Elita and Optimus: How They Came to Be
Rating: R, of course. :)
Warnings: Smut? Ironhide and Ratchet poking fun at Optimus?
Phoenix13 – there's a snippet in here just for you. I couldn't help it. Any damages that may be caused by snorting water at a screen needs to be reported to her, not me. She's the one that said this sounded like a good idea. ;D
A bazillion thank you's to Litahatchee for reading this and pointing out glaring mistakes! :D She's the awesomeness!
This takes place at the end of Chapter 33, when Chromia and Ironhide get together. This is how Elita was driven into Optimus's arms. ;)
Elita stirred wearily, shifting slightly. Optimus's couch had become her second home, her safe haven away from Chromia and Ironhide. She loved her second in command like a sister, but sometimes enough was enough. Tonight was one of those nights. Chromia had all but dragged Ironhide away from his post the second his shift ended. It was then that Elita knew that she was going to be spending the night with Optimus.
Then Elita felt her internals heat up at her errant thought. Spending the night with the Prime? Most femmes would have killed to be in her position. Elita winced at her choice of words. Not that she would mind being in any position with him…
She began musing on his looks. He had big broad shoulders and chest which teasingly narrowed into lean hips. His impressive upper body was supported by an equally impressive set of legs and toned aft. She moaned softly when her internal temperature climbed even higher as she envisioned his powerful arms and thick hands, and just how gentle those strong hands really were. When she could no longer process data coherently, she stopped thinking about him like he was a consort. Her internals would fry if she kept that kind of activity up.
He was a work of art, simply put. His optics blazed the most exquisite shade of blue, a color she'd never seen before. Optimus's face plates were arranged regally – the one who had created his adult body must have known that he was building the body for a king. What drove most femmes to their knees was that face mask that he always wore and rarely retracted – mostly because she knew what beauty lay beneath. Few femmes had ever seen him with it retracted. Elita shook her cranial unit hard, upping her coolant systems a few notches.
She had no right to be thinking about the Prime like that. She wasn't even fit to be in the same room as he was. Elita sighed gently, rolling onto her back. What she wouldn't give to have him for a night! Not only was he a superb specimen of maleness, he was one of the most humble (but complicated) mechs she had ever met. He was quiet but he loved to talk, he hated being Prime but he was born to lead, he could have any femme at his beck-and-call but he never took advantage of his status and looks. Elita frowned slightly. Actually, she never had seen him alone with a femme before…
Soft beeping from the keypad outside brought Elita back to reality. Optimus was keying the codes for his door in. She hurriedly turned onto her side, pretending to recharge. She shuttered her optics just as the door hissed open. Then the door shut and she heard soft footsteps. They headed in her direction. Optimus paused, glancing at her. Elita was obviously not in recharge.
"I know you're not recharging, Elita," Optimus said, planting his fists on his hip compartments. Elita did not move at all. She instead focused on making her air intakes even. He smirked quietly. Elita felt her filters hitch when he moved closer and closer. Her spark flared uncomfortably. She could hear his internals whirring and processing! If he didn't move soon, she'd burst into laughter and give herself away!
"I know you're not recharging because your vocal modulators process data when you do," he said softly, right into her audio receptor. She jerked away from him – sudden heat spread down her body. Intense fire licked at every circuit in her entire being at the low voice and warmth radiating from his frame. He must have pulled some major overtime if his body was that overheated. Elita suddenly realized the implications of what he had said.
"What the frag do you mean? You watch me recharge? You sick, sick creation of a - "
"Oh, come on, Elita, I was kidding," Optimus said, holding his hands up defensively at the enraged – and disturbed – femme, "Ow! Stop hitting me!"
He grabbed onto her hands, trying to pin her hands down by her sides. Elita let out a snarl before kicking him in the shin, struggling wildly. She may have been the Femme Commander, but she was still no match for him. He easily pinned her hands to his chest and she stopped struggling. He watched her cautiously.
Elita, however, fell silent for completely different reasons. Her computing center was screaming at her – she was actually touching those broad chest plates, the ones she sometimes dreamed of parting slowly and teasing before joining with him – she needed to get away now. She needed to get away and take care of the familiar arousal threaded through her entire frame before she fried her internals. She blinked and growled quietly.
"Fraggit, Prime! Let me go!"
