Uh, I'm going to try something :slightly: new here. All in the name of science, of course.
Plenoptic, blame for the corruption of my pure, innocent mind rests entirely on your shoulders – and all of your stories. ;)
And…uh…I kinda borrowed one of your ideas – mag pulsing (please don't kill me) - it's only so that Optimus can have his wicked, wicked way with poor defenseless Elita One. There's another naughty Ratchet bit in here, too, so enjoy that, too.
Other than that, read on at your own risk. Mature content here, folks.
And as for the identity of the femme in the previous chapter – take a wild guess as to who she is. ;)
Elita sighed softly as Optimus's hands dipped southwards, caressing pleasure receptors with wild abandon. His nimble fingers skimmed over her bare, sensitive protoform, sending bolts of tingling pleasure through her entire being. She shuttered her optics, the silence in the room only broken by the rasp of metal on metal and the soft whine of cooling fans turning on. A soft whine broke past Elita's lip components. Her spark was begging to be joined with Optimus's again.
He sensed her need and trailed one finger lightly down the center of her chest. The seamless expanse of Elita's chest plates swelled outwards and broke apart, transforming outwards and out of the way, revealing her spark to his. It shone brightly. The femme's dark blue spark shone brilliantly, emitting the occasional impatient flash of golden light. Optimus shifted his weight onto his forearms, dropping his lip components to her audio receptor.
"I love you," he whispered. With her optics still shuttered and offline, Elita nodded weakly, unable to respond verbally. Optimus took her silence as submission, and opened his chest plates. The radiant cobalt light poured outwards, meshing with the golden light from Elita's spark. Optimus couldn't help but to feel the pang in his spark as he observed his mate.
They had been separated for longer than the humans had even existed. Perhaps even longer. He had stopped counting the vorns when she had given her last transmission before switching over to radio silence. She had even masked her spark from his during the latter half of the war. Femmes were precious beings before the war, but after the war had progressed, femmes were even rarer. A femme was a precious for both sides, capable of producing sparks with minimal help from the AllSpark. Once the failing Decepticon army realized that they had lost the AllSpark, they had taken every measure to secure a few dozen females. He had heard more than a few stories of femmes initiating a system failure while the 'Con joined with them - the process extinguished both sparks nearly instantaneously.
Elita, almost as though she sensed what he was thinking about, raised her hand and caressed Optimus's cheek plate, gently reminding him where his attention should be. Optimus snapped out of his thoughtful daze and returned his hands to her body. Elita snuggled closer to him, purring happily as his nimble fingers slipped between their bodies. With a mischievous smirk, he slid the armor covering her interface port aside. She was already warmed up and ready to go. His smirk turned into a grin when his fingers probed deeper inside.
"Oh…frag…" Elita moaned, tossing her head back on the cushions. Her fingers flexed on his shoulder guards, the metal squeaking softly in protest. Optimus reached down to his own interface port, pulling out the thick cable. It took him a few moments to start the programming, readying himself to transfer the data to his femme. Optimus gently thrust his hips toward Elita's, pushing the cable into her port with a little difficulty. Elita was much smaller than him; thus the very tight fit.
He buried his face in her shoulder, purring happily as her programming recognized his and dropped her firewalls. He snaked one hand upwards, sliding his fingers into her chest cavity. Elita let out a strange noise, a mixture of a surprised squeal and a groan of pleasure. He had never done anything like that, and she made a mental note to ask where he had learned that technique.
Elita writhed, her processor struggling to keep up with both stimuli – her mate's fingers were mag-pulsing her spark repeatedly while his interface cable was nice and thick and throbbing where it lay buried in her port, sending the occasional deluge of information. Both pleasure centers in her body were overloading her processor with her mate's clever stimulation. Elita let out another keening cry, arching into those long, sinfully talented fingers buried in her spark. When Optimus uploaded into her systems, it was too much for Elita to handle. She arched into his chest, an impressive scream of pleasure erupting from her vocalizers. Her vocal processor shorted out with a burst of static.
Her entire body tensed, her mouth open in a silent cry as she overloaded again. Optimus had cleverly built up her external stimulation to a level where he knew her processor couldn't handle. The result was the most delicious overload – or set of overloads – that Elita had ever had in her life. The information had been dammed up in her processor as it locked down under the intense streams of information, and now that she was able to sift through it all, the pleasure that her body perceived from the datastreams slammed into her like a wall.
Repeatedly.
