The upbeat song was enjoyable to everyone upon the dancefloor or seated at a table alike. Every bot was absorbed in the bright, flashing lights that streamed across the large room. All but one; whom considerately moved past others who seemingly were enjoying themselves. They were allowed to belong here, for they met the age requirements. All but few that managed to worm their way past the guards at the front door of the club, with their fake IDs and whispers of lies.
The Leader and peacemaker of all Cybertron gained entry due to his high ranking status. He was allowed to enter due to the fact he could practically go anywhere. No, if you knew Optimus that well, you'd know a key factor. Prime's don't party. This left others - who were sober enough to certify whom they made way for - in question. Why was the phenomenal and oh so noble Optimus Prime wading through a sea of maneuvering frames of those not worthy of setting optics upon him?
That's right. Said Prime did in fact have an assortment of responsibilities at servo that he had to deal with. This included keeping a certain high strung and unbiddable juvenile under strict supervision. Sometimes, said child got out of servo. Yes, you might think that Smokescreen would be a civilized youngling - seeing that he was the heir of a legendary bot! Oh no, he was just as reckless and pompous as he'd like you to believe. Prime did not approve of excursions alike these. They were most definitely beginning to become an irritable habit of his creation's.
Others in Optimus's way either stumbled or moved to allow a path to light its way. They could tell by the steely look in his electric blue optics and the ire wafting from the robust Cybertronian that he was not one to mess with. It appeared odd as Optimus stood in the crowd; he was significantly larger than every other sentient being in sight. Though, who was comparing? Inspecting the area around him, Optimus had halted to concentrate further in doing so. He absolutely needed to obtain his underaged, misbehaved sparkling before he got hurt. Or worse.
It sure was a sight to see this slightly vexated bot, who clearly did not belong there, scanning the room like there was someone on death row. Oh yes .Perhaps that was a nice way of putting Smokescreen's fate. Just as Optimus had begun to get even more.. well.. pissed, his optics locked onto his target.
Smokescreen's frame proposed exactly what his sire feared; as he 'got down' with a femme around his same age. His servos were placed on her hips as her aft swayed a bit too close to the young mecha's lower regions for Optimus's liking. The lean blue and red Prime's fists clenched as his mouth creased in a cavernous frown, viewing with extreme disfavor. That mechling has had it, now. Smoke was in for a world of trouble.. once Optimus got his servos on him.
To match and show his intense displeasure for the subject, Optimus's audial fins twitched as his ire exceeded expectations. Optic ridges furrowing as he finally regained posture, he slowly began sauntering toward the red, white, and blue youngling. As other creators would embarrass their charge right where others could see, Optimus found - even if he was livid was anger, inwardly - that he could not bring such discomfort to his own. That would not help Smokescreen learn any better.
His heavy, large steps slowed to a stop a couple feet behind Smokescreen as the Prime awaited the two to cease all actions. It was inevitable that Optimus would cross his arms over his broad chassis; marking his outrage with Smokescreen's actions. Not only was he dancing and in contact with a minor - being a minor himself - he was in a club that provided mature content within. This was unacceptable and would not be tolerated.
It was not too long after Optimus remained standing put that Smokescreen's femme moved on to her next partner. The young mecha watched as said femme moved through the movement of other frames in their enchanting dance. Venting a sigh, Smokescreen turned on his heel right toward Optimus. Who was a couple feet in front of his charge. Stern, electric blue optics locked with the baby blues of Smokescreen. Instantly, the younger bot was frozen in place. Slowly, the young's gaze averted, looking to Optimus only to be bombarded with disappointment, ire, and regret.
"Smokescreen. Whatare you doing?" Optimus's voice was booming and demanding, though the casual fatherly tone was laced within the flames. Per usual. Smokescreen blinked slowly as he forced his innocent look forward, claiming that he was not in the wrong. Optimus's patience was already wearing thin as his pede began to lightly tap and oe optic ridge rose with suspicion. Obvious suspicion.
"Sire…?" Smokescreen's words were fumbled with, messing with his processor as he was thrown under the pressure of his irritated and disappointed sire. Not good. Not good at all. But Optimus was having none of it. Stepping to the side, all the while facing toward his caught sparkling; Optimus's expression only morphed to something even worse than before. Actual words were no longer spoken to his creation.
» March, mechling. « Though his words were short and sweet, the thunderstorm brewing within Optimus was dangerous, and not to be trifled with. Only for Smokescreen's sake, did the older bot hope he would cooperate without complaints.
Observing as Smokescreen received the bond message, Optimus saw that pitiful little look on his kid's face and clouding his optics. Even if he might of been phased by that look - he couldn't. Not at the moment, when he had broken numerous laws. Some from the actual law and a few from Optimus's personal rules. Regardless, Prime's domestic rules counted as law.