"Only if you swear not to hit me," he said. He waited until she stopped struggling to let go of her. Upon doing so, he leapt away, as though expecting her to attack him. She giggled quietly, suddenly shy. He cautiously took a seat next to her, keeping a wary optic on her. Then he flipped the datascreen in the room on. He looked through the menus, a pained and bored expression on his face plates. Elita snatched the device from him and began flipping through it in earnest.
"Elita! Give that back," he said, reaching for the device. Elita shook her cranial unit and moved away from him. She laughed as he dove for her. He would never act like that in public! He had been forced to mature quickly. He had all but been instated as Prime and Supreme Commander of the Autobot army upon his upgrade into an adult. Elita laughed as he gave her the most adorable pout, one that she could barely resist. The pout became more sensual as those delicious looking lips of his pursed even further.
Instead of giggling, she felt her internal temperatures climb even higher. Any higher and she'd melt out of her armor! Elita fumbled with the device for a mere astrosecond and that was all that it took for Optimus to tackle her. Unfortunately, his mass combined with her surprise meant that she landed onto her back. Hard. As a result, she now had a rather lovely view of his chest plates and the slightly uncomfortable sensation of his interface appliance digging into her abdominal plating. The rest of her body was more than ready and willing to interface.
Poor Optimus didn't know the battle raging inside Elita – she could have sworn that her shell was melting out from under her armor – instead, he was more focused on prying the device out of her now clenched hands. The heat in Elita's body was a pleasant burn, one that was concentrated around her spark and its casing. She shivered slightly, trying to focus her gaze somewhere other than the tantalizing seam in Optimus's chest plates.
Upon thinking of what Optimus's spark might look like, hers gave a mighty leap in its casing, causing her to arch her chest towards him. At her soft hiss, he shot her a curious glance. She was clutching at the cushions beneath them tightly with a pained expression on her face. Optimus quirked an optic ridge at her.
"What's the matter, Elita? Am I hurting you?"
"N-no," she whispered. Her cooling fans clicked into high gear. The soft whine was all that could be heard in the apartment. The data streaming across the screen had been muted during their brief wrestling match. Optimus only looked more confused at the soft noise. What on Cybertron was going on?
"But your armor is all warm, Elita. Are you sure you don't want to go to the medical bay? I'm sure that we can get whatever's wrong fixed," he said softly, gently pressing his hand against her chassis, "You're over heated."
At his touch, she let out a soft, needy moan, shuttering her optics. Optimus jerked away, apologizing. Elita couldn't process what he had said – no other mech had elicited a reaction like that from her before. Why was he so different? Was it his voice, or the fact that he was so Primus-forsaken off limits to someone her station? Or was it that -
"Elita, I am hurting you, aren't I? I'm so sorry," he said, pulling away from her at her soft whimper. Elita gave him a clouded and puzzled glance. Surely he knew the difference between a 'pained' moan and an 'I-want-to-interface-with-you-now' moan?
"You weren't hurting me," she breathed out, grabbing his hand, "I want you to touch me. There's a difference between that and pain, Optimus."
"Why would you want me to touch you," he asked, genuinely confused. Elita stared at him for two astroseconds before shaking her cranial unit. Was he really serious? He slouched slightly where he sat and Elita truly saw what he meant. The poor mech was as innocent as the day he had been sparked – well, at least in the interfacing department. Otherwise, he swore, drank, and fought like every other mech. Elita sighed softly. What was she to do now? The burning intensified as he shifted, accidentally brushing up against her.
"You really aren't fragging with me, are you?"
"What is it, Elita? I don't understand," Optimus said quietly.
"Uhm…you know what interfacing is, right?"
A shake of the cranial unit doused Elita's arousal. Disbelief spread through her systems, but then she realized that it had been quite obvious. She had never seen him alone with a femme. He didn't know how to act around females other than her. Elita had thought his awkward charm had been an intricate plot to bring the femmes to their knees, but…she was wrong. He really was that socially awkward.
"What is it?"
"Ah…maybe…you should ask another mech," she stuttered out, trying not to laugh. THE Optimus Prime, stealer of femme-sparks, most desired and lusted after mech on Cybertron, had never heard of interfacing?! The irony was too much! Elita thought that maybe someone had thought to teach him what it meantat least. After hiding her amusement well, she finally placed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. He frowned slightly in response. Elita stroked the side of his face gently. Her lip components quirked into a smile as he leaned into her touch, shuttering his optics happily.
