Author's Note: First, I want to apologize for how long it took me to get this chapter out! Just been crazy busy with real life. Second, I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment and let me know they are enjoying the story. Every one of them fills me with happiness, to know that people are still reading even after all this time. Thank you so very much and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Title: Interstate
Author: Keelywolfe
In his dream, Sam was warm, that perfect, comfortable warm that came from sleeping with someone else. Not just anyone else, not that Sam had a lot of experience in that. A couple of sleepovers and that one time he'd had to share a hotel room when they'd vacationed with his Uncle Leon was definitely not the same.
Bumblebee didn't get to stay with him all night very often but when he did, this was the way Sam liked to wake up. Spooned around him, his face buried in Bee's soft, soft hair, and oh, so happily warm. Every other part of his body was cramped and aching, Sam dimly realizing they were curled up in Bumblebee's back seat, the faint vibration around them indicating that they were driving somewhere. It seemed to matter a lot less with a warm body curled up with him, the round curve of a perfect ass pressed firmly against the front of his jeans.
As mornings went, this wasn't a bad way to start. Sam sighed, tightened his arms and snugged up against that warmth, his brain already halfway into the sex that was just about to be on the menu, if he had his way and Sam suspected Bee wouldn't protest.
He did not expect the protest to come from another quarter, a soft, feminine voice coming meekly from the body curled up in his arms. Mikaela's voice.
"Um...Sam?"
He went from mostly asleep to wide awake with the force of a smack to the head with a baseball bat, tearing away from Mikaela and scrambling back into the miniscule spare room that the backseat had to offer. Camaros didn't offer much in the way of backseat space and Bee only had a little more than the norm but somehow Sam managed to compact himself so that he and Mikaela weren't touching at all, torn between the urge to die right there and to run screaming out of the car, no matter that they were going probably a hundred miles an hour.
Mikaela sat up and they met gazes. They'd managed to sleep through the sunrise and the light pouring in through the windows didn't give Sam much in the way of a hiding place, not even the comfort of darkness. Their stare lengthened, uncomfortably, and then Mikaela abruptly started giggling, helplessly, "I never thought I'd say this, but I don't think I'm the droid you're looking for."
The tension shattered like a dropped glass and both of them started snickering, a little hysterically but fuck, what a night. Daylight seemed that much harsher as Sam started remembering and he scrubbed his watering eyes with the back of his hand. In the front seats, his parents stirred, both of them groaning as they shifted, probably just as sore as Sam was from sleeping all cramped like that. Probably worse, it wasn't like his parents had youth on their sides.
"I suspect I'm the droid you were looking for," came softly. "I'd join you, but I doubt the three of us would be very comfortable back there."
"We'd have to be closer friends than I prefer, that's for sure," Mikaela yawned, stretching. "Where are we, Bumblebee?"
"Oh, are we speaking to the droid this morning?" Bee's voice, always a little rough, was positively staticy through his radio speakers, but the warm teasing in his tone made Sam relax, a little. Still, the memory of the night before, of that blue light flickering from his fingertips to...to what? Heal Bumblebee? That was stepping into a chapter of science fiction that Sam wasn't sure he was ready to deal with and Bumblebee hadn't seemed any happier about it.
"We are on highway 375 just outside of the city of Perfection," Bee said, interrupting Sam's thoughts. Right, better to focus on the now.
"Perfection?" His dad frowned, "Haven't heard of that one."
"It's a smaller city, population less than I would prefer, but I believe we'll be safe enough for a moment's respite. I haven't seen any sign of Decepticons since Ravage caught up with us last night."
"Ravage?" his mom asked, a little uncertainly.
"He won't be bothering us anymore," Bee said firmly. "Right now, all of you need food. Not one of you has a blood sugar level that I like and I believe that it goes without saying that you might like to use the facilities. Depending on how my scans are, we may stay and get some rest as well, if it seems safe enough."
"Of course, you must be exhausted," Mom said instantly, stroking a hand over Bee's dashboard in a way that made Sam shake his head, bemused.
"I can go approximately twenty-six earth days without recharge, but I do thank you for your concern, Judy."
"Just don't wear yourself out, sweetie," his mom countered. "Don't you think I forgot that you were hurt last night."
"I'm fine," Bee murmured, and was it Sam's imagination or did he sound just a little subdued. "We have just over twenty minutes until we arrive."