Seeing himself that there was no other option but to obey his father's internal command, Smokescreen allowed his door wings to fall low upon his back. Sauntering forward and past Optimus, the path that said Leader made before was still in play. Every bot respected the Prime enough to leave an open space for the exuberant mecha. All except Smokescreen. The youngling was straying from the path his sire built for him; and it seemed that Optimus was needed to steer him back into the right direction. Not the wrong one.
New Iacon was in the Prime's sights as he and his sparkling neared it. The ride home was a quiet one, though this only drew out anticipation. Optimus did not need to inflict fear upon Smokescreen to further accomplish teaching the mechling a lesson. It all came fluently with patience and stern servos to allow Smokescreen to grow in life. If he never learned properly - then there was no hope for his future.
Transforming, Optimus observed his son as he followed in sync; posture broken - doorwings low and gaze averted toward the ground. The Prime had turned to give him a stern look that held both a taste of ire and disappointment. It was a gaze that the kid could barely stand under, much less take. A deep vent whirled through Optimus's systems, blinking once before turning and walking in a paced stride toward his office.
Reluctantly, Smokescreen followed. It was the last bit of respect he could offer Optimus. Yeah, he was a nervous wreck on the inside - and he knew that he was going to face punishment tonight. Usually his carrier, Ratchet, dealt out the punishment. . . but this was a penalty that was much too dire than he has ever took part in. In some cases, Optimus - even as he was exceedingly busy, must deal with his misbehaved son. In these times, Smokescreen knew he was neck deep in scrap. By the look in his sire's optics - and the vexation hinted in the way his frame moved and shoulders were squared. . . it did not take a fool to see that he was infuriated.
As Optimus neared even closer to his office, he slowed to a stop and again turned to the side so that he could allow Smokescreen to pass him. Though, upon stopping, Smokescreen did as well. Optimus kept his arms at his sides, waiting 'til Smokescreen's optics met his. Gesturing with his helm to walk on, Smokescreen obeyed once more. Opening the Office door, the Corvette entered with his Sire directly behind.
Sauntering heavily to his desk, Optimus stood in front of said desk and gently leaned against it. Crossing his arms in a disgruntled manner, the Prime gave his undivided attention to his sparkling. Within his optics, the boiling disapproval was at its highest peak. It was surreal, yet unnerving for Smokescreen.
Even if the discomfort was clear for the young one, he still stood before his father and tried to act dignified. But, when he found himself under Optimus's unhappy gaze, his posture did not work with him. His arms hung lifelessly at his sides, optics trained on the floor - doorwings dropping low and not as high strung as before. Optimus's optic ridge rose ever higher, tilting his helm to the side as a deep frown befell his lips. Oh, the bot was furious. Beginning to tap his finger against his arm, Prime aloud a disapproving rumble to reverberate through his chassis. It was then, the lecture began.
"Smokescreen, I am very disappointed in you. Deliberately disobeying Cybertronian law and mylaw alike - will not be tolerated." The noble Leader paused, optics narrowing a degree, "Do you understand?"
Gulping hard, Prime's sparkling's gaze was dragged from the floor by Optimus. The exuberant mecha had hooked his index finger under his mechling's chin and averted his helm; therefore he was gently persuaded to caught Optimus's gaze. In return, Optimus offered a dissatisfied and slightly heated expression on his features.
"Do you?" He softly questioned once more, forcing his voice to carry a slightly demanding tone to it. However, he did mean to no come off as too harsh. Smokescreen looked away for a brief moment, before forcing himself to look back.
"Yes sir." His voice shook, and was full of regret and slight discomposure. Gently taking his digit from his sparkling's chin, instead taking hold of his upper arm. Even as Optimus's tanks churned with spark-break, he knew he must carry out due punishment to his child. As previously stated - you must take things slow and steady, to ensure that the one responsible learns his lesson. And clearly it was working.
Somehow - when his sire took his arm, the young one knew that he was going to be spanked. It was only then when dread seeped into his own tanks like liquid led. His breath hitched, causing him to barely be able to react as he was guided toward the Prime's desk. When he was before his position, Smokescreen then found his nerve once more.
"S-Sire, please! I.. I'm sorry!" As he pleaded, Optimus felt the negative emotions swarming within him like bees to grow ever stronger. Though the Autobot Leader did feel remorse with his actions, Smokescreen must learn. It was for the best. As he forced himself to ignore his pleas, he placed his son on the left end of said desk. Then, Optimus found himself forcing these next words out of his mouth - as well as the firm tone.
