OMG! Long chapter! AH! Because some people have been requesting more Optimus/Elita, I just had to write another Optimus/Elita chapter! Yay! Hopefully after the next chapter or two, once I have everything established, the story will be advancing a lot quicker. Hopefully this chapter is way better than the last. I worked really hard on it!
Special thanks to: lady tecuma (I'm glad I made your nigh!) , VAwitch (Thank you so much! I'm glad I was able to write Prowl well!), Gen (I will definitely keep your suggestion in mind! I like the idea of writing about the reunion!), JessyJazz (Wow, your review really made my day! I thought I completely messed up with Jazz and here you are loving him! You know what, I say you CAN be Prowl if only so you can be with Jazz!), Stripperella (your haikus were both breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Thank you more than a million for the wonderful works of poetry included in your review!).
"Optimus, you're going to have to let me go sometime soon if we are going to see to our duties here," Elita pointed out with a bare amount of amusement in her voice as she prodded her bonded. In return, the arm that held her close to Optimus's side curled around her tighter.
"I quite enjoy having you by my side, though," he replied, offering her a smile that meant way too many things. "There is only so much time I have left to enjoy your company and I wish to use every moment to my advantage."
"So you're going to keep me pinned here, are you?" she asked, laughing lightly.
"If I have to," he replied. He turned his optics down to her, revealing the youngling-like mischief that was dancing in them. It was like staring into the optics of an Optimus that was so many vorns younger than he was, still full of youth and vigor.
"We'll see how long that's going to last," Elita teased, a grin stretching her faceplate. They may be have been out of the way leaning against the railing of the second level in the command center, but eventually they were going to get in someone's way.
"We could always discuss this issue in my office, if you wish," Optimus offered, making it very clear by the expression he wore that the option held more than just the face value offer.
Elita returned his offer with a look of speechless surprise. How many times had she been given that offer when they were younger and they ended up doing a lot more than just 'discussing' things in his office? She had come to expect offers like that from the young, impulsive mech when they had first began seeing each other, but as time wore on, private office trysts had become few and far between.
The sheer impulsiveness of it was almost enough to say 'slag duty, where's your office?'
It helped little that Optimus was raising those nearly forgotten feelings of crazy lustful encounters from distant files in his memory banks and gently feeding her the sensations through their sparkbond to further entice her. Her pumps sped up a little, swept away by the intensity of the sensual feelings suddenly filling her.
As a contented purring rev issued from her, somewhere behind them came a distant chuckle. It was ignored by Optimus, but suddenly Elita suddenly hyper-aware of how public the place they were standing in was and just how many bots were milling about, glancing their way every few breems with vague smiles decorating their faceplates.
She snapped out of her wanton stupor pretty damn quickly.
"What has gotten into you?" she hissed, chiding and incredulous and slightly embarrassed.
"I thought it was understood from last night that these last few orns were not to be wasted," he said, bending low to whisper in her audio receptor. He was still transmitting sensations through their bond, making it difficult for Elita to maintain her edge. She desperately resisted the urge to press herself into her sparkmate's formidable frame, squashing whatever need there was to reciprocate the feelings being fed to her through the bond.
"That doesn't mean we have to reformat into petro-rabbits," Elita replied.
Optimus's faceplate broke out into a wide grin that accentuated his handsome features. "From Prowl's report on the nightshift, I'd say that was the general idea of a few mechs."
"Oh, do not bring Ironhide and Chromia into this, you dirty old mech," Elita scolded, rapping her sparkmate firmly on the chassis with her knuckles. "What they do in the privacy of their quarters is their own business!"
"Are you suggesting we go to our own quarters, then?"
Elita whined and banged her head of Optimus's side. "No, I'm saying you should go down to the med bay and sedate yourself before whatever glitch in your programming that's making you act this way forces me to offline you before any more of your dignity, as well as mine, can be thrown out an air lock."
"I wouldn't mind throwing everything I have out an air lock if it meant I could have you right now."
"I'd throw you out an air lock if that meant I could get to work."
Even the threat was not enough for Prime to relinquish his hold on his sparkmate.
Frustrated with his insistence, Elita let him know exactly what she thought of his offers through the bond, sending every ounce of frustration she had to him. He jumped from the sudden harshness of the message. What she received in return was a sudden wave of hurt and disappointment, which instantly made her spark twist painfully in her spark case.
With a sigh, she lifted her small hands to capture Optimus's faceplate in a gentle hold, guiding his optics down to meet hers. He was close enough so that she could press her forehead to his softly.
