Chapter Ten

Plenoptic

O.O whoa. Chapter ten? I don't know whether to say "already" or "about time"…Hm. Anyhoo, real sorry for Opt and Lita's butt headed behavior last chappie. Again, totally unintentional. But now, the most evil plot bunny EVER…mua ha ha.

Lots of corrections being made to past chapters. I'm discovering errors in my timeline. For clarification, Optimus and Megatron lost an older sibling when their parents died, and adopted Eclipse during their adulthood. We discover her fate in this chappy, actually.

Okay, massive updating spree here because I have a final to study for and I'll be gone for a good portion of June. So here's something for all of you to chew on while I'm gone. :D How serious is my final? I'm getting up at five thirty every morning and studying from about four to seven every night. That's not including weekends. So Plenoptic's losing her mind here. :D I'll be brainstorming the next chapter of NB over my recess.

New poll up--please take it just to make me feel wanted. :)

Pre Cybertronian War

BREAKING POINT

Passing of satellites; undetected

Lord Megatron, Commander Optimus Prime

"He's been sighted."

It was all Prowl had to say. Optimus Prime was up, out of bed, barking out his orders to anyone in the halls. He needed his inner circle, he needed a briefing, he needed a sitrep. If Bloodlust was back, they didn't have time for mistakes.

"Alright. I want everything. What's going on? Where was he seen, and who saw him? What is their condition now? Did he attack?"

"We believe Bloodlust has moved a large quantity of his troops onto Cybertron, possibly in the hopes of upping the sheer gravity of his rebellion," Prowl explained, jogging to keep up with his leader's frantic pace as they gathered members of the inner circle. Elites. "He was seen near Polyhex, which is disturbing in and of itself if he's gotten so close to our base of operations. He was spotted by a cadet who recognized him from your description, which was distributed to patrols throughout Cybertron. Bloodlust did not seem to realize that he had been spotted; he was assisting a large number of his troops in stealing energon supplements from out stores in a bunker. After witnessing the theft, the cadet was quick to report to his officer, who reported to Rodimus, who reported to me."

Prime nodded vacantly, only half hearing what his tactician said; the point was that Bloodlust was roaming free. A small part of his processor quivered in terror; if he was honest with himself, he'd rather make love to Starscream than face the murderous rebel again.

It took three breems to assemble the necessary bots, after which Ironhide, Ratchet, Prowl, Jazz, Barricade, Soundwave, Rodimus, Elita, Chromia, Megatron, and Optimus Prime were crammed inside one tiny conference room, so tried for space that the femmes were actually sharing a chair. Ironhide had a tiny Bumblebee nestled comfortably on his lap; Optimus stroked the little mech's head before addressing his assembled troops. For just a moment, his optics found those of Elita One, but she broke her gaze quickly, instead staring at the table in front of her. Chromia patted her leg beneath said table, smiling sympathetically.

"Most of you were with me on Nebulon," Prime began quietly, instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the room. "Most of you remember what facing him was like. Most of you remember what happened."

A dark sort of silence filled the room; Optimus could feel the optics on the welding of his helm. His processor was finally on its game again, but that wasn't going to hide the scar. He inhaled deeply and continued.

"He's making an offensive move like none we've ever seen from a rebel. He's located here, on Cybertron, with more reinforcements than we care to count. We can't just ignore this one; Bloodlust has influence, and lots of it. We have to bring him down, and bring him down hard. He was spotted in Polyhex, so that's where we'll open the search. We're going to engage the rebels in any way we can. Cybertronian lives are on the line here.

"This mission will be completely voluntary, but we'll need all the help we can get. Inform trusted members of your units of the situation, and suggest that they participate. We'll be using the general army forces for this one, but we need officers to keep the men in line--"

"I'm in," Ironhide said flatly, startling the distraught young commander.

"Ditto," Rodimus chirped cheerfully, grinning.

"Me too," Jazz added, waving an arm around in the air.

There were several other murmurs of assent, murmurs of allegiance. Elita looked up cautiously and met Optimus's gaze (he shook himself, realizing he'd been staring at her) and nodded slowly; she was still furious with him, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to help. Surely they could be a little more mature than that.

That didn't make his spark hurt any less.

