Title: Watching You
Fandom: Transformers: Bayverse
Summary: Set during the 2007 movie, after Sam has purchased his car but before he knows exactly what he's gotten into. Strange things are happening in Sam's life. As per normal.
Notes: This was written upon request for sweetdulci.The prompt was, in essence, for something slightly AU in which Sam doesn't know Bee is an Autobot and is in the backseat of the car doing...ahem. Hope this is what you were looking for. *G* I wrote most of this while I was at a fan convention. It's a bit of a tradition that I write smut while I watch the art auction. Who am I to argue with tradition? ;)
On day three of owning a car, Sam decided that his life would be weird no matter what he did.
Not bad, maybe, not the kind of life that anyone was going to make a documentary about that people could watch on Lifetime, shaking their heads as they wondered how such a nice young man could have gone wrong and pitied his parents. Nothing like that, thank god.
But it was weird. For starters, he'd finally gotten his car. The Car. He'd taken it to school twice now and had gotten an equal share of jeering and envious looks, pretty much what he was expecting. Give him a couple of months and some elbow grease and Sam was hoping he'd shift the balance in that equation. Only thing was, something was fucked up with the radio and Sam didn't have a clue how to fix it. It changed channels all the time, sometimes picked up stations he'd never even heard of and couldn't find on Google.
But whatever. He'd just get a new radio eventually and he could cut another notch in his belt of normalcy.
Weirder though, was the fact that Sam was starting to think he was getting a stalker. He'd noticed him first at the gas station when he'd stopped to fill up his new ride. While he'd been standing there, trying to get the surprisingly stubborn gas cap off, Sam had noticed a blond guy in a yellow t-shirt watching him on the sidewalk. Nothing strange about that except he'd really been staring, in a sort of I-want-to-eat-your-brain way. It'd made Sam uncomfortable enough that he'd finally given up on getting gas and hoped that the gauge was right when it said he had half a tank.
He'd driven off, blond guy watching him the whole time, had gone to school and forgotten about it. Until school was over and Sam was headed to the student parking lot. Across the lot, Sam had caught a glimpse of brilliant yellow, had turned his head to look without really thinking about it. He'd almost tripped when he recognized the guy. Standing about thirty feet away, other students walking past him and paying him no mind. Blond guy was perfectly still and staring at him.
It was weird. Sam had just about made up his mind to go ask the guy what the hell his problem was when someone plowed into him from behind and almost knocked him over. By the time they'd gotten past the 'sorry, mans' and Sam had looked back, blond guy had been gone.
He'd seen him a couple of times since then. Always wearing the same shirt, always staring. Sam didn't think the guy was much older than he was but he couldn't remember actually seeing him in school.
Seeing someone once was...eh. Twice was a coincident. Three times and as far as Sam was concerned, that math added up to stalker. Sam did know a decent amount about that; he'd had plenty of practice, of the non-threatening, non-creepy variety, thank you very much.
There were only two problems he really had with having a stalker. The first was simple, it was a guy. A really pretty guy, no question about that, but Sam wasn't gay. Not that there's any problem with being gay just that Sam wasn't, he wasn't in the mood to experiment, and he was not having any problems with his sexual identity. All he wanted was what any healthy heterosexual teenage guy wanted; a lovely pair of breasts, hopefully attached to a lovely girl, that he can touch.
Sam really didn't think that was so much to ask but so far, the universe had disagreed. It really made Sam doubt the existence of karma; as far as the suffering/reward equation went, Sam thought he was about due for something rewarding.
Correction; something to do with sex. He'd rather the car not count in his karma bonus ratio.
Anyway, two issues with a stalker. As previously mentioned, the first was the not-gay thing. Secondly and possibly more important, was that Sam was very experienced in non-creepy stalking but he had no idea if his stalker followed the same code of honor. This stalker might be very much of the creepy variety and the only way to really find out was to wait and see if the guy tried to crawl into his window some night. At that point, creepy was pretty much guaranteed, not that the knowledge would do him much good in the two minutes he had left to live.