"Position yourself, Smokescreen." Observing his sparkling hesitating, the mech added, "Now."
Smokescreen felt a worried and distressed series of Cybertronian clicks and churrs sound from himself as he forced himself to do as he was told. Closing his optics, he did not go down onto the desk completely, mind you. He rested on his forearms, helm averted down as he closed his baby blue optics to match his fear. Optimus noticed this, however, he would fix him accordingly after retrieving a very unused implement from his desk drawer.
As Optimus's digits wrapped around the rough textured handle of what was known as a strap, he felt his spark floating farther down within his tanks. Smokescreen had his optics closed, so he did not yet know what he was in for. Retrieving the strap from the drawer proved to be the easiest part. Regardless, Smokescreen would in fact be getting spanked tonight, without any hesitation.
Optimus moved around his mechling, placing his free servo gently upon his lower back as he did so. When he was in his own position, said servo moved upward to stop between the Praxian's doorwings. It was then when Optimus persuaded Smokescreen to lay his abdomen against the smooth, cool metallic desk. As he did just that, the youngling (with minimal force) was completely lowered upon it. When his son was in place, he continued to leave his servo planted gently there. Now, Smokescreen's helm was turned to his right, cheek against the desk. Considering he was completely laying his upper body upon the desk, his legs hung in a manner that showed exactly how diminutive Smokescreen was.
Smokescreen's vents were deep and uneven, showing his nervous fear. Optimus let an even, calming vent of his own move through his systems. Staring at the back of the child's helm, his expression remained serious and a bit stern - while inwardly he was melting. He did not wish to punish his creation this way. Though, it seemed. . .he had no choice whatsoever.
"Brace yourself, mechling." Those were the only words he would offer Smokescreen as he readied the strap. As it was lifted, Optimus laid it lightly upon his aft, tapping it to show what exactly was to happen. As Smokescreen analyzed what exactly Optimus was to use, dread seeped within his frame like a plague that wiped out millions. Slowly, Smoke's fists clenched as fresh air whirled against his aft, which marked the fact that the strap was in motion.
As Optimus rose said implement, he hesitated. Slowly closing his optics, he reopened them and settled on the aft before him. Then, he allowed his arm to move forward with a good amount of force, though not even a quarter of what he could use. The sound wasn't as worse as it felt to Smokescreen though; nor did it look it. Smoke tensed his frame, the first strike not having much effect as he had assumed. As Smokescreen shifted, his helm dipped further into himself in an attempt to hide his face. Optimus ignored this however, and readied the heavy strap for the next hit.
The next stroke, however, was much different. Optimus had aimed this one to overlap the first, though struck with an impacting force. This time, the young bot's entire frame jerked forward as he made a small, innocent grunt which morphed into a whimper. His frame yet again shifted as another lick wrapped across the lower portion of his waiting aft. A thin flush befell the aft before Optimus, enough to show that the punishment was taking effect. Continuing to breath deeply and attempting to stay calm, Smokescreen's wings twitched as the even sting began to become uncomfortable.
Optimus noticed the little reaction, and resistance he was receiving from Smokescreen. Even if he did not wish to push on, the older mech did just that. Arm raised once again, Prime put more force into this lick - enough to make Smokescreen whimper with pain, pin his doorwings, and kick his pede into the air. It had overlapped the other three with one, stinging hit. Meanwhile, Smokescreen bit his lip and shut his baby blues closed to try and block out the pain. Though, as he tried to do so, another hit smacked against the sensitive metal upon the underside of his aft. The sound reverberating from said hit was definite as it left behind a sting. It caused the Praxian's erratic breathing to become even more drastic and noticeable. It was then where he began to whimper even more, few tears beginning to trickle down his flushing cheeks.
A sniff and soft sighs of pain could be heard by Optimus, allowing him to know that he could take this up a notch - whilst taking his sparkling down a peg or two. It was then when Optimus brought even more force in his hits. The next lick landed upon his upper thighs; the strap managing to cover both spots wanted. In return, it left behind a nice flush, which was a shade darker than that of his aft. The child's frame, in reaction, had jerked forward and a cry of pain had left Smokescreen. His torso had twisted in attempt to get himself off of the desk - arms pushing upward to try and achieve said goal. Optimus had to use extra force to keep the hurting sparkling in position.
The gasps of air and audible signs of distress told Optimus that he had most definitely felt that. And - by the soft flow of coolant pooling from his sparkling's optics - it was taking its usual toll on Smokescreen. Still, even with Optimus holding down between his wings, he still struggled. A deep vent left Optimus as he would not desist. A warning, forced lick was enforced upon the Praxian's aft to get his attention.