The tension was almost unbearable. They couldn't even be in the same room together, they couldn't meet one another's optics. Optimus entered the rec room, Megatron leapt to his feet and bolted. Megatron entered the command center, Elita sprang up and made up an urgent errand. Elita entered the rec room, dislodging Optimus, who would sprint for the command center, and a few moments later Megatron would be back in and collide with Elita as she scrambled for an exit. This continued for a good few breems one evening before Ratchet very kindly suggested that Optimus get some rest, and thankfully the cycle was thus broken.

"This is crazy," Chromia muttered, and Rodimus and Ironhide leaned in, nodding their agreement. The officer volunteers for the upcoming mission were all huddled together on the circle of couches in the rec room, passing around the high grade, discussing anything that came to mind. They generally tried to avoid the topic of Bloodlust, though the shadow weighed too heavily on their processors to escape notice completely.

"They just need to all sit down and talk this out," Jazz suggested. "You know, a little spark to spark."

"That'd go over well," Rodimus snorted, leaning back and propping his feet up on the table. "'Hey, Megs, sorry about stealing your sparkmate…' 'No, no, Oppy, not at all…and Lita, I'm real sorry about the whole bond-breaking thing…' 'Don't mention it. Oh yeah, Optimus, are you planning on fragging me out of my processor tonight or shall I make a date with Megatron?'"

"Rodimus!" Chromia yelped, horrified, and he winced.

"Okay, okay. Sorry, I went too far. Point is, they're not going to be able to just talk this out. Not all three of them, anyway. Someone's going to walk a very lonely road; only one of them can have Elita, ya know? And the other…"

"Sparkcrash or something," Springer sighed, nodding. "For sure. And there's nothing we can do, is there?"

"We shouldn't interfere," Prowl replied, absently sloshing his own mid-grade about in its container. "We could just wind up making matters that much worse."

"We could try and get Opt and Lita together in the shower," Rodimus suggested moodily.

"Rodimus!"

"Alright, sheesh--Opt and Megsy, then."

Chromia rolled her optics, exasperated. "You're incorrigible."

"Oh, frag, big word. Could ya dumb that down for me?"

"Unruly. Completely unmanageable. Sparkling-like in behavior. Utterly unchangeable."

"Ouch. My poor, youthful spark."

"I'm worried about them, though," Ratchet said, rubbing his helm anxiously. "As Rodimus said, three's a crowd; it's going to wind up badly for one of them."

"Maybe Optimus or Megatron will hook up with some other chick, and the other can have Elita," Rodimus suggested, his optics brightening.

"Would you please leave?" Chromia demanded.

Arcee approached them, sliding over the back of the couch to plop down next to Rodimus. He chirped his delight, promptly grabbing her by the hips and shifting her easily onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder, purring contentedly. "Dunno why Megs would give it up," he sighed, nuzzling Arcee's cheek. "I know I couldn't live without it."

"I'm not an 'it'," Arcee protested, but smiled, touched by the implications of her lover's words.

"Megatron broke his bond with Elita to save Optimus, smart aft," Ratchet said flatly. "He felt it was necessary."

"But Lita got hurt in the process," Rodimus protested quietly.

"So you'd rather see Optimus dead?" Prowl snapped.

"Of course not," Rodimus replied coldly, glaring at the tactician. "Look, there was no way to make this come out well, right? I'm just looking at the alternatives."

"While that's a good strategy, Rodi, we can't change the past," Ultra Magnus said sadly, cradling his chin in his palm, his optics dimming. "What's done is done."

A long silence followed his words. Rodimus wrapped his femme more securely in his lap, crossing his arms over her chest so she could lean into him more comfortably. "Wish we could help," she said mournfully, her blue optics heavy.

"We all do, Arcee," Magnus sighed. "We all do."

