Author's Note: I can't believe I wrote this. Seriously. This is all Artemis-chan's fault. Okay, okay, so I completely randomly thought up the idea, but that was because we were talking about how Autobots would pay stripperbots - which is something you'll learn the answer to in here! Don't take this seriously, even though I totally did. Damn, I even researched random things like what kind of stuff they drink. Jesus.
Disclaimer: This is pre-prequel stuff here. Also, I totally prefer Bee/Sam and Ratchet/Ironhide (which isn't here!) over Bee/Ironhide. This is utterly cracktastic. And... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
.:Accepting Defeat:.
a.k.a the fic where bumblebee's a stripper
"It wasn't my intention to mislead you - It never should have been this way - What can I say? - It's true, I did extend the invitation... I never knew how long you'd stay."
"Toy Soldiers," by Martika
He's sure that if Optimus knew where he was right now – or who he wanted to enroll in their small militia – he would question Ironhide's ability to concentrate on anything but his libido.
Optimus, for that very reason, doesn't know just where his comrade-in-arms is at the moment. He never told the leader of the Autobots that he was going to spend his evening at the most high-end, quality pleasure facilities on Cybertron, trying to woo his favorite boy into their mashed-up army against the Decepticons.
And so, this is where Ironhide is: sitting in one of the moodily lit corners of the comfortable little joint, nursing his glass of Maccadam's premium (and probably black-market) oil, and watching his boy lavish attention on an aging Autobot with not much going on. He knows that all he has to do is lift a hand and that young little Cybertronian would be in his lap instead of the other 'bot's, but he also knows that doing such a thing would cause the boy to lose a transaction.
And really, isn't that the only reason anyone would work at a pleasure facility?
Tonight he feels reasonably comfortable, considering his mission, and he decides to grace the throbbing noise echoing around the place with the title of music. It's no doubt the height of popularity for the younger generation – the one that doesn't realize that there's a war seething just below the surface of the planet.
The generation that his boy comes from.
The young 'bot bends at the waist and his wide blue optics flash a little in amusement. He's laying it on thick and Ironhide wonders how riled up the old-timer must be, not being able to touch the other. That's the rule, after all – you can be touched, but they can't. That rule protects the participants in this little dance from getting hurt – or too attached.
Of course, the rules rarely apply to Ironhide – he tends to ignore them. Thankfully, so does the younger Autobot, whose optics catch his briefly before locking back onto his client's. The laughter is less forced than before, and Ironhide can hear the whispered nothings from here. Not that it matters – money is money. He knows that, in the end, the younger comes to him for the real entertainment.
He's almost finished with his drink when the old Autobot finally gets up and pays the boy – a simple handshake can transfer the money, but his boy always uses hugs. He claims they make the customer feel better about the great big letdown of not being able to take him home.
Ironhide orders him and his boy a drink as the boy comes up to the small dais and flops rather un-flatteringly into the chair beside him.
"What a day," the boy groans quietly, hanging over the sides of the chair and looking at Ironhide from upside-down, "What a day."
The drinks arrive before Ironhide says anything. "I hope you don't expect me to pay for the gear damage you're going to get, sitting like that," he finally says with a half-grin.
The boy pouts and sits properly; he then grabs the oil and takes it back in a few quick swigs. "I won't get gear damage. Besides, you could just introduce me to that one friend of yours..." Finger-snap, "Ratchet!"
"You'd swindle him into giving you a new chassis, you conniving little 'bot."
The boy grins coyly, "My plan was glass, wasn't it?" He frowns, then, and says, "I wouldn't mind it. Sideswipe just got red done on him. I wouldn't mind something new..."
Ironhide scoffs. "You kids are always trying to modify yourselves. Just find a nice transform and be done with it."
The boy rolls his optics. "You wouldn't understand, old man. Who wants to look like everyone else?"
Ironhide takes in the other's form and thinks to himself that there's nothing on the boy that looks like anyone else. His form is more streamlined, with a slimmer waistline and a delicate, almost un-formed look about him. He assumes that's why it's the older Autobots who are so fond of him... he knows it's definitely one of his reasons.
"I doubt Sideswipe can be any more unique than you, Bumblebee."
The 'bot grins and accepts the compliment without fanfare – another reason Ironhide likes him. He's genuinely kind, humble, and fair.
