Author's notes: implied interfacing. otherwise just a oneshot crack fic for laughs. Have fun and bee safe! :)

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, bearer of the Matrix of Leadership, stood tall and proud in the command center. He smiled behind his mask glad to see his fellow Autobots working so diligently and efficiently. He did talk to them about their performance today as several femmes from Cybertron were visiting Earth.

Femmes.

A sense of excitement permeated the air at the mere mention of them. Even Optimus could not help but get caught up. He too missed the company of his sparkmate. And thanks to some femme ingenuity the Autobots now had their own space bridge, making essential, and non-essential, missions to and from Cybertron and vice versa possible.

"Here's the morning report, Prime," Prowl said, handing over a datapad. "Everything is going well. Barring some Decepticon incursion, tonight's party should go ahead as planned."

"You sound as though you're looking forward to it," I commented, quirking an optic ridge.

"Hardly," he replied, twitching his doorwings. "I'm looking forward to Jazz talking about something else other than this party when we settle down for the evening!"

"Hey, ah heard that!" said mech replied, sauntering up to his bondmate. "Ya sounded excited 'bout the party. Said it was a good idea."

"I said it would be good for morale."

Optimus shook his head, chuckling as the two long time bondmates exchanged words as they went on about their duties. At first glance they seemed like the oddest pair. But once a bot got to know them both one could see how they balanced each other.

Just like Elita balanced Optimus.

He sighed, focusing on the report. Work first. Play later. He repeated in his processor again for the fourth time this morning. Elita's presence was making it very difficult for him to focus even though she was not in the same room with him at the moment. Just the mere thought of her being on the same planet was enough for Optimus to get distracted.

Primus he missed his femme.

Some how, with legendary skill, Optimus was able to read the morning report. The Decepticons were being quiet. No human establishments had fallen under attack. Not even…

Quite suddenly he felt the distinct, familiar nimble digits doing something he wasn't expecting. Surprised, he stiffened slight, raising an optic ridge as the turned away from the report in hand to gaze down at his beloved sparkmate, Elita-One.

"Did you just pinch my aft…in public?"

"And what if I did? Are you going to punish me?" she asked her end of the spark link doing nothing to hide the lust she felt for him at the moment.

"I would never punish you for giving me affection even if it was in public or a bit…peculiar. Care to tell me why you pinched my aft?"

"Today is St. Patrick's Day and you are not wearing green."

Optimus surveyed his femme appreciatively and then smiled, "You're not wearing green either."

"Are you going to do something about it?" she challenged, her blue optics darkening with molten passion.

"I would. However where I wish to pinch you cannot be done here," he purred, sending her a powerful love surge over their bond.

Elita's spark quickened at how in tune her and Optimus were. These visits proved to be beneficial in so many ways. Their forces helped each other against the Decepticons on Earth and on Cybertron. Most importantly, these visits helped strengthened the spark bonds of many who'd been separated for so long.

"Primus Almighty, get a room!" Ratchet's irate voice sounded close by.

The couple turned to see him standing there, arms across his chest, glaring at them.

"Are you giving me permission to frag my femme when I'm on duty?" Optimus asked, making Elita squeak in surprise at his brazen comment. It was so unlike Optimus who was normally a more reserved mech when in public. He was even so bold as to cup her aft with his hand, pulling her up against him leaving the medic speechless. "Well, Ratchet?"

Ratchet huffed, turned on a heel and stormed away. And Prime didn't waste time watching his CMO leave.

"Bumblebee, you're in charge," he said, dropping the datapad in the minibot's hands.

"Are you sure, Sir?" Bumblebee asked, wide optics, jaw slacked.

The yellow mech never got an answer to his question. But he was sure going to schedule an appointment to have his memory wiped. There was no way in pit he was ever going to get rid of the image of his Prime pinching the femme commanded in such an intimate spot as the mech escorted his femme out of the command center.

"Bee, you ok?" Bluestreak asked, waving his hand in front of the mech's face.

Bumblebee blinked a few times then answered, "No. My young process has just been totally corrupted!"

"In that case, here, you might need this," Bluestreak smiled, slapping bumper sticker of a four leaf clover on Bumblebee's aft. "That way no one can pinch you. Happy St. Patrick's Day!"

The image of Blue's insinuation that jolted Bumblebee's processor was too much for the young bot. He pulled a Prowl and keeled over, landing hard on the floor, antennae twitching.