Optimus scrolled through the images on the photocube, his optics dimmed as he downloaded each picture into his processor, hiding the memories away. They flashed by so quickly he could barely register them; he and Aerith, Aerith with Chromia, he and Elita and Megatron, he and Bumblebee, Aerith and Bumblebee--

He froze the data replay there, admiring the image of two of the most precious sparks in the world. Bumblebee was on the ground, his little legs splayed out to either side, his faceplates determined and concentrated as he worked out some sort of puzzle Jetfire and Starscream had made for him. Aerith was curled up beside him, her arms around the little mech's chassis, her cheek plates pressed gently against his. Optimus remembered the day the image had been taken; he'd been holding the photocube, as it was one of Bee's favorite toys. He remembered tossing it from hand to hand, watching them play, when he'd snapped the picture on impulse. Aerith had been furious with him; Bumblebee had always been sensitive to flashing lights, even weak ones put off by photocubes, ever since he'd been taught that the bright illumination of the alarm lights signaled an emergency. The poor sparkling had been in tears by the time Aerith had finished chasing her naughty mech around his office, and Bumblebee had only stopped crying once Optimus dropped the cube into the trash unit, loudly declaring that he'd defeated it. Afterwards he'd had to sprint down three floors to retrieve the cube before Prowl ran the incinerator.

Optimus disconnected from the cube, his fingers trembling slightly. His world felt unstable, incomplete, without her in it. He was lonely, sad, heavy with grief, without her there to ease his pain. He missed her. He missed her smiling at him. He missed the way she laughed, how her small hand felt in his. He ached for her touch, he ached to pull her into bed with him and bind her spark to his. He desperately wanted to touch her, feel her, run his hands over her body, taste her lips.

Optimus realized, with a start, that he was thinking of Elita.

He sat bolt straight up, his pump hammering, panic washing over him. No. No! He'd allowed himself to fall in love with Elita--frankly, he couldn't help it--but she was not going to replace Aerith in his spark! No one could! He wanted his feelings for each to be distinguished, unique; he wanted to think of Aerith one way and Elita another. Aerith was his passion, his intimacy, his obsession, his undying love. Elita was--what? The same?

Optimus buried his face in his hands, shuttering his optics, giving in to the dark. It was so quiet, so calm. Yet also stormy and powerful, unstoppable. He glorified the order and wallowed in the chaos that was his own spark; basked in the light that was Elita and clung to the darkness Aerith had left behind. His spark was being ripped in two, in three, in four--between himself and Elita and Megatron and Aerith, what was left?

Megatron lay on his back, in the dark, on his recharge berth, in his quarters, in Iacon, on Cybertron, in the Praxis system, in the third rung of the Genesis Allied Galaxy…

He was memorizing it. Memorizing where he was and what he felt and who he was and what he was becoming at that precise moment. His spark was plagued with too many emotions to make any sense of, so he satisfied himself instead with his processor, running over statistics and information, running every byte of information he could dredge up--all of them, except those containing shattered fragments of his brother and sparkmate.

He lifted his optic covers. He couldn't shake Alpha Trion's words. They were there, imbedded in his very being, pulsing stronger with every beat of his spark, roaring with every thought that drifted in their direction. Terror welled up within him, and he did nothing to quell it. Good Primus, how he missed Elita. His spark felt so empty, so devoid of light, so bleak and hopeless. He hummed absently to himself; the song she'd sung softly to him night after night, lulling his aching processor into recharge, soothing his tormented spark.

He'd never felt pain like a broken sparkbond. It was terrifying, actually, to search his own spark and find only half of his very existence. He felt like his spark was split by a chasm; he stood on one end, shaded with grey, gazing across the gap and wondering what he'd find on the other side. However, he didn't dare come too close to the edge of the cliff--

He couldn't guarantee he wouldn't fall in.

Elita inhaled deeply, the chilly night air drowning her throat. She felt cold, inside and out, frozen. No Megatron inside, no Optimus outside. She half contemplated letting herself freeze to death, let herself be buried by the softly falling snow (which, she knew, was really frozen radioactive particles emitted by laser fire, but she stamped out her geek side for the time being). She wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't--not so long ago, her bond with Megatron was real. She'd been in love with him. Optimus was her friend. How could reality have reversed itself so quickly? How could she love Optimus with the same passion with which she loved her own sparkmate?

She shuttered her optics and tilted her head back, letting the snow caress her face, cold as Megatron's touch. Where was he now? What was he doing? Was he drowning in the same agony she was, trying desperately to tie the ends of their broken, bleeding bond?

And Optimus? What sort of memories was this whole ordeal stirring? What subtle emotion was his spark writhing in, subjected to the grief of losing one he loved yet again?

