Main characters: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia
Universe: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.
Warnings: Heavily implied spark play, graphic descriptions of kissing, and mild swearing. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con.
Rating: M for the above warnings.
Synopsis: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.
Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movie! Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account (on June 28, 2009). This version has been cleaned up and edited for content.
As they exited the crowded rec. room, Elita One let her optics rove over Optimus Prime and his gorgeous body. Elita One only used the mechs for their supplies and for what they could offer her. Elita One preferred the touch and the embrace of a fellow femme for physical and mental comfort. She had never needed a mech in her life. In fact, she scoffed at the idea of a male being able to provide what she needed and wanted. Most mechs had too much armor and too little protoform to carry it. But now, as she walked behind Optimus, she could admit that he was a very fine specimen of a male.
He was incredibly handsome underneath that mysterious battle mask of his. His features were regal - intense blue optics, curved optic ridges, sleek plating, and a strong chin. She fell back a step in order to continue admiring his long and powerful body. He was very tall and well-built. His shoulders were very wide, but they were not overly so. His chest plating was broad, but it curved elegantly, denoting his status as a member of the upper class. She could only imagine what it would feel like to be pressed up against that frame. Her gaze dropped lower. His legs were endlessly long, delectable support pillars to his impressive upper body. Whoever had built his body had known they were creating the frame of a king.
Breaking from her spell, Elita trotted after him obediently, her optics narrowing as he led her through the base. She had never been in this area before, and it made her slightly anxious to not know what he had planned. She subtly activated a self-defense program. He may have been a Prime, but a Prime was not necessarily good to his people. After a few breems of winding through the expansive hallways and corridors, Elita was beginning to lose her patience. Just as she was about to snap something up at him, he stopped, and she nearly collided with his overly large backside.
He opened a door, politely waiting for her to enter. She stepped in, ignoring the hand that he had offered to help her down the stairs. Elita glanced around. The room was massive, but very well lighted. A large desk stood in the middle of the room. Two large, ornate seats had been placed before the desk. Optimus made his way to the other side of the desk. He sank into his plush seat.
"Please sit down," he said, elegantly motioning to the seat before his desk. The low timbre of his voice made Elita's spark shudder.
"Of course, my lord," she said, her silky-smooth voice slightly sarcastic. Optimus didn't bother responding to her jab. He was used to her sarcasm by now. Elita smirked to herself, and bypassed the chair. She daintily sank onto the edge of his desk. He raised an optic ridge at her cheeky smile.
"Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"Elita purred suggestively. She had been trying to bed him for a very long time now. If she could conceive a spark by him, she would be very well off. After all, only a Prime could produce other Primes, and her every need would be catered to. Optimus was the Supreme Commander, but that did not mean that he was the only Prime on Cybertron. There were a dozen others, each one with equal opportunity to become the next Supreme Commander.
Not every mech or femme spawned by a Prime immediately became one. If that was the case, they'd have thousands vying for leadership. There were currently eight potentials that had displayed signs of becoming a Prime, and even then, it was highly unlikely that a Prime would be produced from that particular group. Elita smirked to herself. She would give her title as Femme Commander to see one of her daughters ruling alongside the mechs.
However, Optimus had no desire to see another war erupt over who would inherit his legacy, so he rarely mated, and when he did, he took great care to avoid fathering a sparkling.
"I wish to open negotiations with you," Optimus said carefully, folding his hands across the top of the desk. He did his best to ignore the way that the femme crossed her legs, hiding the port that he so desperately craved.
"Negotiations? Please, do continue," she said, running her hand down his chest plates. Elita smirked when his optics flared white at her touch. She could feel his engine beginning to thrum underneath her fingertips.
"Very well. I will offer one thousand energy units for one flier," he said, reclining in his seat. To the untrained optic, it seemed that he was relaxing, but Elita knew that he was trying to avoid her touch.
"Only a thousand, Prime? Megatron is offering two thousand per flier," Elita said lightly, as though discussing the weather. She glanced down at her hands disinterestedly, and added as an afterthought, "and he is also offering to let us have two hundred units per mech that is produced in our attempts. He's even making a gift of a failed 'Con to sweeten our…" She paused dramatically, waiting until she had his full attention before continuing. "…temporary alliance."
Optimus raised an optic ridge at her statement. Two thousand was a hefty price. Megatron must have been running low on fliers. He didn't pause to think on Megatron offering 'failures' to the femmes. The last battle had been almost a vorn ago, and the females were getting antsy.