"What was that for," he murmured softly. At this comment, Elita burst into laughter. So maybe he was as innocent as the day he was sparked! Well, it wasn't his fault – she blamed it entirely on the Council. She cursed the old mechs. Just because they probably never had the pleasure of being with a femme didn't mean that they had to deny Optimus.
"That was a kiss, Optimus," she said, "And if you don't know what interfacing is, you should ask another mech before I jump your circuits and scar you for life."
She only received a confused look. He shrugged slightly before tentatively reaching his hand to her cheek plate. Elita smiled softly when his thumb caressed her jaw line.
"I would like to kiss you again," Optimus said. She nodded. He gave her a shy smile, gently pulling her closer to him.
"We can do that," Elita said teasingly, wrapping her arms around his neck. He nodded, eagerly lowering his mouth component to hers. Perhaps, a bit too eagerly – he winced as his dental plates scraped against Elita's. He pulled away, embarrassed. Elita gave him a reassuring smile before planting her hands on his shoulders and slowly pulling his lips to hers.
Elita happily sighed against his lips when they finally parted. The rumors about Optimus were true.
He was a very fast learner.
Optimus hurried down the hallways, a haggard look on his face plates. To other mechs, this was considered normal. Perhaps he was on official, Autobot Army business. Alas, he was not pursuing endeavors of the political kind, but of the pleasurable sort - the very pleasurable sort.
He and Elita had thoroughly kissed one another last night and he wanted to continue, but he didn't know what to do. Elita had only given him a soft 'good night' before leaving him to his own devices. He had lain awake on his recharge berth for hours afterwards, remembering just how lovely it was to have her soft lip components pressed against his, her glossa gently massaging his, and her willing body writhing underneath his –
He arrived at his destination suddenly. Optimus looked around nervously before raising one massive fist and rapping sharply on the door. What would the other mechs say if they knew why he was there? The door opened a few astroseconds later.
"What do you need, Prime," Ironhide said, raising one optical ridge at his friend. Normally, Optimus wasn't so tightly strung. Ironhide had the sudden image of a glitchmouse. The mech was all but twitching on the spot, repeatedly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Ironhide found this amusing and he smirked.
"Ah…can we talk," Optimus asked, fighting down his embarrassment.
"Alright, come on in," Ironhide said, shifting his bulk out of the doorway and motioning Optimus into the room. Chromia was sitting cross legged on one of the tables. Chromia had various tools and supplies scattered about her and a wicked looking rifle in her lap. Without speaking, she gave him a cheery wave before returning to her work, eagerly prying the casing on the weapon apart. Optimus continued shifting his weight from foot to foot, much to Ironhide's amusement. Finally, he took pity upon the mech and shot him a curious look.
"Alright, what do you need?"
Optimus leaned over and whispered into Ironhide's auditory receptor. As the one sided conversation progressed, Ironhide's jaw dropped lower and lower. Chromia shot them a few curious glances. Ironhide stepped away, unable to believe Optimus's predicament. Seeing that his friend was not trying to mess with his logic center, Ironhide nodded slowly.
"Chromia? Optimus and I need to talk. Official mech business," he said. Chromia nodded and smirked, shooting Optimus a knowing glance. Optimus felt his intakes go cold at the mischievous smirk that crossed Chromia's face as she stood up. She planted a quick kiss on Ironhide's lip components before leaving the room. Once the door had hissed shut, Ironhide turned to Optimus.
"Are you fragging with me, Optimus? How do you, of all mechs, not know what interfacing is?!"
"Ironhide! I honestly don't know," Optimus interrupted, "If you're not going to help me, then I'm leaving!"
"Ah, get back here. Sit down. This…this'll be…a bit awkward. I'm going to need a drink…and some backup," Ironhide muttered, rubbing his cranial unit, "I'm going to call one of the medics down here, alright?"
"NO!"
"Prime, I know the techniques, not the technicalities! I've got the perfect mech in mind. He'll be able to answer any question you've got about interfacin'," Ironhide said, frowning down at his friend. Optimus relented and nodded. Ironhide went stock still and his optics brightened a bit. This went on for quite a while. Finally, Ironhide's optics returned to their normal state. He nodded at Optimus, who had suddenly perked up.
"He'll be here in a few breems. One of his patients just exploded his lab," Ironhide said. Optimus nodded and they sat in tense silence until there was a loud knocking on the door. Ironhide got up and opened the door, motioning the other mech inside. The mech dropped a case onto the floor and muttered about Ironhide paying his half of the tab.
