped, dragging Prowl with him. "You know, need to take care of Prowl!"
Elita watched Jazz hurry out with Prowl, hearing Jazz mutter that he was going to kill his sparkmate later when he sobered up. Fine they could go. It wasn't them she was made at. Elita narrowed her optics on her sparkmate's friend. Prowl wasn't one to lie about things. It only took her a few determined strides to reach the table. She plucked the datapad from Ratchet's hand.
"Hey, I was looking at that one!" Ratchet cried out while she took a long look at the picture. It was a femme in a rather seductive post. Not her but…
"What the frag is this?" Elita snapped.
"For fuck's sake, don't shit a purple twinkie, Elita!" Jetfire exclaimed.
Ratchet suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter, "Do you even know what a twinkie is Jetfire! Coz if you did then you know that shitting a normal twinkie would be impossible!"
"Its slang frag head, it means to not freak out which is exactly what you are doing, 'Lita!" Jetfire roared. "Opt and I are just having a few drinks with the mechs while we look at provocative pictures of femmes. It's something some mechs like to do. Big whoop. No harm done."
"Its Elita or Ma'am to you Jetfire! Optimus, have you anything to say?"
"I've looked but I can assure you they don't do anything for me!" Optimus quickly added, swaying in his seat!
"Right because you've got the key to his interface panel so there's not much he can do except look!" Jetfire pressed on. "Besides, even Prowl and Jazz were looking and didn't have a problem with it!"
"Of course they didn't have a problem! Prowl and Jazz used to date femmes before they met each other!" Elita countered.
"For Primus sake, Elita, don't blow a gasket. It's all harmless fun," Ironhide finally interjected.
"And lugnut is finally relaxing, something I've been trying to get him to do for the past thousand years!" Ratchet added.
"Yeah, we were just having fun!" Jetfire smiled.
Elita narrowed her optics and was struck by an idea. Taking a step back, the femme changed tactics.
"Ok boys, have your fun," she smiled sweetly and then even refilled their glasses.
Optimus looked terrified. Even in his drunken state he knew Elita was planning something. Jetfire as usual was totally oblivious. Ratchet and Ironhide were too old to be scared of her and had gone back to looking at the pictures.
"Oh yeah, Prowl said you had a picture of me. What was that all about?" she asked Jetfire.
"Hehe, the femme bore a resemblance but was nothing like you really," he grinned handing over the datapad. "You're much more…"
"Beautiful," Optimus finished.
Elita briefly narrowed her optics before smiling again, "Drink up boys."
"VICTORY IS MINE!" Jetfire screamed and jumped up on the table.
"Chromia, this is Elita," the femme commander called over a private comlink as she retreated to the door of the room.
"Chromia here. What's up?"
"You up for some payback?"
"Get me a blow torch and some of Wheeljack's special glue. Then meet me in the recreation room in…lets say an hour. They'll all be passed out by then."
The following morning, very early…
Ratchet was the first to wake up. He on-lined his optics to find out he's head was resting on the table, on a datapad to be accurate. Out of the corner of his optics he could see the empty fallen cups of shooters and high grade. He swore to Primus he would never touch the beverages ever again!
With a groan he lifted his head up, chuckling when the datapad was stuck to his faceplates. He absentmindedly swatted at it to knock it off. Only it didn't fall away! So he grabbed it with one hand…then two.
"Frag!" he yelled as he tried to pull it off his face plates. "OW!"
"Wheeljack! Help get this thing off my face!"
"What the frag?!" Ironhide growled as he came out of recharge with a cup stuck in one hand and a datapad with a note stuck in the other.
"You too?" Ratchet questioned as Wheeljack was inspecting how to pull the datapad off Ratchet's face.
"Frag it to pit!" was Ironhide's response.
"I need to get a dissolvent solution from my workshop," the engineer said. "Looks like someone used my glue and glued the datapad to your face."
"GLUE!" Ironhide yelped, banging his hand, trying to dislodge the cup from his grasp. "FRAG!"
"Yeah, what'd you guys do last night after I passed out?" Wheeljack asked.
"I'm not sure. I don't remember much after you passed out, Jack," Hide recalled, sitting dejectedly there with his arms flopped the table before him. Cup still in one hand. Datapad the other.
"Elita showed up," Ratchet moaned and the ache in his processor just magnify tenfold. "I don't think she was very happy with us."
"She left a note," Jack said, reading the data pad in Hide's hand. "Tell Jetfire he can shove the purple twinkie up his aft. Don't fuck with the femme commander, signed Elita-One. What's a twinkie?"
"Don't ask," Ratchet sighed. "Just go get the dissolvent and quickly please."
"Where is Jetfire?" Ironhide asked as Wheeljack left. "I'm going to rip him a new aft! Slag like this always happens when we drink and he's around!"
As if on queue, on one of the couches close by, the aerial commander moaned, coming out of recharge. Despite the dull ache in his processor he had a grin on his face plates. From the ache he knew he had a great time yesterday.
Very near him another deep mech groaned, grabbing his head.
"That's the last time I listen to you Jetfire," Optimus grumbled, activating his optics. The light in the room was too bright so he shuttered his optics closed.
"At least we had a good time," Jetfire giggled.
"Honestly Jetfire, I don't recall if I had a good time or not! I can't remember most of last night!"
"That means you had a really good time. Elita even came by and gave us drinks!"
"That doesn't sound like her," Optimus mused, his processor kept trying and failing to recall last night events after he and Jetfire returned to base.
"Whatever, can you get off me now?"
"What?" Optimus questioned, opening his optic covers. Jetfire waved at him and winked an optic. "Oh, I was wondering why what I was laying on didn't feel so comfortable."
"Aw, come on Opt, I'm not cuddly enough for you?" Jetfire joked, puckering up his lips.
"You're not my type," Optimus smirked, pushing himself up to get off. "AH!"
"OW! Be careful!"
"AH! Stop wiggling! That's a sensitive region!"
"Will you stop moving! You're stuck to me."
"I'm stuck to you?!"
"Jetfire, not now," Optimus growled.
That was as far as Ironhide got when he came over to see what all the ruckus was about. He couldn't continue because he broke down laughing so hard his intakes were wheezing!
"That's not a good sign," Optimus muttered, watching his weapon's specialist literally fall on his aft as he continued laughing uncontrollably.
"That bad?" Jetfire asked worriedly, even though he knew the answer.
"Don't move, let me see."
"Ok…I'll just…lie here then," he said as Optimus lifted up slight to get a better look.
"Worse than bad?"
"Oh yeah. Definitely."
"Yup, you guys are definitely slagged," Ironhide chuckled. "You both really pissed Elita off."
Jetfire swallowed hard, "I gotta know…what'd she do?"
"Well…as best as I can tell…she welded our interface panels together," Optimus said as calmly as he could.
Jetfire's scream reverberated throughout the entire base and somewhere as Elita-One was strolling through the halls, the femme was smiling.