"Look, let me go for a few breems to tie up some loose ends and I swear I'll come back as soon as I can," she said.
She felt his desire to keep her close burning passionate and hot from his spark, he wanted her close for every astrosecond until he gone; he wanted her almost as much as she wanted him. But, it was her logic center that was dictating that she had responsibilities to see to, even if her emotional subroutines were railing against the idea furiously. Prime may have had the luxury to place his mantle of command on whomever so that he could go off on his merry way, but she lacked the luxury. The Femme Contingent was hers alone to take care of.
"I swear Optimus, as soon as I'm done what I need to do, I'll come right back and then not even the pit itself would be able to tear me away from you. I'll only be a few breems, half a joor at best, and then you'll have me to do whatever you please, alright?" Her optics stared into his pleadingly, begging through their bond for him to understand that she wanted nothing more than to run back to his office with him and sweep his desk top clean but there were more pressing matters at hand for her to see to.
A long sigh issued from the large mech as he relinquished his hold on his sparkmate and let her take a few steps away from him. His side felt uncomfortably cold without her presence there to keep it warm.
"There's nothing I could say that could make you stay just a little while longer, is there?" he asked. He was Prime after all, wasn't it his prerogative to be able to order a mech to substitute for femme commander while Elita was indisposed? He could definitely see Tracks enjoying himself with the promotion…
"Short of anything that begins with "I order you to…" then no, there's nothing you can say," Elita replied. "And before you get the brilliant idea to try and assert your position as Prime, think carefully and ask yourself if you like recharging in your quarters or in the hall."
Optimus sighed as his last hope was shot down it a brilliant ball of flame. Elita offered him a small smile in consolation.
"There was nothing I could have said last night to make you stay, and there's nothing you can say now to make me stay," she said, the smile hosted on her faceplate fading a little to the sad one he had seen last night. "The only difference is that I'm coming back a lot sooner than you will be."
He never got a chance to reply before Elita backed out from under his towering presence and headed for the stairs that would lead her down into the wild hustle and bustle of the main floor of the command center.
What originally was only supposed to take half a joor to complete was now cutting into the third joor of Elita's departure.
At first, Optimus had taken the opportunity to see to a few tasks of his own that needed to be dealt with, many of which being of recent damages wrought from numerous escapades played out during the night. Scanning through the long list of repairs that Grapple and Hoist would have to deal with, Optimus felt a bare bit thankful for Ratchet ordering him to his quarters for the night.
If someone as logic-centered and coolheaded as Prowl could end up half-crazed and fritzing as he was when he ran out of the command center, then Optimus surely did not want to think of the condition he would be in had he stuck around for the night shift.
Now, though, with the most pressing matters seen to, he was left bored and back in the place that Elita had left him in. Minor tasks he still needed to see to were delegated to subroutines constantly run in the background while he bot watched from his vantage point in peace. Around him, the Iacon base command center exploded with its normal plethora of hyper-excited energy and lively invigoration.
Somewhere in amongst the ranks, Optimus caught a brief glance of Elita One dodging between the legs of mechs twice or three times her size, trying to make her rounds to several late femmes who'd stumbled in. He didn't dare try and hale her as she fought her way towards to the large, raised entrance of the command center. She obviously was on the hunt for miscreant femmes wandering in late for their shift.
Optimus watched her for a moment longer before letting his optics drift back to the rushing waves of mechs running to and fro through the room. In contrast to his more lenient nature towards infractions of a minor nature, Elita preferred to adhere a little more strictly to the rules, enforcing them when necessary. There was no point in trying to hale her when she was in pursuit of her prey.
Looking over the entirety of the command center as it was, Optimus knew that it was not only his sparkmate that he was going to miss once he left. For the time being, he tried to absorb as much of the mad house atmosphere of the room as he could.
A cacophony of clicks and screeches over took the main level as mechs yelled back and forth to each other in jovial greeting, foul-mouthed cursing, and tried to let the others know the latest gossip. As usual, some bots stumbled in from their overindulgence the night before, groaning and cursing, only to be reprimanded by Red Alert as he confronted them, or to be chewed out by Elita if she aught them first.
Skinny silver drones ran about underfoot, flashing under the stark lights of the room as they weaved though legs and feet, either trying to finish their programmed cleaning tasks, or otherwise piled high with data pads and reports to be delivered to a dozen different bots.
On either side of Optimus, bots were hanging off the railing of the upper section of the room, shouting down to those on the main level. It was amusing to watch as they relayed important information as loudly as they could, even though the same information could have easily, and quietly, been transmitted through digital transmissions or inter-cranial comm. links. The enjoyment that came from shouting across a crowded room overrode the efficiency there was in using the simple and sensible mode of information delivery.