"Alright, Ironhide. Where's the new batch of energon that we're going to corrupt?"
"He's over here, Ratchet," Ironhide said, motioning over at Optimus carelessly. The mech named 'Ratchet' glanced around the room, his optics flicking over Optimus. Then he did a double take.
"Where – Primus. The Prime? You're fragging with me, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not! Ask him yourself!"
"There's no way in Pit that he's never interfaced! I'm going back to the medical bay," the red and white mech said, turning to leave, "Thanks for wasting my time, you inconsiderate fragger."
"Wait a nanoklik! I swear that what he said is true," Optimus cried out. Ratchet turned and fixated him with an intense stare. Ironhide punched the red and white mech in the shoulder.
"Didja bring the high grade?"
"Yes, of course," Ratchet snapped, motioning to the crates on the floor, "Did you not notice me dropping those crates onto the floor?"
"Have you ever had high grade before," Ironhide asked Optimus, ignoring Ratchet's statement.
"Yes, of course," Optimus said. Ratchet and Ironhide nodded, the both of them rumbling in approval. Maybe Optimus wasn't as hopeless as they thought. Interfacing, high grade, and proper usage of swear words were the initiation rites that a mech had to excel at to be considered a fully fledged, proper mech. At least Optimus had the high grade and swearing down. Now all he had to do was get the femme and he would be set.
"So what do you know about femmes, Optimus?"
"They're pretty?"
"This is going to take a while," Ironhide said, groaning softly, tossing back the rest of his high grade in one go. Ratchet nodded, amused at the hopelessly-lost look on Optimus's face plates.
"Have you kissed anyone yet," Ratchet asked, deeming it the safest question he could possibly ask. Ratchet prayed that Prime had done so – he was not going to demonstrate for him!
"Yes," Optimus said, eager to prove that he wasn't as hopeless as they thought he was.
"When was the first time," Ratchet asked, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back into the chair.
"Uh…last night?"
Ironhide popped open another barrel of high grade in response to Optimus's reply. He eyed it for an astrosecond before tossing it back as well. Ratchet, however, remained professional except for the blasted smirk on his face plates.
"Alright, so you've gotten step one done. How far have you gone with her?"
"We kissed and touched a little," Optimus said, shrugging slightly, "Nothing else…"
"How much is 'a little', Optimus? Did you brush up against her, touch her chassis, touch her interface port –"
"That's enough from you, Ironhide! Be a bit more professional, would you?"
"Oh, be quiet, Ratchet!"
"Be quiet, both of you! Are you going to help me or not?"
"Are you going to answer my question," Ironhide shot at Optimus. Optimus shot him a glare and sighed.
"I touched her chassis."
"That's good. Did she touch you back?"
"No, she said something about not wanting to 'jump my circuits and scar me for the rest of my life'," Optimus said, squinting slightly as he tried to remember what Elita had said. Ratchet nodded in approval.
"Smart femme you've got. Who is it," Ratchet asked, his lip components twitching as he held his laughter back. Optimus did not notice – he instead dropped his gaze into his lap and shifted uncomfortably.
"Unprofessional my aft, Ratchet! As if asking him who his first femme is going to be isn't professional," Ironhide interjected, shaking his cranial unit, "Who is it, Optimus?"
"Oh, be quiet, Ironhide. I don't need any more comments from you. One more word and you're out of the room," Ratchet snapped, glaring at Ironhide. Optimus shrugged slightly as both mechs glanced at him.
"Elita," he finally mumbled out.
The high grade that had once been in Ironhide's fuel intakes was now sprayed across the floor. Then he began laughing madly, clutching at his sides. Ratchet managed to bite back his snort.
"You must have a death wish, Prime! Her femmes will kill you if they find out you're the mech doing the horizontal data exchange with her!"
It was true, Ratchet mused. The femmes in Elita's division were just as protective of their commander as she was of them. If they found out that Prime and Elita were 'doing the horizontal data exchange', as Ironhide oh so eloquently paraphrased, then they would claim that he was abusing his position as Prime. Their relationship would effectively be severed, Elita would be replaced as femme commander and Optimus would never be allowed out of his quarters again.
"Ironhide," Ratchet growled, motioning for the doorway, "Out."
