Author's Note:

The second half of the last chapter I chopped in half because it was HUGE...

And prolific reviewing! :D Yay! Seriously, I fragging love it when you guys review so much like that! And big shoutouts to Lewascan2 because you really were cute when you were excited about being mentioned in the author's note! ^-^ And big shoutout to Ratchet171 as my newest reviewer/follower and glad you're enjoying it! Hopefully, I can keep the originality coming!

Much love to my reviewers:

Foxbear, Lewascan2, SilenceSpeaksWhenWordsCan't, Kuurankukka, BossBot97, thePegasus-ponyPrime, Grace, Sounddrive, Mercedes Wolfcry, Ratchet171, megaghostgirl101, Lockdownthegunner, Zypherion-DeathNova, Spiritstrike, Fanatic97, and Lynxbylynx! (some of you guys have hard to spell names, how do you do that? *is shot* Guess I can't talk much, I have Whozawhatcha XD )

Now, enjoy this, and watch out for some bad-touching by Elita and Optimus! :) The song, "The Other Side" by Jason Derulo managed to inspire them, surprisingly, and boy, they were a bit flirty!

HOLY CRAP. Forgot to say, my favorite line of the last chapter? The line about Twin Twist's optics: "They were so empty and hollow Wheeljack was sure the screams of his brother would echo out of their depths."


"I will not ask again! Where is Optimus Prime?"

The sharp kick to her gut made her gag on backed up energon. Still, despite Megatron's potent anger, a coy smile turned up the edge of her lips.

"I don't know," she replied truthfully. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."

His clawed hand reached down and grabbed her by her neck. Her jaw ground tightly when her peds lifted off the ground and Megatron hoisted her high, glaring with the fires of rage burning in his red optics.

"Your spark mate!" he bellowed at her. "I know you are connected to him, now WHERE IS HE? Tell him that if he does not comply to my demands, I will gladly rip his mate's spark out!"

Now he's threatening to kill me. Cute. Where are you?

Coming, my dear. Stall him for a little bit longer. I'm less than a minute out.

The corner of Elita's lips twitched into a small, smug smirk. "Come now, Megatron," she managed around the vice clamping her throat. Competent blue optics glimmered with laughter at him. "Do you honestly think that even if he told me where he was, I would tell you? I know very well once I give you that information you'll just kill me and then Optimus. I am no one's fool."

He snarled and threw her down. Elita grunted, falling on her hands and knees. "Very well!" he spat. "Execute our prisoners, and fire each cannon at the nearest metropolis within its sights! It is time to show the known universe that this planet belongs to Megatron—"

"Master," Starscream said abruptly. "Something's coming."

I see you.

Elita lifted her helm, panting slightly in pain as she squinted into the distance. Faintly, she could see something coming, silhouetted against the sunset.

Are you flying?

Yes.

At the smug tone that crept its way into his voice, Elita had to bite back a grin.

Don't get cocky.

Me? Why I would never! I thought you knew me better, Elita.

Her spark softened at his teasing. Megatron and Starscream stepped in front of her, blocking her view. "The Predacon?" Megatron asked.

Starscream made an unconvinced noise in his throat. "Hmm . . . Not beasty enough . . ."

Elita laughed to herself. They're trying to figure out what you are.

A deep chuckle rumbled its way into her spark, warming her from the inside out. Megatron is going to be in for quite the unpleasant surprise.

Starscream squinted. "I know that color scheme . . ."

Oh my. I told him not to hit me.

He hit on you again too, didn't he?

It was his classic charade. I told him not to do that also.

He should have listened.

"Wait! He can't fly! Can he?"

Gorge your optics on this, sweet spark.

Elita looked up, and her optics widened when Optimus came flying in and landed, punching Megatron in the jaw so hard the warlord staggered backwards. Her brows shot upwards. Taken aback at how large Optimus was, her optics flicked up and down him once as he turn around, backhanding him and giving him an uppercut.

"Oh my . . ."

He reeled his arm back and socked Megatron square in the chassis with all his might. The warlord flew like a pixie across the way before he crashed into and broke his throne.

Her hand came to rest on her chassis at the casual and impressive display of power. The imposing new form of her spark mate whipped a Gatlin gun out, and her brows rose again as he easily decimated the three Vehicons.

