Redline
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Part 6
The quietness of the Peterbilt's interior was broken only by the steady hum of the air conditioning. Unbelievably welcome cool air blew from vents on the dash and onto her flushed, sweaty face, providing some relief from how hot it had been out on the asphalt.
"Oh, thank god, Optimus," she sighed, tucking the loose strands of hair that fell from her pony behind one ear. "It was boiling out there."
Optimus answered via the cobalt-blue LED radio console which flickered in time with his words. "I have set the cab temperature for seventy degrees Fahrenheit," he said, his deep, resonating voice sounding even more pronounced over the stereo. "Which I think is optimal for your species—but let me know if you begin to feel too cold, Mikaela."
Mikaela smiled warmly at the radio. "Will do, boss. But I don't think you're going to have to worry. It's so much nicer in here."
The sweat on her forehead began to dry and she settled into the seat, finally starting to relax with a sigh. Even some of her nerves were beginning to subside, helped along by how comfy the cab was—the driver's seat was made out of some kind of squishy leather, soft enough for her to sink right down into as she adjusted to the cab's cooler temperature.
There was nothing worse than waiting for things to start happening and overthinking them while you wait—her imagination had a habit of going into overdrive—so she always felt better when it came time to actually doing things for this reason.
Mikaela's hands found the steering wheel. Much larger than a car's, it was blood-red and ribbed all the way around for extra grip, its exterior coated with a layer of smooth rubber that was pleasant to the touch. Three chrome spokes met at a horn that was engraved with the Autobot symbol which she traced with a finger, admiring its soft aqua glow.
"Jesus, Optimus," she muttered. "If you weren't actually an Autobot, I'd have to say that you're one hell of an expensive truck…"
The Autobot leader liked this. "Am I?" he chuckled. "Maybe. Transportation of goods is an important service on your planet, after all… but, as you already mentioned, there is the slight problem that I occasionally transform into an Autobot. I doubt any of your race would particularly enjoy that small technicality."
"Sure they would," shrugged Mikaela. "Who wouldn't want to drive a truck that could transform into a giant robot?"
"That is…" Optimus paused, "I think the term you would use is 'flattering'. But certainly those sentiments would begin to change with time."
"I doubt it. I still like driving around with Bee whenever I can. You guys can be really great company…" she smiled as her eyes wandered over the glittering dashboard. An impressive, somewhat daunting display of white-lighted and chrome-rimmed glass gauges, dials, switches, and buttons that looked immensely complicated winked up at her.
She whistled. "Dang, Optimus… you know, the only machine I've ever seen that looks as complicated as you do is a cockpit…"
She felt the entire vehicle sway a little as he laughed. "Heh heh heh. Don't be alarmed, Mikaela—only a few of these gauges will matter. Several of them have nothing to do with driving at all—some display vitals that are not specific to my vehicle form, and others are for instruments I have in place for things such as tracking possible energon signatures and concealing my own, and emergency communications."
"Okay, good," she sighed with relief. "'Cause you might just look a little overwhelming," she grinned. "Not saying you do, but…"
"Never forget that I agreed to do this under the premise that you will of course need my help. There is no shame in that."
The tone of his voice was so reassuring that she felt all of her worries melting away automatically. Its depth was almost magnified by the slow flickering of the cobalt-blue radio display which complimented the polished, deep cherry-stained dash beautifully, its soft phosphorescent glow very visible due to how much light the Peterbilt's tinted windows kept out and how low his big chrome visor hung over the windscreen.
"Thanks, Optimus."
"It is no problem whatsoever."
Mikaela continued to look around, taking in the rest of the Peterbilt's cab. The contrast in lighting between the blinding sun reflecting off the asphalt outside and the lazy, reddish residual glow coming from the dash and the burgundy interior upholstery that matched it gave the truck a somewhat intense feeling of being a rather private space. The emptiness behind the cushy driver's and passenger's seats that led to the comfy-looking sleeper at the back did not help, nor did the tufted, leather roof above her head lined with buttons that was just as dark as the cherry red dash was—it made the entire cab feel like she was sitting inside of somebody's bedroom loft.
