Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. I thought long and hard on whether to write a "steamy shower" type scene between Elita and Optimus, especially while she is carrying a sparkling, blocking any spark merging. The answer was sort of. Wash racks, steam in the air and them there at the same time but a T for Teen rating. I know there are readers under 18 and I write to bring a smile or laugh and not lust. Awww moments are better than ohhhh moments.

TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TRANSFORMERS

Inside the femme side of the Autobot wash racks, Elita spun the solvent dial, releasing more cleanser gel onto her soak cloth. Furiously she scrubbed at the drying dark purple paint on her armored lower leg, muttering about bad aim.

"Steam cleaning?" Chromia teased, holding a clean Ram in her arms. The little mech sparkling wiggled, not liking the steam condensing on his shell and dripping down his tiny metal fingers.

"Only way to get this off," she pointed at the purple spots on the top of her feet pads. "Why couldn't the last liaison have picked red or black as a car color? No, he has to pick plain silver and I choose to imitate his alt mode," she continued scrubbing. "Should have trans scanned a military tank or a small plane, and bombed in to that human party," the femme grumbled, squeezing the shammy cloth, watching as the water and gel ran lavender.

"With that silver armor and all the steam you look like a human teapot," Chromia added in a parting verbal shot, disappearing out the direction of the main doors with her sparkling.

Her audios heard them swoosh open then close even as the steam curled towards her with the entry of fresh air. Elita leaned back, closing her optics as the heat soaked down into her protoform.

A presence moved in the steam, nearing. Her optics flipped open, battle commands calling her rifle from subspace. Nothing happened. 'Pit! Optimus has it,' she processed, bracing against the wall, defensive and offensive protocols fighting for system dominance when the shadow resolved into the familiar red and blue shape of her mate.

"Easy," he comforted. "I'm not a threat." His hands were held open as he remained still.

"This is the femme wash racks," she reminded, embarrassed at her frantic reactions seconds before.

"I know, I chose to designate them over the protests," Optimus answered, moving towards the side stall and the cleaning baskets.

"The mechs didn't want to give up the space?" Elita guessed, her optics following him as he grabbed a large cleaning cloth, covering it with cleanser gel.

"No, from Arcee and Chromia. Protested the appearance of special treatment."

"So why did you?"

"Humans. I wanted them to understand you were equal and deserved your own designated space. Keeping both mech and femme together would have led to attempts of watching and problems based on human concepts of gender and morals," he explained, moving close and awkwardly sitting on the tile floor at her feet. "They do not understand sparks recognize each other and we choose mates for our existence and beyond. Or that a femme may remain without a mech by choice and we process this as normal." Optimus reached, gently cupping her right foot pads in his huge silver armored hand. He began cleaning her front set with the cloth held in his other hand.

" Worse, they believe you femmes are controlled by biological drives or hormones or that as mechs we are not fully capable of controlling ourselves." He pinched his fingers together, removing a small stone out of the lower servo joint. Elita wiggled her footpad, venting as it flexed fully around. He wiped at the paint and dirt, moving the soft cloth in circles across her sensor pads.

" For a race that displays everything on their internet, they have curiously closed concepts on interpersonal relationships, refusing to listen to Ratchet's explanations but assign human emotions and reactions to our mechanical existence," Optimus braced her foot pad on his shoulder, scooting awkwardly closer to clean her knee joint and upper leg plates. "Was there anywhere the paint missed splattering?"

"Apparently not," she grinned at him, then became serious. "A human confronted me over those same issues. Claimed we femmes choose to be without mates and sparklings. That when we needed more fighters, femmes would breed. Until then we would not have to explain the war and our reasons for continuing it," Elita remembered.

He growled as his hands tightened on her leg armor. His optics narrowed with flecks of red appearing among the bright blue coloring. "Who dared?"

"The human in the warehouse," she answered, pleased at his reaction.

"He's offlined," Optimus said, settling as the man was beyond his reach.

"You didn't?" her surprise was evident.

"No, nor any under my command," he vented, realizing she did not know of what had happened after leaving and not wanting to get her irritated. 'Liable to end up in the hallway with water tubing wrapped around my frame, or worse a cleaning cloth stuck up in my innermost cogs.' He continued rubbing her leg plate with the cloth, shining it before tracing back down to her footpads.

"We believe he was working as a Decepticon agent and outlived his usefulness," he summarized, moving his armored fingers gently against the inner edge of her feet pads and sending a light magnetic pulse.

"Hey now," she exhaled while twitching.

He smirked, shuttering his optics to remove the extra moisture from the steam. Another light pulse had her flexing her feet pads fully, allowing him to slide the cloth between the plating. "Curl them little pads," he encouraged, giving them a final rinse of cleaner gel.

"I'm glad I chose you," she murmured, leaning her upper body forward. "I trust you with raising our sparkling."