Her optics glanced to see the lone standing seeker backing away as quietly as he could. Elita stood, cracking her knuckles. This would be fun.

"Hey, Starscream!"

He whirled around, and Elita cocked her wrist and gave him her best right hook. The Decepticon air commander fell in an unconscious heap, and the optics of both spark mates met. Both equally impressed with the fortitude and physical powers of the other, simultaneously they breathed,

"I love you."

Elita's lips twisted up saucily, and she took precious time to draw her optics down his form much more muscular than before, filled out and so mechly she felt it from where she stood. Compared to when she came up to his chassis, now she only came up to just below his chassis, unable to use his chest windows for a mirror. Against her will—or, maybe not against it—her processor sank into the curvy dip of his luscious waist, and she caught herself wondering briefly if everything was upgraded, enhanced, and more robust, did that count for EVERYTHING?

"Elita," she finally heard him say, "I don't think now is the time."

Huffing a little, she smiled wryly. "I suppose you're right when the fusion cannons below need disabled."

He took a step forward, saying, "Understood," while he gently, almost cheekily, chucked her chin.

Watching him take off again, Elita's spark soared. Over the Autobot comm. link, she reported to the others, "All units, Optimus Prime has returned. I repeat, Prime is alive and quiet well!"


He didn't know why the hell he did what he did.

Then again, he didn't know much of anything anymore.

He looked at Prowl's bumper. He was sandwiched between Smokescreen and Bumblebee, with Twin Twist's drills caging him in from the rear. A prisoner in all but name. Not that he couldn't get out of here easily enough. He had LET them take him—or so they thought. He was willingly going where he wanted to go.

Those were the thoughts that occupied Wheeljack's processor. He also raged to himself that they were showing him some gratitude for helping save their sorry afts. He even had the shoulder wound to prove it, and it was leaking a little. More charred by the strength of Shockwave's gun than bleeding. But it was painful nonetheless. He had double teamed Shockwave with the Wrecker, therefore branding him a Decepticon traitor in less than a klik. And now, he was being escorted right into the lair of his enemy.

Wheeljack silently seethed. He already regretted this. He shouldn't have gone with them. He should have killed them all when had the chance. The fresh dose of Synthen burned in his systems, humming with restless energy and the urge for violence. It took all of Wheeljack's self-control not to attack in a blind rage at the Autobots.

They led him to a human military base. Wheeljack could tell by its layout, and they led him to one of the center buildings, labeled E. Once inside, Prowl transformed and turned towards Wheeljack. Taking that as his cue, Wheeljack transformed in the silent Autobot silo. The humans turned to look at him. Optimus Prime and Elita and Ratchet all turned to him, and he duly noted the commander Ultra Magnus resting in a Cybernetic life support system.

Prowl spoke first before anyone else. "Servos out."

Wheeljack stiffened immediately at the stasis cuffs in his hands. His shoulders hinged up despite his left shoulder screaming in agony because of the laser fire on his back. "Go to the Pit," he snarled, fingers curling. "You can keep those things away from me."

"You are an Autobot turncoat and now a Decepticon turncoat," Prowl stated flatly, icy blue optics daring him to challenge his authority. "Protocol dictates—"

"I don't give about your damn protocol, dipstick! You come near me with those things and I will MAIM you."

"Easy, Wheeljack," Optimus's deep voice rumbled out, and contrary to how the sound should have soothed him, it only made him even more wound up. If that mech had been his normal size he wouldn't have been so worried, but when the freaking Hulk walked in the room? He jerked and backed away again, trigger finger twitching.

"Come near me with those cuffs," Wheeljack snarled. "I dare you."

Trying to dispel the situation getting rapidly out of hand, Twin Twist stepped forward, putting his hand in front of Prowl. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized on Wheeljack's behalf. "Wheeljack isn't thinking right, and it's effecting his—"

"My processor is just fine!" he snapped defensively, moving away so he wasn't locked in on all sides by the Autobots. "Lay one hand on me and I'll spill your viscera all over the floor, got it?"

Prowl moved Twin Twist's hand out of his way and stepped forward. "He is persisting in his threats for violence. He must be restrained."