"Guess I can hold it that long," Mikaela mumbled, already drowsing against the window again.
Tired as he was, Sam didn't think he could sleep again. Instead, he looked out the tiny side window, watching the streaking landscape next to them as Bee drove on in silence.
The entire city was a Pit-damned fucking mess, that was for sure. Ironhide was slowly making his way through the wreckage, less concerned with causing more damage than he was finding any Decepticons lingering around. Right now they were about as vulnerable as they could be without all of them painting a target right over their sparks and Ironhide wanted to be sure that any stragglers that had been left behind were just as dead as they looked.
If it had been possible, Ironhide would have gladly made them more dead but thus far, that was not a power Primus had gifted him with. Something to pray for.
He paused, giving the crumpled frame that was all that remained of his shield array a forlorn look. Far as he could tell, it'd done as much as it could but nothing could have kept back what the Decepticons had chosen to throw at them. That much firepower and for what? Sure, they'd managed to destroy the city, kill a few humans, but that was a pittance to the kind of damage the Decepticons usually threw around. Toss in the fact that it looked like they'd taken some huge losses to do it and this didn't add up. Not just to lower their property values, not even to take out the Twins. No sense in throwing dollars after pennies.
A figure that was standing very still caught Ironhide's peripheral sensors and Ironhide turned, his cannons humming with leashed power. He frowned to see Prowl standing alone, his optics moving slowly over the debris. Lowering the gauge on his cannons to a ready standby, Ironhide went to him.
Prowl didn't look at him, his doors stiff and high on his back, barely vibrating with his tension as he said, softly, "I did this."
"Now, don't you start taking blame you haven't earned," Ironhide drawled with a shake of his head.
Not that it was going to do much fucking good, he knew. Prowl and Optimus were the type to take this kind of thing to spark, and never mind that the Decepticons who'd caused the damage. The way those two took on blame, you'd think they were secretly commanding Starscream through remote control.
"I'm not," Prowl said calmly. "This blame is very much earned. I did the calculations and this," he gestured around him, at the devastation of their city, "Is the result."
"Primus save me from fucking martyrs," Ironhide snorted. If Prowl wanted to wallow in guilt, Ironhide would be happy to indulge him with some low-grade moonshine. Later. "Quit acting like an old man who can't get the damned kids off his lawn and start figuring out what happens next."
Prowl vented a sigh. "How many humans died?"
"What the hell does that matter right now?"
"I need to know for tactical reasons," Prowl said sharply, looking at Ironhide for the first time. That was a start, anyway, a good sign that he was locking his emotions behind logic which was just what they needed right now.
"Fine," Ironhide agreed smoothly, "Three dead. Every damned one of them that was here is wounded and some of 'em don't look too good."
Prowl hummed softly, taking that in. "What did Ratchet say?"
That made Ironhide laugh aloud, the sound echoing horrifically in the empty, silent air. "If you want to ask Ratchet which of his patients are the most likely to croak, go right ahead. I'm a little too attached to my circuit boards to try that slag. He's working on those humans like he expects Unicron himself to come pry 'em out of his cold, dead hands. Probably give him a dent in the head for his troubles on his way to meet Primus."
Prowl barked out a surprised laugh of his own, "Yes, I think I could see Ratchet doing battle with Unicron." He fell silent, head dipping down as he said, quietly, "We haven't heard anything about the others yet."
It wasn't a question but Ironhide answered it anyway. "Not a blip or a text." Ironhide said, softly. "And Ratchet says the twins…they're too disoriented to give much information. All he got was that Bumblebee snagged the humans and took off."
"I don't like guessing. It's imprecise and reckless," Prowl vented softly, as close to a complaint as he ever got. "But if I were to conjecture, I would say that once they knew what was coming, Bumblebee left without the twins, either by his own initiative or theirs, because he can cloak. So long as the Decepticons didn't get a visual of him, they would be safer with him than here and standard operating procedure is for him not to check in without a secure line. It would only reveal his position."
Ironhide snorted. "Doubt he could have gotten the twins to leave even if they could cloak."
Prowl inclined his head in silent agreement, "By my calculations at his top speed, Bumblebee could be six hundred miles from here by now, in nearly any direction. Possibly further, depending on how hard he pushed his systems."
"We sending out a search party?"
For the first time Ironhide could remember, Prowl hesitated, and that sure as hell wasn't like him. Never met a mech as decisive as their tactician and that made him damned good at his job.
