Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. I actually have been working on three chapters at the same time. This new one, the chapter following, and the total rewrite of the darker ch 18 with the matrix visions. Changed it to a kink session between Optimus and Elita with a few of Ironhide's borrowed toys. Please go back, read the new version and review it. Thank you.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
MT ST HILLARY, THE ARK
"Elita! Wait up!" Chromia's vocal echoed down the Ark's hallway, her noiseless movement equaling that of a scout. The warrior femme's blue armor stood out among the orange metal walls, her customary blasters hidden away in subspace. The triangular shape of her footpads left no marks or sounds as she pretended to slide to a stop by the elevator.
"No, I am not going to the recreation room for high grade again. I am on my way to meet Optimus to discuss updating operational procedures. Though after that dry discussion I will probably need a drink," Elita teased, pushing the elevator call button.
"Wasn't going to ask. Last time was your suggestion. Not that I care. Ironhide helped me work off the extra energy. I swear he sees me and gets all revved up," the feisty femme chortled, rubbing a hand down her own blue hip plating sensuously.
"Optimus needs more than that lately. For a while, I never knew when or where he was going to frag me. More adventurous and exciting than when we first tried interfacing. Now, paperwork and handing sparklings to their watchers or scheduling time to spend with them are all we have time for. I love each and every one but a little Prime attention would be nice," Elita admitted.
"Then try this. A how to interfacing video, courtesy of our resident chief medic," the blue armored femme rubbed her hands together, a disk dropping out of subspace onto her metal palm.
"Been there, saw that my third shell. The proto dummies the medical academy used are practically drones. I know the basics," Elita said, rolling her optics.
"No dummies here, it's all live! As in Ratchet interfacing Moonie full view and all the sound effects," she waved the disk under the faceplates of the other femme.
"Not our Moonracer. She would never agree to that," Elita hesitated, tempted to see for herself. The elevator arrived, the doors opening and providing a distraction.
"Before you go, here," Chromia smirked, digitally sending a single mini clip packet transmitted in an astro second. From a trusted source, it was opening and displaying before Elita's processors could review it first.
"Wow is right. That scene is about oh, mid way," Chromia chortled, blinking at the speed the disk disappeared into the other femme's hands. "Ironhide confiscated it from the twins who were watching it on duty in the control center. Claimed they found it lying around in Wheeljack's his lab. Return it when done!" she called out as the elevator doors closed.
OPTIMUS WORKING OFFICE
::Dearest, is your chronometer working? You're late:: Optimus comm signal brushed across her relay, his mental tone curious and amused. Next to Prowl, his femme was guaranteed to never be late for an appointment. He frowned at his desk surface, covered with datapads and piles of human reports. Every minute spent with them and not his femme a wasted minute in his estimation.
::In the north side elevator, arriving on your floor now::Elita responded back immediately, hiding the data disk into her subspace field.
:: Being on time is a trait I expect from all my officers:: Optimus stated, his tone serious even as the unseen smile on his face gave him away.
::You chose your office furthest from the elevator to block out foot pad traffic. Be quicker to transform and drive down the hallway than walk. And if I keep being late, what are you going to do?:: Elita asked, her unseen smile matching his.
::Turn you over to the little monsters:: Optimus answered promptly.
::The twins are hardly little. Or did you mean the next generation?:: Elita's mental tone conveying exasperation and laughter. Sunstreaker's sparkling had taken to putting everything in his mouth plates, resulting in things disappearing and a few rather embarrassing moments. The little sparkling latching onto the nearest metal edge in reach, regardless of where it was on a mech or femme.
::I was thinking of the Dinobot sparklings. Wheeljack's design gave them wheels under their feet pads to move faster. I could assign you and other femmes as foster parents to assist Solaray. Or kidnap the little bots out of the Dinobot's area. Corral them in a pen in the sunlight outside::
::Their sparklings are no less intelligent than ours, different first shells only love. As long as they experience external stimuli they will develop normally. And in case you had not noticed, there are not that many of us femmes to go around:: Elita reminded
'I only need one to turn my existence upside down,' he processed before continuing the internal conversation. ::And the lack of femmes to assist is about to become a greater problem:: Optimus vented deeply, his emotions too mixed to transmit.
::Ratchet is going to give the Dinobots the "talk": Optimus
"He what!" Her high pitched yell echoed down the hallway and he winced, hearing it through his closed office door. Four steps and the door opened automatically to let her in, one upset femme. "Whose idea was that? And why wasn't I asked?"
"Chief Medical Officer Ratchet, which I approved as Prime. You were in med bay recovering," he rumbled, leaving out the part about their bet. He stood behind his desk, unconsciously assuming his best commanding mode stance.
"Great! Slagging fantastic!" She spun in a circle, arms waving. "That explains everything! If the Dinobots learn how to interface that means my femmes are in danger!"