The room was loud, crowded, and undoubtedly crazed; it was a place that Optimus was going to miss being a part of. It reminded him that there was still life left in Cybertron, thriving strongly in its people as they went about their jobs enthusiastically.
During the orn, the command center was practically the spark and processor of the Iacon base. The room itself was quite large, circular in design, and fairly open to allow for the dozens of mechs running about with whatever task they had to perform. Grapple and Hoist had had a field orn when designing the place, going to all manner of lengths to create a command center to outstrip every other base on Cybertron.
Credit had to be given; they succeeded.
Walls that were not lined with wide monitors or crowded by hulking consoles were overtaken by sleek silver paneling, many of which would shift aside at a moment's notice to form weapons' lockers, emergency consoles, or medical supply storage units in case of attack. Wide stairs ran up one side of the room to the spacious second level, where the hubbub was just as bustling and fast paced as it was on the main level- except with a better view. Opposite of the wide balcony loomed an immense screen that dominated space from ground level to the second floor, most often used for visual communications between bases.
The crowning glory of the room, a testament to Grapple's genius as an architect, was the communications post held suspended above the entire room in its own little domed platform in the ceiling. A crystalline soundproof guard encased the post, lined with dozens of screens and direct access links to all communication frequencies of all Autobot bases and then some. It was the envy of all communications officers, with Blaster proudly proclaiming dibs on the entire place; it was his own personal paradise that he guarded jealously when he was on-duty.
From where Optimus stood leaning unobtrusively over the second level railing, he could clearly see that vestiges of the night's excitements were still mingling with the day crew as they leaned away from their monitors and consoles to chat animatedly with their neighbor. It was certainly spark lifting to see his mechs in such lively moods when lately there hadn't been much to be cheerful over.
Training his audio receptors on to a few strains of conversation, he caught spirited rumors being passed along and colorful retellings of the night's events. As always, gossip was golden amongst his mechs.
"Wheeljack's lab exploded last night!"
"What? Again?!"
"Prime was escorted to his quarters last night by Prowl and Hound!"
"No, really?!"
"Yeah, I saw it with my own optics!"
"Did you hear about what happened in the med bay? Ratchet finally had a melt down! Went on the fritz and completely dismantled the twins!"
"Ha! I bet they deserved it!"
"You should have heard what Sunny and Sides did in Nebula One!"
"Those little glitches!"
"Do you even want to hear about what happened with Ironhide and Chromia?"
"No! Good sweet Primus, no!"
"They say there was so much noise coming from the room-!"
"-Don't make me deactivate you!"
"Did you walk by Prowl's quarters this morning?"
"Yeah!"
"Did you hear them?!"
"Yeah!!"
"They're like petro-rabbits!"
"I know!"
"All you heard was Prowl begging to stop and recharge for a little while!"
"Ha! I thought he had more stamina than that!"
Scrubbing his grinning faceplate tiredly, Optimus chuckled and tuned out of those particular trains of conversation. He was the leader of a legion of gossip mongers. Both an entertaining blessing and a more-than-one-needs-to know curse.
Distantly, he heard the whispers of 'Allspark' being passed around in lowered voices. At least it wasn't gossip.
"-so what do you think of the whole Allspark thing?"
"I think the mission sounds great and all, but Jazz hasn't sent out any information on it yet. He always takes his sweet time getting things out."
"Ultra Magnus sent us the details as soon as he got them. He's good like that, you know? Told us that we were all capable warriors and that he expected to see applications from everyone in his division."
"Are you going to do it?"
"Why not? It's better than sitting around here staring at monitors orn after orn while everyone else is out there fighting. At least signing up for this will mean we're doing something. Besides, Optimus is leading it, and Ironhide's already signed on, what more could you ask for? We're practically guaranteed to find the Allspark!"
Optimus smiled vaguely as he listened, heartened by the confidence his soldiers had in his abilities when he himself was so unsure.
So enraptured by eavesdropping, the Autobot leader remained completely oblivious to the company he now had.
"Sir?" Silverbolt waited respectfully to be acknowledged like he usually did. Unfortunately, Prime's attention seemed to be solely on bot watching at the moment, so he was unintentionally ignored.
Straightening nervously, Silverbolt tried again to catch Optimus's attention. "Sir?"