"No," he said finally, "It would be pointless and it would leave the city vulnerable again." Prowl's mouth twisted sourly. "What's left of it. We can't leave the wounded while we search for a single bolt in a bucket of screws."
Ironhide nodded, unhappily. "They're on their own, then."
"Yes. Until Bumblebee contacts us, there's really nothing we can do," Prowl tipped his head back, his optics on the blue sky above them, on the warm glow of this planet's sun, far too cheery a warmth for the somber state of all those around them. "Bumblebee would fight for any of those humans, but he'd die for Sam. Let's hope the Decepticons don't give him the opportunity."
Sam didn't remember falling back asleep, but when Bee finally rolled to a stop, his engine cutting off, he jolted back awake, scrubbing away the damp line of drool from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.
Blinking hard through the bright morning sunshine, he saw that they were at a restaurant of some sort. A large sign with a pig in an apron, seemingly eager to cook up his brethren, declared it was the Dutch Oven Roadhouse.
Okay, then.
"This looks interesting," Sam said, weakly.
"Doesn't it?" Mom said brightly. "I asked to stop here the second I saw it, they have a breakfast buffet!"
Another sign in the window, handwritten this time, declared that to be true. A $4.99 breakfast buffet sounded more like a trip to Hepatitis-ville than good food. His father didn't seem much enthused either but he climbed out of Bee gamely enough, following his eagerly chatting wife. At least his mom seemed to be able to take this as a happy family road trip rather than fleeing from the enemy.
Mikaela was smiling a little as she pushed up the front seat and Sam followed her, already resigned to the gastrointestinal nightmare soon to follow and hoping beyond hope that they wouldn't have to drive another eight hours today.
Automatically, he started to shut the door and a hand stopped him, Bee's holo climbing out behind him. He shut his own door, giving Sam a little smile.
"I'm not sure how much cash any of you have, so we might want to put this on my credit card," Bee said with quiet wryness. "It'll be a lot harder to trace."
"You have a credit card?"
That got him a raised blond eyebrow. "Yes, and an I.D., Officer. Would you like to see my registration and insurance paperwork as well?"
"Why couldn't Sideswipe have had those when we got arrested?" Sam grumbled and then winced, stricken, because Sideswipe was back in the city and Sam could almost still feel the hard pressure of his mouth against his own. His mouth, shades cooler than Bumblebee's but still it had been…it had…
A hand on his shoulder jolted him, Bumblebee gently touching him, his eyes dark with concern. Impulsively, Sam reached up and caught his hand, squeezed it. More than anything, he wanted to hold him, kiss him. Forget what was going on in their home, God knows how far away.
Somehow, though, he didn't think the other patrons of the Dutch Oven Roadhouse would appreciate that, so he settled for squeezing Bee's hand again, hard enough that his own fingers ached, before he turned to follow the others inside.
In spite of Sam's dire concerns, the food turned out to be unexpectedly good. Maybe it was just because Sam hadn't eaten in over half a day but he ended up filling three plates up at the buffet. No complicated dishes, just a healthy amount of pancakes, sausage, and oddly, strawberry shortcake that tasted so fresh Sam didn't doubt they'd picked the berries that morning.
The strain of the past night didn't seem to have affected anyone else's appetite either; his mom was already finishing her second plate and Sam had lost count at how many his dad was putting away. Just as well; the way things were going they might not be able to stop again anytime soon.
That thought killed the rest of his appetite and Sam pushed his unfinished plate away. Bumblebee was sitting across from him, sipping at a cup of coffee.
Mikaela paused over her pancakes, fascinated. "You can actually drink that?"
She kept her voice soft but Sam didn't think anyone would be able to hear her over the racket of the crowded restaurant. Apparently, the whole town of Perfection knew about this breakfast buffet because it seemed like most of them were crowded in.
Bee shrugged. "I have a facsimile of a stomach. It doesn't digest human food, I just store it until I eliminate it later." He made a face. "Since I'm not sure when I'd be able to dispose of it, I'm sticking with coffee. Any food I take in won't be hermetically sealed and I'm sure we could all live without the smell."
"If it doesn't give you any energy, why do you bother?" Mom asked, curiously as she buttered another biscuit.
"Camouflage," Bumble said, smilingly a little thinly. "We blend in, remember? A human that never consumed food would certainly raise eyebrows."