Was he thinking of Aerith?

Elita lifted her optic covers. From the tiny, cold corner of her spark, jealous rose tears in her throat. She didn't want Optimus to dwell on what was any longer. She wanted him to look ahead, look to the future she could provide for him. She wanted him to look at her and her alone.

And she hated herself for it. Optimus and Aerith hadn't been bonded, but they were sparkmates. Illogical though it was, it was the truth. It was the whole truth, the only truth that existed in their upside down world. That had been his Golden Age, the summit of his life, the light of his spark. That small amount of time he'd been given with Aerith.

Elita bowed her head, suddenly realizing how cold she was. She really was going to freeze if she stayed out here. It had been appealing a few moments ago, but now the thought of death slightly worried her (slightly), and she promptly turned and walked off the balcony and back into the warmth of her own quarters. She wasn't used to having her own room; she'd spent so much time in Megatron's, in her sparkmate's, nestled comfortably in his arms. A thin layer of dust had settled over many of her belongings; she'd spent the past orn wiping it off, with some assistance from Chromia and occasionally Ironhide (shockingly).

She curled up on her berth, wrapping herself in the thermal blankets, tangling herself within their confines. Her spark felt numb; too many feelings in too short a span of time. Her optic covers dropped, and one by one her systems shut down, her body relaxing. She allowed her processor to drift, thinking of her kinsparks.

She felt a sudden rush of desire course through her, and she groaned, gritting her dental plates, feeling more pathetic by the astrosecond. She needed to get her mind off of Optimus, needed to stop thinking of him, needed to ignore her own curiosity…

She wondered how deeply he kissed when passion got to him. She wondered if he was the type who groped. What his foreplay was like. How those large, warm hands would feel if they were running long caresses down her body. How it would feel to have his cable ease into her--or was he rough when it came to interface?

And what was it like to sparkbond with him?

Elita sat up and pressed her face into her hands, forcefully dragging her processor from the gutter. She needed to have her programming edited, that was it. Heaving herself off of the berth, she entered her wash room, working down her self-induced arousal and cursing herself for it. Adjusting the lubricant nozzle, she hit the control panel--

Nothing.

Confused, she hit it again. Again. It bleeped at her, and she growled in frustration. Some aft head had shut off her solvent lines!…Which wasn't surprising, seeing as she'd been with Megatron for so long. Snatching a towel out of its rack, grumbling to herself, she stalked out of her room and down two or so floors to the private wash racks; what did a femme have to do to take a fragging shower?!

She pushed open the door, suddenly curious; she'd never used the public racks before. The door opened up into a very small hallway; on either end sat the femme and mech rooms. And there, in between, was a separate door, emblazoned with the crest of the Golden Age. She stared at it dumbly for a second before realizing that it was the commanders' private stall. Thinking that maybe her venture hadn't been such a bad idea, she opened the door, revealing the spacious stall inside. Her optics widened; good Primus, it was twice as large as her own!

She closed the door and retracted her armor, setting the control panel to her likings before activating the solvent lines, and hot fluid poured out of the nozzle, dousing her bare protoform. She shuddered, relaxing into its warmth, allowing her processor to go blank…allowing herself to forget, even for a moment…

Grumbling, he tromped down the stairs, irritation pumping through him. Who the frag shut off his solvent lines?! If it was the twins…ooh, there would be Pit to pay!

The irate commander punched the door panel, walking into the commanders' wash room, flatly commanding the door to close. He groaned, spinning on his heel, reaching for the control panel--realized the solvent was already on--

Optimus Prime found himself face to face with a horrified, very naked, Elita One.

Her blue optics blinked lazily, her faceplates emotionless. Her pump chugged energon slowly through her wiring, trying in vain to fire up her processor; it never came easily for her. Engineering glitch.

At her side, her mate was stirring, his hand groping for her sleeping form beside him. His optics flickered online, and he looked up at her, frowning.

"Hey. You okay?"

She blinked slowly and looked down at him, and he laughed. "Oh. Still waking up?"

Her head bobbed up and down. A smile flickering to life across his handsome faceplates, he sat up, propping his head on his fists, his luminous optics turned towards her. She blinked suddenly and her gaze reasserted itself, settling on his face.

