Seven Deadly Sins.
Barricade.
Jealousy.
Summary: Barricade is lonely, and is jealous when he sees the
affection Bumblebee gets from Sam. He decides he wants the same
thing, and sets out to get it.
Pairings: Sam/Barricade, Sam/Bumblebee
Setting: Movieverse.
Rating: M
Warning: Contains slash.
Disclaimer: If I owned, would I need to ask? Owned by those
nice people at Hasbro and DreamWorks/Paramount. I gain no
monetary profit or benefit from writing these.
A/N: This is a request fic for Dragonrosefang.
Jealousy.
Prologue.
Sam whistled happily as he soaped Bumblebee with a big soft sponge, and Bumblebee was purring his engine along in time, as rivulets of suds flowed down his hood and dribbled off his bumper. Once Bumblebee was all nice and soapy, Sam played a warm flow of water from a hose over his Autobot friend, rinsing all the suds off. After drying him off with several towels, Sam applied wax with a soft cloth, buffing it up to a shine, and then finishing it with an all over wipe inside and out with a soft chamois leather. Bumblebee hummed happily as Sam, laughing, went inside to change out of his damp things.
Neither Autobot nor human was aware that a pair of resentful red optics had watched the wash Bumblebee had received from his human. The processors behind the optics had wondered what was so special about the ridiculous yellow scout that he received such treatment from the flabby, pale, human, squishy, boy.
Barricade abruptly recognised the emotion, and the cause for it. Barricade was jealous, jealous of the attention the squishy gave the Autobot scout. He wanted it to be him, Barricade, receiving the soapy wash, the waxing, the shining and buffing with the soft leather. He wanted what Bumblebee had.
Just a few months earlier the thought of wanting to be touched by a fleshy would have been laughable. Why would he have wanted to be touched by soft, flabby, disgustingly organic hands? But back then he had been surrounded by his fellow Decepticon warriors, and they were close to finding Megatron. Now, all but one of his fellows were dead, and that one was still out in space. There was no love lost between Barricade and Starscream, and Barricade had entertained more than once the notion that Starscream might not return, might abandon him, alone, on this organic-infested dirtball and find some other world to conquer.
Barricade was lonely.
Barricade looked back at the gleaming Autobot scout, and made a decision. He wanted what the scout had, he wanted the squishy boy to wash him instead of Bumblebee.
Barricade wanted the Autobot scout's human for himself.
He reversed quietly so as not to alert the yellow 'bot to his presence, and purred off, processors working on plans.
Barricade wanted Sam Witwicky.
And what Barricade wanted, Barricade usually got.