A/N: Hey everyone! I've been MIA from FFN for the past year -- you know, college, lack of inspiration, that kind of thing -- but the least likely of sources seems to have brought me back into the fold. Early July, I saw the new Transformers movie, and it was, like, instant love. That kind of thing doesn't happen often with me, and certainly not with a fandom with which I'm unfamiliar. To tell the truth, I have very little knowledge of the whole Transformers world, even though I am a child of the 1980s. I watched Armada a few times in middle school, mostly to laugh at some of the human characters, and it was only this spring that I watched the original Transformers movie (thanks to my wonderful roommate and her Transformers geek-god older brother). So, here I am, late July, with a Transformers fanfic. I'm probably wrong on a lot of the details, but I'm going mostly by the new movie.
Warnings: This is, I suppose, slash. Because, well, it's Sam and Bumblebee. I never even thought I'd ever, ever write a Transformers slash fic, but -- well, ha, things happen! Another warning -- swearing, a stupid title, a plot that is still being figured out, multi-chapter story, etc.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything here, but if I did, I'd be a very happy person.
One more A/N: I am part of the beexsam community on LiveJournal, username jacques-strappe. I will be posting this story on the community in a few days.
Untitled: Chapter One
Sam Witwicky was pretty sure that he was in love – only it wasn't his girlfriend Mikaela Banes whom he had become so infatuated with. He was hesitant to call it love, per se – partly because he was in denial about the whole affair, and partly because he wasn't so sure his feelings could quite be classified as such. The strangest thing, though, was that the thing Sam was enamored with seemingly shared the same feelings for him.
Several months earlier, before he'd saved the world (with the help of half a dozen giant alien robots, of course), before he knew his Camaro was a sentient being, Sam had often muttered I love my car to no one but himself (or so he thought at the time). And his car would purr contentedly beneath him, its engine revving to an electric moan every time he ran his fingers along the steering wheel; it would hum every time he sunk into the driver's seat. Sam had never thought much of his car's apparent like for him; besides, the old Camaro was obviously a little haywire now and then, with its odd skipping through the radio stations and its occasional tendency to whip open its doors for no apparent reason. Sam had passed all this behavior off as some weird quirk of the old car, and never really gave it a second thought.
When the Camaro finally did show itself for what it was – a towering yellow robot who was affectionately called "Bumblebee" by his comrades – well, this new revelation completely wiped out any ideas Sam might have had about his car fancying him. There was an issue of the survival of the human race at stake, and that was a lot more important and exciting than the suspicion that his car just mightenjoy being driven.
Still, Sam was fiercely protective of his car-slash-giant robot guardian-slash-best friend, and when the scum from Sector Seven had taken Bumblebee away, he had tried his best to stop them, risking his life to save that of the Autobot. They shared a deep bond, Sam and Bumblebee, car and driver – it was something Sam couldn't explain, not even to himself.
And, when all hell had broken loose and Optimus Prime was battling Megatron in the heart of the city, and Bumblebee was effectively crippled – Sam had had to bite away tears when he was handed the Allspark and told to run. He didn't want to look into those piercing blue optics, afraid that he'd never see them again – he loved that car, no, Bumblebee – but the peril all around him, the exploding buildings and the dying people and the dueling Cybertronians – had driven the thoughts from his head.
That had been two months ago.
And now, with much less on his mind, Sam Witwicky was well-aware of the steady thrumming of the Camaro's engine, as he sat, content, in the driver's seat. It was a warm vibration, soothing, loving, almost – but at this, Sam stopped himself and simply smirked. What a stupid thought. The idea faded away and, bored, Sam glanced out the window. It was an overcast, gloomy August afternoon, the air cool and the sky threatening rain. The depressing weather conditions, though, weren't such a bad prospect; the chance of a storm had driven everyone else away from the lake, leaving Sam alone with Bumblebee, and besides, the Camaro was in need of a good wash – and some rain would do just that.
Sam found himself lost in his thoughts; Bumblebee must have sensed this, too, because he didn't interrupt. Mikaela had become distant as of late – she accused Sam of spending too much time with his car, which he didn't consider a problem since his car was a giant robotand his best friend. And, besides, was it really so unhealthy for Sam to have some time alone with Bumblebee, so that he could brood over his thoughts?