"Hi," she said, scooting away from him sub-consciously; it was a space bubble thing. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He grinned. "It's weird how you take forever to wake up."

"Well, excuse my weirdness," she grumped, scowling at him. She swung her legs off the berth, perfectly ready to leave him staring after her, but his hand closed gently over her upper arm. She suddenly found herself flat on her back, gazing up into his luminous optics, her lips meeting his soft smile.

"Wingsaber," she whispered, her body trembling slightly as his mouth separated from hers to close gently over her throat. She felt him bite down, and she whimpered. "S-Saber…"

"Want to?" he asked devilishly, one hand clutching at her breastplate.

"Saber…duties…"

"What? Work? Come on, you're no fun," he chuckled, nuzzling her throat. "When was the last time we got to have our special time?"

"Last night," she choked out accusingly. "Saber, please…"

He sighed and rolled away from her, his faceplates drawn into a pout. She sat up and smiled, running gentle fingers down his cheek. "Later, love. Tonight."

"Promise?" he asked, blinking up at her. She rolled her optics.

"Yeah, yeah, I promise."

Haven was a beautiful place to be when the sun was rising. Located at the lip of Cybertron's great acidic sea, it was a paradise of spiraling towers, steepled buildings, laughing voices--a paradise far from the rebels and the Senate and the High Council and her brothers' military. She leaned over the balcony of their living unit, smiling up into the sky. Wingsaber approached her, wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his head against hers, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"…Will you come to Iacon with me?"

He blinked at her, rationally confused. "What?"

"Iacon," she replied, turning her head to meet his luminous gaze. "I told you my older brothers live there. Will you go with me?"

He snorted, lightly kissing her cheek. "What's all this 'will you go with me?' slag? You know I'd follow you to Pit and back, Commander."

She smiled, caressing his face. "Sure, sure…but I had to ask."

He nuzzled her softly, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I can't help being in love with you. I'll go wherever you happen to be, Eclipse…"

"…Uh. Oh, um…I…s-sorry…"

Optimus closed his mouth. He wasn't helping the situation, he could see it in her optics, in her horror-drawn face. At the same time, he felt a very uncomfortable tightness in between his legs--Pit, he couldn't move, couldn't squeeze another word out--his spark was racing--

Elita couldn't breathe, her head spun. She was swearing internally, she knew it, but her processor felt oddly blank, in such contrast to her searing spark. It was screaming at her, screaming at her to take him, make him hers, let him touch her and love her the way she desperately needed to be loved…

She bit her lip and lowered her head, the color rising in her cheek plates--shy?! Since when was she shy around any mech, let alone Optimus Prime? She heard him take a hesitant step forward, and she shuttered her optics, her spark flaring in her chest. A large, warm hand came to rest upon her face, tilting her head back; she opened her optics to meet his, quivering under his incredible gaze.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his thumb tracing lightly over her lips. "For everything."

She shook her head slowly, lifting one small hand to gently ease away his mask, exposing his handsome face to the hot solvent. "Shh…don't be. You didn't do anything wrong…"

"I hurt you," he whispered, his hand catching hers. "There's nothing more wrong in this world."

The solvent fell upon him, dripping down his foreplate, soft streams running off his lips, puddling on the rim of his broad chest plates. Trembling, she took his face in her hands, cradling him, touching her forehead to his. He forgot how to breathe.

He placed his hands on the wall behind her, his optics intent upon hers. Nodding to let him know it was okay, she pulled him closer, so close their bodies touched, his hot armored form pressing sensually against her protoform. He tilted his head, letting a soft kiss fall upon her lips, one hand resting upon the small of her back to pull her closer. Her fingers gently brushed the length of his chest plate, small droplets of solvent breaking free of the ridges of his armor. He gazed down at her, his optics covers blinking slowly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly, stroking her cheek. "For what I said to you. My spark hasn't stopped aching since."

"Nor has mine," she agreed, wrapping her delicate female arms around his waist, snuggling into his body. She felt a shock run through his system before his arms cautiously came around her, cuddling her into his warm embrace. "I need to apologize too. For what I said about…about you and Aerith. I know I hurt you, too."

"…Elita?"

"Mm?"

"Do you remember what I asked you once?"