"Your femmes are battle trained warriors capable of handling themselves and any Dinobot hurting one will face the severest of penalties. The Dinobots have built in safeties in their processes to protect the femmes and any sparklings. You know that."
"I process the femmes will want to jump them! Dinobots are tall, heavily armored with massive chest plates to cuddle against," she raved, not noticing Optimus standing taller to pull his shoulders back to display his simulated glass chest plates more. "Endurance to interface again and again and you may not remember our first times but I do. Too much stimulation and trans fluid and your spark begs for a merge. Chest plates can slide without you realizing it."
"Our first times I delighted in making you arch and writhe screaming into overload to get those plates open, still do," he smirked as she glared. "Oh, right. Uhm bad thing?"
"That depends," she formed a crooked smile on her lip plates. "How many Dinobot sparklings do you want underfoot? Hundred? Two hundred, an army?"
"Grimlock had the matrix or he might never have sired offspring. And we didn't know he had a spark or I wouldn't have handed him the Matrix of Leadership. And not all merges equal sparklings," he patiently explained, the tactician side of his processors running numbers on how long until they were outnumbered by sparklings.
"One merge can. I'm going to start on these reports while you talk to Ratchet. Since you two are good at problem solving, find a solution before being an Autobot means sparkling care giver. We are in a war situation and the Decepticons should be our greatest threat, not running out of energon feeding bottles," Elita sat down gracefully, sliding the chair up to the desk to grab the closest datapad.
"I am sure our chief medic will provide an adequate solution. He always does."
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER
"Permanent removal of all interface equipment and interlock their chest plates."
"Ratchet," Optimus pinched his nose plates with his armored fingers. "I'm being serious." The large red and blue armored mech stood inside the doorway to Ratchet's office, determined to get an answer and return to the beautiful femme in his office.
"As am I. As Chief Medical Officer I can delete the reproductive protocols, you will reload them. I can install rising inhibitors, tip locks; even thin the trans fluid to the consistency of water and you mechs will find a way to interface then spark merge equaling little sparklings everywhere. Tampering with the spark is too dangerous for a mech and not even considered for a femme. What did you expect? Welding their cod pieces on? They'd find ways to undo the welds before returning to their quarters!"
"My troops are not that creative. I have vorns of data to prove that from orders I've given them," the ancient Prime said.
"Do you want to guess how many creative injuries I have treated over my career? Interfacing, self servicing, and spark merges with unintentional results and I don't mean sparklings," Ratchet countered. The yellow green armored medic winced internally at the number, tempted to show the other mech medical photos from their treatments then decided against it. Patients needed his care, and the occasional chewing out but not mockery over their injuries.
"Ironhide over using his parts?" Optimus guessed, giving in and moving to sit down in the other chair.
"Try more creative not obvious. Added parts and upgrades not sanctioned medical staff. Power cores that melt the interface rod instead of raising it, trans fluid altered becoming combustible, burning and exploding." His multi faceted blue optics bore into Optimus as the other shifted, wincing and crossing his legs. Venting lightly, Ratchet slid open a side cubbyhole on the desk to remove an energon flask and two small empty cube shapes.
"I never realized that actually happens. Figured it was a story to frighten young mechlings."
"Permanent removal has unintentional side effects but is easier and less painful than what can happen and I can give you a list of 'I didn't know that would happen' injuries to melt your processors." He poured the enriched energon into both cubes.
"Who would allow permanent removal?" Optimus accepted the energon cube, sipping from it.
"Soundwave. He had his entire reproductive systems removed. It was the easiest way to provide the space to install the symbiotic cassette interlink connections and ensure their safety and his. No possible means of interfacing meant no questions of any of their conduct. Really now. What would happen? Ravage up behind one of the other cassettes bent over pumping away? Rumble and Frenzy using sex toys on their oversize boss?"
Optimus shuddered momentarily at the idea of Soundwave on his back plates, blue armored legs spread wide as the cassettes surrounded him. "Ewwww. I do not need that image in my processors."
"Then clean up your processor core Prime. Soundwave himself requested it to prove his caring for the cassettes as a leader and nothing more. I was consulted on the actual procedure. Don't look surprised, one medic consults another as a routine on complicated inter workings while maintaining patient privacy. Especially early in the war," Ratchet finished drinking his cube, refilling it.
"Who did?" Optimus accepted the refill.
"Hook, of the Constructicons or at least that is his designation now. He was a medic before joining the Decepticons and betraying his healing oath. He used his skill to interrogate a captive instead of repairing, citing the end justifies the means. The medical council stripped his credentials and no authorized medic will deal with him. At that time, he consulted me long comm, lying about a accident and the need to remove the damaged parts for total replacement on a civilian half the planet away. He named two critical systems as failed, my salvage instructions based on that information. Instead Soundwave nearly suffered a cascade processor failure, altering him forever. If I had known the truth I would have refused. Offered my help or anything other than ripping out parts."
