Chapter Three

'This is torture indeed,' Optimus mused as he cupped his canister of high-grade energon, his third of the night. He was not normally a big drinker, but tonight it seemed to fit his situation. While he had not been exactly chugging down the strong brew, the level of potent liquid in his canister had slowly dropped throughout the night.

He cringed as the pounding techno beat of the audio-splitting music threatened to short-circuit his audial circuitry. Why anyone would find this abomination enjoyable was beyond him. Hot Rod and Springer sought to introduce their two stiff friends to one of their favorite pastimes: clubbing. Optimus sighed, staring at the dregs of his beverage. Around him, bodies cavorted wildly, the dancers surrendering themselves to the pulsating, driving beat. Hot Rod and Springer had hoped to distract him, draw him out of himself, but such revelry had only served to further depress him. At first it had almost been enjoyable for the Autobot leader to step out of his usual routine. A night out on the town seemed to be the perfect solution. He had to confess that he did not know Hot Rod or Springer very well, but their good humor and enthusiasm had been infectious, and in spite of himself, he had found himself chuckling at his young friends' antics. And, of course, goading Magnus into having a good time was far too enjoyable to resist. Too bad it had worked.

The dejected Autobot shook his head wearily as he surveyed his friends. It had been a nice distraction to sit and joke with them, but unsurprisingly, Hot Rod and Springer had gotten swept up in the pulsating rhythm of the music and had wandered off to dance. He and Magnus had both rolled their optic points at their young friends and chatted for awhile about how it was a miracle that those two foolhardy youths were still alive. Then, of all the bizarre things to happen, *Magnus* had started to tap his foot to the beat, and finally, with a sheepish look, had announced his intentions to dance. He tried to get Optimus to follow him, but the Autobot leader had refused to have any part in the awkward gyrations going on around him. Let the others make a fool of themselves.

And yet, Prime felt a sting of jealousy as Magnus threw back his head and laughed out of sheer joy. And, by Primus, he had not one but *two* women bumping and grinding alongside him. Of course the city commander was faithful to Phoenix, his bonded mate, but it couldn't hurt to dance a bit with a beautiful femme or two. Optimus was suddenly flooded with guilt. He had no right feeling jealous over Magnus' high spirits. The old Terran saying was true - misery loves company, and Optimus wanted someone to be miserable with. He knew full well that Magnus had never had much luck with femmes until Phoenix had come along. He should be pleased, not hurt, that his old friend had finally loosened up enough, courtesy of the high-grade energon, to have some fun.

Hot Rod nudged Springer and pointed out the amazing spectacle of Magnus dancing wildly with the ladies, and the two shared a triumphant grin and slapped each other a high-five. Optimus slouched lower in his seat. They had forgotten all about him. Part of him was hurt, while another part was relieved. He didn't want anyone fussing over him. "I'll go after I finish this glass," he promised himself. He could feel sorry for himself just as well in his quarters. Not that they'd notice he'd left, of course.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

The voice snapped Prime out of his reverie. He jumped in surprise, his beverage sloshing in its container. He opened his mouth to quickly dismiss the intruder, but as he looked up, the words froze on his lips. Before him stood a beautiful femme that could have just stepped out of any guy's fantasy. Her finish was red and blue, and her head was framed by a curving piece of armor that almost resembled a human hairstyle. His gaze locked with hers, and he cleared his voice box nervously, realizing that she was still waiting for a reply, smiling patiently. "Uhh... no, of course not. Have a seat." It wasn't as if the other party animals would be back soon.

"Oh, good," the beautiful femme breathed, promptly settling herself across from him. "My name's Crystal."

Prime's optics narrowed at the recognition of the name. He had never been formally introduced until this moment, but this femme's reputation preceded her. He had heard many rumors about her behavior - most of them derogatory comments about her tendency to play the field. Optimus had never understood the reasoning - he'd have thought that the males would have appreciated such an adventurous spirit. He strongly resolved not to let such harsh gossip influence his own judgment.

"I'm Optimus Prime," he replied, holding out his hand, palm straight up. Crystal mimicked the gesture, the palms of both of their hands meeting in the traditional greeting.

"Oh, I know who you are!" the femme laughed merrily. "Everybody knows the illustrious Autobot leader. I've always wanted to meet you," she said playfully.

"Really?" Prime asked in mild surprise.

"Oh yes," she smiled. "Who wouldn't want to meet the kindest, wisest, most powerful, and of course, cutest Autobot?"

