[A/N: Setting is a grab-bag of the G1 cartoon, the Marvel comics, the tech specs, and whatever amusing or interesting bits I've gleaned from the TF wiki. The author would like the state now that she's mainly sticking with the G1 animated canon for much of the character personalities and for the overall tone of this and other stories. In other words, expect this to be cracktastically campy and repeat to yourself it's just a fan-fic, you should really just relax.]
"Please?" Raoul whined. "Just one weekend? Come on, man! I'm beggin', here!"
There was a sighing rumble from Tracks, weary from almost an hours worth of teenaged whimpering. "What could possibly be so important that we have to drive all the way out to the country for?"
"It's the Albany-Saratoga qualifiers are starting soon and for the first time in my life, I actually got myself a set of wheels that I can enter into the Mini Stock race!"
"You mean I have a decent set of wheels," corrected the Corvette haughtily. "And I hardly think it be fair for the other participants to have compete against me. Did you know that I happen to be a five-time champion of the Iacon 700?"
"Who said you'd be driving?!" groused the boy, conveniently ignoring Tracks' boasting. "I ain't the most honest guy in the world, but I ain't a cheater. I'm gonna be the one running the race, thank you!"
"I don't think so."
"Aw, come on, Tracks!" came the growl. "Would it kill you to let me drive?"
"I'd rather not find out, thank you."
Raoul glared at the dashboard. "What the hell, man? You're acting like I'm gonna go demolition derby or somethin'!"
The Corvette sighed again. "Look, I sure you're an excellent driver…"
"Then how come you never let me drive?" snapped the boy.
"I'm perfectly capable of driving myself, Raoul. Comes with being a vehicle and all, you know."
"So what am I to you then? Just a dummy to fill up your seats?"
"Of course not!" gasped Tracks. "You happen to be one of my closet friends!"
"Then just let me have you all to myself for just one weekend, please?" he purred, stroking a hand across the dashboard. "Just give me one little, teeny-tiny weekend of you acting like a normal sports car. If you do, I swear to God I'll do whatever you want for a whole month! You wanna have Sinatra and all that crap on the radio? Then you got it! How about me makin' polish and wax runs without a bit of bitching? Done! You name it, I'll do it! I'll do anything just to take you to the race!"
"Would you go with me to the opera?" asked the Corvette after a moment's silence.
"…uh, sure! Dunno how I'm gonna get tickets… or fit you in to the Met…"
"Don't worry about that. Now, do we have a deal? I'll allow you to…to use me," Tracks mentally cringed at the thought of being treated like a mere product. "I'll behave just like a…a…stock model for an entire weekend if you promise to attend the opera with me. Oh, and not change the radio stations for a month."
"Deal!" Raoul enthusiastically and awkwardly hugged the steering column. "I promise that this is gonna be a blast, man!"
The weekend of the qualifiers came sooner than Tracks would've liked, but he'd managed to wrest a few days worth of leave despite Prowl's grumblings. What had been even worse was that to even be eligible to enter, he had to subspace all the trim in his interior save for the driver's seat and have a number painted on him. These and other little details, like being loaded onto a trailer or the fact that they would be racing on a dirt track, were particularly unbearable. Even the appreciative stares and compliments lavished on him at the track were unable to sooth his aching ego. To top it all off, Raoul didn't even make it to the second round of qualifiers! But a promise was a promise, so Tracks endeared it all without even a grumble though he didn't share his young friend's almost infectious good cheer. Finally, they returned to the city and the mercifully vacant garage Raoul worked at late Sunday afternoon.
"Told ya' it'd be a blast!" crowed Raoul as he hopped out and move to the far side of the garage. He rummaged around, chattering giddily. "Did you see the way the guys were looking at you? Man, if there was a prize for Most Beautiful Car in the Galaxy, you'd have won it a million times over!"
"I'm deeply flattered," Tracks murmured lamely as un-subspaced his interior, doing his best to at least make himself somewhat presentable. "But right now, the Most Beautiful Car in the Galaxy would like to go and give himself a very, very thorough washing, so if you don't mind—"
"Hold up!" Raoul sat a pair of buckets down next to the Corvette with a rather devilish smirk. "I've got you for the weekend, remember? So you ain't going nowhere till tomorrow."
"But the race is over and you've made your point. You don't need to bother yourself with giving me a wash…" he demurred sweetly.
Pulling over a small high pressure washer, Raul gave him a broad grin. "Oh, but I must! I must! Think of it as my way of saying 'thanks'."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I simply must refuse. You see, I have a rather unique condition…" He hesitated, doing his best to think of a way to word his 'condition' delicately. "The tactile sensors on my surface are rather…sensitive and require an exceptionally delicate touch otherwise I get a bit…overwhelmed, you might say."
"Then I swear be a gentle as a lamb!" he chuckled, rolling his eyes at Tracks sudden coyness as he raised the spray wand. "Now, just relax."
Before the Corvette could protest further, a blast of cool water splashed over his roof causing him to bite back a yelp. The spray moved teasingly over his windshield and sides as Raoul rinsed off the dirt, paying special attention to the nooks and crannies with such care that it left Tracks whimpering softly.
"You okay there, big guy?" asked the boy, setting down the wand to fish a sponge out of a bucket.
"Fine!" Tracks gasped, barely hiding the arousal in his tone as Raoul began washing him from the top down.
Raoul gave him a funny look, but continued to work his way around to the Corvette's trunk and back to the front. It was only when he started washing Tracks' hood that Raoul noticed how each stroke of the sponge made his otherworldly friend tremble. He could feel the heat raising as he drew the sponge across the metal. Emboldened by the reactions he was getting, Raoul leaned in closer until his body was pressing against the front fender and grinding a bit as he work back and forth.
The effect this rather more provocative attention was having on Tracks was exhilarating, but he was too proud to let more than a faint whine escape. But that only caused the boy to push further, rubbing the sponge into the seam between the hood and the windshield. There wasn't anymore pretext of this being just an innocent cleaning now. Raoul humped against the fender and his fingers making a desperate scramble into Tracks' grill as he returned the favor by revving his engines hard, causing them both to shudder. It was hard to say who climaxed first, but they each hit a peak with harsh growls and moans before lapsing into an awkward post-coital silence.
For a long time, Raoul laid against Tracks' hood. Then he pushed himself off the Corvette and, grabbing up the spray wand, wordlessly rinsed Tracks off. He turned to pick up a chamois, paused, and glanced over at the Corvette.
"You don't mind if I let you air dry? I'm…I'm feeling kind of beat."
"It's…fine." Tracks shifted uncomfortably, his normal elegance lost. After a brief pause, he asked quietly, "You want me to give you a ride home?"
"Uh, that's okay." The boy twisted the chamois in his hands. "It ain't too far of a walk and I… I need the exercise."
"You're soaked. I think it'd be best if you let me take you home."
Raoul shrugged the offer off. "Hey, don't worry about me big guy. And I'm sor-… I'm fine. I just… need a moment to myself, you know?"
"Of course…" There was a sad little rasp from the Corvette. When he spoke again, Tracks' tone was stiff and rather chilly. "Have a good night then and I'll see you later."
"Right. Night, big guy." With that, Raoul scurried out of the garage and out into the muggy twilight.