Slingshot, who was leaning boredly against the rail not far behind his friend, huffed and crossed his arms. "Give it up, Silverbolt. I don't even think his processor is on Cybertron right now," he mumbled. "It's on planet 'Elita One' or something; who knows what the old bot is thinking."
Silverbolt shot the mech a hard look to silence him. He reached out a hand and tapped the leader on the shoulder. "Optimus, sir?" he pressed, a little more loudly this time.
Optimus started once and then looked over, fixing his deep blue optics on the two mechs standing not far to his left. "My apologies," he said benignly, straightening to his full height. "Is there something the matter?"
Accordingly Silverbolt snapped to attention while Slingshot continued to lounge against the railing.
It seemed that being in the presence of the esteemed Optimus Prime still overloaded poor Silverbolt's circuits, despite his time in service. With the knowledge that he had the undivided attention of Optimus at that very moment, the aerial officer began to stammer something akin to the reason he was there in the first place. "No sir! …I mean, yes sir! …well, actually, sir, what I mean to say is-!"
Slingshot revved in annoyance. "What he means to say, sir, is that we need Highflier back before we can start on our aerial patrols," he said flatly.
Optimus raised an optic ridge. "Oh? Is she being detained somewhere?" he asked.
Silverbolt nodded his head in the general direction of beyond the balcony. "Something to that effect, sir," he said with a slight amount of embarrassment. The silver projections that jutted from his back, denoting his aerial capabilities, drooped a little, adding only to the comically sheepish appearance he sported at the moment.
Glancing down towards the floor, Optimus caught sight of Elita towering impressively over two femmes, one recognizable as Firestar, the other a brass colored femme obviously being Highflier. The pair of femmes appeared to be getting thoroughly chewed out by their commander.
So that's who she was hunting down, Optimus thought sympathetically as he stared down at the trio of femmes. "How long as she been at them?" he asked, leaning further over the railing to have a better view of the situation below.
"Too long," Slingshot huffed
Silverbolt looked pleadingly to his leader. "We sort of need you to- ah… 'save' them. Elita One's been at them for a while now.
Optimus nodded. "I'll see what I can do, but I'm only Prime here, not Primus. If Elita doesn't want to let them go, you'll have to start your rounds without Highflier. Short of ordering her to stand down, there was only so much he could do if Elita was intent on chewing out her own soldiers. He really didn't want it to come to having ordering her to do anything; he rather liked recharging in his own quarters as opposed to the hall.
From where they stood on the second level, Elita's voice carried easily over the din of command center.
"-it certainly is not becoming of any officer to show up late for any occasion; as Autobots we have standards and regulations to operate by and every bot, mech and femme, is responsible to uphold them." The Femme Commander fixed her subordinates with a firm look.
"Especially femmes," she stressed. "There are so few of us left that we can not afford for a few disregarding femmes to sully the reputation of the femme contingent; I expect far more from my own warriors than what Prime does from his lot. We are far and few between, which means that there are a lot more optics focused on us rather than on the mechs. Optimus may let his mechs slack off in some cases, coming in late and acting without any regard to rank, but I certainly will not permit such foolishness in my ranks-."
Optimus deadpanned as he stared down at his bonded; a less public critique would have been appreciated. He let her know he was listening by a gentle prod to their bond, only to be rewarded with a quick glance upwards and the definite feeling of 'stay out of this if you know what's good for you' coming through their sparkbond. Oh, he knew that feeling well; any mech bonded to a femme would know it.
Beside him, Slingshot snickered openly while Silverbolt looked insulted and ready to protest. Before the zealous Autobot shouted something down in defense of his great leader, Optimus laid a hand on his shoulder and muted him with a shake of his head. In the long run, he would really like to recharge in his own quarters the last few orns he was on Cybertron instead of being locked out in the hall.
"But, Optimus-!"
"She has a right to her opinion," he said quietly. And I have a right to my room. "And, unfortunately, there is some basis of truth in the accusation, don't you think?"
He was guilty of letting his mechs get away with far too much. Only his excuse was that there wasn't much choice in the matter.
The majority of his ranks had been civilian before the war, reconfigured for battle when they joined the Autobot cause instead of proclaiming Neutrality. In the beginning, the newly inducted Autobots had fumbled with their newly installed military programming, stumbling through the new subroutines as they tried to adapt their core programming to the new data being imputed that went against everything previously assimilated before.
The transition for some had been notably difficult.