"Just the car gets you noticed," Dad grunted, finishing up another plate. "You drew less attention as the clunker."
"True," Bee said, and this time his smile was a little warmer. "But sometimes it's easier to hide in plain sight. Besides," his grin widened. "I look good."
That got him an agreeable laugh from the whole table, "Not going to argue that," Sam said, a little shyly. This felt oddly…normal. Eating with his friends, his parents, his boyfriend. Something like a bizarre alien form of the Brady Bunch.
"Glad to hear it," Bee smirked. He took another sip of coffee, his expression turning pensive. "On the other hand, I can consume energon in the same way and support my receptors like that. For extended missions in a sensor array I can carry extra energon inside my holoform and prolong its life cycle."
Sam is interested in spite of himself. This was probably the most surreal breakfast conversation he'd ever had. "So how long can you keep a holo going like that?"
"A considerable amount of time, me more than most. As a mech, I was designed to be able to spend years without a ready source of energon. I have solar converters built in while the others are dependent on Ratchet's solar collectors."
"Why doesn't everyone have those?" Mikaela asked, frowning.
"A combined issue of the expense and the difficulty in making them," Bumblebee fell silent as their waitress strolled up and sat their bill on the table, only talking again when she was out of earshot. "I was sparked with them because it was necessary for my primary function. But Cybertron did have a working economy at one time and adding solar collectors to mechs that weren't intended to use them frequently would have been prohibitively expensive."
Bee picked up a fork, toying with it, his eyes on the table, "If we'd known what was coming, I think Optimus would have approved it despite the expense. By the time we knew—"
He fell silent and Sam rested a hand on his knee, safely out of sight beneath the table cloth. After a moment, a hand covered his own, twining their fingers together.
"Anyway," Bee said, visibly shaking off his mood, "I've been scanning the entire time we've been in here. I think we'd be safe enough to stay at the motel next door for a few hours and consider our next move."
"Whatever you say, kid," Dad said, agreeably, and Sam didn't point out that Bumblebee was older than their country. He didn't seem it, not right now, as he snagged the bill and went to pay, leaving the rest of them to collect themselves enough to follow the alien car who was currently protecting them all.
Wearily, Ratchet tromped into the Infirmary, yet another wounded human cradled gently in his hands. The sight of Jolt next to the humans already resting there stilled him, his frown deepening as he stormed up to the smaller 'bot.
::What do you think you are doing?:: Ratchet demanded over a private line, letting his irritation leak through the link.
Wide, earnest optics gazed back up at him, a flare of innocence/concern filtering back through the open line. ::Just checking their status. All of them are still stable but Williams is going to need another transfusion soon. He's still leaking fluids internally. The nanites are repairing the damage as quickly as they can. It won't be fast enough, though; a transfusion will give them more time to work. ::
Ratchet said nothing, let his astonishment speak for itself. It was met with a touch of indignation. ::I trained as a field medic briefly, back at the beginning of the war.::
"Why didn't you tell me that?" Ratchet asked, annoyed, closing off the line.
Jolt answered, confused. "I thought you knew."
He should have, he realized, his annoyance growing. It was in Jolt's file but he'd been so wrapped up in all his work, he never noticed it. The little blue mech had been here for nearly three months now, three months that Ratchet could have been utilizing his skills, which were, Ratchet noted, somewhat better than 'brief' training. No point in worrying over that now, he could use an extra set of hands.
"Are you competent to set up the transfusion?" Ratchet asked, stiffly. "Do not try to impress me by exaggerating your skills, I will notappreciate it and it will be the last time you set foot in this infirmary again unless you're the one on the berth."
"I would never do that," Jolt said, firmly. "And I believe I am. The monitors will warn me long before I do anything wrong, anyway."
"True enough," Ratchet admitted grudgingly. "Get to it then, I need to check on the others."
Jolt scampered to obey as Ratchet settled the human in his hands under a monitor that was currently scanning two other solders. One more shouldn't strain its capacities. For all that he'd been trapped beneath wreckage for hours, this human was in decent condition, more dehydrated than wounded, and Ratchet left the monitors to do their work, striding heavily over to the mech side of the infirmary where Sideswipe and Blaster were both laid out in stasis.
Strange to see Sideswipe…was it Sideswipe?...so still, his armor a color that Ratchet had never seen on either of the Twins. Neither had ever gone exclusive with one shade as they changed forms, few 'bots did, but silver was an unusual choice. An unsettling one.