"Very well. I raise my offer to one thousand five hundred," he said, mimicking her pause. Elita looked up, unable to ignore him for more than a few astroseconds. Prime rarely negotiated on such short terms, so she was quite interested in what he had to offer.
"For a sparkling-flier from you," he said, letting his optics rove over her chest. She didn't miss the slight husky tone that his voice took on.
Elita raised one optic ridge. When she saw that he was being completely serious, she gave a short bark of laughter. She was incredulous. She had borne eight sparklings for the Autobots and six for the Decepticons, and each one had fetched nearly triple the amount that normal femmes were offered. She was the Femme Commander. Her strengths were passed on to her sparklings, and that was why she bore such a hefty price. The only flier she ever produced had fetched nearly twelve thousand energy units.
"Prime, you're going to have to offer much more than that if you want a sparkling," she said, her sarcastic, biting laughter marring her sentence. He waited patiently until she was silent once more. His intense gaze unnerved her.
"I wasn't finished," he said coolly. Elita nodded, leaning back on one hand. Her gaze was cold and calculating. She debated on raising the price to thirteen thousand energy units for him wasting her time. Even if he had offered her the key to Iacon, she would have refused.
"And I offer to sire it myself," he said finally, his optics darkening to indigo as he spoke. Her optics widened of their own accord. She composed herself quickly.
"Sire it yourself," she murmured quietly and thoughtfully, running a fingertip down the center of his chest plates. If she bore his spark, she would be able to negotiate quite a bit more from him. She and her femmes would be very well taken care of for a long time. Perhaps they would even have enough energy to abandon the planet and the war. Her kind had no reason to stay behind. The AllSpark had given them the gift of being able to bear life. They had no need to fight for its control.
"Five hundred units per mech that we create," he continued, grasping her hand in his, pulling her toward him, "and if one becomes Prime, then you will receive a gift of fifty thousand units. Is this sufficient, my lady?" His tone had become as mocking as hers. His glittering azure optics locked with hers as he awaited her answer.
"Very well," she said, pretending to sound a little annoyed and disinterested, "under what conditions?"
His optics glinted harshly.
"You will remain in my quarters until I confirm that you have become pregnant," Optimus said bluntly, dropping her hand and interlacing his fingers together, "then, you will remain on my base until my Chief Medical Officer delivers the sparkling. After that, you are free to leave."
Elita nodded, a slow smirk crossing her face plates. So he knew what she had done. One of Prime's men had negotiated with one of you her younger femmes, and he had treated her with great inconsideration during the mating. The clever young femme then took her regulation files off-line, rendering her temporarily sterile, and the mech never noticed. Then the femme relayed the poor treatment to Elita.
In a fit of rage, Elita had summoned Blackarachnia, and together, they had smuggled the femme into Decepticon territory. Blackarachnia had managed to convince Megatron to bed the femme, and less than one joor later, the femme had been confirmed to be carrying a little orb. Megatron was unwilling to let her go, but Blackarachnia had offered herself to him in exchange.
Less than one stellar cycle later, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were brought into the world, and the mech had unknowingly raised two Decepticon sparklings as his own. It was bittersweet revenge for the femme, for only she and the other femmes knew the father of the little ones. She supposed she could insult him a little more by suggesting a careful spark frequency measurement. A small smirk crossed her face plates. Yes, that would do perfectly.
"You drive a very hard bargain, Prime," Elita purred, sliding from her perch slowly, "but I suppose I could accept your terms. When will we create the sparkling?"
Optimus raised one optic ridge at the blatant suggestive tone she had.
"Whenever you would like," he countered. There was a brief pause as she circled around behind his seat. She ignored his tension and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. Then she began to rub his armor slowly, her fingers occasionally dipping beneath to play with his muscle cables.
"The sooner the better," Elita breathed into his audio receptor. She kissed her way up to one of his antenna, licking it from base to tip. She smirked slightly when she felt his entire chest rumble.
"You are correct," he , slowly relaxing into her touch. She made a noise of agreement as she nuzzled a path down to his neck. He let out a low purr at her expert touch. Tendrils of fire snaked down to his spark.
"I always am," she shot back, tightening her grip slightly. The pointed ends of her fingers dug into a fuel line.
