Bumblebee blames himself, really. Ratchet warned them that becoming too attached to humans might lend its own perverse side effects, and out of all the Autobots, Bee is the most attached. He's not exactly sure when he developed his 'fascination' (because he refuses to think of it as a fetish) with them. They're just so delicate and slender, warm, soft, and absolute porn for his optics. Oh, and the ladies love to dress them just so, don't they?
Really, Mikaela and Judy Witwicky do nothing to help it, painting and polishing them. Needless to say, summer is Bee's favorite season. After all, that's when the girls show them off the most, whether in strappy, processor-overloading numbers or complete and utter bareness. Today, Mikaela greets Sam wearing the most delicious pair he's ever seen. Red patent leather and she's painted the nails too?! The naughty girl. As a rule, Autobots can't drool, but damn if Bee isn't perspiring Energon in certain ports and wires.
He blares a wolf-whistle over the radio when she passes, and Mikaela returns a confused little smile. Sam's guardian always seems happy to see her, but she can't remember ever garnering such an enthusiastic greeting before. After all, it's not like she's done anything special or dressed in any special way. She's only wearing a white blouse with a grease stain, dark denim skinny jeans, and a gaudy pair of red high heels…
That's right. Bee is positively addicted to feet. Human feet are nothing like his metal servos. He supposes the difference between soft, organic flesh and hard metal is part of the lure, but he doesn't really care so long as Mikaela gets inside soon and rubs those delicious, indecently-clad feet on his floorboard.
Loving feet is bittersweet, because Bee doesn't love all feet. No sir, there are times when he is absolutely repulsed by some organics' feet. Sam, Primus bless him, has the most hideous feet Bumblebee's ever seen. Seriously, those tootsies aren't taken care of at all. Now Bee loves his charge, thank you very much, but there have been times when he wouldn't let the boy anywhere near his interior without shoes and socks on. Honestly, Sam never cuts those talons for nails, and more than once, Bee has scanned the beginnings of athlete's foot under the nail beds. Gross.
Mikaela's are his favorite. She puts on a show every time he scans her, and she doesn't even know it. Innocent little organic, sometimes Bee wonders how she can't know already? The many pairs he's anonymously bought and sent to her? Does she really so daftly think that dear Sam can afford such a habit? Oh well, Mikaela is shifting those feet on his interior and Bee is in heaven.
He turns up the heat blowing on her feet, hoping to coax them out of those scandalous heels. It seems he's a little too eager, however, because a minute later Mikaela is complaining about the extreme temperature shift on her toes. Bee cuts the heat. After all, it's a long drive and those shoes are bound to come off eventually. He is content for now to fantasize. The many scenarios his processor creates and then deletes number in the thousands. Time is always on his side, and lately his thirst for feet has become much more difficult to satiate.
Concentrating on the road ahead is painfully difficult. Mikaela has curved those beautiful stems of hers under his dash, catching and rubbing them along the seam there. His engine emits throaty sounds of its own accord, and judging by Sam's forehead crease and Mikaela's quirked brow, they notice the loudness even though he tries to blurt it out with rock music.
"Everything okay, Bee?" Sam asks, ever quiet.
## And what it all comes down to, is that everything is gonna be quite alright, 'cause I got one hand in my pock-- ## Alanis Morisette is not Bee's taste in music, but really, the radio waves on this planet are irritatingly limited.
"Just checking," but Sam looks only mildly appeased.
"My feet are warm now, Bee," Mikaela says pointedly.
Damn. He's been blasting the heat again, still trying to get those feet of hers undressed. He tones it down, sagging on his tires. This trip may not be long enough. He opens another scenario file: Mikaela, propped in one of his large palms, thighs splayed wide, feet dipping below the metal plating on his wrist and running slowly along the wires and coolant lines there…
Sam jerks the wheel with a harsh curse, which Mikaela reprimands him for. "What's wrong with you, Bee?!"
## I'm sorry I'm bad. I'm sorry I'm-- ## Buck Cherry croons from the speakers.
"Aww, 's'okay, Bee. We're fine," Mikaela coos.
"Don't encourage him," Sam snaps. They share a look before Sam loses his nerve. "Sorry. Not to you, Bumblebee. You could've gotten us killed!"
## I'm sorry ## The song continues, prompting Mikaela's next bit.
"Sam, quit being a dick!"
Bee loves her. He really does. With her perfect feet and unwillingness to see him treated badly, she's everything he needs and more.
## Please remove your shoes before entering the dojo ## a foreign lady's voice says quietly.
Sam and Mikaela exchange a look, but she still doesn't get it. Bee puts the heat on full-blast, carefully not searing her pretty, polished toes.
"Ouch!" she yelps. "You want me to take off my shoes?" she addresses the dash.
## That would be quite enjoyable ## a random stranger's voice observes casually.
"I'm sorry. I guess these heels are kinda sharp on you," and Bumblebee almost overloads himself right then and there when Mikaela quickly obeys him, tossing her shoes in his backseat.
Finally, he is rewarded with her sultry soles buried in his false carpeting. He prods them with finger-like outcroppings, returning the heat to a human-comfortable range. Mikaela is a barefoot goddess, but still completely oblivious to the real reasoning behind his request. Oh well, she can't have beauty and brains, and it doesn't even matter that she doesn't understand. If she notices the weird foot massage she's receiving, she doesn't let on. Bumblebee purposefully takes a wrong turn; he has an inkling that this trip is about to get a whole lot longer.
He's parked in his own little space in the Witwicky garage, hours after their earlier drive, replaying again and again the data files concerning Mikaela's feet. He preens through sensory file after sensory file, fondling his own his chest plating like the quiet pervert he is. It's not nearly enough, but he needs an overload now. He wonders idly if she would be averse to kicking back on his hood and allowing his hologram to rub her feet…
He overloads with a static cry and slips into recharge.
Morning comes, bringing with it the promise to see some more foot action. Bumblebee observes quietly the going-ons of the Witwicky residence. Breakfast, shower, TV. It's a pretty boring routine, but he knows he will be rewarded in a short while. In fact, he can hear her preparing to come outside right now. Thank Primus Judy Witwicky doesn't have a job. He's not sure what he'd do without his small morning treat.
## --cy's mom has got it going on. She's all I want and I've waited for so long ## his radio blasts when she walks out the back door, wearing gardening clogs and holding a trowel.
"Oh, Bee, stop it," she blushes, and his optics zero in on those clogs. Judy, you're too modest. It's going to be a good day…