"Clarify, please?"

"When I asked you about how you'd feel, what you'd do, if Megatron didn't exist." She turned her head to look at him, her blue optics full of pain. "If there was nothing in this world but you and me," he whispered, cupping her cheek, drawing her face to his. "What would you say?"

"I love you," she breathed, her arms tightening around him. She was losing herself to him. Losing her spark.

"And if Megatron did exist?" he smiled weakly. "If we really were in a public wash rack with a lot of mechs running around outside these doors? Then what would you have to say?"

"I love you," she repeated, and she buried her lips against his, kissing him hard, falling for him all over again. He kissed her back--no hesitation, no regret. Her lips parted, his glossa moved past the opened boundary, dipping into her mouth, dancing with hers, drawing long, needy gasps from the back of her throat. She didn't remember the last time she'd been kissed like this. She'd forgotten what it was like to love so deeply, so passionately, so completely.

So lost was she in his warmth that she almost forgot she was totally naked.

Almost.

He didn't. He was very acutely aware of the fact, actually, and it wasn't at all helping his growing arousal. He was afraid to move his arms from around her, but he wanted too badly to touch her, so he continued to kiss her, long and loving, torn on the inside.

"Optimus," she whispered, her lips speaking the words against his. He blinked his optics open, looking down at her, somewhat cross-eyed as she was still so close. She bit down her giggle rather unsuccessfully but was quick to kiss him once more, bring back his passion. "Optimus, it's…it's okay."

His optics lingered on her face, wary. "Elita…maybe we shouldn't."

"And maybe we should," she murmured, nuzzling his cheek. Then her voice took on a tone that was almost a growl, a soft feminine hiss in his audio receptor. "Optimus…touch me."

He hesitated, cautious, before moving back from her a bit, his optics dropping from hers to survey her lithe form. A rush of shyness ran through her; she hunched her shoulders a little, dipped her chin, wrapping her arms around herself. He shook his head slowly, taking hold of her wrists and gently pinning her arms to her sides, but found he didn't like that position; her body was still too hidden, too secret. He bent her arms slowly, cautiously, holding her wrists against the wall closer to her head. She trembled, her back arching instinctively, and she heard Optimus's intakes hitch. She understood only too well; she wanted it too. She wanted him.

Optimus's optics roved over her--not lecherous in any way, more appreciative. "You're beautiful, 'Lita," he murmured, shaking his head slowly. He'd always thought her armor to be tight; he saw now that he was wrong. It was loose, hiding the deep, graceful curves of her body, the way she simply flowed together, an erotic piece of art.

His hand lifted, paused, and he wondered where he was supposed to touch her first. He consented to caress her cheek, but her optics were dissatisfied, needing more. He trailed his fingertips down the side of her throat, and she purred; that was better. He paused at the base of her neck, debating again, but his palm found the smooth downward curve of her shoulder, and he followed it down her arm, finding her small hand, brushing her delicate fingers. His hand came back up, and he ran the back of one curled finger up and down her throat, watching the way she trembled at the sensual touch. He hesitated for only a moment before running a hand down the upper of her chest, sloping sideways to feel the rounded perfection of her breasts. A long moan was wrenched from her throat at each stroke of his fingers, each cup of his palm.

"Optimus," she hissed, a shudder tearing through her when he moved closer, both hands focused exclusively on her chest. "Ah…O-Optimus…"

"You're beautiful," he murmured once more, his optics wide with wonder. "You're perfect…"

His hands moved down, feeling every curve and incline of her body. Her spark was screaming at her, her body desperately trying to arch into him, but she managed to restrain herself. His touch was so wonderful, so devoid of lust that it was spark-breaking. With a painful jolt she realized that he hadn't felt this sort of intimacy since before Aerith's death--over two vorns. Her hand gently caressed his audio receptor; he hadn't been loved in over two vorns.

He was entranced by her lower body, swept away by the way her chest curved so alluringly into her narrow waist, flared back out into her erotic hips; he had stopped breathing again. Elita was panting, passion rolling through her in waves; she moaned, her hands clutching his shoulders.

