Main characters: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Megatron, Blackarachnia

Universe: A very AU blend of G1 and 2007/2009 Movie-verses.

Pairings: Mainly Optimus Prime x Elita One, mentions of Megatron x Blackarachnia, some Ironhide and Chromia in later chapters.

Warnings: Some parts could be read as prostitution, depending on what your legal jurisdiction defines as prostitution. A little morbid, but nothing too dark. Warnings will be issued on a chapter-by-chapter basis. No non-con. Also, this was cross-posted on my DeviantArt account. This version has been completely revamped, so expect some major changes.

Rating: M for spark tactile stimulation.

Synopsis: Optimus muses on Elita One and her ways.

Various Author's Notes: Also, there be spoilers for Revenge of the Fallen ahead. Don't read if you haven't watched the movies! This fandom needs more Optimus Prime and Elita One.

Posted July 25th, 2009 on my DeviantArt account.

Almost an entire stellar cycle had passed by since she had learned that she was with spark. Elita had spent the first two orns residing in the Autobot base. Once Ratchet had verified that the spark had permanently integrated into her reproductive chamber, he had allowed her to travel back to her base. Even then, he had expressly forbid her from shutting down her radio permanently. She had to check in with him every half-orn or else. She had had the brilliant idea of mouthing off to him, and he had threatened to make her stay indefinite by banning her from traveling.

Elita smiled slightly to herself. If Ratchet had been a female, Elita would have welcomed him with open arms. The sudden mental image of a smaller but curvier version of Ratchet throwing wrenches at anyone who entered the medical bay made Elita laugh for a very long time. Once her laughter died down, the repressive silence came rushing back at full force. Elita sighed and picked at the worn edges of her work planner. Finding out about their creation should have resulted in a joyous celebration and a night of passion. They shouldn't have parted so abruptly.

Ironhide had awoken her very early the next morning. After the initial shock of seeing the massive mech standing just beside her had worn off, she opened her mouth to retort. Ironhide shook his head in response.

"It hurts to do this Elita, but you must leave. It'll be easier fer you and Prime this way."

His voice had been so warm and gentle even as he spoke to her.

Oh, she had wanted so desperately to kick the mech away before curling back up against Prime, but he had not let her. A firm - but entirely gentle - hand around her wrist made her rethink her thought process. Once her mental capabilities were running at full force, she could see why Ironhide wanted her to leave without saying goodbye.

Her reality had come crashing down around her, shattering into thousands of tiny pieces. Her fantasies were nothing but that – fantasies. She and the Prime could never be together. A mech and femme did not belong together. They were like water and oil. They could mix for the briefest of moments before they had to separate back to their niches. They could touch. They could long for more.

But they could never be.

Ironhide's gaze had hardened when she wiped her face of emotion. Goodbyes were messy. Goodbyes often implied that there was actually a relationship to sever.

Ironhide knew. He knew that they had grown far too attached to be considered business only. She had hesitated for only an astrosecond, but Ironhide had noticed.

"Elita…please don't make this more difficult than it has ta be."

She had only trailed her fingertips down the side of Optimus's face before nodding up at Ironhide in affirmation. With that, he had led her out of Prime's quarters and to the new ones she had been given. Ratchet had been waiting for her. He and Ironhide had exchanged a most peculiar look, but she had not noticed. She merely curled up on the berth and engaged her recharge sequence.

Elita would never have mentioned it to anyone, not even under the pain of torture and deactivation, but she had tried to see him one last time before departing for her base. Ironhide, with his wise processor, had instinctively known. He had turned her away with a gentle touch to the cheek plate and a kind dismissal. She had been angry with Ironhide for the longest time after that. She blamed him for their separation. She blamed him for not being able to say goodbye properly.

Now, she could not thank the Stars enough for his kindness.

Ever since she and Optimus had joined sparks, she could not get him out of her processor. Their memories haunted her. His hands, those powerful tools of his that had killed countless Decepticons, had stroked her so intimately and tenderly, cherishing and worshiping her like a rare work of art. He had known her in ways that other mechs could only dream of. They had been One for a split second in time, and she yearned for more than just a tantalizing, frustrating taste of their paradise. His spark felt right to her. He made her feel sheltered and protected for the first time in her life.

She couldn't refuel.

She couldn't recharge.

She couldn't function.

Elita threw her datapad down onto the desk before gripping the arms of the chair, her sharp fingertips digging into the soft metal. She stared at the surface, anger rising within her spark. How had she become so weak? So attached to a solitary being – a mech, no less? She briefly wondered what her ancestors would say at the atrocities she was committing.

Times have changed. War has changed all that we know. Perhaps…perhaps it wouldn't be so strange, she thought to herself. Would anyone support the radical idea of bonding with a male? She let out an inelegant, sharp bark of laughter. She was deluding herself. No sane mech, femme, or flier would ever consider a steady relationship with someone outside of their gender.

Then again, she was known for her revolutionary methods of thinking. She was powerful enough to ensure undying loyalty from her femmes. They wouldn't question her methods unless it endangered their way of life. She decided to trust only her closest advisors first.

Chromia certainly wouldn't approve of anything more than just business. Elita pushed her energon cube away. Her need for fuel dissipated almost immediately when she thought of Chromia. The light blue femme would not hesitate to put Elita in her place the second she stepped out of line. Elita was light years past the thin line that crossed lust and the beginnings of – dare she think it? – love. She knew she was heading into dangerous territory by wanting to chance a relationship with Optimus. Even if he wanted her the way she wanted him, their relationship would endanger her femmes. She had to be rational. One mech was not worth the loyalty and love she shared with her femmes. Even then, her processor insisted on betraying her.