Which reminds him – there's a war coming. He can practically smell the beginning of battle from this safe little corner of Cybertron, and he knows that kids like Bumblebee are going to be the first to be completely obliterated by Megatron's forces. Perhaps, if he's unlucky enough, Bumblebee will even meet Megatron face-to-face.
The thought wipes the humor out of his optics, which causes the boy to look at him in worry.
"Are you okay, Ironhide?"
The older finishes his drink and stands. "C'mon, boy. I'll take you home."
The wide optics brighten considerably and the boy nearly leaps out of his chair, knowing full well that Ironhide doesn't mean his home – even though it would be completely against code for the older to take him anywhere.
They leave without too much issue – Ironhide pays for their drinks and Bumblebee passes a quick word to Sideswipe, who nods with a casual grin and doesn't even watch his friend leave. They take a private transit back to Ironhide's place – little more than a place to rest between meetings with the slowly growing militia – and the older watches in amusement as the younger makes himself at home.
The younger bot casts him a worried look and asks, hesitantly, "What's wrong, Ironhide? You're... quiet."
"There... are things going on. Big things, just out of earshot." It's only now, as he begins to tell Bumblebee about exactly what's wrong, that Ironhide realizes he really doesn't want the other to know. He wants Bumblebee to be able to stay himself, free and relaxed and kind. He doesn't want the younger to become battle-worn and hard, like he has. Bumblebee isn't built for war. He's built for dancing and flirting and teasing, plus a million other, sweetly deviant things, but not war.
He's got the younger bot's attention, though, and so he has no choice now. He explains it – everything. He explains that the factions have reached a breaking point; that those small riots that pop up every so often are only the precursor to larger, eviler times; that Megatron wants to use the Allspark for nothing but himself, to rule the world – the universe. He tells the boy that he is one of Optimus Prime's closest friends, and that he is also one of the few Autobots that knows what's going on beneath all of the political strings.
Bumblebee doesn't speak through Ironhide's entire explanation; he doesn't even flinch when Ironhide tells him that he's been lying about himself for as long as the other's known him. He simply stares with those wide, innocent optics and drives Ironhide insane with guilt.
Nearly exhausted by just relaying the basic crisis, Ironhide sits in one of his uncomfortable chairs – the one he can adjust to suit his sleeping requirements. Bumblebee simply watches him and the older bot can nearly hear the gears humming in his head.
"...Why are you telling me this?" the little bot finally says quietly, "How can you trust me with this information? Megatron could come into work one day, blink at me, and I would tell him everything. How could you..." Bumblebee finally rises to his feet, optics flashing in anger as he exclaims, "How could you risk all of Optimus Prime's planning on me?"
It hurts Ironhide to note the fierce, solider-like loyalty his boy is showing towards Optimus, especially when he doesn't even know the bot.
"Ironhide!"
Bumblebee's demands for attention rip the older bot away from his thoughts, and he observes the other's angry expression and almost childish body. He's... not a soldier. But damn it, they need everyone. And he knows, somehow, that if the kid had the chance...
"I'm telling you because..." He sighs. There's no going back now. "Because we need soldiers, and I'm asking you to become one."
The boy nearly recoils in shock, optics blinking in confusion and anxiety. "W...What do you mean, soldier? I – I'm not... Ironhide, I'm not a fighter. I'm an entertainer, and tiny, and – and I can't fight for Optimus. You know it."
Ironhide closes his eyes and tries to think of just how to express all of his conflicting emotions to the younger bot. Yes, he knows the other isn't a fighter, but he also knows that they need everyone they can get, and he doesn't want the other to become cannon fodder like most civilians will eventually become. If he's one of Optimus' closest allies, he can most likely be spared the battlefield, at least for the most part.
It's all speculative, but Ironhide doesn't know what else to do.
"I'm not asking you because I think you can fight, Bumblebee. I'm asking you because... without soldiers, we can't win. And... I've told you more than any of the low-ranking soldiers will ever know. In doing that, I hope to have secured you a safer position with Optimus. The last thing I want is for you to become cannon fodder, and I'm trying to fix it so you won't have to be."
Bumblebee tries not to look at Ironhide and the elder's not surprised at that. He's just divulged more personal information than he has in their entire friendship, and it might be too much.