"Optimus," she gasped weakly, her optic covers fluttering. "Optimus, lower…"

He froze; lower than her hips? What…His spark stopped pulsing for a moment. Oh. Trembling, he lowered his right hand to cup her crotch, and a soft cry rolled from her throat. His fingers stroked and prodded, feeling her, marveling at her size; that was going to be a very tight fit.

"Come to bed with me," he said suddenly, looking at her, his hands pausing in their search.

She quivered and managed to turn her clouded gaze up at him, her intakes heaving. "Wh-What?"

"Come to bed with me," he repeated perfectly, removing his hands from her sensitive areas and wrapping his arms instead around her waist, drawing her close. "Let me show you how much I love you."

She frowned; the mere indications of such actions were stirring up some very painful memories. Incidents that had led her to kiss Optimus Prime to begin with.

"Please," he begged softly, nuzzling her cheek, enjoying the feel of her arms around his neck. "I won't be rough. I won't hurt you--good Primus, Pit take me if I ever hurt you again. Please, Elita…"

Her optics softened, beginning to accept, beginning to believe. He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her full lips. "I don't remember how to love this much," he whispered. "Show me how?"

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him gently. He shuttered his optics, returning it in full, rocking her in his arms. "Sure, sure," she murmured, pulling her mouth from his. "Absolutely. Just…let's not leave the shower at the same time, hm?"

"This isn't going to be a Nebulon repeat, is it? I don't think I can handle it," Elita said flatly, picking up the data pad on the desk between them and beginning to download its contents. "Do we actually have a plan this time?"

"We had a plan on Nebulon, too," Optimus defended, scowling at her.

"Oh yeah? And what was that?"

"Rush in and do as much damage as possible?" Rodimus suggested in an undertone, and Elita snorted. Optimus glared at his sub-commander.

"Thank you so much for your support, Rodimus," he said dryly.

"Don't mention it," the younger mech yawned, swapping Elita data pads. "Nice to see you two speaking to one another, by the way; can I assume you've made up with Megs, as well?"

Optimus and Elita glanced uncomfortably at one another, their little "session" still blazing hot in their processors. Neither could deny that they'd overdone it just a little; they were both sore this morning. All over. Half of it had been painful for Elita, in any case--Optimus's assets were considerably larger than his brother's. Her port had had to reformat to accommodate him. She didn't really mind, looking at it in hindsight; Optimus was going to be the only one taking off her crotch plating from here on out.

"Nope, still have some amends to make with Megatron," she said, trying her best to sound as if it wasn't tearing her apart on the inside and failing horribly. Rodimus reached across the desk and gave her hand a quick squeeze before returning to his data pad. She smiled before turning to her lover.

"Okay, so. Plan?"

"Go in hard and fast," Optimus replied, tossing her the fiftieth or so data pad. Prowl, apparently, had overdone it last night, as well. "If we look at the records of Bloodlust's little exploits, there's a distinct pattern; he assumes too much. He underestimates opponents if he's defeated them once. There's a good chance he won't expect me to retaliate so quickly."

"By good chance you mean…?"

"Fifty-one to forty-nine in our favor," Rodimus said loudly, and Optimus threw a data pad at him. "Ouch. That hurt. Just in case you care, or something."

Elita sighed, taking Optimus's large hands in her own; the difference was incredible, yet her hands seemed to belong there, alongside his. "I can't talk you out of this, can I?"

"Innocent Cybertronians are dying, Elita," he replied softly, lifting one hand to brush her faceplates affectionately. "I have to go. I swore myself to them."

She nodded. "I know. I love it about you." Her cheeks colored, and she dipped her head. Chuckling, he leaned closer to her, and after a moment's deliberation she pressed a soft kiss to his mask.

Someone cleared their throat from the door, and the lovers separated immediately, turning to see Megatron standing just inside the room, the look of momentary pain sliding from his face the moment they met his gaze. "Prowl said you had begun planning the mission," he said, his voice carefully emotionless, but not unkind. "I was hoping you'd let me in on this one."

"Of course," Optimus said hurriedly, and both he and Rodimus cleared a chair of a pile of data pads, picking through them to find the important ones. "Have a seat, we'll go over it…"

Megatron sank down somewhat reluctantly, his spark still constricted painfully. As his brother launched into the mission plans, Megatron chanced a glance upwards at Elita. She'd gotten to her feet and was looking over Optimus's shoulder at his data readout, her beautiful faceplates drawn in concentration. One hand absently caressed his audio receptors.