Settling at the side of the berth, Ratchet began the long, tedious process of patching lines. It was something medical nanites could do but it would take ages and Optimus wanted Sideswipe awake and functioning as quickly as possible, the better to ask him what had become of Bee and the humans. Not that Ratchet could promise 'functioning' in any shape or form of it. That all depended on the condition of his spark and there was very little Ratchet could do about that.
So still. It was hardly the first time Sideswipe or Sunstreaker had been in his care. Ratchet had been their very first physician, had been at the twins sparking, a witness to both them and Bumblebee a few days later. It had been the first time he'd seen Optimus since leaving the political arena and by then, he'd been far past his junior medic days.
Ratchet's training would have been considered unusual by any standard. It was rare for a mech to change his occupation at his age and Ratchet had been, by far, one of the eldest trainees there and the younger ones had been in awe of him. The trainers had not, had pushed him just as hard as they would have any youngling and Ratchet had thrived beneath their pressure. Some days it was difficult to remember that once he'd been something other than a medic and much as he hated the fact that it gave him a front-row seat to the demise of their kind, Ratchet could never regret the lives he had saved. Including this one.
It was traditional to have a medic on hand when sparking new younglings. Occasionally, issues arose in the new frames that could have fatal results without medical intervention
Ratchet paused, his fingers stilling on Sideswipe's shredded cabling as he remembered seeing Optimus again, after so long. Ratchet had been upgraded to the point of being unrecognizable but Optimus had known him. Optimus had personally invited him. At that time, going would be an obvious sign of siding with Optimus when many were still trying to play neutral, not wanting to pick their Prime over their High Lord.
Ratchet hadn't hesitated.
His very first sparking and it had turned into a splitting, a mad scrambled for another protoform and every second of delay increased the odds of losing them both. But even then there were rumblings of war, not nearly enough mechs present for a sparking. Regardless, they'd had to risk it and Sideswipe had been put into his form first and Ratchet had always suspected Sunstreaker had been damaged by the wait.
He'd told Sam once that Sunstreaker's issues were not his fault and he'd meant it. In a strange way, they were Ratchet's. He hadn't been a good enough medic for them then. He wasn't sure any could have been but that hardly mattered. The responsibility was still his.
They had both been distressed and Ratchet's voice had been the first sound they'd ever heard, soothing their fear and loss. He doubted they remembered that; he did not remember his own sparking. Ratchet had certainly never told them. The last thing he needed was the strings of some false sense of attachment tying him to more mechs that were almost certainly going to die someday. Ratchet had enough attachments that he couldn't help.
Ratchet winced at the unexpected sound of a plasma canon firing. Belatedly, a call of, 'fire in the hole!'came over an open line, Ironhide being of a firm belief that a hole in the head was a good way to confirm dead.
Unwillingly, his optics were drawn to the glassless window, towards the large, soot-covered figures visible to him, interspersed with the smaller humans. They were moving wreckage out of the way, searching for more survivors. Not all of the humans were accounted for yet and they'd found the bodies of a few smaller Decepticons, barely more than drones. It was one of those that Ironhide had given a new air vent and Ratchet made a note to needle Ironhide about it later.
He focused back on Sideswipe, on his memory of that unsettling beginning for these twins. They'd been taken away for their sparkling integration afterward and he hadn't seen any of them again until they'd been on the battlefield.
Now they were here, both their souls together as they hadn't been since their conception, their spark fluxing frantically as each half struggled to accommodate the other.
He'd failed them once; Ratchet had no intention of doing it a second time.
Bumblebee in contrast had been born as easily and sweetly as he still was. Chosen for a body designed specifically for espionage and he excelled in his duties. Sometimes, in his unwary moments, Ratchet felt a twinge of pride in the young mech, allowed himself to ache for the loss he knew Bee would feel when Sam's unfairly short lifespan separated them-
Bee was still missing, along with his charges.
The memories were ones Ratchet hadn't accessed in a long, long time, and he faltered a little thinking of Optimus. Ratchet hadn't seen their Prime again until the war had begun, had bonded to Wheeljack in the interim.
With years of distance between it, he suddenly realized that Optimus had been expressing interest in him even then. Subtly, yes, but obvious in retrospect. Inviting him of all medics to a sparking, when his reputation as a bad-tempered but competent medic had long since been established. Hardly the empathic type normally chosen for such a task.