Seeing that his femme couldn't take much more, Optimus relented. He gently pulled out of her interface port, wincing as the heated cable retracted back into its holding spot. Elita shook in his arms as her energy waned. She dropped back onto the berth with a groan, steam hissing out of every available vent as her systems struggled to bring her body back to a safe temperature. He kissed Elita's forehead gently, giving her a concerned glance.
"Too much?" he asked quietly. Elita gave him a very intense glare.
"I can handle anything you throw at me," she rasped out, her voice laced with static. Optimus made a concerned noise, pressing his lip components against her shorted vocal processor. Her optics started to brighten as she switched over to her secondary energon reserves.
"Sorry, love," he said. Elita rolled her optics, using one shaking finger to poke his still-parted chest plates.
"You haven't overloaded," she said flatly. Optimus shrugged and shook his head.
"Don't worry about it, Elita. All that matters to me is that you are satis – "
"Finish that sentence, Optimus, and you won't be getting any more interface for the rest of your life," she snapped. Her optics brightened as her systems and body made a relatively quick recovery. Optimus marveled at her energy. He'd forgotten that femmes had secondary energy storage systems, but he didn't know how she would want to continue interfacing after all five of her previous overloads. She yanked his head down for a kiss, thrusting her glossa past his parted lips. Optimus groaned happily against her lips, joyous that he wasn't going to have to overload himself.
He kissed a path down to her throat, nibbling along the exposed wires and lines. He peeked into her chest cavity. Her spark was shining brightly, even emitting the occasional lightning bolt of electricity. He reached out to her spark, but she smacked his hand away, shaking her head. Elita let out a frustrated, plaintive whimper when he continued stimulating her.
"Are you going to take me or not?" she asked, her voice thick with anticipation. Optimus gave her a stern, wordless glare. He was going to make sure that her spark could handle joining with his, especially with all of their previous activities. He wasn't going to neglect his femme's health for the sake of pleasure. If he had to wait until tomorrow or until the middle of next orn for his overload, he would wait if it meant that she was thoroughly recovered. Elita dropped her head back on the cushion, another ragged moan tearing itself out of her vocalizers. Optimus fingered her spark box, testing her readiness to join.
Electricity arced outwards, kissing his fingers with tingling pleasure. Elita's moans grew in volume and in desperation, and it was then that he knew she was ready to join once more. Optimus tenderly kissed her, lowering his chest to hers. Their sparks flew at one another, joining and meshing with an excruciatingly bright flash of light. Optimus gasped wordlessly, off-lining his optics.
It felt like he was on fire. Slag that – it felt like his body was melting from the inside out, intense, pleasurable fire burning along his fuel lines and neural network. Cooling fans shrieked under the immense strain. Waves of heat rolled from their entangled bodies, bending and rippling the light in the room. Elita was in the same condition as he, her hands clawing desperately down his back, scraping long streams of paint from his frame. Her overload slammed into her. Elita screamed as her grip on Optimus tightened. She could hear his armor groaning in protest but she honestly could not bring herself to care. Higher and higher the pleasure crested until it finally broke over them both washing over mind, body, and spark. Elita slumped, her optics fluttering close of their own accord. She could not speak for a long time afterwards. Optimus gathered her in shaking arms, drawing her close to his chest plates. He rested his chin on her head, his engine rumbling unsteadily. He too, could not speak. She laid in his arms with her head against his spark, listening to the strong thrumming of his fuel pump and engine.
Elita laughed weakly when she heard Ironhide vocalize his pleasure in the room beside theirs. After a few moments, Ironhide fell silent, and all Elita heard was the soft pings as their armor cooled. Then she heard the soft feminine whimpers from the other side of the room, whimpers that grew into an impressive scream that had Elita's optic ridge rising. Her scream nearly drowned out a very masculine, very deep and contented, Ratchet-esque moan.
"I'll deal with him later," Elita murmured quietly, ignoring Optimus's choked laughter. She poked his chest sternly.
"You should remind Ratchet that he is your chief medical officer, not Official Femme Deflowerer of the Autobot Army," she said grumpily, though her tone of voice was belied by the twinkle in her optic. Optimus didn't know whether to be horrified with Ratchet or to give him a badge. The sudden image from her mate made Elita burst into giggles, ones that soon died down into silence. Elita buried her face into Optimus's neck, her engine revving sleepily as her need for recharge caught up with her. She definitely needed to deal with Ratchet later.
"Duly noted," Optimus managed to say, his voice deep with exhaustion. Elita succumbed to recharge minutes later. Optimus took great care to arrange her comfortably on her side before lying down beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist. He shuttered his optics and fell into a long, dreamless recharge, his spark fluttering happily as it pulsed in time with Elita's.