She could see the picture clearly in her processor. She and Optimus would make a fine set of creators. If only we were given the chance, her processor wept bitterly, if only there was no infernal war to deal with. Elita could see her future self holding hands with Optimus as a half-dozen tiny sparklings played in a pen before them. She could see the subtle, happy glow about his optics as he surveyed his little family and the smile quirking up the side of his lip components as he held her close and poured his pride into their bond. Elita's spark ached, and then it became too much for her to bear. Soft, grinding clicks erupted from her vocalizer.

Optimus…

It was only fitting that Chromia decided to walk into her office at that moment.

The blue femme was staring at a datapad, mumbling quietly as she read through the various reports. Elita straightened up immediately, trying to still her quaking frame, but Chromia immediately noticed the defeat in her optics. Chromia stopped and slowly walked towards her; her footsteps were slow and cautious.

"Elita?" she asked, sounding unsure. Elita gave Chromia a glare, tightening her grip on her datapad. Elita very calmly set her work down.

"Have you not heard of announcing your presence before entering?" she asked angrily. Chromia arched an optic ridge. One hand rose and anchored itself to her hip in a slight display of defiance. Elita hardened her gaze. She was in no mood to deal with Chromia's insubordination at the moment. Not with her emotions swaying her rational though process.

"Is there something we need to talk about?" Chromia asked coolly, her gaze firm and hard. Elita's optics narrowed at her insolence.

"No, Lieutenant," Elita said, allowing her voice to develop an edge. Chromia very nearly snapped back at her Commander, but the rapid darkening of Elita's mood stopped her in her tracks.

Chromia knew when she could talk back to Elita, and when she could not. Elita was very laid back compared to the previous Femme Commanders. As long as they minded their manners and respected her, Elita would allow them to do almost whatever they pleased. However, if they didn't behave, Elita wouldn't hesitate to physically remind them of their place.

"Very well, Commander," Chromia snapped back, tossing the datapad onto her desk, "if you need me, I shall be in my quarters." Chromia could not help but to allow the sarcasm to mar her statement. Elita flung the datapad back at Chromia, but she was a mere astrosecond too late. The datapad hit the door hard, leaving a small dent behind as it fell to the floor. It sparked pitifully for a moment. Elita rubbed her face plates wearily.

The closer her sparkling's due date came, the higher strung her emotions became, making her irritable and volatile. Elita managed to drag her head up out of her hands. The four walls surrounding her suddenly became suffocating, and she got to her feet. Confinement and Elita did not go well together.

Elita stalked out of her office, slamming the door behind her as hard as she possibly could. Mechs and femmes parted as she stalked down the corridors. Then, as she turned a corner, she slammed into something hard. Something vaguely familiar.

"Watch where you are going," she snapped viciously. A familiar blue hand settled on her shoulder, and she suddenly went silent. Her spark leapt in its casing as fuel tanks fluttered nervously. Elita's optics traveled along the endless lines of his arm before finally settling on his face plates. Their optics met. Something clenched within her as the moments dragged by.

"Elita?" Optimus asked. He dismissed Prowl and Jazz with a brief nod. The mechs left immediately. They were under the guise that Optimus was going to try and defuse the femme. So was Elita, but he had very different ventures in mind.

He firmly and gently guided her into a nearby office. She blinked, staring around the room. Then she realized that his hands were starting to drift over her frame. Elita opened her mouth to tell him off, but she gasped when his mouth covered hers. She groaned for a moment, fighting her temptation hard for only a few moments, but then she gave in. Neither one noticed that the door had been left slightly ajar.

Optimus and Elita had their chest plates open before they could even grope around for the desk, so he lifted her up into the air. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he pressed her back into the wall.

Elita whimpered softly. If anyone found out, they'd be lucky to be tried in court for fraternization.

He locked his knee joints, and pressed his chest plate against Elita's. He began to skim his fingers over her receptive ports, drawing forth the occasional spark of electricity. Elita returned the sentiment, echoing his soft moans and crying out his designation. His hand fumbled against the wall for a moment, and he flipped on the sound dampeners. They could not afford to let anyone hear their liaison. The femme gasped as his finger slipped beneath her armor and against her protoform. He nearly stopped to see if he had harmed her, but the cry that erupted from her vocalizers quashed any notion of accidental damage. Optimus gently mouthed one of her fuel lines, stroking her long frame gently. Elita flexed her powerful legs around him, her hands scrabbling at his shoulders. It had been too long for both of them.

He nipped the side of her neck gently before returning to his work. Elita grit her denta and shuttered her optics. She couldn't short her vocalizer again. Ratchet would ask questions, questions she wasn't ready to answer yet. Optimus shifted her in his arms as he braced them against the wall. Elita recognized the subtle tremors shooting through his arms. The mech was about to overload. She was not far behind him. Optimus gently rubbed her hip.

Elita stiffened. She was so close so, so close to overload. Optimus sensed her need and redoubled his efforts. Elita cried out his name shamelessly, pleading and begging for overload. Optimus brushed his fingers over her ports again, and his circuits seized as his overload washed through him. Elita's high pitched shriek was barely audible over the roar of his audios. He sagged against the femme in his arms, further pressing her into the wall. Their intakes panted harshly as they carefully appraised one another. Once that he saw that she wasn't going to run away from him, he tightened the grip he had on her.

This time, Elita couldn't bring herself to give a frag about the consequences of their actions.