Megatron's spark sank in his chest, and he swallowed painfully. So it was official then? Elita had fallen in love with Optimus? His sparkmate had been taken by another--no, by his own brother? He remembered, quite vividly, when Elita had touched him like that…stroked him so affectionately, with so much love in her optics, the soft smile lighting up her beautiful face. Now regret was writhing in his spark, watching the femme he loved devote herself to Optimus…regret was there, awful and dark…he was beginning to wish he hadn't made the deal with Alpha Trion…

Megatron sprang to his feet, toppling his chair, and his companions all jumped (Rodimus fell off of his seat).

"Megatron?" Elita inquired, her optics bright with concern. "Are you--?"

"Shut up, Elita," he snarled.

She drew back, her optics widening. In an instant, Optimus and Rodimus were on their feet, Prime's armor swelling and his optics darkening.

"Don't you speak to her that way," he growled, shifting to move in front of his femme.

"She's my sparkmate, I'll do what I want," Megatron replied in a hiss, his optics narrowing.

Elita shook her head slowly, her optics welling with tears. "Oh, please…Megatron, no…don't do this…"

He gave her but one cold glare before turning on his heel. "I'm leaving. I need to get out of here. I can't take this any more!"

"Megatron," she gasped, reaching for him, but Optimus threw out an arm, catching her easily. "Megatron, wait! Go now if you have to, but…but please tell me you'll come back!"

Megatron paused, glancing over his shoulder at her, staring into her pleading, desperate optics. To her question, he had no reply. He didn't want to hurt her. Good Primus, he hated the way she looked at him now, her optics so full of pain. But if she truly chose Optimus, then there was nothing more he could do.

He left.

"Optimus, sir? Prowl said it was your turn for sparkling duty."

Optimus Prime glanced up from his work and smiled. "Hello Jazz, Bumblebee. Yes, you can set him down right there…"

The saboteur obeyed, blowing a raspberry against the sparkling's stomach plates before plopping him down on the ground next to his rather towering stack of puzzles in the corner of Optimus's office. He saluted briefly before turning on his heel and leaving, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Prime bent back over, his optic ridges drawing together. Mission plans…Primus, he hated this part. Too much thinking to be done. It really was better left to capable mechs like Prowl. He sighed, reaching over to access his computer database, when he felt a tug on his leg armor. Peering down, he chuckled to see Bumblebee beneath the desk, wide blue optics pleading up at him.

"You want to play?" Optimus inquired. The little head bobbed up and down. Prime slid his hands beneath the child's arms, lifting him up and away from the desk. "You're getting big, aren't you?" he laughed, tossing the sparkling up in the air. Bee giggled, kicking his tiny legs every which way. "An old mech like me might not be able to carry you much longer. Too creaky, not enough lubricants. Do you want to do a puzzle?"

The sparkling chirped his consent, reaching into the middle of the stack and wrenching one out. He squeaked in surprise when all those on top came tumbling down, showering him with puzzle pieces. His lower lip trembled, and he looked up at Optimus, blue optics full of tears, perfectly ready for a scolding.

Optimus didn't have it in him. He could never bring himself to scold the sparkling. Instead, he scooped Bumblebee into his arms, tickling his sensitive side panels. Bee shrieked, giggling madly, wrapping his tiny arms around his guardian's neck. "You didn't know any better, did you?" Prime asked quietly, smiling against Bee's bright helm. "You didn't know, little one…"

He situated his hands beneath Bumblebee's arm pits, lifting the little mech above his head. The sparkling warbled, his optics blinking in confusion; what was Optimus doing? He squirmed, whimpering his distaste; he didn't like it up here!

Optimus watched the child, his blue optics suddenly so filled with pain that Bee simpered quietly, reaching out to pat his mammoth guardian's faceplates. Optimus was sad?

With a sigh, Prime drew the sparkling close, pressing his foreplates to Bumblebee's. "You lucky thing, you," he murmured, kissing Bumblebee's noseplates. "Aerith…he's got your eyes."

At this point you should be saying "WHAT?!" If ya liked it, please review. Thankies! :D