"No, Prowl," Optimus said. He stepped closer, sending Wheeljack's defensive mechanisms fritzing haywire at the large mech's proximity. "No matter what has happened to him, he is still one of us."

"Let's get this straight," Wheeljack growled angrily. "I'm NOT one of you!"

Bumblebee twittered nervously, backing away. *You guys, give him some space. You're cornering him*

"I'm not cornered, you measly bug!" Wheeljack's red optics glared out at them all, his Decepticon logo like a beacon for trouble. "You didn't bring me here, I came out of my own free will, and I'll walk out whenever I slaggin' well please!"

"Well clearly you don't want to be here," Twin Twist said sharply. His olfactory system flared with a deep, controlling breath. "So get out of here."

Wheeljack's winglets perked up, and his metal hinged up like a clock wound to snap. "You're asking for it," he hissed to the Wrecker. It would be so easy. He was barely a lunge away. He could snap his neck before anyone could do anything. Not that it would help—the whole point was to get his Neurocaroxic line. If he killed him now, the Autobots would restrain him.

"Then give it to me," Twin Twist needled back, deadened eyes challenging him with the slightest flare of anger.

"Come and GET it," Wheeljack nearly purred, voice laced with threatening ire.

Prowl made the mistake of taking another step forward. "Wheeljack, you need to—"

His careful control snapped. Wheeljack lunged, hands wrapping around Prowl's neck. The gun smoke grey mech reacted in kind, hands grabbing Wheeljack's wrists and knee jabbing upward into his pelvis. Wheeljack grunted, slinging the mech away and to the ground as he was pounced from behind by Twin Twist.

Roaring in anger, the Synthen fed his unbridled aggression. Wheeljack kicked his legs up in the air and swung all his momentum downward. Twin Twist was brought hurling over his shoulder, and the mech landed hard on his back, all the breath gushing out of his body. Before Wheeljack could attack Prowl again who had already leapt to his peds, a giant hand descended towards him.

Instinct took over, and Wheeljack ducked away from the Prime's massive hand and socked the mech right in the gut. He grunted, but his servo was swift and grabbed Wheeljack's shoulder. For a moment, panic and rage nearly overtook Wheeljack before the Prime merely slung him away, blocking his way to Twin Twist and Prowl with his body and the sharp order of, "Stand down, all of you!"

Wheeljack had his ion cannons transformed and whirring hot so fast he didn't even realize he had done it. "Frag off!" he shouted back, moving away. "I'm my own mech! You keep your hands and your orders to yourself; you don't own me!"

Finally, having enough with the antics before her, Elita rolled her optics with the word, "Mechs," barely uttered under her breath. "Allow me," she said, brushing her way airily to the front.

Optimus turned his helm down to her. "Elita—"

She silenced him with a touch to his hip as she passed in front to face Wheeljack. He shifted immediately, pointing his cannon at the closest in proximity which happened to be the Prime's spark mate. She smiled at him, a warm, comforting smile.

"Get one step closer and I'll blow that smile right off your face."

His threat didn't make her smile falter. "Please, calm down, Wheeljack. We mean you no harm."

"That's not what I've seen around here," he snarled back, wounded shoulder shaking as he struggled to keep his other gun pointed to ward off the others.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I apologize for the needless brutality they showed you," she said sweetly. Her friendliness made him want to gag. "However, you aren't making this easy for us with your weapons pointed our way."

"Well, until you put your dog on a leash," and he glared hard past her shoulder and to Prowl.

Her ornate helm nodded. "It's all right. You are welcome here, and stasis cuffs will not be required."

"Commander—"

"Prowl, not now." His lips pressed mulishly, and Elita smiled again at Wheeljack. "Now, you're wounded. If you put away your weapons, I'm sure Ratchet would—"

"I don't want that snake anywhere near me!" Wheeljack hissed almost violently. He jerked back another step at the mere thought of the mad doctor, shaking and optics flaring brighter in alarm at even letting the medic touch him again.

"Fine," she acquiesced easily. Wheeljack tried to temper his shuddering vents. "Will you allow me to patch you?"

His lip curled. "Not a chance."