It was a semi-workable metaphor, she thought, as the entirety of the cab really was an actual part of the Autobot himself. The realization made her feel a little guilty—was she invading his personal space?
And the scent, she noticed suddenly, did not help make it feel any less personal.
It reminded her of times she'd walked into ex boyfriends' bedrooms that were like this, rooms that were small and cramped but clean and tidy that always smelled good that had belonged to boys who'd spend hours on the track, or hours a day lifting weights. Boys who were not like Sam and did not leave their dirty socks everywhere, boys who showered a lot and how they'd still smell afterward of something Mikaela couldn't quite place but oh heavens it was amazing. It was the smell you'd find on their hair and skin and that would cling to you long after you'd left, one that could persist through her own showers and sprays of body mist—it was a scent that seemed to bind to the very olfactory sensors inside of her nose.
It was—quite simply—the strong smell of attraction.
And Mikaela used to think that maybe it was a certain type of cologne, or maybe the scent from burning candles or incense that produced such an intriguing aroma—but that was before she'd found herself seated in Optimus Prime's Peterbilt form and surrounded by the thick, heavy (but not overpoweringly so) musk of the truck's interior. Because there was for sure no incense, nor cologne, nor candles in here—the smell was coming from him. Much like how the Autobots could smell her pheromones, she was picking up on his—it was the result of being physically closer to Optimus than she'd ever been before.
And now that she'd noticed it, it was driving her absolutely crazy. What it was most like was a mix of the somewhat rustic scent of quality, brand new leather upholstery, the tantalizing perfume of fancy shampoo, and the distinctive mechanical odour of expensive machine grease. The grand effect was heavy with masculinity and unexpected sex appeal and it was a definite turn-on—how could a truck smell so good?
It was nothing like Bee's scent, although the Camaro didn't smell bad or anything—for some reason, Mikaela just wasn't as—receptive—to the young Autobot as she was to the Peterbilt. He smelled good, too, but she didn't think she could describe it as being anything markedly past the average new-car-smell that went along with a more modern vehicle. Perhaps, there had been an underlying spritz of pine that she'd assumed had come from the air freshener he always kept in the center console, but that was about it for Bumblebee.
Optimus, though—this was going to stick to her long after she'd left the truck's cab. She was going to smell him for days, and she knew it—and the worst part of it was that the scent was just so damned undeniably attractive.
Shit.
Clearing her throat, Mikaela peered through the front windscreen, seeking a distraction. She could see the top of Optimus's long, flat hood, beyond which she had a pretty great view of the horizon. It was pretty impressive, actually—she was aware that truck drivers had great visibility over the tops of smaller vehicles due to their height, but actually sitting inside of a truck put a new perspective on it and gave her a newfound appreciation for just how big the Peterbilt actually was.
It was enormous, and it was so hot that it made her shiver a little.
Something that Optimus noticed immediately.
"Are you cold, Mikaela?" he asked, sounding concerned. "I can raise the temperature if you are uncomfortable, remember."
"I—I'm fine, Optimus," she said unconvincingly.
"Are you certain?"
He sounded so anxious that it melted her heart a little. "Honest, Optimus," she sighed. "I'll tell you if I'm cold. I promise, okay?"
"Okay. Are you almost ready to begin, then?"
"Oh, right—yes, almost—"
She had almost forgotten that she was supposed to be driving the truck, and not just marvelling at it. Mikaela begun to feel the front of the seats for the adjustments that would bring it closer toward the pedals, her knuckles brushing against the cool glass of the Peterbilt's mirrored floor as she searched. When she found it she pulled and slid the chair a couple of inches forwards, reaching out with her foot to test the positioning. She tapped each pedal once and, satisfied, she straightened, rolled down her window (wrinkling her nose as a wave of heat that hit her in the face as she did so), and began to adjust the side mirror.
She was privately very thankful that he had no trailer on the back, but as she reached up the readjust the rearview she noticed that Optimus didn't even have a window on the exterior of the cab—the mirror had no real function except to give her a pretty good view of the sleeper. It would make driving using the side mirrors that much more important, and she wondered to herself how on earth the Autobot could see without a window on the back.