"I'm sorry, I never knew," Optimus said.
"Not your fault," the medic vented heavily. "One of my good intentions returning to bite my aft."
"And it's such a tempting aft to target," a femme voice commented huskily. Optimus gasped, nearly falling off his chair in surprise as he turned to see Moonracer standing there, her sniper rifle resting against her shoulder. "You two done playing in the past or should I return later with a box of energon wipes and rust stick treats?"
"Make them oil cakes and you can wipe anywhere on me you want," Ratchet smirked.
"Ahem, I heard that," Optimus rumbled.
"Elita never talk dirty? Poor mech," Moonracer chided, moving out and around his chair to lean against her sparkmate.
"I have reports to finish," his baritone rumble ignored as the other two Autobots in the room began snuggling. Optimus left, closing the door while wondering what a medic and sharpshooter felt that attracted them to each other so deeply.
AUTOBOT PERSONAL QUARTERS
"A mech is a mech
Until he swears to a Prime
A femme is a femme
For all her spark's time," Jazz quoted softly. The black and white mech draped only his arm over the femme, his chassis solid against the wall as he rested on his side plates next to her.
"I swore my oath to the Autobot Prime too," she drawled, on-lining her optics to swivel her head to meet his gaze. Lying on her back plates, she sprawled across the berth's surface, the fluids of their interfacing covering her thighs and port.
"The rhyme refers to parental responsibility. Mechs come of age and choose their profession. Before the war, swearing to a Prime meant administration, or government service without choosing a faction. A femme is always welcome in her parental home," his armored fingers tracing down her bare protoform, snagging here and there over her armor releases. The armor pieces strewn about the room.
"Mechs don't return home?" She accepted his touch, savoring the gliding movements.
"They can. How come you never had sparklings?"
"Why does every mech ask me that? You wouldn't ask another mech that question," she narrowed her optics.
Laughing, Jazz leaned back against the wall before answering her. "You'd be surprised what I've asked another mech. Even tricked them into revealing or doing sweetspark."
"Sparklings are too much a commitment issue. For all we can upload data, there are still important things we have to teach and learn. I'm not sure I could commit that amount of time and caring to another being. What if they turn out wrong? Become a Decepticon or seriously messed up processor wise? Do you know how many fields I have trained in? How many times I've changed locations, duties because of growing bored with the work? If I can't choose my path how do I expect to guide an innocent sparkling what to do?"
"Sounds like you'd be a great parent to me. Course, practice makes perfect but there are things," he leaned over to kiss down her protoform arm. "That you never expect to happen."
"Precisely my point. Have you ever tried teaching a mech to wash himself everywhere, under his armor? Or explain to a femme about torture and disassemble if captured because the Decepticons see us as threats to breed their enemies?" Firestar twitched as his plates moved over a sensitive connector in her side plating. "Or even the basics of interfacing to a bot that is still trying to learn to move in their new shell without tripping? From the physical reactions to the internal lines of pleasure coding without demonstrating?"
"Oh," he grinned, releasing the side cable he had been lightly tugging on. "Those important things. Simple, ahh is good, ohh is better and a scream best."
Firestar blinked, trying to process it out when he shifted over the top of her. A hot hardness tapped against her leg and she moved her leg over to the side before realizing both his hands were on her hip plates. "Are you ohhhhhhh."
Sliding in slowly, Jazz bucked his hip gears to thrust deeper with his larger interface rod. "Ohh is better and the scream? You and me babe, together."
OPTIMUS AND ELITA'S ROOOMS
Optimus stopped in the hallway, audios straining to hear a repeat of the sound. 'Sounded like more than one vocal. Strange.' No warnings triggered, no repeat of the sound occurred and he dismissed it, intent on reaching his own rooms.
"The astro second I leave medical bay, every bot decides they need me. Help Prowl deal with the human military and their endless requests, help deliver four racks of energon bottles with Wheeljack to the recreation room. And onward for hours. And what do I find?" He huffed, wiping at his optical ring. "A stack of datapads neatly stacked in an empty office. Why can't it have been a beautiful femme draped across my desk, needing me?"
Optimus keyed their outer door open, hearing the wash rack in use. At the inner door, he stopped, optics going wide. "Elita? What are?"
"Sorry, got revved up. Trying to cool off," she admitted, stepping out of the shower rinse. Her protoform glistened in the overhead lights, the removed outer armor pieces piled neatly on the nearby bench.
"From reports?" he asked.
"Watching a data disk actually. Trying to," she admitted, toweling off. Her cooling fans whirred audibly as he moved closer, sniffing. Her arousal smell overlaid the cleanser, spreading the warmth from his hidden interface straight to his spark.
'Not on my desk but needing me," he processed, moving right up behind her.
To be continued...
Author's Notes: Yes a cliffie. Next chapter will be hot interfacing and spark merging between Elita and Optimus.