With all the diplomacy and charisma that he was known for, Optimus had relaxed the rigid command structure accordingly to allow a more comfortable transition into military life. It had done wonders for the previously fritzing bots. Optimus also reaped the benefits of his own decision, often finding amusement in the candid nature he was often addressed with. He also saw nothing wrong with a little leeway in the way of tardiness or correct protocol. As long as everything got done correctly and on time, then that was good enough for Prime. It wasn't that he let them slack off. He was simply understanding of where his mechs were coming from.
That did not make him a lax leader. Which he would have to point out to Elita as soon as he got a moment alone with her.
Down below, the tirade continued.
"-had this been battle and not just a simple tardy shift, bots could have been deactivated for such a blatant disregard for time! I hope you two understand the importance of what I am trying to impress upon you; don't you dare try to show up late for another shift again, or it may cost you more than just extra shifts down in inventory- don't give me that look, Firestar. I know you were expecting me to be a little more merciful on you because of last night, but Optimus and I worked things out and I am back to being a glitch in your programs today. "
Firestar easily caught on to what "worked things out" meant. Her faceplate broke out into a wide, insinuating grin. Even while getting chewed out by Elita, they were still friends, which meant as soon as they were both off duty Firestar would be prying for details.
Optimus quickly saw his moment to interject.
"Elita, I'm sure they understand the importance of being punctual by now," he called down, his deep voice carrying over the busy din easily. "I have two mechs up here requesting the release of Highflier, and I'm sure Firestar has her own duties to attend to. Can you not let them off with just a warning for now?"
Elita's faceplate jerked up, glaring pointedly at her sparkmate. Through their sparkbond, Optimus certainly felt a few flames of ire lick at him for his little intervention. Just as he thought; he'd be paying for it later.
Nonetheless, Elita turned back to Highflier and Firestar and dismissed them to their appointed tasks without further reprimand. The freed femmes scattered in opposite directions, both shooting Optimus grateful looks as they ran. He waved back to them kindly.
Slingshot leapt over the railing and ran after Highflier, Silverbolt thanking Optimus profusely before he too ran after his aerial teammates.
Next thing Optimus knew, Elita was marching up the wide stairs and coming to stand before with an irritated expression marring her faceplate. She stared him down easily even as he straightened to his full height and returned the stare.
"Yes?" he asked, voice kept as light as possible.
"You're too soft on them," she groused, but a dry smile ruined her reprimand.
Optimus reached out and drew her close, heedless of the audience they had. He was just glad that she was back within arms reach again so that he could shower her with affection.
"Often times I find you are too unrelenting," he replied, smiling. "Most of them used to be civilian, remember? Allowances must be made."
He could practically feel Elita rolling her optics at him for his soft-sparked reasoning.
"I don't have the luxury that you do for allowances," she replied. "You have civilian mechs to deal with, but there are no more civilian femmes, they were all scraped, remember? The only femmes left now are Autobot femmes, trained warriors, and I'm not about to go soft on them now. Just because you let some bots get away with coming and going whenever they want doesn't mean I'm going to them."
"I do not-!"
But, as if to prove his protest wrong, the door of the main level opened up and a blazingly red microbot shot in, making a beeline for the stairs and racing up them. As if he had not just come in the middle of his shift, Blaster grinned at Optimus and Elita, waved, and kept on running for the special lift that would take him up to his comm. post.
Elita stared after the red bot disbelievingly. She turned to give her bonded a pointedly incredulous stare, which was returned with a somewhat guilty but amused expression.
"Not letting them come and go, huh?" she asked, pointing to the tiny bot making his way across the bridge to his station. "Then what was that, a scheduling issue or a glitch in his chronometer?"
Obviously by her tone of voice, he was meant to prove he didn't let his mechs come and go by making an example of poor Blaster. Via digital link, Optimus connected with Blaster, who was already connecting himself to his communications paradise.
"Blaster, you're late."
The mircobot's small, eccentric faceplate appeared over the side of the large swiveling chair, many of his numerous antennae already extended from the top of his head. As soon as he caught Optimus's optics, Blaster waved down to the Autobot leader genially. "I know, I'm sorry! I'll make it up at the end of the shift like I usually do-!"
Optimus raised his hands. "Elita One has been after me for letting mechs come in late. She wants me to make an example of you-."
Blaster's face fell, several antennae drooping.
"But, as you've said, you're going to make up the lost time at the end of the shift so I really don't see the need for extra reprimand. All I need you to do is look like you've been handed a hard punishment so that Elita will be satisfied and we can get on with our lives. Can you do that for me, Blaster?"