"I'm kidding! I promise I'll behave," Ironhide said, before muttering quietly, "Fragger."
"What was that, Ironhide," Ratchet snapped, leveling an icy glare at Ironhide. Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest plate moodily, sinking in his chair.
"Nothing," he muttered quietly.
"Good. Keep your vocalizer off," Ratchet said, reaching for a second barrel of high grade. He opened his and took a few small sips, frowning disapprovingly as Ironhide took massive gulps of his. Was he trying to overenergize himself or what? It really wasn't that bad to have this talk! Ratchet smirked slightly. This was highly amusing (and intriguing!) At least he was going to have an excuse to tell his instructor as to why he late for his shift - "Sorry, boss, I was teaching Prime how to interface!"
"Now, Optimus. The only advice I can give you for your first time is to take it slow and explore one another. Reaching overload can be difficult, especially if you are nervous. Relax and let her teach you what she knows," Ratchet said gently. Optimus raised one hand meekly.
"What is it, Optimus?"
"You still haven't explained what interfacing is," he said quietly.
"You know what an interface port is, right," Ironhide interjected, "She's got one, too. Press yours against hers and cycle information. Touch her, kiss her, bend her over, do whatever you want to her and overload. Got it? Good. Now get out of my room. This is getting awkward."
"Ironhide! Optimus, interfacing is for pleasure only. Interfacing is a bit of a broad term – there are many different ways to reach overload. You can touch one another until you are comfortable enough to lock interface ports," Ratchet said kindly, "And don't open your chest plates under any condition. That's called mating. That is a whole different story right there, one that we are not going to discuss with Ironhide in the room!"
"I…I think I've got it."
"Any more questions," Ratchet asked.
"Does it have to be in that order? I mean touching, then kissing…then we get to overload? And…where do I touch her?"
"Like I said, Optimus, your best bet is to slowly explore -"
"Frag that, Ratchet. The kid needs to know where to touch her to keep her coming back to him. Elita's one of the warrior class femmes, so her armor is pretty thick. Go for the gaps in her armor and just barely touch her," Ironhide interrupted, "Make sure you put just enough pressure for her to feel you, but not so much as to hurt her. Got it?"
"Seams…armor. Got it. Where else," Optimus asked, diligently taking mental notes. Ironhide blinked when he realized that the other mechs in the room were staring at him expectantly.
"Ah…well…Chromia likes it when I use my glossa –"
"Keep it clean, Ironhide. Once he gets comfortable, you can move on to that kind of stuff," Ratchet warned quietly, shooting Ironhide a nasty glare.
"What kind of stuff," Optimus asked innocently. The other two mechs stared at him until he fidgeted uncomfortably. Really, it wasn't his fault he hadn't interfaced before! Since he was Prime, he was pretty much under lock and key. He had never been alone with a femme for more than a breem or two at a time, and never in his rooms! Someone from the Council or one of his many, many escorts was always present if he ever needed to speak with a femme.
"Advanced techniques," Ironhide said, "Back on track. Warrior class femmes… Well, Chromia's an alpha-carrier class…fraggit, Ratchet. You've been around the base more times than I can count. What do they like?"
"Go frag yourself, Ironhide! I'm surprised you can even count – and how do you know how many times I've – "
"Ratchet! We're here to help wee little Optimus with his first time," Ironhide interrupted, leering at Ratchet, "And answer my question, you mechslut."
"Ironhide, I'm going to rearrange your face plates – no, wait, I'm going to remove your interface appliance –"
"I didn't know you were into those kinds of things, Ratchet! - "
"Slag that, I'm going to turn you into a femme - what'll Chromia say then?! - "
"She won't mind," Ironhide shot back, grinning and leering at Ratchet. Ratchet blinked and stared at Ironhide.
"Wait, what?" Ratchet was suddenly too interested in Chromia's interface life for Prime's tastes, so he decided to interrupt.
"Come on, Ratchet, ignore Ironhide," Optimus said, piping up, giving Ratchet the most pleading, begging glance that he could muster up. Ratchet glared at Ironhide for another few astroseconds before relenting, taking pity on the mech.
"There's pelvic armor, but that's pretty much across the board…all femmes like being touched there and abdominal plating, depending on how old they are. Elita should be very responsive to that," Ratchet said thoughtfully, wracking his databanks, "Their neck and shoulder apparatus are very sensitive. If you're feeling bold, try biting gently. Spinal relays are hard to get to, so don't even bother…"
"Not really, Ratchet-"
"Yes, but Optimus hasn't ever been with a femme."