"Oh my," Optimus whispered, unsure how to react. "Do you - do you really think that?" He cursed himself inwardly. What kind of a stupid question was that? Must be the liquor talking.

Encouraged, Crystal leaned forward. "Oh, all the girls think that. Alita was lucky to snap you up right away. But she was foolish to let a catch like you go. If you were my guy, I'd never let you go. I know a good thing when I see it."

Prime was fervently grateful for the faceplate that concealed his visage as his jaw dropped with an audible thunk. His alcohol-fogged CPU struggled to process this mind-boggling input. No femme except Alita had ever spoken so boldly to him! If the ladies found him attractive, he had never noticed. But then again, as his ladylove had been so fond of saying, he wouldn't know a pass if it came over and kissed him.

"I hope you don't mind my straightforwardness," the lovely femme continued. "You just looked so sad that I had to come over. Don't let Alita get you down. There are plenty of femmes that would love to go out with you."

"Like you?" The words were out before Optimus could stop them, and oddly, a part of him didn't even want to. He was sick of censoring his desires.

The wide smile that answered his question sent shivers down his exostructure. By the Matrix, could this really be happening? Was he really flirting with a desirable femme, with no shadow of fidelity to Alita to hold him back?

Crystal leaned back in her seat, enjoying her new beau's admiration. "Let's dance," she purred. Optimus stood up slowly. Surges raced across his synapses as she grasped his hand. Almost in a trance, Optimus allowed her to tug him on to the dance floor. She elbowed dancers out of her way to create a small dance space of their own. She noticed Prime's nervous posture and smiled encouragingly as she began to move before him.

Self-consciously, Optimus began to move to the beat of the music. At first his motions were hesitant and jerky, but soon he forgot about all the pairs of optics around him and concentrated on the gorgeous sight before him. He almost never danced in public for fear of making a fool of himself, but the heady combination of high-grade energon and the femme's forwardness turned his head enough to dispel all his inhibitions. His slight scorn for the dancers changed to passion as the driving beat swept him away to a place that knew no cares. Crystal grinned widely, pleasantly surprised at her partner's dancing flair and sudden abandon. She stepped closer, noting the warm glow that came from Prime's optics. Never had he seemed more handsome to her.

Optimus allowed a small smile to flit over his covered face, surprised at how much he was enjoying letting go, becoming a part of the music. He groaned softly as the tension drained out of him, leaving him feeling loose and relaxed. What had he been stressing about? Nothing mattered in that moment but him, his partner, and the music.

"By Primus' afterburners!" Hot Rod yelped in astonishment, mouth agape. His processor struggled to make sense of what it was receiving. "Springer, look!"

Springer, who was busy flirting with a pretty femme, waved away the racecar like an annoying insect. "Go away," he growled. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"No way, you've got to see this!" Hot Rod cried insistently, tugging on his friend's arm.

"All right, then will you- By the Matrix!" he gasped, all thoughts of fembots flying from his CPU at the mind-boggling sight. "Is that for real? That *can't* be Optimus out there!"

"I don't know who else it could be," Hot Rod said numbly.

Springer quickly recovered his wits. "Well, he certainly seems to be enjoying himself," he snickered.

Oblivious to the shocked stares and growing whispers around them, the pair moved hypnotically together to the driving beat. Crystal grinned to herself- at long last, the Autobot leader was within her grasp. Now that he was hers for the taking, she wanted him all to herself. "Let's blow this place," she murmured in his audio.

As if in a trance, Optimus nodded, optics looking past the throng of astonished onlookers to find the exit. Crystal spotted it first and eagerly hauled her catch after her. Optimus practically had to run to keep up with her, but he was not about to complain. He wanted to get out of there as desperately as she did. "Phew," she breathed as they rushed out the door, into the inky blackness of eternal night that passed for Cybertron's sky. "I thought we'd never get out of there."

She turned to him, and Optimus was struck by her beauty. Her lips were parted, the lights from the club streaking her metallic form with ribbons of light and shadow. 'I think I really like this femme!' a small but insistent voice spoke within. There was an awkward pause, then Crystal stood on tiptoe and planted a passionate kiss on his faceplate, in the approximate area of his lips.

"So, what do you want to do next?" Optimus asked curiously. This was shaping up to be a fascinating night.

Crystal merely smiled and tugged on his arm. He allowed himself to be led to whatever the night held.