"Hey, Optimus," she said before she could stop herself. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead, Mikaela."
"Kay, this is probably gonna sound weird, but," she wondered how best to phrase what was on her mind, "But when you're driving around, like when you're in this form… when you're the Peterbilt—can you actually see out of the mirrors, like are your eyes—?"
"They are not photoreceptive, if that is what you are asking," said Optimus calmly.
"So how the hell do you see, then?"
"…The windscreen is semi-photoreceptive," he answered.
"But that's only straight ahead," she said. "So you can't see me sitting back here?" she waved at the windscreen. "Or behind you while you're driving?"
"Not in the… typical sense of the word, no."
Mikaela frowned. "What do you mean?"
The Peterbilt was silent for a moment as Optimus thought. "It is a little complicated to explain. Hmm… well—I think it is like this, Mikaela: when you are walking around, are you usually are looking ahead at where you want to go, or down at your feet?"
"Ahead…" she said slowly.
"But that is not to say that you do not know where your feet are, what is around them, or what they are doing. Correct?"
"I guess…" she said, totally confused.
"It is the same for me. I use all of my senses—some of which are well beyond human capability—to 'see' you—" and as he said this, she saw the rearview mirror move toward her of its own accord, almost as if he was using it to watch her somehow, "—as well as what is around me."
"…Oh."
What Optimus had said had made sense, she supposed. Walking was probably the closest metaphor for what driving was like for an Autobot, and walking (although often taken for granted as a simple task) was actually a complex process that involved continual information from almost every sense, just like driving was.
It was strange to think about a vehicle having actual senses akin to—or superb to—human senses. As the Autobots didn't technically have ears, noses or eyes while in vehicle form, it was easy to forget that they would still need to process information from those senses. Until just now, she'd never really even considered what they would have to make do with in vehicle form in place of their usual sensory 'organs'.
So how was it that he could 'see' her, then? Did information from her presence inside of the cab come solely from tactile sensors? Was he able to feel her sitting here, in the driver's seat? And if so, what was it like for him? She hoped that she wasn't accidentally sitting on his thigh or something weird like that…
Subconsciously wishing she had asked Bee about this back when she'd had the chance to do so in a less-awkward situation, she decided that she wasn't about to ask the Autobot leader anything more on the subject just now, just in case the answer was something that she really could have gone the entire driving lesson without knowing. There was also the question of exactly how intense were Optimus's senses? He wasn't able to monitor her goddamned heartbeat while she sat here, was he?
God, that would be kind of creepy!
"Okay, Optimus," she said aloud, trying to forget about this. "I—I think I'm ready."
"Great! You know what to do…"
Trembling slightly with nerves and excitement, she placed her hands on either side of the steering wheel and waited, expecting Optimus to start up his engine, like Bee usually did. But the truck remained silent and the engine did not turn over of its own accord, and after she'd sat there for a minute she realized what was happening.
"Uhm," she cleared her throat, feeling evermore awkward—did he want her to do it, then? "I guess you're waiting for me to—?"
"Oh yes," said Optimus, and she could hear him smiling. Was he teasing? "This is a driving lesson, Mikaela. And I have no doubts that you know very well how to turn a vehicle on."
It was the most embarrassing way he could possibly have phrased it. For the second time in so much as an hour, Mikaela felt her face burn bright red. "I-I-I do," she stammered, trying not to draw attention to what he'd just said—for all she knew, Optimus did not realize how it had sounded and would be mortified if he knew. Instead, she hastily groped for the key in the center console, not thinking to check the ignition first.
When she could not find it, Optimus asked her to check the ignition.
"Right," she whispered, feeling stupid as her fingers felt the plastic handle of the key already in place, blushing even deeper because of it. "…Sorry."
"There is no need to be sorry," he said lightly.
She turned the key all the way, but was at first confused when nothing happened except a faint click as the Peterbilt's auxiliary mode was activated. This time, however, she was not to be made a fool of—she'd been inside of push-start vehicles before. It took her only a moment to locate the right button in the midst of the complicated dashboard—located directly beside the steering column.