She arched a patient brow. "The wound is on the back of your shoulder, a very hard place to tend to on your own. I won't harm you, Wheeljack, I just want to help."

The aggressive edge didn't want to leave him. He was even more suspicious of the Autobots than he was of the Decepticons. Voice grating with distrust, he growled, "I'm not letting my guard down with all these idiots in here."

Elita nodded. "We can thin the room."

He jerked his cannon towards Ratchet with an almost epileptic, scared movement. "The Doc of Doom has to go," he snarled. He shifted uncomfortably under Twin Twist's gaze. "Soulless optics there too. He goes. And the glitch," and he gestured to Arcee. "So does tight-aft, half-pint and the Hulk."

Elita nodded even though that left only her and Smokescreen in the room. She turned her helm. "You heard him," she said. "Everyone, file out."

Prowl stood stock still, door wings twitching with an ugly rage splotching beneath his complexion at what she was suggesting. Bumblebee was the first to slink quietly out of the silo, followed by Arcee and Twin Twist. Ratchet hesitated a little more before he transformed down and left. Prowl stood stubbornly, nearly unable to think as if his logic circuits had shut down, but a sharp lifting brow from Elita finally propelled him into motion. Optimus didn't move a piston.

"I am afraid the 'Hulk' will have to remain," Optimus quoted him coyly. "I do not trust leaving you alone with my spark mate and only one soldier while you are in such a hostile state."

When Wheeljack bared his denta, Elita could only give one unladylike shrug. "I'm afraid I hold no jurisdiction over him in that regard," she told him. She didn't wait for his response, but automatically walked across the room, found Ratchet's medical supplies, and came to stand back in front of him. He stared at her apparent disregard for his weapons trained on her as she asked simply, "May I?"

He stared her down, left arm seizing with the effort to keep his ion cannons trained on her. He didn't trust her. He didn't know why. Maybe it was just because she was an Autobot. But for once, he was experiencing a small lull of emotion, a void if you will. He didn't have any preconceived judgments or emotions about her. She was safe. Unlike the others, he didn't previously know her, and so there was no programming clashing in his processor save for the fact that she was an Autobot and he was supposed to kill Autobots.

Finally, he disarmed his weapons though he was on edge for any dishonesty. Surprisingly, none was forthcoming. Elita repaired him swiftly and well enough, so he couldn't complain.

"Um . . . Wheeljack?"

He turned at the sound of his name, and his optics alighted on a female human dressed horrendously on the gangway. He scowled. "Does every Primus-forsaken one of you know my name?"

She winced back slightly. Hopeful caramel eyes looked up almost pleadingly. "Do you remember me?"

"Remember you?" He scoffed. "I've never even met you."

His cruel tone invoked her anger. Heat flushed to her cheeks, and hurt tears beaded in her eyes. "Yes you do!" she snapped back. "MIKO!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. "Miko Nakadai! Your human partner! Skinny Asian girl estranged from her father; I like monster truck rallies, zombies, speed metal, graffiti, barbeque, bikers, and I want to be a famous rock star! You've looked after me for months! I'm connected to you in your spark—you said I'm your daughter! You said you love me!"

"Ha! Me, fall in love?" He leaned down, sneering in her face, "If I ever did that, I think I'd have a spark attack."

A stricken look crossed her features. Then, before she cried, she blinked rapidly and turned away, walking off and away to control her temper. Wheeljack's lip curled as he watched her go. That was right. Get away from him. But his spark hurt just seeing the slump of her shoulders. He ignored it, turning glittering red optics on Optimus.

"So? What're you gonna do with me?"

There was a palpable beat of silence in which Optimus considered his options—with a few add-ins from Elita via their spark bond—before he finally responded, "Nothing."

He narrowed his optics to slitting crimson lines. "Nothing?"

Optimus nodded. "Absolutely nothing."

"That doesn't seem like your brightest idea. You know the damage I can do. The damage I've done. I highly doubt that half-Wrecker in there will agree with a decision like that."