"Oh. Frag."
"Ignore him. Their lateral fuel lines are particularly sensitive. Try touching her there and kissing her. You should get a very good response," Ratchet said. Optimus nodded.
"Any more questions?"
"No…"
"Oh! Make sure she overloads before you, so she doesn't think you're a one breem mech," Ironhide advised seriously, patting Optimus's knee joint. Optimus nodded, even though he didn't have the faintest idea what a 'one breem mech' was. Ratchet only groaned softly, shaking his cranial unit. Ironhide really was no help at all.
"Listen, Optimus, I know Ironhide here isn't much help. If you have any questions or concerns about your first interface, let me know and I'll explain what other options we haven't gone over," Ratchet said gently, trying to hide his amusement, "Once you've done the deed, come into the medical bay and let me examine you and your partner of choice."
Optimus nodded. He was armed with tips and hints from the most experienced bots on Cybertron. He could do this! He was not going to fail Elita! A second pointed glance at the door from Ironhide and he knew he was no longer wanted in the room. Optimus excused himself politely, thanking Ironhide and Ratchet for their insight.
Once the door had hissed shut behind Optimus, Ironhide fidgeted slightly. Ratchet glanced at Ironhide, Ironhide glanced at Ratchet, their gazes met…and it was too much for either mech to hold back his laughter. With a few snorts, both mechs were sprawled over their chairs on the verge of stasis lock, laughing hysterically. Ratchet recovered more quickly than Ironhide. Ratchet, after all, had some sense of professional decorum
Alas, the same could not be said for Ironhide.
"Wait til I tell Chromia!"
"One word, Ironhide, one fragging word and your skid plates are mine. Compute?"
"Sure thing, doc-bot," Ironhide said, settling back into his seat and picking up a third barrel of high grade. He raised the barrel toward the ceiling.
"A toast for Optimus," he said gravely. Ratchet snorted quietly and raised his barrel as well.
"May his first time be memorable in every way."
Optimus strode back into his room, his cranial unit held up high. Confidence coursed through his energon lines. He could do this! He had been taught the theory. All he had to do now was to successfully apply the theory and see if he could bring Elita to overload. It wouldn't be too bad, he decided. He had been thrown into both positions as Prime and Commander and he was doing very well. So how hard could interfacing and overload be?
However, his confidence wore off quickly as he approached his bedroom. Elita was inside, still recharging away on the many comfortable cushions that adorned the berth. He lay down in the berth beside her, raising himself on his elbow and tentatively putting his hand on her hip joint. She purred happily at his touch and scooted closer, eager for physical contact. Optimus gently pulled her against him, relishing the curves pressed against his front.
He timidly strayed along the long lines of her body, memorizing every inch of her body. His fingertips were feather light on her shell, delicately tracing seams and glyphs. He paused at the seam where her chassis met her abdominal plating. Ironhide had mentioned touching her there, right? He gently dragged his fingertips across the soft pliable sheets of metal. So engrossed was he in her body that he did not notice her optics turning on.
"I might just stay if you wake me up like that every morning," she groaned softly, shooting him a sly smile. Optimus sheepishly looked away.
"Sorry for waking you up," he started, but he was interrupted by Elita placing a soft kiss on his lips.
"Don't be. So….What are you doing today?"
"I'm off for today…and so are you…maybe…we can…," he trailed off thoughtfully, staring up at the ceiling for an astrosecond. Elita raised one optical ridge at him, questioning in what he wanted to do. Elita had plans in mind, one that involved lots of interfacing and maybe getting some work done.
"And…?"
"Maybe we can watch the datascreen a bit," Optimus finally finished, shooting her a mischievous look. Elita rolled her optics before grabbing the front of his chest plates and tugging him down for a kiss.
"If – that's what – you really want," she said, interspersing her sentence with soft kisses. Optimus made a soft noise of disagreement, scooping one arm underneath her. Grabbing her thigh gently, he pulled her flush up against him. Optimus began fumbling slightly, knowing fully well what Elita wanted, but not quite sure what to do.
He continued brushing up against her softly, tentatively letting his hands stray down the sides of her body. Elita mewled softly and shuttered her optics. The burning in her chest increased but she pushed it away, moaning appreciatively at his tender kiss.