So far, though, his nights have been weirdo-free, and Sam had put stalker-boy mostly out of his mind tonight. Probably, he was imagining things. Why would anyone want to stalk him, he couldn't even get the people he wanted to pay attention to him.
But that was going to change. Because now, he had The Car, whose backseat he was currently sprawling in, inhaling the warm, rich smell of leather. A little clunky the car may be, but the seats were surprisingly comfortable. The smooth leather felt like it was made for him, easy to curl into and relax, and it was cool enough even with the windows up. The radio was cooperating for once, growling out smooth, low tunes from a station that Sam didn't recognize.
Great car, or really, would be a great car. A few quirks but that just made it all the better, right? A little wax, a little love, and this beauty would be the envy of the school. Anyone could go out and have daddy buy them an ugly-ass Mustang but fixing up a Camaro with your own hands? Both he and this car would be high on the awesome scale.
It was getting pretty late, the light outside the windows purplish and getting darker. Sam exhaled slowly, thoughts drifting along with the low music as he half-considering the idea of just sleeping out here. No, that would be stupid; as comfortable as the backseat was, he doubted he'd still think so tomorrow morning when he had to crawl out of it, aches embedded into every joint he had. Not to mention his father would have to walk past him to get to his own car in the garage and Sam was pretty sure sleeping in would not be an option at that point. Dad would either laugh his ass off at him or yank him out and put him to work; neither option was on Sam's list of acceptable ways to spend his morning.
Hanging out here wasn't bad for right now, though, and Sam bet it would be much, much better when someone was back here with him.
Someone gorgeous. Someone who would straddle him with bare, honey-tinted thighs, kiss him with soft, full lips that tasted of cherry lip gloss. Dark hair that he could slide his hands into, tangle long strands of it around his fingers as he pulled her down and kissed those sweet, perfect lips, until she let him push his hands under the thin fabric of her t-shirt, feel the velvet-warmth of her bare skin against his palms—
Sam moaned a little, lost in his little fantasy, and let his legs sprawl apart. He slid one hand down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans and thumbed open the fly. For tonight, the skin beneath his hands was his own and sure, maybe the first time he had sex in this car it would be with himself. That was all right, it was just fine. Soon enough someone else would be here with him.
He was already hard, happy to wrap a hand around his cock and stroke, a little gently at first. Make it last, a little, and why not? First sex in his car was a special occasion even if he was just jerking off. Sam rubbed a thumb over the head, sliding it through the slick wetness with a shudder.
A little dimly, Sam realized he could make noise if he wanted to. No one could hear him in here, cushioned behind glass and metal, cradled safely in his car with the music a low backdrop around him. He didn't have to muffle anything, wary of his parents sleeping in the next room. He could squirm a little, dig his heels into the seat and thrust up into the clench of his own fist. He could gasp and pant, feel his shirt riding up and the sweat of his skin gluing him awkwardly to the leather seat. He could close his eyes and really feel it, hidden here in his car, stroke himself hard and dream of someone else doing it—
"Jesus," Sam yelped, trying and failing to scramble back when a firm hand circled his wrist, pulling his hand away. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to, and shock was a great murderer of erections; it certainly killed his when he squinted through the dimness. The only light now was from the dash, the buttons of the radio glowing through the gloom barely enough for him to see but Sam could make out blond hair, the familiar unfamiliarity of his stalker staring back at him.
"How—" the hell did you get in here, Sam was going to say. He'd planned to say it, had it all laid out in his head, riding the train from brain to vocal cords and they'd derailed at the first word into a strangled whimper.
Because suddenly, the hand around his cock wasn't his own. Suddenly, a cool, slightly callused hand had replaced his, moving uncertainly at first and then with more surety as Sam didn't, couldn't protest. His dick, half-wilted from adrenaline-shock, stiffened instantly with a rush of sex-sex-sex. Protest, fuck, no, every part of his body, including the part currently getting stroked by a complete stranger, disagreed strenuously with that course of action. There was no way his brain could win over the rush of a teenage lifetimes worth of hormones. All Sam could do was just spread his legs a little wider and let his almost-definitely-creepy stalker give him a hand job.
Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. Over and over, all Sam's brain could manage. The music was suddenly louder, a low, throbbing bass that Sam could feel as much as hear, vibrating through him in the same rhythm as the hand on him.
Sam only realized he'd reached out when he felt fabric beneath his hands, a strange, silky texture to the guy's t-shirt and he wasn't saying anything, creepy, creepy stalker. Forcing his eyes to open, Sam looked at him a little wildly, this was past weird, this was on a downward descent straight into crazy-ville, but the blonde guy was only watching him with wide green eyes. He looked almost as shocked as Sam was, his hand moving in tight, quick little strokes and the rest of him almost perfectly still. Like his hand didn't even belong to him, like Sam was the one who'd dragged him in here and put his hand to good use.
"Please," Sam gasped, shivering even though he was pouring off sweat, every part of his back from his shoulders to his hips clinging stickily to the seats. "Please, I don't…you…"
Blond guy jerked as if Sam had woken him up, blinking rapidly before he looked down to where Sam's hands were still resting against his t-shirt. Blink, blink, long lashes fluttering down over green eyes and then suddenly Sam couldn't see anything anymore, a hot, awkward mouth against his own as Blond Guy leaned in and pressed their lips together. Desperate, open-mouthed kisses that made their teeth click painfully, the hand between his legs moving even faster and Sam finally had to reach down and clutch at his wrist, whimpers muffled by the timid stroke of a tongue against his own.
The bass was aching through him and through the seat, heady vibration, and Sam only just kept from biting down as he came, arching up hard as orgasm sent a bright strobe of pounding red to overwhelm him. Barely, Sam felt the wet spurt over his hand, over a hand that wasn't his, fuck, so good, he'd jerked off a hundred times on his own and it had never, never, never been so good as having a crazy stalker.
The music shifted, powerful bass drifting into guitar and Sam listened to it sleepily, the song whispering, asking him, how do you sleep…
Sam answered a little more physically than he'd intended, struggling against it but it was like being drugged, a spiral down into sleep even as green eyes watched him.
It was still dark when Sam jerked back awake, heart pounding as looked around wildly. The radio was still crooning, a song he vaguely recognized, and the backseat was completely empty.
Sam scrubbed a hand over his gritty eyes, blinking down at himself. All his clothes were in order and perfectly clean, no leftover stickiness on his stomach or thighs, no thick sex-scent still clouding the air. He slumped back against the seat with a groan. Fuck, what a weird-ass dream. A glance at the clock told him it was officially late-o'clock, time to go sleep in an actual bed.
With a wince and a groan, he levered himself out of the backseat and popped the door. "See you tomorrow," he whispered to the car, grinning a little as he remembered the occasional envy in the looks of his classmates. Yeah, it needed some work but he still had a kickass car.
Before he closed the door, a blurt of static came from the radio, and Sam froze as a single line from a song warbled out.
"But will you love me, tomorrow…."
Frowning, Sam reached in to shut it off before the radio could kill his battery, but the lights flickered off before he even touched it. He shrugged it off and turned back to the house. Awesome car, but he really needed to get the radio fixed.
He never noticed green eyes watching him, following his steps into the house. Never noticed him step over to the car, certainly didn't see him fade into nothingness. The radio snapped back on, soothing music playing low. Soon enough, the car would start and drive quietly away, off to send a signal to those who were waiting for it. After the human was asleep, safe in his bed.
The human, young and strange and curious. His dark eyes and hair a curiosity to one not used to seeing such a thing, his appearance appealing on a visceral level. Whose pheromones had registered as aroused tonight and who made fascinating sounds when touched. When Bumblebee had no longer been able to resist touching.
A very, very long time ago, Bumblebee had decided his life would be weird no matter what he did, but right here, with the human's warm scent still lingering in his filters, he decided that perhaps that wasn't a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all.