Optimus vented slowly, looking down at Wheeljack. His winglets perked up again, feeling intimidated by his height and breadth. "Wheeljack, you believe yourself an avid Decepticon," Optimus said slowly. "Yet you come here on your own jurisdiction. Whether that is for a vendetta or something more, I do not know. But you betrayed the Decepticons on a whim and came back with us, though tense, not violent until we pushed you out of your boundaries of comfort." He paused. "So no. You are not our prisoner, you are a Decepticon granted asylum until he learns where his spark is leading him. I will notify Prowl of my decision."

Wheeljack's fingers flared and clenched. "That's it?"

The Prime nodded again, but arched an eyebrow. "I trust you will temper your aggressive tendencies or else Prowl will have the perfect excuse to put you in the brig."

Wheeljack snorted, crossing his arms. "He'd put me in the brig for even breathing, Prime. If he doesn't piss me off, we'll be doing good."


The base was quiet. The day had been long, and everyone was bushed. The bots had retired to recharge—even Prowl, surprisingly. The kids were passed out on the couch in various positions: Jack sprawled in the couch corner, one leg stretched out and arms spread on the arm and the back; Raf face flat on the love seat; Miko sharing the couch with Jack, curled up in a defensive, hurt ball with her face hidden by the pillows.

Elita gathered much from their different positions. Raf easily slept where he could, how he could, and in whatever position despite how uncomfortable. The young boy would wake up with a crick in his neck. His glasses were far enough away not to get crushed if he rolled over, but within easy reach.

Jack sprawled. He enjoyed his space, and as an only child, never had to share his space with anyone. Though he kept to himself carefully when awake, the flail of limbs in his sleep said he had a hidden wild side as well as confidence.

Miko's tight ball didn't say anything about her personality. Thinking of herself when she was younger, Elita could only see a non-conformist when she saw one. Her choice of clothing was not usual, and neither was her hair style and color. And her treatment of authority was questionable. She doubted the girl slept like that normally. She faced inward to hide her face in the pillows. To hide her tears. She curled up in a ball to comfort herself over how inconsiderate Wheeljack had been of her emotions, as well as the general situation. His memory loss—or corruption; Topspin's death; Twin Twist relying on her to keep him going. It wasn't an easy feat to hold someone else up when you wanted nothing more than to break down yourself.

Speaking of Twin Twist, he was locked tight in his alt mode as he recharged. A clear indicator for everyone to keep away from him and leave him alone to his misery. Yet, unlike the other bots, he didn't go to his designated recharge chamber, but rather sat parked right beneath the gangway the children slept on. Close to Miko.

Elita vented softly with compassion for them. Her optics grazed the tops of the humans' heads. Could it hurt to pet them? She just wanted to feel what they felt like, so soft and organic. Hesitantly, she reached out a finger towards Jack and dipped the tip of her finger into his hair. It was lush. Thick. It moved in waves around her touch, and she stroked through it once. He didn't stir. Curious about their skin, she brushed his cheek. He was soft. Malleable. She could almost feel the energon flowing through his veins without a protective shell.

He shifted in his sleep. Her hand jumped away, and a small smile softened her face plates when he merely shifted positions slightly. Turning, she looked across the room. Ratchet worked diligently with Ultra Magnus, monitoring his vitals and muttering quietly to himself as he sought the quickest way for his healing. Various wounds decorated the commander, but it was his spark the medic seemed most worried about. He hadn't been able to say why, he hadn't found the problem, but obviously it was enough to keep him up at night.

Elita didn't worry too much. She held the utmost confidence in the aged CMO whose wisdom far surpassed any medic of the past and present. She wondered if he would ever take a protégé.

At last, her optics fell upon Optimus. Her spark swelled at the mere sight of him. It had been too long. And she had finally found him again. Still, for all that was worth, they hadn't had much time for each other yet. Not with the imminent threat of Darkmount finally being taken care of and sending the Decepticons back on a costly retreat. Not with Wheeljack suddenly deciding he wanted to check out the Autobots again. Prowl had kept them all through the afternoon and evening fighting about that. He didn't like the idea of just letting him roam the premises freely, and for good reason, but Optimus held faith in the mech no matter why he thought they were enemies.

Elita held no preconceived notions about Wheeljack. She had never met him before. But, she did trust her spark mate. And after that? When she finally thought she and Optimus would have a moment to themselves?

He took to paperwork.