He's understandably surprised when the chrome and blue exo-armor – the kind all Autobots have, their most basic defense – slide into a backpack, revealing his sleek and darker protoform. Ironhide barely even has to open his arms in invitation before the other is climbing into his lap, leaning against metal and closing those large, lovely blue optics.
"I can't stay with you," Bumblebee mumbles, curling tight into Ironhide's arms, "I can't stay here."
"I never force you," the older bot points out quietly, "And I won't make you stay."
"...I can't," the smaller says, not moving from the other. "I don't want to think about it."
No, Bumblebee is not a soldier.
"You don't have to."
For all the energon in the planet's core, Ironhide wishes he wasn't one either.
He shudders as his own exo-armor, which is thicker and heavier than Bumblebee's, slides back and along his spine, bending with him as a part of his body. The younger doesn't know how to do that yet, and that makes Ironhide realize just how old he is.
"Of all the bots in the world," Bumblebee sighs against Ironhide's smooth protoform skin, "I had to choose you."
"You've no doubt made better decisions, it's true," the older mumbles against the other's skull, earning a quiet, shaky laugh. "I won't press the matter any further, Bumblebee."
The other shudders in his grasp and looks up, staring into Ironhide's narrower optics. "Shh," he whispers, shifting to bring himself up to the other's face, "Don't talk."
Ironhide can comply with that one order far easier than he could to any of Optimus'.
Ironhide adores Bumblebee, and he knows it full well. He's sure that the other knows it as well, for all the care and delicacy he treats him with. He holds the younger close as he adjusts the chair into its more comfortable sleeping position, finding the straight slit of a mouth and pressing his own against them, fingers already trailing underneath packaged armor to stimulate the nerves along Bumblebee's spine.
He knows that, if Optimus were to find out about this –
But he won't.
Ironhide feels long, thin fingers slide against the armor aligned with his spine and shudders in delight. The fingers trace the contours of the white metal and each time he touches it, small sparks travel between them.
"Eager tonight," Bumblebee says softly, smiling at Ironhide, who simply shrugs his large shoulders and pulls the younger protoform close.
The bare sparks in their chests come within centimeters of each other; both let out small gasps as the sparks send shocks of electricity back and forth. Neither has been able to really give a proper word to the feeling, but they cling to it desperately, long legs entangling and chests sliding together, bringing their sparks in and out of connection, gasping and groaning at that strange, nameless sensation. Ironhide hums deeply as the sparks connect, sending the vibrations in his chest through the connection and into Bumblebee, who cries out and arches his back in pleasure.
The younger is quickest to reach climax – which is simply a small electric pulse that wracks both their bodies – but he twists his fingers against the thick muscles in Ironhide's shoulders, panting soundlessly and whispering sweet nothings that really mean something. Every shift, grind, and connection between their sparks causes the younger to shudder, aftershocks spiraling through his body. Ironhide feels the other tense and slacken against him, groaning quietly as the boy – his boy – makes the most delicious electrical sounds in his throat. It isn't until Bumblebee sobs against his shoulder as another pulse begs to be released that Ironhide feels himself hit the peak. He holds the other close, shifts the boy down, and holds their sparks as closely together as absolutely possible.
They both moan and writhe as both of them climax, sending long, deep, and mind-shattering vibrations through their protoforms, muscles still twitching and jerking even as the last faint traces flow through them.
The room is quiet, aside from their heated breathing, and so it's impossible for Ironhide to miss Bumblebee's small, quiet comment.
"I'll do it."
He feels his whole body tense and tries to think whether or not he should be happy. He can't decide.
"I'll do it," Bumblebee repeats, more for himself than Ironhide, "But only if Optimus will allow me to."
"He... He will be glad to have you," Ironhide mutters, running his hand along the upper half of Bumblebee's spine. "He will be glad."
"...And you?"
Ironhide feels the boy shift and knows that he's staring.
The older bot exhales slowly and says, "I'll be glad when I know you'll be safe."
"Mm."
"You can back out. Up until we meet Optimus. I won't hold it against you."
"You will... you're a soldier." A sigh, "And I am too, now."
Ironhide says nothing, and is active for a good while after the younger slips into stasis. He can only hope he's made the right choice, asking the smaller bot to join him in what could end up being a suicide mission.