Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.
Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an A.U. 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.
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Full Velocity: Finding Salvation
Chapter 20: Sparks
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"Oh." The sight stopped Sira dead in her tracks. Blinking several times, she remembered her manners when Wheeljack chuckled softly. Then, pivoting gracefully, she hurriedly left the area as the moans followed her down the corridor. Hopefully, neither mech realized her intrusion.
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Sira leaned against the doorway, waiting for Optimus to finish his task before she interrupted. The mech always welcomed her and repeatedly told her to freely visit, but she avoided barging in like a uncouth heathen. So, she waited for his invitation.
She barely had time to let her mind wander before those piercing blue optics traveled over her. Optimus waved her in and offered his hand.
"What is on your mind?" he asked as he lifted her to his desk. A while back, they agreed to throw all pretenses of greetings out the window. It saved time.
She sucked on her bottom lip, unsure how to proceed. Optimus always answered her questions without making her feel idiotic, and that was how she felt right now. "What is the exact nature of Ratchet and Wheeljack's relationship?"
The Autobot leader leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his formidable chest. "Why?"
She fidgeted as she spoke, still uncertain what discussions fell into unspoken faux pas. "I was walking by the workshop, and Wheeljack had Ratchet pinned to the table. It looked rather intimate."
Optimus glanced away, his brow arches raising. "It probably was intimate." He focused on her once more, his features schooled into a neutral friendliness.
Sira nodded, uncertain how she felt about guessing correctly. According to the Prime's declarations, she became an accepted member of the Autobots, yet she understood little about her teammates. She spent a large portion of her time studying their behaviors and the subtle nuances of Cybertronian culture.
Now, she crossed her legs and plopped her butt on his desk. "Okay, big guy, I have questions."
"I would be surprised if you didn't." The ghost of a smile quirked the corners of his mouth.
Lacing her fingers together, Sira dropped her hands into her lap. She wondered if this was what girl sleepovers were like? All chit-chat and gossip? "So, are they a couple?"
Optimus sat for a few minutes, the smile slipping away. "They are bondmates, yet even after all their time together, rumors surrounded Ratchet's fidelity still swirl."
Sira cocked an eyebrow and demurely waited for the Prime to continue. A million comments threatened to spill out her mouth, but she managed to hold her tongue - for the moment.
Continuing, the Prime leaned towards her, his expression serious. "I am only telling you this because you might hear comments or witness occurrences, and I want you to understand."
Sira cocked her head to the side. "Okay. Can you be a little vaguer? I mean, please make this slightly less comprehensible."
A frown pressed the mech's brow arches together.
Ignoring her friend's irritation, Sira continued, "Optimus, we are both adults. If this is a birds-and-bees discussion, just fucking say what you need to say. I'm not a virginal maiden, embarrassed by dirty talk." She raised her hands and made little finger quotes around the last two words.
The massive mech sitting in front of her sputtered and managed to appear embarrassed. Reclaiming his stoic expression, the Prime focused his gaze someplace above and past her. It took him several seconds to find his words, and when he did, they came with an unaccustomed hesitancy. "When Cybertronians desire intimacy or pleasure with another, they can interface. This involves a physical connection and allowing access to sensors. This is accomplished with a cable or hardline. Ratchet is a medic, his primary drive is to care for others, and part of that drive is initiating an interface whenever he feels it is beneficial. It helps with the diagnostic aspects of his duties. He has a lower inhibition towards the act, but most consider interfacing a private matter and try to avoid it at all costs unless it is with their mate."
Tapping her fingers on her knee, Sira tried to find a point of reference. "Are you trying to, delicately, say that Ratchet is a slut and can't help it, but Wheeljack doesn't care?"
"Yes. No." Optimus finally turned his focus to her and ran a hand over his face. "The word 'slut' has such negative connotations. All Cybertronian medics are interested in others. It is part of their core programming. It takes a very special spark to accept and understand this. As far as I can tell, Wheeljack accepts his mate's idiosyncrasies without jealousy or concern."
"So, they were interfacing?" She rolled the word around her mouth, getting the full flavor of it. Her curiosity ran rampant now. She knew the Autobots formed strong relationships with one another and that these relationships lasted a lifetime. But the idea that there was an actual, physical joining to the union never entered her mind.
"Perhaps. I cannot say for certain. There are several ways in which we can initiate intimacy."
Sira wanted to dive into the new information and soak it up. Her curiosity threatened to get the better of her, but Optimus spoke with unusual caution. For her friend, she quelled her own inquisitiveness and proceeded lightly, hoping not to offend. "They were together, and they had their chest armor opened, and it really was beautiful. They…"
Optimus held his hand up to stop her. "They were bonding or sharing. Interfacing is a physical connection to comfort or pleasure another. Or used for data transfer, as a diagnostic tool, as a cruel form of torture and interrogation, but there is always an intimate aspect. But bonding is the actual merging of two sparks. It is only done between those that trust and care for one another. Bondmates.
"And yes, it is beautiful. It allows for a sharing of the deepest, most private areas of a person's being. It goes beyond the surface emotions and lays a spark open for the other to experience and explore. It is the most intimate act that can be performed, the ultimate display of devotion. Most likely, they were reaffirming their bond to one another."
Intense cerulean optics bore into her as his words danced along her skin. Then, after seconds of confusion, her brain started piecing wisps of ideas and half-formed thoughts together. Sira's heart skipped in her chest as the realization of Prime's words hit home with shocking clarity. She had made a grievous mistake and wondered if any the mechs realized it.