Granted, the "paper" work was on a datapad. He had diligently helped Ratchet in acclimating to the new base, documenting resources and helping set up what little technology Ratchet had left to work with, battle logs, you name it, he was doing it. He was doing all of the in keeping while Ratchet puzzled over Ultra Magnus's condition.

She was about tired of it. This needed to change, and now. There was plenty of time for work later, but right now?

It was about slagging time they reunited.

Elita sauntered over, swag in her hip even though Optimus didn't see it since he was tapping on his datapad. Coming up behind him, Elita wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips against his back. He jumped for a moment, unaccustomed to the touch after so many years of her not being there, but then relaxed instantly with a deep rumble.

"Elita."

There was much more in that one breath of her name than just confirmation of who was touching him. She heard the joy, the underlying relief, contentment, and whimsicality. She laughed huskily, nuzzling his back.

"Optimus."

A faint laugh caught in the back of his throat, and he finally set the datapad down like a good mate and turned around to face her. Elita rested her arms around his waist comfortably, and his own arms came around her. His optics flicked around the room instinctively for confirmation of privacy before he let down his commander guise for her with an eyebrow raising.

"If I'm not mistaken, you've gotten a little shorter, Elita."

She rolled her optics. "Oh, ha ha, you're such a riot, Optimus," she said back, but the grin tugging her lips gave her away.

"What can I say?" he murmured back. One of his fingers came up to stroke the antenna on her ornate helm, and a shiver immediately trembled through her frame. "I'm very happy to have you back."

"Mh," she said diffidently. "Well, I've got to ask, Optimus."

"Ask what?"

She flicked her optics up to his with a sultry pout of her lower lip. "It seems like your upgrades have enlarged, enhanced, and super charged your body. Does that extend to EVERY part of your body?"

He stilled at the very suggestive words before his fingers feathered around her waist. A deep purr caught in his vocalizer.

"Perhaps we should find out."

Her peds left the ground as he suddenly scooped her up bridal style, and a pleased giggle slipped from her lips a little too loudly. Ratchet's optics finally flicked up to them, but seeing Optimus carrying her away, he simply muttered, "Bout slaggin' time . . ." before returning his attentions to Ultra Magnus.

Optimus carried her only as far as beyond the doorjamb before he took off with his jetpack, flying through the sky. Elita squeaked momentarily before cuddling up in his arms, appreciating the view.

"So where are you kidnapping me to?" she asked conversationally, hooking one arm around his neck and letting the other trace illicit shapes in his chassis.

A hungry grumble rattled his chassis. "Away from here," he growled. He bunched her up closer, nibbling briefly on her antenna again before admitting, "North. Nevada isn't the prettiest of states to romanticize you with, but northern Nevada is certainly a step up from these craggy rocks."

She hummed an indifferent sound, and she leaned up, nuzzling into his throat, kissing and nipping at the neck cables exposed there. She felt his grip tighten as he struggled to keep his processor on the flying. "Oh really?" she asked halfheartedly. She was much more interested in exploring this new body of his. Pit, not even that, she just wanted him, and wanted him now. There was plenty of time for plenty of rounds to map the new contours of his body under her fingertips. "Maybe I don't want romanticized."

Optimus's processor wanted to fritz a little at the saucy tone suggesting him to take her now. She sure did know exactly how to get him wound up. He was starting to feel stifled in his armor, especially with her mouth teasing his neck wires like that. It made it damn hard to fly. "Elita, if you keep that up, we may very well crash before we get far," he admitted on a rumble. The mountains whizzed beneath them. Isolated enough. Tempting despite not being up to snuff. The only problem might be a nasty case of echo.

"Then land," she whispered breathily in his audios. A shudder ran through his frame. "I want you right now, Optimus, and I don't care where we're at."

She tripped the fine wire of his control. She heard him growl shortly, and their flight patter tipped sharply as he angled down for the cover of the first valley nearby. Never mind that their cries would echo horribly. Maybe they wanted the world to seethe with jealousy.

The instant he landed, Elita felt herself pressed against the rock face and his mouth plunged down on hers. With a gasp, she returned his ravaging kiss with her own passion that held the edge of desperation and need of millennia apart. Heat scorched her circuits from the delicious and large frame that pinned her with no hesitation, taking her as his own again, and she submitted again, relishing in his touch, his kiss, his love.