He sighed, subconsciously running a hand over the leather of the seat, subconsciously enjoying the purring response that he got in return. Sam smiled, slightly, and let his head fall against the headrest. The radio that Bumblebee often used to communicate with crackled to life, issuing garbled words and bursts of static before, softly, "I'm pickin' up good vibrations, she's giving me excitations, good, good, good, good –"
"Bee?" Sam asked, his voice cutting across the song. His smile was no longer relaxed; it was now uncertain, cautionary. "You wanna talk?"
" – At first I was afraid, I was petrified –"
"I mean, you don't have to if you don't wanna, but…" Sam shrugged into the seat – at this movement, the car quivered slightly. "… it's hard to talk to you when you're using the radio, that's all, and besides, you don't even need to use it anymore, so…" His voice faded away.
" – Oh, ohh, baby, don't you know I'm human, have thoughts like any other one –"
"Talk to me, Bee," Sam said simply. "Or else I might do something like… this." He began to caress the leather of the passenger's seat, moving his fingers in slow circles. The Camaro shuddered, its engine revving to a needy whine then dying to a content purr when Sam took his hand away. "Liked that, did you?" he asked, a bit frightened and a bit amused at the same time. His own heart was racing, though he wasn't sure of why. Well, no, that's a lie, Sam told himself, but still…
There was a stretch of silence, then radio static, as if the autobot was straining to gather an answer. The radio tuned itself, landed on the opening guitar riff of a Rolling Stones song, then " – Start me up –"
Sam allowed himself to laugh nervously. Oh, what in the hell am I getting myself into? My car – no, even better – my giant alien robot guardian is in love with me. Uncertainly, Sam reached forward and ran his fingers along the steering wheel; it warmed at his touch, and the body of the car rumbled around him. A shaky smile came to Sam's lips. For some reason, for some completely wrong and twistedreason, the whole situation seemed oddly… erotic. He didn't care to know why, exactly, and he didn't want to spend time thinking about the matter any further. Sam tried to distract himself and quickly changed the subject. "Bee," he said hesitantly, his voice odd and croaking, "do you want to drive someplace?"
" – Come on and take a free ride – "
"Oh, alright – but you have to promise me, Bee, that you'll actually talk to me afterward. Okay?" A short rumble of agreement sputtered from the Camaro's engine, and the automobile started itself up (Sam especially loved this detail, because he didn't have to worry about losing the key to the car, which he had already succeeded in doing over a month ago).
It was a Sunday, and a dreary one, at that. The roads were relatively clear of traffic; even the stretch of highway that Sam loved to drive on – his favorite owing to its hills, turns, and the ability to push 90 miles an hour without being pulled over – was almost completely devoid of other cars. Bumblebee let him take over the steering, and steer Sam did, rounding hairpin turns with a glint of something in his eyes. The Camaro's radio would sporadically change from station to station, something that Sam had gotten used to, and he no longer minded it when one of his favorite songs, halfway through, would be replaced by the raucous shouting of the Spice Girls. Currently, it was Crosby, Stills, and Nash. " – change my life, make it right, be my baby – "
Sam heaved a tired-sounding sigh. Really, he wasn't exhausted; he was just completely exasperated. Exasperated, and deeply confused. And disturbed. "Is it even possible?" he found himself asking. As if to answer in the affirmative, the car purred, the seat warmed, and the engine raced. Sam felt his heart beating very quickly, almost in time to the vibrations pulsing through the body of the vehicle. He was on the cusp of indecision and fright. "How?"
Bumblebee answered in the usual way, and the radio changed stations until the dial landed on the shrieking words, " – touch-a, touch-a, touch-a, touch me – "
Sam stared at the dashboard of the Camaro, the part of the car that he often imagined to be Bumblebee's face. Not only did his car have a peculiar taste in music (Rocky Horror, for Christ's sake, Sam thought, all thanks to the internet), was the Autobot actually asking him to do what he thought it was?
"Fine, then," Sam said carefully. "You take over driving." He added, as an afterthought, "And don't get us pulled over." The Autobot complied and the boy stared helplessly at the console of the Camaro. Bumblebee was an excellent driver – flawless, in fact, and certainly better than Sam – but Sam always felt rather conspicuous when his car drove itself, especially on the highway and in broad daylight. "I don't even know where I should start," he murmured, more to himself than the autobot.