The hum of energy and life that surrounded Prime, usually comforting to her, now became an overwhelming weight. Her own powers rose in response, and her heat and fire wanted to play along his metal frame.
Shit. Shit. Shit. She needed to leave. She needed to be more careful around these beings.
Making an excuse about having to use the restroom, Sira nimbly jumped to his leg. Even that brief touch threatened to undo her. Quickly she hopped to the floor. Exiting with a forced smile and a false cheeriness, she hid the tingle of power in her blood and the ache in her bones as she held herself in check.
XxxX.
Optimus watched Sira leave. He made no attempt to stop or follow. Her reaction did not surprise him; he expected it. He knew she had heard the meaning embedded in his words and needed her space to think about what had transpired.
It might take months before she broached the subject again, but eventually, curiosity would get the better of her. It always did.
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Pacing her quarters did not help. Her skin itched, and her soft footsteps rang like gongs in her ears. His words echoed in her head. That deep, commanding voice had taken on a different quality during their discussion. Was it a warning, an invitation, or just her imagination? She didn't know.
Another lap along the perimeter of her personal area, she weighed the option of heading to the surface, shucking off her human form, and disappearing into the desert for several days. Except, the Nevada spring already offered temperatures near ninety degrees and little water to drink, not a survivable condition, even for her.
She had to siphon off the energy coursing within her, so her feet and legs continued to circle the room. What had occurred? Nothing she could pinpoint, but something changed between them. It had to have been her. Residing with aliens made from living metal, shrouded in an energy field, would mess with her. Wouldn't it? She rarely admitted to herself, but she did find the Autobots yummy on a primal level. Not as food or, gods forbid, sexual, but like a warm patch of sun on sweet grass, she could roll in and nap contentedly.
That thought upset her too. Cybertronians were sentient beings, not indulgences. Sira wondered what was wrong with her.
Did Optimus find her attractive? That thought stopped her pacing as she erupted in self-deprecating laughter. "Oh, fuck," she giggled. Then, in a deeper voice, she said, "Hi, I'm Optimus Prime, and I want to bone your women."
She laughed, feeling the tension and confusion wash away. "Sira, that is not him, so you are the mess here. It is all you," she told herself.
Wiping away the tears her laughter brought, she decided a nap then food would improve her mood. Heading towards the ladder leading to her bed, she continued to chide herself for misreading the discussion and wondered if she needed to get laid. "Too much testosterone around here; it's making you stupid."
A booming clang exploded around her room, dropping her to a defensive squat.
Inhaling and exhaling, Sira stood on shaky legs after realizing someone knocked at her door. She pulled her phone from her back pocket. A few keystrokes and the massive door slid open. Wheeljack blocked the threshold.
Heat crept into Sira's cheeks, realizing she caught this mech in the act of fornication.
Wheeljack stood above her, his optics scanning the room.
"Hi, 'Jack. What do you need?" she asked.
"I was wondering if you would like to run an errand with me? It feels like a dynamo running in here." He cocked his head to the side and looked at her. "What were you doing? You have this energy around you? And it feels odd; not bad, just odd." He squatted in the doorway. "I've read the report about what you did to Barricade. Did you use this energy or a different method to penetrate his armor? I've wanted to ask you so many questions."
Stunned and confused, Sira tried to follow the mech's line of discussion. "Um."
He rested his wrists on the tops of his knees, looking like a gargoyle. "Is mech armor the same as the metals you used for your jewelry?"
Shaking her head, Sira stepped backward to avoid craning her neck. "Um. Wow. Okay. Mech armor is thick, heavy, and alive. The life force creates problems. I need a focus, something to concentrate the power in, like my sword. And I need direct contact, otherwise, the energy is too diffused. Going against a Cybertronian one on one would be suicidal; all my opponent needs to do is step on me."
She turned his questioning back onto him. "What is this errand you speak of, and why does it involve me?"
The engineer looked at her oddly, like a cat the first time it sees a mouse. Fortunately, Optimus had banned all small organics from entering Wheeljack's workshop. Even going so far as drawing a line eight feet off the ground. Next to the line, someone wrote, "You must be at least this tall and metallic to enter."
"I need some items from the electrical supply store. Parts were recently damaged, and I need someone to go in and buy replacements for me.
"You could put in a parts order," Sira offered as she headed back to the ladder, trying not to think how the damage occurred. Images of robotic coitus interruptus danced in her head anyways.
Gears whirred and creaked as the mech stood. "I can't wait, and some of our supplies have been back-ordered. I need these things immediately. Also, you look like you could get out for a while."
Halfway up the ladder, Sira stopped and looked over her shoulder at the Autobot. Wheeljack rarely caught the subtleties of organic emotions. Someone had put him up to getting her off base or spending time together. She had a good idea who that someone might be. Fine, she would play along. Finishing the climb, she grabbed her backpack and a pair of loosely tied sneakers. Strapping her sword on her back, she motioned for the mech to lead the way.
Nestled inside the pearl white Shelby GR-1, Sira chalked everything up to a misunderstanding. Accepting that these things happened when two radically different cultures rubbed against each other. Interrupting the steady flow of the scientist's questions, she asked, "Hey 'Jack, can we stop for ice cream?"
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Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who is following along.
d8rkforcen1ght7: Thank you. Over a decade into this series, along with going back for a master's forced me to improve. Also, I have had a lot of amazing betas during this time that taught me so much
TomRiddlesTwin: Thank you. (((((((HUGS))))))))