It was a tiny, red little button right next to a much bigger red one, recognizable as the emergency brake. She poised her finger over the push-start and hesitated for only a fraction of a second, in which her heart beat a little faster in anticipation—and then, while eyeing the rearview mirror (looking at this felt more like looking Optimus in the eye in this form than anything else did)—she pressed the button.
The gigantic Peterbilt rumbled to life and Mikaela felt the frame shudder as if Optimus had been surprised, before the engine revved once of its own accord. She withdrew her finger, watching the tachometer settle from a high 1300 RPM to a nice, smooth 1.2k idle.
Sweet, she thought, admiring the feeling of power thrumming through the vehicle's frame.
It did feel really nice—Mikaela often thought that no two vehicles were ever the same, and that their idles were proof of that. Optimus's was as deep as his voice and drove right through the connection her body had with the seat, sending the vibrations straight into her. For a split second that felt like eternity, she let her eyes drift closed and just simply sat there, tracing the steering wheel with her thumbs absent-mindedly, enjoying the relaxing sensation of the idling Peterbilt.
"Are you all right, Mikaela?"
Optimus had startled her. The sexual frustration Mikaela had felt after getting into the vehicle had all but evaporated earlier due to her nerves and second-hand embarrassment from what Optimus had said about her turning a vehicle on, but now that she had relaxed it was back. She had almost forgotten that it was not simply a semi-truck that she was drifting off inside of, but an Autobot—the Autobot leader himself. Her eyes snapped back open. "What—oh, yes! Uh, are you?"
Her reply did not make total sense, she'd realized a moment too late—but Optimus did not seem to notice.
"Yes, I think so. I must admit, though, I was caught a little off guard by how quickly you located that button," he said, each syllable resonating in time with the flicker of the radio's cobalt-blue LED panel. "I thought I would get the better of you, but it seems I was right in saying that you really do know… what you are doing."
It was Mikaela's turn to grin. "Hah," she laughed sarcastically. "Not really, Optimus. You could say that I… just got lucky and there's nothing else to it," she teased, almost hoping that the innuendo would not sail right over the Autobot's head.
"Well, if you are feeling nervous, I could start us off… you do look a little tired, after all."
Mikaela thought for a second that maybe he had recognized her joke with the almost forcibly casual way he'd said this, but if he did, he did not elaborate on it. She agreed to let Optimus drive first while she watched what he was doing with the Peterbilt's controls so that he could explain a little bit about how he worked and what to do. Optimus was more than happy to do this, and she felt the Peterbilt shift into first gear of its own accord, the truck bouncing a little on its suspension as it lurched forward.
"God, this is weird, you know, Optimus," she commented, watching him manipulate the Peterbilt's massive gearstick into second, the truck now cruising lazily down the airstrip toward the NEST main gate. "At least with Bee I can't—y'know—actually see him shifting."
Optimus chuckled. "I can imagine it would be quite different."
"You're telling me," she said, somewhat fascinated.
"Well, you can try after we get off of the freeway, Mikaela. There is a place I know a short distance from here that I think you will find a suitable place to practice."
"That sounds great, Optimus," she said, semi-relieved that she could spend a bit more time watching him drive before she'd have to drive herself. It did look pretty complicated…
And speaking of driving—the longer she spent inside of the gorgeous truck, the less she could believe that she was actually going to get a chance to try. She felt the kind of mounting anticipation that could only come from thinking about driving such a powerful vehicle—one strong enough to leave a trail of goosebumps across her arms that had nothing to do with the coolness of the air conditioning. Of all things to find herself doing on a sunny Saturday afternoon, practicing driving with the help of a giant, sentient Peterbilt certainly was not one of them—not that she was complaining in the slightest—
And as NEST officials opened the gates for Optimus Prime, Mikaela relaxed back into the seat, letting the vibration of his powerful engine sink into her—the thrill of the approaching open road, and the possibilities—the depth of his voice as he oozed instructions over the radio—
"Are you listening to me, Mikaela?"
"Mmm? Of course I am…"
They had the whole day to spend together practicing—and as the enormous Peterbilt made its way through the gates and out into the scorchingly hot desert wasteland, all that its tiny, human passenger could think of was how crazy it was that the Autobot leader was really going to help her 'drive stick'—