Bumblebee didn't reply with a song, though, and instead a neutral-sounding piece of classical music played softly on the radio. Sam groaned, his pulse quickening – fear of the unknown, more than anything else, he thought – and leaned back in the black, leather car seat. First he ran his hand over the armrest, caressing it lightly, wondering if he could in fact tease the Autobot. It worked. The radio squawked and became static, the engine buzzed, the car's speed picked up. What am I doing? Sam asked himself as he began to fondle the gearshift – which Bumblebee apparently enjoyed very much. What in the fuck am I doing?
It didn't matter – because as much as the Autobot was enjoying it, Sam found himself enjoying it, too. The throbbing of the engine resonated through his bones to his very soul; his breaths became rapid and irregular; his heart hammered against his ribcage. Sam's ministrations turned back to the steering wheel. He groped it, and as he did, the car's engine hummed louder than a purr – the sound turned into a rumbling, vibrating moan that reverberated through Sam's body.
God, this is awesome – no, no, no, no – this is so wrong, this is so wrong, this is so wrong…
But, as if Bumblebee could read his mind, the radio tuned itself, landing on a pulsating, electric beat, accompanied by the synthesized words " – Harder, better, faster, stronger…"
And Sam, like his car, was suddenly in bliss, because then, it was just the two of them, the roaring of Bumblebee's engine moving through his body, the unseen world outside streaking by, a satisfied moan escaping from his lips –
And then, a different noise. For a moment, Sam had been oblivious to everything else except them and the wonderful feeling that had been flooding his body, but the wailing of a police siren tore him from his reverie. He glanced at the speedometer and his eyes goggled. "Bee!" Sam hissed, and slammed his foot on the brake. "We're going over a hundred and twenty!"
Sam was answered by a snippet from Paul McCartney: "We're so sorry – "
"No, no, don't worry, Bee," Sam groaned, rubbing his forehead as he slowed the Camaro, pulling it to a stop on the side of the highway. Behind him, the police car, its lights flashing wildly, also grinded to a halt. Sam still hadn't gotten to the point were he could trust police cars again, as memories of the Decepticon Barricade were still fresh in his mind. He glanced up to the rear-view mirror, a nervous expression on his face. "Oh, my God, Bee, a hundred and twenty miles an hour! That's, that's – that's like going forty over!" A pause. "My parents are gonna kill me."
Bumblebee didn't have time to answer, because at that moment, the sheriff was standing outside the driver's-side door, motioning for Sam to roll the window down. He complied. The car shuddered when Sam's finger hit the window down button, and though the slight purr was enough to make the smallest of smiles pull at the boy's lips, he knew that nowwas most certainly not the time.
The police officer leaned into the window, taking a moment to survey the Camaro's black interior. He raised his eyebrows and seemed impressed with what he saw. Sam noticed everything was reflected in the man's sunglasses, and he was strangely reminded of a scene from Cool Hand Luke. "Awful nice set of wheels you've got here, kid," the patrolman drawled.
"Y-yeah," Sam said, his voice shaking both from fear and from what had happened between him and his car only moments before. "I like it a lot." God, that sounded lame.
"License and registration, please." Wordlessly, Sam handed the documentation over, his heart still racing. "You always go forty miles over in this thing?" the cop asked, tapping the top of the car. Bumblebee's engine stirred, only this time, he sounded annoyed. "Please turn off the car."
"I – sir, it isoff." Then, off to the side, in a rushed whisper, "Bee,don't get me in trouble!"
The officer noticed. "There someone else in there with you, er – " he looked at the driver's license – "Sam Witwicky?"
He shook his head. "No, sir. It's just me and my car, we – "
"Yeah, yeah, you share a special bond. Believe me, I've heard that one manytimes."
"And do you believe it?" Sam asked, not sure why he was attempting to engage the police officer in conversation.
A thoughtful expression crossed the man's face. He took off his reflective sunglasses, his gaze meeting Sam's, and leaning closer, he said carefully, "You know, sometimes I do think it's possible. Though I'm not sure it's reasonable grounds for me to let you off with just a warning." He smirked, but it wasn't an unpleasant smile.