"Perhaps," Optimus murmured, taking one of her hands in his. As Elita leaned forward, he kissed the palm of her hand. Elita sighed softly. Her unoccupied hand stroked his chest at random, her fingers sliding over the glass in his windshield and tickling his wipers. He tugged on her hand, pulling her around to stand before him. He wrapped his hands around her waist, effortlessly lifting her into his lap. Her hands dug into his forearms nervously. She was used to being dominant during every interface session, and being entirely at his mercy was slightly unnerving. She may have been a strong warrior, but he was the Prime. Only Ironhide and Ultra Magnus could brawl with him and live to tell the tale.
Optimus reclined slightly, his hands loosening around her waist. Then his talented fingers dipped into the spaces of his armor, and her anxiety began to slip away. Now that she was certain that this experience would not involve her having to teach him what to do with a female, she was beginning to enjoy herself.
"Shall we retire to my quarters, my dear lady?"
"Y-yes," Elita whispered unsteadily, her optics shut tightly at the sensual assault on her frame. She could have slapped herself. She had dreamed to hear those words for orns, and now that she had him where she wanted, all she could do was nod and stammer like an innocent. Optimus grunted his response, and Elita nearly shrieked when he lifted her into his arms. One large arm supported her legs effortlessly, while the other arm cradled her to his chest. She clung to him for fear of being dropped.
"Put me down," she snapped, "I can walk on my own, Prime!"
Optimus gave her a smoldering glare that made her spark shudder in its casing. She fell silent, but the frown remained plastered on her face. Once she was silent, he continued to walk toward what she presumed to be his quarters. He turned down a hallway.
Elita dropped her head against his shoulder in embarrassment when she saw the guards posted on either side of his door. There were no less than twenty mechs lining the hallway.
"Optimus Prime," Ironhide greeted, bowing his head as he stood at attention. Optimus nodded in response, shifting Elita slightly in his arms to hide her face from the others.
"Ironhide," Optimus responded, nodding in the mech's direction. Elita's internal pressure skyrocketed in rage when she saw the massive black mech smirk up at his Commander.
"Sir? Do you require assistance?" he prompted questioningly, glancing pointedly over at the limp Femme Commander.
"Elita One requires rest. I could not let a femme of her stature rest in substandard quarters," Optimus offered, his voice innocent. Only Elita and Ironhide caught the subtle jab at her title. Ironhide's smirk grew wider.
"Very well, sir. Shall I call for Ratchet to attend to her…energy needs?" Ironhide asked suggestively.
"I am more than capable of tending to Lady Elita's needs on my own, Ironhide," Optimus responded. A third mech snickered quietly. He was silenced when Elita cracked her optics opened and glared at him.
"I didn't mean to imply otherwise, sir," Ironhide said, "drone number 453 should be within with your energon."
"Thank you, Ironhide," Optimus responded, watching as his bodyguard opened the door for him.
"Don't wear her out too much, boss," Ironhide muttered quietly, his optics locked on the wall before him in a perfect picture of standing at attention. Elita nearly shrieked at him, but the door shut before she could respond. Optimus smirked down at her.
"What was the meaning of that?" Elita snapped hotly, writhing in his grip. She smacked his chest in hopes of being set down.
"Ironhide knows exactly what we are going to do tonight, Elita. If it is any consolation, no one heard him but us," Optimus said bluntly, "now, shall we retire to my berth immediately, or would you like a tour of my quarters?" Elita fell silent at his straightforwardness. She had expected him to be nothing but polite to her. This new primal side to him made her circuits thrum in a most peculiar way, however.
"I would like to see your quarters," she said haughtily, "now, will you put me down?"
"As you wish," Optimus murmured quietly. Once Elita was on her feet, Optimus sent out a command to his personal drone. It detached from a panel in the wall and zoomed over to his feet. It beeped.
"Fetch two flutes of high grade," Optimus commanded. The drone beeped, and returned to its niche in the wall. Elita raised one optic ridge when the drone promptly returned, bearing a tray upon its flat head.
"Are you attempting to inebriate me, Optimus? Perhaps the tales of your prowess were not as true as they seemed," Elita said coyly, accepting the flute from the drone. She sipped it, watching as Optimus did the same. He snorted quietly.
"If you do not want it, then you need not drink it," he responded sarcastically, "and I do not know what it is you speak of when you mention my 'prowess'. I have not bedded your females." Elita rolled her optics to the ceiling as she continued sipping the light blue fluid slowly. It was an exquisite batch. The sweetness and bubbles of the drink easily balanced out the exquisite, tingling burn.
"This is the anteroom," Optimus said, motioning to the expansive room. Elita raised one optic ridge at the sheer size of the room. He pushed open a pair of intricately decorated doors.