"Smokescreen, desist." Optimus's tone was rigorous - demanding - yet dangerously calm. When this was used, the youngling knew he was to listen to his Sire. Little words spoken, more were not needed in these situations. Optimus had raised Smokescreen better than this. He knew better.
"Please, s-sire - I'm sorry!" His statement was either true or a desperate deception. No matter which, Optimus ignored the pleas. He merely pushed him down with more force than he would of like to use.
Smokescreen found his arms by his helm, a soft stream of coolant raining down his cheeks as he wept.
Optimus set a disapproving look on the back of his kid's helm, before directing his gaze back to his target. Raising his arm, the strap was brought higher than before, in order to bring more force into the hit. Bringing his arm down, the strap cracked against Smoke's bid thigh. The color was even darker than the last, and so was Smokescreen's reaction. A mild cry of agony left the grounder, pede kicking once more thought making it even higher than last time it became airborne. In sync, Optimus moved up once more with the hits, smacking the strap in the most sensitive areas.
Smokescreen, with the toll of the newly planted strokes, began heavy crying with a large volume tears flowing steadily down his cheeks. Now, the young bot was sobbing evenly with the horrid sting warming his aft. Studying the darkening flush upon Smokescreen's aft and thighs, Optimus frowned deeper as his son began to shake with his coolant and sobs. Tanks churning with his distraught feelings, the older bot began to rub where his servo laid between the doorwings as Smokescreen kicked his pede a bit with the blistering inferno upon his backside.
"It is alight, my child. We are almost finished.." Attempting to calm Smokescreen down in order for his systems to not shut down from the amount of distress overtaking him, Optimus knew he needed to apply a few more strokes. Even if Smokescreen's entire backside was flushed in a nice and satisfying shade, the Praxian had earned a few more from past events.
Holding his intakes, Optimus brought the strap down upon his aft, then upon the underside of said aft a few times - though only to ignite the fire already burning. It was to remind Smokescreen to behave. Optimus knew a sore aft for a few days would do Smokescreen good. At this, said youngling's sobs began to increase - though only by a bit. The mechling's tanks heaved with the intense coolant and shaking sobs. Optimus was now finished, thankfully. Taking his servo from between Smokescreen's wings, he moved around the metallic desk and replaced the strap back in the drawer. He was done with it.
His electric blue optics then wandered to his broken sparkling. He had not moved. Smokescreen still was bent over the desk, face hidden in his folded arms. The image shattered Optimus's spark in a billion pieces. Sauntering back around to his previous position, the exuberant mecha placed a gentle and caring servo upon his lower back and began to rub. The frown upon Optimus's face was full of sorrow, observing the sobbing sparkling of his. Leaning upon the desk with the help of his other servo placed next to Smokescreen, Optimus spoke in a soft, serene voice that rumbled in his chassis,
"Come on now, sparkling," A second worth of a pause, "It is now over. Come to sire…" Optimus moved the rubbing servo to Smokescreen's upper arm to wrap around it. Stepping back, he brought the youngling with him to a standing position. Smokescreen's knees were shaky from the lack of use and the fact he was nervous. His helm was averted to face the ground, spark upbeat with fear and agony. Tilting his helm to the side, Optimus felt every emotion Smokescreen was displaying through their family bond embedded in their sparks. Placing a servo on Smokey's shoulder, he lowered his helm a bit to get slightly closer, the same sad look within his optics.
"You do not have to fear me, Smokescreen…" His voice was reassuring with a soft touch, to assure that he was speaking the truth. The young one sniveled, looking up at Optimus with coolant filled optics and flushed cheeks. Optimus shook his helm slightly, barely able to look at his charge without feeling guilty. Suddenly, Optimus tenderly brought Smokescreen into a warm, inviting embrace. Smokescreen, in return, hugged back with a voice telling the Prime that… his sparkling needed him. Placing a servo to cradle the back of his helm, Optimus's engine rumbled gently to calm his distressed charge.
Smokescreen lay his cheek against Optimus's chassis, feeling and listening to the tranquil beat of the spark within. Even as the coolant still spilled, he was beginning to fall victim to the relaxed rumble of his sire's engine. Smokescreen felt Optimus's other servo pull him even closer, rubbing his back in comfort. These action befell a comfort like no other; almost enough to put the formerly distressed Praxian to recharge. Just as Smoke assumed that he couldn't be even more content, his sire gently pressed his lips to the top if his helm in a sign of affection.
At that, Smokescreen's engine and spark rumbled with Optimus's. All was forgiven. Smokescreen knew that this was done out of an act to teach him. As a result, the Praxian would attempt to stray from misdeeds and bad behavior; just to please Optimus - and Ratchet alike. After all, he was a Prime's son. Time to stop acting like a rookie.