"N-no, I don't believe so, either – " Sam stammered, desperately wishing he could tell the policeman all about how his speeding car was actually a giant alien robot.
"But," said the officer, "your record's relatively clean, here. In fact,spotless. So," he said, producing a pad of paper and a pen, "I'll write you up for going twenty over. And we won't include a reckless endangerment charge, either. I'm in a pretty generous mood today, and besides," – he flashed a dry smile – "you don't look like the kind of boy that should end up in jail for just having a little fun on the highway."
Five minutes later, the cop was gone and Sam was sitting there, still in shock from the whole affair, not believing his luck. He must have recognized my name, or something, Sam thought to himself. The government knows I'm a hero, or some shit like that. The car started itself up and pulled back onto the highway, and he hardly noticed, not until, quite suddenly, "I promised we would talk."
The sound of Bumblebee's voice – not the radio, for once – was enough to shake Sam from his thoughts. "What? Oh! Oh, yeah. Take us to the lookout, I guess. But slower, this time!"
"Okay."
"So you're talking, now," Sam observed.
"Yes."
"Can you tell me what that all was about, back there? I mean – " Sam broke off, sighed, and started over again. "I felt it, too, is what I mean. I –" He stopped himself from saying anything more, feeling himself flush at the thought.
"You liked it, is that what you were going to say?"
Sam nodded, slightly, feeling himself exhale suddenly as if he'd been punched in the gut. "Oh, Bee, I'm so confused!"
"We're almost there," Bumblebee said. "We will talk about it then."
"Okay," Sam said. He absently began to rub the palm of his hand over the smooth leather of the armrest; the Camaro hummed contentedly as they took an exit ramp and headed to their favorite hangout, the overlook that provided a perfect view of the city. When the car finally pulled to a halt, Sam climbed out and ran his fingers through his hair. The humidity, among other things, was making him highly uncomfortable, and he just wished it would rain already. The Camaro began to whir and clank, producing the unique sounds of its transformation that left Sam in awe every time, no matter how often he'd seen it take place. The boy stepped back, letting Bumblebee finish his change, then finally looked up, up – it had to be more than fifteen feet, at least – into the face of the Autobot.
"So," Sam said, feeling uncertain.
"We'll talk," Bumblebee replied, and lowered a hand, obviously wanting Sam to be at the same level he was. The boy complied and was soon lifted into the air, then deposited on the Autobot's metallic shoulder. "Lucky you aren't afraid of heights," Bumblebee said, surprisingly rather conversational.
"Yeah," Sam murmured. They were facing west, toward the city, toward the storm clouds that were rolling their way. It was a beautiful, unique view, something that Sam and Bumblebee shared often but neither tired of. "I forgot to ask – I haven't heard from them in several days – how're Optimus Prime and the rest of your buddies doing?"
"It varies," Bumblebee said, sounding vaguely amused. "Optimus is happy enough, he likes your planet. Thinks humans are – fascinating. Ratchet's been watching over several of the car manufacturing plants, just to see what goes on – says he rather prefers the practices at the Japanese facilities over the ones in your country. Didn't say why, but he also added that the level of human understanding of computer-based robots is laughable."
Sam smirked. "He sounds like a pain in the ass."
"Ratchet is…" Bumblebee paused, searching for the right word. "… unique."
"Uh-huh."
"He's a good individual. He's got a sense of humor."
"I've noticed," Sam said. "And Ironhide? Still trigger-happy?"
"Oh, yes," said Bumblebee. "Very much so. Then again, he's always been. But it's no lie if I told you he wanted to shoot down several people who are in the American government right now."
The boy laughed. "I'll bet." He was about to say something else, but decided against asking about how the Autobots were coping with the loss of Jazz, their fifth member. Sam hadn't seen it happen, but the silver-colored Autobot had been ripped in two by Megatron. Just the idea of something so vicious and sudden made Sam shudder. There was a comfortable silence between the two, but Sam knew what was coming and so, finally, he asked, "Hey, Bee? Can we, um, talk about what happened earlier?"
"Yes," the Autobot said. "Son of a glitch that I am – I'm sorry if I… alarmed you."
"Well – it wasn't that," Sam said truthfully. "I mean – oh, I don't know. I just didn't know that – "
"That we could love?"