"This is my main living area," Optimus said, completely oblivious to Elita's awe. The room was easily four or five times the size of her quarters. A massive window took up the entire wall, letting in the view of the beautiful Iacon night sky. The first of the three moons was just beginning to reach its zenith above the Pavilion on the West side of the city. She was so enthralled by the night sky that she nearly tripped down the miniature flight of stairs that led into the room.
Two couches large enough to seat a dozen mechs each flanked the windows. Various works of art dotted the room, and upon closer inspection, Elita verified that it had been Sunstreaker that had made them. Optimus waited until she had finished looking before motioning at a large door to their left.
"That door leads into my personal office," he said. Elita nodded, and began to make her way to the window. Her gaze was locked on the sky. She reached one hand out and pressed it to the window. It hummed at her touch. Mild electrical currents ran through the massive pane of glass, rendering it nearly indestructible in order to prevent break-ins or accidental falls.
The night sky was black velvet, splashed with blue and green gas ribbons. Stars glittered far above, rendering her speechless. The rings of Iossa and her twelve moons were clearly visible at this altitude.
"It's beautiful," Elita said quietly, awed and humbled. Optimus smiled to himself.
"Tomorrow, I will wake you early and we will watch the suns rise," Optimus said, then amended his statement quickly, "but only if you would like."
Elita nodded eagerly.
"I would enjoy it," she said, unable to tear her optics away from the pulsing gas nebulas. After a moment, she glanced away. On the surface of the planet, the night sky was rarely visible past the thick smog clouds.
"Shall we continue?" Optimus asked. Elita nodded. Her cocky demeanor returned, and she took a sip of her drink.
"Lead on, my Prime," she said, holding her flute out in a mock toast.
"Very well. The open archway past my office leads to my personal library, and one of my storage rooms is past that one," Optimus said, quickly pointing out each door, "and on the other side, those doors lead to my bedroom."
Elita nodded, quietly putting her drink down on the end table. She took no notice of the small drone that immediately whisked it away. Optimus continued talking, completely oblivious to the femme sneaking up behind him. At the lengthy silence from his companion, he turned around and found himself chest-to-chest with the femme. Elita placed her hands on his chest, sliding them down slowly. Optimus dropped his drink when she slipped her fingers underneath his chest plates.
He didn't give her a chance to react. He merely wrapped one powerful arm around her waist, bringing her face level with his. She snaked her arms around his neck and hooked her legs around his waist awkwardly. Optimus meshed his lips with hers. His tender kiss was the last thing that Elita expected. He was tender, carefully stroking her back and sides, but she could feel the hunger he was trying to stave off. Elita parted her lips, teasing the seam of his lips with her glossa. Prime was a conquest she was going to enjoy.
This was a new experience for her. Interface was usually rushed for her when it involved a mech or flier. She was very distrustful of anyone who wasn't a femme, but this...this felt so different. She was safe with him, safe in his arms... Optimus broke her from her thoughts by responding to her kiss, parting his lips. For a moment they kissed, savoring one another. She broke away, straining to gather her thoughts, even as he sucked her lower lip between his. How was he able to affect her with just a kiss? Already, she was so hot that her spark ached for his. Conception was normally a boring chore for her, but...but Prime was making her spark do things it had not done in eons.
"Now," she whispered hoarsely. Optimus began to walk to his bedroom. Elita busied herself with pulling off the removable bits of his armor. He gave a low laugh, nuzzling her neck gently. He nipped her fuel line gently, smirking at her soft mewl. Who knew that the ice queen could be capable of so much passion? He saved several recordings of her writhing in his arms, too enthralled with her beautiful display to resist.
"Patience, my Lady," he whispered roughly, typing in the code to his bedroom. Elita ignored him. His bumper fell to the ground. Optimus stepped in and headed directly for the massive berth in the middle of his room. He gently pried Elita from his chest, spreading her across the surface. He eased his hips between her legs, undoing one of the latches that held her front fender on.
"Optimus," she groaned harshly, arching into his hands every time he touched her.
"What would you request of me, Elita?" Optimus asked. Elita groaned, throwing her head back on the many cushions dotting the berth. His fingers trailed over her frame as he easily divested her of her protective armor. Normally, she initiated mating with her armor on, but his touch was too intoxicating, too knowledgeable for her to tell him to stop. Once her protoform was completely bare, Optimus lowered himself to cover her chest with his. He captured her lips with his once more, shuttering his optics.
Outside, the war continued raging.
The juicy bits were edited out in order to comply with FFN rules.