Blaster nodded, immediately getting into character. His face fell dramatically and he slumped against the soundproof walls in obvious misery. He made pleading motions to Optimus as if he was trying to beg for a second chance and accordingly Optimus shook his head to deny the imaginary plead. Comically, Blaster banged his head against the crystalline soundproof windows, not making the slightest sound beyond his post. Optimus continued to make it look like he was standing firm on his supposed position.
Beside him, Elita looked on with visible satisfaction.
Up in the comms post, Blaster gave one last look of forsaken shame to his leader before spinning around in his chair with a forlorn air of dejection. The imaginary argument was over and he obviously lost. The convincing display was contrasted by the energetic message he transmitted.
"How was that? Was I any good? Did she believe me?"
Optimus glanced down toward Elita, careful to maintain a somber expression to make it look like he was upset with the minor 'altercation.' Elita looked up to him and nodded reassuringly to let him know that he did the right thing. Optimus nodded back, fighting desperately to keep a straight faceplate as well as keep her unaware through their bond.
"Yes, she believed you. Good work."
"See, was that so hard?" the femme commander asked, laying a comforting hand on Optimus's arm.
"Not as hard as I thought it would be," he replied. The silent laughter was nearly overloading his circuits as he fought to keep it internal. A moment passed where he thought he saw a look of suspicion cross Elita's faceplate, but the look was gone in astroseconds.
To quickly steer himself into a safer topic, Optimus reached out and drew Elita back to his side. She complied with the silent request without resistance, letting her frame be pressed into the hard, broad frame of her sparkmate.
"You took much longer than half a joor," he pointed out.
Elita shrugged. "It turned out that I had a lot more to do than I originally thought, since Blaster was late coming in I had to transmit the mission notice personally to my contingent. Good news is that I'm already getting replies transmitted with requests to be part of the mission."
Optimus nodded.
"Oh yes, Ultra Magnus and Kup are looking for you too," she added. "I caught them in the corridor; they want to talk to you about the Ark."
"I see… well, they'll just have to find me in my office, then" he replied.
Elita caught on and gave him a flat look. "You have a one track processor," she said disbelievingly. "Primus only knows how you got to be Prime with a processor like yours."
"Just lucky, I guess,' he said amusedly. Heedless of the bemused audience that paused in their work to watch, Optimus swept his arms around his bonded and lifted her from the ground, cradling her to his chassis.
"Optimus-!"
"You promised I could do as I pleased with you," he reminded lightly.
"That didn't include making a scene!" she yelled, burying her faceplate into his chest in an attempt to hide from the whooping crowd of onlookers. She vaguely heard Firestar howling in the background, shouting praise and innuendos in their direction.
"You may want to get used to it soon, Elita," he laughed, hitching her higher in his arms. "My office is a couple of halls down from here."
Her vocal processor gave a fizzled screech in reply. She continued to protest blatantly all the way through the halls. Optimus stretched a laughing grin across his faceplate and shut off his audio receptors for the time being.
His office had been beckoning to him for a while now, inviting him into the secluded hall lined with imposing doors, each guarding the entrance to a different commander's office. His door stood purposely at the end of the hall like a polished grey guard to the sanctuary that lay within. From the moment that Elita promised him the chance to do as he pleased with her the moment she was relieved of her other duties, the idea of leading her to his office in this sort of fashion had captured his thoughts and been deviously building ever since.
It had been way too long since they had done anything so impulsive. It was like the large, open office was begging him to sweep the contents of his desk onto the floor and drop Elita there. Since there may be no chance for it in the future, now was the best time to be locking doors and cleaning desks. There was no way Elita was getting out of this one.
By the time they made it to Prime's private office, the femme had yet to lose steam on her demands to be let down. With the calm air of someone about to perform a completely normal, mundane task, Optimus shifted Elita to one arm and easily cleared his large desk in an astrosecond. Discarded data pads scattered across the floor haphazardly.
"-if you don't put me down right now, I'll weld your chassis shut! We'll see how much you want to sparkbond after that!" hissed Elita, sounding a little too much like Chromia for Optimus's liking. Without further damage wrought on his poor audio receptors, Optimus dropped his femme like a crate of spare parts. She was stunned into silence momentarily before emitting an characteristic squeak as she was overtaken by the far larger form of her bonded.
Large hands ran over her frame feverishly, quickly and almost frantic, reminding her of vorns ago when they would be fumbling around desperately to interface with each other before someone walked in on them. She groaned as their bond opened up and Optimus allowed his pent up energies to be spilled over into Elita, causing a delicious clash between her own roused emotions and that of the overpowering need she was being enveloped with.