"Hmm, thanks I think," he murmured back, lowering her leg before raising her other leg to clean it. Deliberately he focused on her armor and not the view sitting in front of him. Finishing, he sat her leg down, chucking the stained cloths into the wash collector. She rose, stretching while he pretended to be busy with the cleaner bottle. 'No looking Prime. She is yours but carrying and you will never risk them. Few seconds more and the temptation will be gone,' he processed internally.

Elita circled around him then placed one hand on his shoulder. "No moving."

"What are you doing?" He felt her reaching under the edge of his back shoulder armor, pulling out a piece of broken concrete.

"Giving you a bath. My feet pads and legs feel wonderful so I'm returning the favor," she chirped merrily.

"I'm a little old for this," he teased, grabbing her hand and kissing it to distract her from remembering her punch crashed him into the concrete.

"When was the last time you were properly cleaned? I do not mean by Ratchet in med bay because replacing burnt, slagged metal parts is not cleaning. Or the quick throw on cleanser you use an excuse for personal time," she said.

"Hah! Do you know how many times I have stood in the wash racks with only a small wall separating my chassis from counselors, command officers and warriors? All of them bickering and trying to out yell each other on who is right or what I should do next? They didn't care pit if I had been there in my bare protoform as long as I listened to their demands," he chuckled, letting his hands drape across his legs as he continued sitting on the tile floor.

"I do remember one councilor that interrupted our personal time. You threatened to blast him for daring to enter our recharge area," she snickered.

"We were about to spark merge and he wanted to discuss seating arrangements for the next senate meeting," Optimus growled.

"His optics and sensors were offline except for his audios," she said.

"His processors were offline to disturb us like that," he commented, watching as water gathered to run down his blue and red flame painted arm, falling in drops to the floor. "And I have been properly cleaned before."

"How long ago? When you were Orion? A youngling? Do you even remember that far back?" She asked, grabbing an armful of cloths, bottles of cleanser gel and two small soft detail brushes.

"The memory core files are encrypted and condensed. Take awhile to retrieve and reload," he acknowledged.

"Then we make new ones. And I get practice at cleaning a mech." She continued pulling on his shoulder armor, reaching beneath to clean in a caring manner. Nothing in her touch aroused him, no sensor nodes pulsed or cables tweaked or disturbed. Dirt and dust were pulled away without force and the warmth soaked into his protoform. His engine hummed as he relaxed under her gentle hands.

::What's your status Prime?:: Prowl

::Getting a bath:: Optimus

::Elita corner you, demanding you clean up? Told you carrying femmes go through a cleaning and rearranging phase:: Ratchet

:: Intimate time with my femme actually. I envy a sparkling. Pure physical contact, love and not a care in this galaxy. Their every want and need provided:: Optimus

::Why Prime, if holding you down and scrubbing your armor is all you need I can get the twins to help. Long handled scrub brushes take right care of ya:: Ironhide

::Rule # 18456 Prime needs a weekly bath to stabilize his processors:: Prowl

::Giant energon bottle instead of forced energon lines brilliant:: Wheeljack

::Any time you want help to recharge I can trank or stasis your chassis, holding it down with restraint straps:: Ratchet

::I am always here to listen:: Bumblebee sent, his tone sincere. All the comm lines went quiet as he continued. ::I am small but my audios are big. I will help anyway I can. Sam and Mikeala too. We need you::

::That is not necessary but I will store your offer for the future Bumblebee:: Optimus sent, his system surging with happiness at the young scout's offer.

::Show off:: Ironhide grumped.

::I can hold a scrub brush too:: Bumblebee

::Do any of you need anything important or can a Prime have time alone with his mate?:: Elita

::Sorry gentle femme, joy to your spark:: Bumblebee ended with the traditional closing.

::Chromia wants to remind you the meeting is at two to confirm the room arrangements:: Ironhide sent.

::Energon bottles are ready, the mini ones for the sparkling. Alarms are going off in my lab. Got to go!:: Wheeljack rushed out before his signal closed off.

::Any changes and you call me immediately:: Ratchet

In the wash racks, Optimus wiped at the moisture condensing on his optics. 'How long has it been to spend time alone with Elita other than interfacing or sparking? Too long,' the ancient warrior mech realized. 'Able to rest and not process tactics or wonder how to save all my team at what price to myself.'

Elita frowned, recognizing the signs of his brooding. Leaning back, she spun the cloth then snapped it forward, hitting the blue antennae.

"OW!" he yelled, covering his helm with his armored hands.

"Bath time means getting clean not mucking in old memories youngling," she glared down at him. "A bare aft spanking for you if you disobey so don't push it," she warned then giggled when his battle mask appeared. "Feel threatened? I mean it," Elita brandished the brush. "No misbehaving. Be a good mech."

The mask hid his smirk as he reached for a cloth to snap her foot with.

To be continued...