He rolled his shoulders, and the jetpack disengaged immediately with a loud crash on the ground. Elita rolled her hips into his, arching into him as she attacked his armor. She would have usually drawn out the task, but she lacked the patience and the saucy bite she usually held. She just needed him. Now. She wanted him to fill her entire being, inside and out, and make up for the millennia of celibate faithfulness.

Amidst hungry kisses, the armor was thrown off. It was cast aside in different directions, strewn in an unorganized mess at their peds. White and purple-hued silver protoform molded into each other, and a haggard groan caught in Optimus's throat; his fingers tightened on her. Her legs locked around the seductive dip of his waist, and she felt the fires of passion spread like wildfire through her circuits when he ground his hips into hers and cupped her breast. She returned the gesture by sliding her palms up his sensitive audio fins, and she felt his engine rumble and vibrate through her body.

His mouth parted from hers to snatch a breath and purr, almost growl, "Elita—" before his lips pressed down hard again. She whimpered and arched against him, tilting her helm back as he trailed a hot trail of kisses down her neck. She didn't question his kink for wall sex—it had become her kink since the first time he had done it like this.

He owned her body and soul. She ruled his spark and processor. The relationship gave and took, waxed and waned, yin for yang. He teased spots long dormant into electrical life, a storm of sparks that made the aching need for his touch consume her processor. Millennia of practice yielded its results between the spark mates as they stroked that spot that would make her mewl, nipped in the places that would make him moan, and aroused them with familiar touches. Her hips twisted, rolled, and pushed against him, bedeviling him until he finally drew into her with a haggard cry of ecstasy.

Simultaneously, their chassis opened, exposing one another's sparks to each other. The electrical energies entwined, curling and lacing through each other, stealing one another's consciousness into the other. They molded, fire and flame, fervor and frenzy, a lust for one another that blazed into existence and was enhanced by the intimate knowing of each other's souls. They rocked into a hard, supernova overload, and their sparks reacted in kind, sparks flying and pulling them closer until the lines between them blurred until they were one.

They panted against one another, calming after the initial madness for each other, and their sparks swirled against each other. A private conversation passed between them. Elita fell into helpless giggles; Optimus gave a deep, sexy chuckle as he nuzzled her helm. Wordless, more was passed between them than words could have told, indulging in one another like a guilty pleasure. Their sparks hummed together, connected and intimate, love bubbling up like a happy creek in the spring.

Though they cuddled and communicated, it didn't take long for the heat to return. A brief touch here—a gentle kiss there. And then a hot kiss on the mouth, overcome with razor-edged passion that made Elita melt into Optimus's frame. Their hands roamed over each other again, this time taking great care to show their devotion and ardor. They stroked; they necked; they teased. With the skill of a couple that knew each other's ins and outs, hot spots and the things they liked, they slowly worked each other up.

He moaned, soft deep and needy in her audio. Accompanied with his cherishing touches came the whimsical nothings and promises detailing his love for her. Elita returned them in kind, whimpering and panting with raw need, hands clutching at his chassis. She held on to him as her focal point in a swirling world. Their sparks reacted almost violently against each other, the charges prickling across their bodies and extremities tingling. Her spark's energies squirmed and writhed against Optimus's, and she cried out, desperate for the culmination he tantalized her with.

Love poured through her entire being. He encased her in it, warming her from the inside out with how much he treasured her, showing her through his gentle touches, feather-like touches, and drawing out her pleasure until she begged. Again he proved why she could fall for him and only him, that compassion that consumed her so readily and that soft kiss of ardor that made her lust so much for him. The heat seared more potent than the sun, and his love embraced her with unparalleled devotion.

His patient pelvic dance continued, slow, gentle, and agonizing with its pace. Elita threw her helm back, arching hard with every slow thrust that meticulously drew out every last bit of salacity out of her. The need pulsated from her spark, begging and raw until he finally accommodated her. Overload struck like a falling star, burning, scorching, impacting so intense that she screamed his name to the heavens until she was sure Megatron would seethe in jealousy on the NEMESIS.

They went for a third round, just for the delicious taste of each other's bodies.