Elita complied, allowing him to touch her as he pleased. This continued for a breem or two, or until Elita felt that she was about to melt out of her shell. Giving Optimus a second glance, she realized that he had no idea what to do next. She gently pushed him onto his back, putting a finger up to his lip components when he tried to speak.
"Allow me," she said softly. He nodded and waited, shifting against the cushions. Being seated, he had a lovely view of the femme straddling his hips. Her small pink hands began tracing patterns against his armor.
"Have…have you ever been touched like this," she asked, afraid to ruin the moment. He shook his cranial unit.
"No," he admitted sheepishly, and when she drew back, "You don't mind, right?"
"I don't…are you sure you want to do this with me," she asked hopefully. He nodded, eagerly putting his hands on her hips and pulling her closer. Elita began to stroke his shoulders, slowly dropping her hands down to his chest. She traced the glyphs there, wondering what they meant to him. She was brought back to reality by a soft moan from Optimus. He shifted slightly, seeking a firmer touch from her.
She gently began to bite at his throat, gently suckling on the exposed fuel lines. He moved his hands upwards, using his thumbs to trace her abdominal plating. Elita moaned appreciatively, urging him to continue. Optimus complied, using a bit more pressure, nipping her throat softly at the same time.
Elita moved her hands to his shoulders, dipping her fingers into the rotor cuff. His optics shuttered themselves and he let out a low, approving purr. Elita captured his lips again. He was approaching overload a bit too quickly for her tastes, so she slowed her movements – soft teasing brushes against his armor, barely dipping her fingers into the seams of his armor, and just barely touching him. Optimus grew bolder and moved his mouth to her throat. He was rewarded with another wanton moan from Elita. He remembered another one of Ironhide's tips – touch the seams in her armor.
He did so, and Elita bucked against him, crying his name out. He smirked at her response and continued his ministrations. Elita was whimpering his name with wild abandon, grinding her hips against his. He felt her interface unit boot up and his responded in the same manner. Somehow, he knew to guide her hips to his and he did so.
It took a second try to lock their interface ports together. Elita let out a soft, appreciative moan as he finally uploaded into her systems. Then they began cycling energy once Optimus had figured out the technique. Elita let out a second breathy moan, digging her fingers under his chassis. He let out a whimper, one that made her weak in the knees. They cycled the energy faster and faster, until Elita tensed in his arms. He dug his fingers into her sides, teasing the fuel lines that Ratchet had mentioned.
His world exploded in a flash of light. He could barely hear Elita's cries over the roar of his internal fans working overtime to keep him online. Optimus let out a soft cry at the searing, pleasurable heat spreading from his interface port upwards into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her chest closer to his, attempting to alleviate the sudden pulses of need his spark sent out. Elita clutched at him tightly, burying her face into his shoulder. She trembled in his arms as they rode out their high.
The pleasure dissipated quickly afterwards. He crashed back into his body suddenly and hard. Optimus groaned softly. He was down to less than sixty percent energy. Elita managed to place a shaky kiss on his lips before collapsing in his arms.
Optimus barely had enough time to disengage the both of them before he succumbed to recharge. Elita followed shortly afterwards, her entire frame sagging against his.
Ratchet and Ironhide shared a knowing glance at the soft cries from within Prime's room. They had taken up post outside of the spacious apartments. No one had been allowed near the room – by Ratchet's professional medical opinion, Prime was not feeling well and should stay in the room until a more highly trained physician could tend to him. No one dared argue with the medic whose legendary aim preceded him.
Ironhide sighed and stared up at the ceiling, smirking when Elita voiced her pleasure loudly. Ratchet handed Ironhide a barrel of high grade. Ratchet held his toward the sky, speaking somberly though he could not hide the smirk threatening to emerge on his face plates. What? It wasn't his fault that he liked teasing rookies.
"Our little Optimus has become a fully fledged mech," Ratchet said, "And with the loss of his innocence comes a certain responsibility – "
"To interface as often as possible!"
"Ironhide!"
"What?"
"I was going to say that he needed to learn how to please her properly, but…that works, too," Ratchet said, shrugging slightly. Ironhide gave his friend a lopsided grin before raising his high grade into the air as well. Both mechs shared a glance before drinking down their respective cubes. They were both surprised when they heard a second round of moans from Optimus's room. It would be amost a half-joor before Ironhide and Ratchet could leave their posts outside of Prime's door.