How Optimus had known that he would easily soothe the new, frightened sparks was something Ratchet would never know. He had, though, eased their transitions with gentleness and caring that Ratchet would hardly have believed himself he possessed. Soothed their fears until they'd calmed, then allowed them to be taken away to begin lives that would be torn in an unending war.
Things had been so different then; his knowledge of Optimus had been different. Then, he had been a revered Prime, not a close friend that Ratchet was just as likely to smack in the head as he was any other of his patients. A close friend, a lover, and-
The sudden rush of needpushed past every block that Ratchet had put up to control it, surging through him like a rush of ungrounded electricity and Ratchet staggered to his feet, leaning against the wall as he fought to get it under control again.
Fought, and failed, firewalls crashing down as desire overwhelmed him and Ratchet commed Optimus before he even considered it. There were a hundred, a thousand things their Prime needed to be doing now and Ratchet considered none of them as Optimus opened a link.
::What's wrong?:: he demanded, reacting to Ratchet's urgency.
::Come to the infirmary:: Ratchet sent, added a frantic, ::Please, please come::
::I'm on my way.::
Ratchet closed the line before more than a trickle of that desperation could leak through, tried to soothe his burning sensors with the knowledge that Optimus was coming, he was, soon, he would be here—
It was only moments before Optimus was striding swiftly through the door, covered with soot and filth, the only color visible on him was the glowing blue of his optics. His weariness was as obvious as the grime coating him and to Ratchet's optics, he had never looked better.
Without a word, Ratchet went to him, catching one foot behind Optimus's knee and shoving before the other mech could even formulate a protest. The force of him hitting the ground shuddered through the building but Ratchet was already locking the doors, ignoring the gaping window as he covered Optimus with his own body, felt their armor grinding together.
"Oh, yes," Ratchet groaned, past embarrassment, just knowing that he needed to touch, had to touch this mech, and it was unbearable good, hot pleasure sparking through him with the force of a plasma blast.
In the infirmary with two unconscious bots on tables and more humans in the other room, Ratchet writhed and ground against Optimus, scraping paint and soot until they were both filthy, moving against him until Ratchet shuddered, keening out his pleasure softly before collapsing on top of Optimus.
It wasn't until his processor settled that Ratchet had a moment to be sourly grateful that Optimus had let him without a word of protest. Even now, Optimus had his hands on the smooth plating of Ratchet's back, his touch hesitant. A hundred, a thousand things for Prime to be doing but he only held Ratchet, soothed the tremors that still shook him.
After a long moment, Optimus spoke, softly, "Ratchet?"
"Don't say anything," Ratchet interrupted. Frankly, he couldn't recall anything quite so embarrassing in the entirety of his long life. He'd gotten off like an explosion, with two patients right next to them and Jolt in the next room, either getting quite an earful or perhaps muting his audio receivers. Worse, he knew very well that Optimus hadn't even turned on his cooling fans. They hadn't even linked properly, just this disturbing….whatever this was. Even Ratchet wasn't sure.
Optimus shifted beneath him uncertainly, his hands resting on Ratchet's back. Not that he would keep quiet for long, Ratchet knew Optimus entirely too well for that. They lay there, the two of them filthy in one of the few buildings left standing in their city, the scent of an overload that shouldn't even have been possible heavy in the air.
True to form, Optimus tried again. "I don't think—"
"Be quiet." Ratchet said, very calmly. "I'm hoping if I concentrate hard enough, I can reformat myself right here and then I won't have to look you in the optics."
Optimus was silent, considering, "If I promise not to look at you, can we talk?"
Ratchet weighed his options. Spontaneous death didn't seem like it was working out, so why not? "All right," he agreed warily, "But if you look at me, I reserve the right to continuing trying to commit mental suicide."
Optimus nodded, his chin scraping against Ratchet's helm. "Very well. Ratchet, I don't want you to think I am unwilling but…this," he gave Ratchet a little squeeze and he shivered, helplessly, a tremor of pleasure rocking him. "Is somewhat disturbing."
"Oh, is it disturbing you? You poor little thing!" Ratchet snarled, promptly forgetting his own rule as he leaned back to glare at Optimus. "I'm the one who's getting these urges to fling you down and…and…rub against you like…like…"
"Like a human," Optimus finished softly.