Optimus was bent nearly double over his own desk to press his frame as close as possible to that of Elita's, feeling as their systems heated and synchronized, vibrating together with the familiar bond of sparkmates. It had been his intention to stretch this encounter out, reveling in the sheer youth and naughtiness that bonding in his office was; he threw his plans out the air locks the moment he got a hold of Elita's frame. The first stroke of her sleek armor and that was it.
He was taken by surprise when he felt hands at his interface port, scrabbling at the panel in the manner that a depleted mech would scrabble at an energon cube. With a quizzical, bemused look, he caught Elita's optics and cocked his head. She laughed, thankful for his pause so that she could pry the panel open and expose the port and line.
"For old time's sake," she replied, drawing out the line and running her fingers over it delicately as if it were an old treasure she had forgotten a long time ago and was remembering how much she cherished it now. "I feel like we should try interfacing at least once before you go."
Optimus involuntarily shuddered as he stared down into Elita's grinning, fiery blue optics. She could have said anything at that moment and he would have gone along it, if only for the hope that she would plug him in already.
The prolonged inspection of the line was like slow torture. Never in his life did he think a panel opening on any bot would have looked half as good as the moment that Elita's interface port opened. She smiled up at him with a coy smile that mirrored the youthful playfulness she used exude during one of their trysts.
"It's been a while since we've done this," she pointed out, twirling the line. Her other hand worked at uncoiling her own line. "You don't think we'll be a little rusty, do you?"
"Pit no," came the grunted reply as Optimus's hand came forward and plucked Elita's line from her fingers, inserting it into his port. A drawn out rev shook Elita's frame beneath him, rocking loudly against the metal top of his desk as they connected. Shortly after, he felt his own line be plugged into Elita's port, the same divine feeling of connecting with her causing his frame to shudder and servos to whine a tad loudly.
Interfacing paled abysmally to sparkbonding, that much was obvious as the limited access and sensation quickly frustrated the increasingly aroused Prime. There was a wholeness and state of being with sparkbonding that couldn't be compared to the immature interfacing.
Elita sensed his irritation and laughed, using the interface to dive into Optimus's self and skirt around his silent demands for more intimate attention, playing with him as his aggravations grew. She would dip in, allow for a stroke against a certain line of code, and then zip back.
Every old trick she ever knew was slowly coming back to her. Optimus, for all his desire to be alone with her, was stuck going along for the ride.
They tussled back and forth through the interface for a while, building up the hot, electrical tension, before Elita would suddenly drag it away to start all over again. The game was enough to drive any mech mad, poor Optimus being no exception as he coiled over Elita in a hyper-tense locked stance, looming over her ferociously. Bright fire blazed in his optics as he bore down on her, his weight pinning her in place to the desk so that all she was left with was a little room to wriggle and writhe. In th moment's hesitation offered by his sudden movement, Optimus pressed into the interface link and barreled his way into Elita in the same fashion he had done so long ago.
The femme beneath him arched beautifully, mashing her armor to his. Without their chassis open and sparks exposed though, their chests connecting lacked the fireworks it normally would have had. Threads of blue energy laced between them as the forerunner o their imminent overloads.
Optimus growled deeply, the noise reverberating through his entire frame. He was either tittering on the edge on an overload or a melt down, though he was unsure exactly which one he was more likely to have as Elita played to her spark's desire with every aspect of their interface.
As his resolve snapped and his hands delved for Elita and his own chest plating to shove it aside and expose their sparks, the obnoxious buzz of the door alert froze their pumps and stalled them into immobility. The buzzer went off again, the note held longer this time.
Without thinking, Optimus reared, utterly forgetting that he was still connected to Elita through their lines. It was a very disturbing sensation to have your line pulled out from another so unexpectedly, causing bright flashes to go off before their optics and their equilibrium wavered. Optimus fell back into his chair while Elita sat up and then promptly fell forward onto his lap.
The door finally opened, admitting a one slightly curious looking Ultra Magnus. For a few moments, he stood silhouetted in the doorway, catching Optimus's optics and then glancing around the room in search of some unknown thing. When his strange search appeared to yield nothing, he stepped further into the room but did not sit down. He kept staring at his old friend with an odd expression.
Optimus suddenly realized that from Ultra Magnus's point of view, Elita was completely hidden underneath the desk. Gently dragging his chair forward, forcing his bonded further beneath the desk, Optimus straightened and tried to make it look like he was not as riled and on edge as he really was. It took nearly everything he had to stop the trembling in his body.