"Yeah. I mean, I guess I should have figured it out, you know, since you guys have all the other emotions." He shrugged. "Wasn't doing my homework, I guess. Being stupid."
Bumblebee imitated Sam's shrug – the movement nearly threw the boy off the towering Autobot's shoulders. "Sorry," he said, straightening himself. "It's a common misconception. And humans, I've found, have taken us to be, first and foremost, computer-based robots, which in your world are emotionless."
"Right."
"So, yes, your misconception is justified."
"I still feel like an idiot, though."
"Don't," Bumblebee said. "Maybe I was wrong for thinking it'd ever work out."
"Wait!" Sam gasped. "Wait one second. Who said it wouldn't?"
The Autobot's faceplate twitched. "Oh, I don't know – " he paused and pretended to count off several factors on his metal fingers. "There's the issue of Mikaela and the fact that the two of you seem to be a couple… The problem with how I'm an Autobot and you're a human… And how I'm a car half the time…"
Sam balked at these reasons. "Oh, come on. I'm probably stupid for saying this, but I, for one, think it'd work."
"Primus, you're weird," Bumblebee said, his voice sounding like he was in awe.
"Maybe I am. But I'd be lying, Bee, if I said I didn't like what happened a little while ago. Seriously."
"As would I," the Autobot said. "But just the complexities of it all…"
"… are no reason to shoot it all down," Sam said. "So to speak."
"Hmm," Bumblebee said. "You're persistent."
"I know."
"And what about Mikaela?" he asked.
Sam thought for a moment. He loved her – Well, kinda. But there was this growing distance between the two of them lately, and it was starting to make him think otherwise. They were still very friendly with one another, and when they were together they often acted as if there was no rift to speak of – but still. Sam knew that it would be tough to bring it up, if ever.
"Sam?"
"Oh. Oh, I don't know, Bee. I was thinking about it all. She'd laugh at me if I told her, wouldn't she?"
Bumblebee considered this. "Mikaela seems like a reasonable person. If she truly loved you – or respected you, even – then she would listen. And hopefully not judge you too much."
Sam forced a laugh. "Yeah, because when she hears I'm carrying on an affair with mycar, she'll really be understanding of it all."
"Well, you'reoptimistic," Bumblebee huffed.
"You're the one who said two seconds ago that it wouldn't work."
"True."
A sudden flood of inquiries and ideas popped into Sam's head. "Question one, Bee: does this make me gay? Because I really, really don't want it to. I mean, I've never really even looked at guys before, except –" he stopped himself before he could say anything more. "And, uh, question two: do you guys have, like, fembots or something?"
"I can't answer your first question," Bumblebee said. "I'm not a psychiatrist, nor am I human. That's up to you. As for your second question, yes, we do. And they can be dazzling – well, those that are left, after the Decepticons went on a rampage and Cybertron blew up. Which reminds me, Optimus said a few days ago that Arcee should be showing up in a week."
"She a, uh, lady-Autobot?"
Bumblebee nodded. "Smart, and good fighter, too."
"So how do you guys, like –"
If Bumblebee could have smirked, he would have. But instead, he just shook his head, obviously amused, and said, "We'll talk about that some other time. You need to talk to Mikaela."
"My alien robot guardian is convincing me to break up with my girlfriend," Sam mused. "Amazing."
"Isn't it?"
"Hard to believe," he said. There was some comfortable silence, then – rain. It was cool and refreshing – purifying, Sam realized. He turned his gaze to the leaden sky, shut his eyes, and let the raindrops strike his face. It was a figurative rebirth, Sam decided. It's time to start over again. "Bee," he murmured at last, still facing the clouds, "let's go home."
To be continued...
Songs used:
Beach Boys, Good Vibrations
Aretha Franklin, I Will Survive
The Animals, Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
Rolling Stones, Start Me Up
The Edgar Winter Group, Free Ride
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Judy Blue Eyes Suite
Rocky Horror Picture Show, Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch-a
Daft Punk, Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Paul McCartney and The Wings, We're So Sorry, Uncle Albert
A/N: Okay, I want your feedback on this, really. I promise I'll come up with a title for the fic, it's just that actually requires some thinking (which I am incapable of right now). I hope you like it so far, but me being new to this fandom and all, I'm just a little nervous about how this fic looks.
Much love,
mo