"I was going to say animal, but yes, like a human! I don't understand it, there's nothing wrong in my protocols! It's like I have a virus but I keep scanning clean." He shook his head, met Optimus's worried gaze with one of his own. "I shouldn't have called you here. If I'm infected—"
"You told me yourself, you're scanning clean," Optimus hold on him tightened almost to the point of discomfort.
"Unless it's something I haven't come across before. And what would be the point? I'm getting increasing urges to interface but that's hardly detrimental, they aren't about to kill me with embarrassment, I'm not a human-" he stopped, optics narrowing. "…like a human," he murmured.
"Ratchet—"
"Why didn't I see it? It's so obvious, but of course I didn't see it, I've been wrapped up in a dozen other things, why would I even think to look for—" He blinked, seemed to notice Optimus was still there with some surprise. "Optimus, I'll contact you later, I need to check on the patients and run a few scans." Briskly, Ratchet rose to his feet, already turning away.
Optimus grabbed his arm and stopped him, a rare flash of irritation crossing his face, "You and I are overdue for a very long talk."
"I know," he snapped. "I do know. Give me just a little more time."
Optimus vented slowly, "I am a very patient mech, Ratchet, but I do not like being kept in the dark. Particularly about something like this that might affect my entire team." Hard tone and Ratchet winced a little. That was his Prime speaking, not his lover and Ratchet nodded, straightened up respectfully.
"Yes, sir," he murmured. "I will keep you updated, I promise."
"See that you do," he hesitated, softening just slightly, his hand hesitating close to Ratchet's face in an almost-touch. Almost, his fingers close enough that Ratchet could feel the pulse of his energy field, then Optimus withdrew it without another word as he turned and left.
Ratchet vented slowly and wished that he wasn't disappointed that Optimus hadn't touched him one last time.
The motel was less of a happy surprise than the buffet. It did have a bed and a shower, both strong points in its favor, though, so Sam forgave it for being reminiscent of the Bates Motel.
His parents had gotten a room of their own, and Mikaela, both of them on the other side of Sam and Bee so that Bumblebee could keep them within scanning range. None of them had done more than murmur a quick goodnight before staggering into their rooms, exhaustion and good food leading them down the path towards sleep.
Another sort of hunger was starting to edge into Sam's perceptions and he decided to wait on the shower until after, since he'd need one anyway. With a sigh, Sam sprawled back on the bed, already holding a hand out to Bee.
A hand that Bee didn't take, lingering back, "There's a few ways I can eliminate what I consumed but the most expedient is just functioning as a human would."
"Uh…" Sam just blinked, tiredly.
Bee laughed, a little, "I have to take a piss."
"Oh! Sure, yeah."
Somehow, the word surreal didn't cover it as he lay on the bed and listened to Bumblebee 'eliminate'. Did it still look like coffee? How would that look, pissing coffee, ugh, what if he'd eaten any of the food—
The sound of the toilet flushing interrupted that line of thought and Sam abandoned it gratefully, listened with bemusement as Bee washed his hands and then stepped out, still holding a towel. He didn't get on the bed, only stood there for a long moment. Long enough for emotions to start twisting in Sam's gut, the memory of Bee's expression the night before and, god, and, and-
"Bee-" Sam started, wincing at the thickness of his voice.
Finally, Bee sat on the edge of the bed, touched his mouth, softly, hushing him. "You need to rest."
"I need to know," Sam's voice cracked, physical and emotional exhaustion were overwhelming him but he pressed on, doggedly, "Are you afraid of me? Of…of what's happening to me?"
Instead of the automatically denial he'd expected, Sam was surprised to see Bee considering his question. His heart was hammering desperately when Bee finally shook his head.
"I'm not afraid of you, Sam," Bee said, softly, "I'm afraid for you."
It was enough. Sam was sitting up before the last word left Bee's mouth, already pressing their mouths together desperately. "I need…I need…"
"Shhh," Bee soothed, "I know what you need."
They'd had gentle, sleepy sex before, a dozen times, Bee waking Sam for a quick charge but Sam didn't think he could ever remember Bumblebee being so achingly tender with him before. Every touch inflamed Sam more, whimpering moans escaping him as Bee's fingers moved between his legs in slippery little touches and then Bee was pressing inside him, edging deeper with each gentle, slow thrust until Sam was writhing against the bed. Sweat-slick skin clinging as much as their hands, the bed creaking with each slow movement, and Bee was utterly silent, the only word he spoke was Sam's name, like a prayer.
tbc