Ultra Magnus's optics drew away from Optimus momentarily, only to fall on his open interface panel. He raised an optic ridge in question. If Prime was alone in his office, why would his interface port be open?
Caching the question before it was even asked, Optimus quickly began stringing words together. "I was just cleaning out the dust!" he explained, vocals moving faster than his processor could compute. Exactly why he saw it so important to hide what he had actually been doing was a mystery to him. "You know how Ratchet gets about proper maintenance, and with being bonded to Elita the old interface just doesn't get the same use it used to."
Elita mouthed the word 'dust' in amazement and shook with barely contained laughter. If that was not the worst story she had ever heard, she didn't know what was. If the city commander even dared fall for the half-cocked story, she would through herself out an air lock.
Ultra Magnus stared for a moment and then nodded slowly. "Of course…" he replied. He resisted the urge to ask if throwing all the data pads across the room was part of proper maintenance as well.
Fans cycling desperately to cool down his riled systems, Optimus tried to partially compose himself. "So, you and Kup have been looking for me?" he asked after an awkward silence.
The city commander picked up on the cue quickly. "Oh- yes, we have!" he exclaimed, setting the data pad that had previously been clutched in his hands on the desk. "The Ark is done with its inspections and upgrading at Epsilon base, Optimus, and I was wondering if I could take a small squad to accompany me to the base so that I could assist with the Ark's transport to here tomorrow. Kup, of course, will be accompanying me."
"Sounds excellent," Optimus replied. "Take whomever you need, as long as you check with their commander first- although, it would be best to avoid using anyone from the femme contingent since Elita is indisposed at the moment."
Are you on the fritz?! Elita thought, hitting her sparkmate on the shin armor.
Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics at the unusual bang. To compensate, Optimus partially kicked out his legs, nicking Elita.
"Don't worry about that, it's just a couple of electrical misfires," he covered quickly. "It happens every once in a while, you know how it is with these older frames."
Ultra Magnus shrugged, trying to understand his old friend's strange behavior. "An upgrade would be nice," he admitted slowly.
In a rush to get rid of the mech, Optimus asked, "Was there anything else you needed, old friend?" Elita dug her fingers into his wiring, taking the question as an invitation for the other mech to stay. Optimus went rigid and hissed.
"Are you sure you're alright, Optimus?" Ultra Magnus asked worriedly.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he replied tersely. "A little on edge at the moment, but nothing I can't handle."
"Right… Well, if it wouldn't be that much of a bother, I was wondering when the meeting to discuss the Allspark mission would be. Most of my crew has submitted requests, as well as a number of other mechs. Blaster has already transmitted the information to the other bases and the responses are pouring in."
"Two days from now! Right after you get back from Epsilon!" Optimus crowed as Elita twisted her fingers into sensitive circuits in his upper thighs. She was howling with silent laughter as she enjoyed her revenge for Optimus causing such a Primus-damned scene.
"O-okay," Ultra Magnus nodded. He nervously reached across the desk to grasp Optimus's hand before he left. Thinking he was safe to rise and return the gesture, Optimus managed to push himself up partway, hand outstretched, before a pair of sneaky hands reached up and yanked him back down into his seat with a crash.
A pained curse escaped the Autobot leader as he sprawled in his chair, Ultra Magnus already out the door and away from the madness before anything else odd happened.
Once safely out of audio range, the city commander let loose a volley of booming laughter. The grizzled old mech leaning against the wall opposite of him grinned.
"So?" Kup pressed.
Ultra Magnus supported himself against the wall. "You were right," he replied, still shaking with laughter. "He was in his office, just as you said he would be."
Kup's optic ridges shot up. "Told ya," he said, eying the city commander. "Ya owe me a drink now."
Ultra Magnus nodded, not about to go back on their bet, but he continued to laugh.
"What in the sweet name of Primus has gotten into ya, Magnus?" Kup asked, watching the commander inch along the hall supported against the wall as his laughter calmed slowly.
"Optimus wasn't alone," he replied.
Kup made a face. "Ya turbo-revving young punk, ya caught 'em in the act, didn't ya?" he asked, knowing that the only other bot who would be in the room with Optimus would most likely be Elita.
"No," Ultra Magnus sighed, gathering himself. "No… worse… stranger, at least…" His faceplate shone with strange bemusement. "She was under the desk…"
Kup shot the commander a strange look. "An' how'd you know a thing like that?" he asked suspiciously.
A fresh bout of laughter bubbled from him, taking a while to calm down. He fixed Kup with a look that clearly said he was restraining all further urges to laugh.
"Because- because there was no front on the desk!"
