= Sweet Vibrations =

By Ayngel

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any of the characters or concepts within. I make no money from this story or any other about Transformers.

I was sooo happy with the response to the first couple of chapters of this. I'm glad so many people laughed – I certainly laughed writing it. Thanks to everyone who listed and alerted and I am really, really appreciative of everyone who reviewed. I think I got back to most people. If not, know that I was really grateful for your comments.

In this next chapter, thanks to Artemis1000 for reminding me that Rumble can write poetry: Quote, G1: "If upon Decepticon turf you happen to tumble, look out robot, cos here comes Rumble!" Such eloquence! And he really is good at it!

Only thing you really need to know about this is that a newly "popped mech" is a much sought after entity. Everyone clamors to be the first … even the most pure minded 'Bots ...

Warnings: Adult themes, course language, implied slash.

Chapter 3

On the Ark ...

"Well!" Optimus Prime smiled kindly around him. "I think that just about concludes our business for today, Officers! Thank you for your time!"

A shaft of light shone through the roof of the Ark from the hole cut in the rock above, illuminating the small room in which the elite group sat at the round table. They had just finished planning the strategy for the escort of a cargo of missiles to northern Canada for the US army, and the plans were still spread before them. They would not have to be put into operation until next week, something for which – after the fiasco at the presentation - Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, was exceedingly grateful.

The large red and blue mech stood up now, smiling amiably. Beside him, Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz scraped their chairs back and rose also, gathering datapads and chattering about ways of maintaining core heat in subzero temperatures. There was much to be done, but all three intended to retire now for a few well earned cubes of high grade in the rec room. They were just about to leave when a well spoken voice sounded from the table: "Er – just a moment ..." All heads turned to look at the only officer still seated. "Is there not one other small matter?" Mirage said, leaning back in his chair.

They were all silent. Mirage addressed the Autobot leader. "Look, I know this is not your favourite subject, Prime," he said. "But we do need to discuss protocols regarding Bumblebee's "popping" do we not?"

A most awkward look came over Optimus Prime. His mask turned a faint shade of purple. "Oh – er –yes!" he muttered, "Most remiss of me ..." he avoided looking directly at the officers, doing his best not to notice the tetchiness which had appeared on Ironhide's face and, worse than that, the look of excited curiosity on Jazz's and the sudden gleam in Prowl's optics.

They were all looking at him. "Er – yes – errmmm ... right!" he said, aware especially of Mirage's optics, an intense and inescapable blue. "Errrrr ... ummm ..." Spark sinking, he felt compelled to look at the spy, who raised an optic ridge. With a resigned sigh, Prime moved back to the table, lowering his large bulk into its former repository. He managed a smile. "How is our favourite junior special ops team member?" he said.

Rearranging their chairs, the others sat down again too, Prowl and Jazz with an eager curiosity. Prime shifted in his seat. He appreciated the spy's services, but if only he were a little less - meticulous. He'd hoped to avoid this. The subject brought back uncomfortable memories of his own "popping."

Prime thought of what his troops would say if they knew about the furious session with the mafioso triple changer and shuddered, glad it was so long ago. It could be disastrous if a "pep talk" to the minibot was on the agenda.

Mirage gave them each an amiable look in turn. "Bumblebee is doing all right," he said. "Gradually getting over the little – episode." A small, high pitched noise emanated from Jazz. Both Prime and Ironhide cast a stern look in his direction, and Prowl frowned. Mirage ignored it. "He wanted me to convey his gratitude to you all for being so – circumspect – about it all!" he said.

Prime relaxed. Hopefully, the minibot had now relieved his passions and this was simply about managing whoever he had chosen as his first. "This is - er- good news, Mirage," he said. "Bumblebee is a brave soldier! Nevertheless, this can't have been – easy ..." he looked around at the other three, all silent and focused on him now. "The point, however, is ..." the mask turned a shade deeper. "The thing is ...," he looked around hopefully for help which was not forthcoming. "Has it ... does he ...?" Prowl and Jazz leaned a little closer. "What I mean is ..." Ironhide folded his arms, frowning. "Has he ... er ... you know ...?"

Mirage raised an optic ridge: "Done it yet?"

They all relaxed. "Precisely!" said Prime.

Mirage looked at the assembled officers. Prime still looked embarrassed and Ironhide was clearly less than amused at having to even consider this, but Jazz's face was alight and Prowl's optics burned a deep indigo. An air of tense expectation came over them. The spy could not help but be a little disappointed at their lack of subtlety. He took a moment to answer, taking a mildly sadistic pleasure in the agony of their suspense.

"No," he said eventually, noting that the look on Jazz's face turned to one of pure glee whilst Prowl's became positively predatory. "He is adjusting to the permanent cover Wheeljack has fitted and his conjugal program is settling itself down." He smiled at Prime. "You know how it is – there's' an intense rush before the codpiece blows and then after that it takes a little while for the systems to reset."

Prime nodded. His processing chamber churned a little. Surely Mirage couldn't know about Octane. Could he? "Yes, indeed, Mirage," he said, letting out a false sounding laugh. The others shifted and smiled around the table. "But soon," Mirage went on, "as you well know Prime, the urges will return with renewed intensity and Bumblebee will feel an uncontrollable need to - do it - as you say!" The Autobot leader winced. His worst fears were being confirmed.

"Any idea how long that will be?" Prowl tried to sound matter of fact, but he said it too fast. Beside him, Jazz practically bounced in his seat. Only Ironhide, his optics fixed and now disapproving, appeared completely unmoved by the prospect.

"Hmmmn ..." Mirage gave them a long, blue look, his chin in his hand. "Not too long I would think. I would estimate maybe – forty eight hours?"

There was a soft rustling from the mechs. Prowl and Jazz exclaimed glances. A wicked grin spread across Jazz's face. "Cool!" he said. It was matched by the sudden flare in the tactician's optics. "Mmmnn - yeah!" he growled, long and low. Ironhide's frown deepened.

Prime felt flustered. It wasn't just the revelations of his own salubrious beginnings. What would his brother, the esteemed leader of the Decepticons, say if he knew that two of his highest ranking staff were beside themselves at the prospect of a newly popped minibot? Worse, what would the humans think? What about Bumblebee's friend, their most valuable source of Earth information? The leader decided to take control. "Autobots!" he said. "It is absolutely essential that we are professional and that we adopt a management strategy in relation to this matter!"

Heads nodded. "As Autobot tactician, I completely agree!" Prowl failed somewhat in his attempt to sound formal.

Mirage smiled amiably. "My thoughts too, Prowl!" he said.

Well, hopefully, Prime thought, Mirage would suggest something do-able and not disgraceful. This was usually the case – although the spy's ideas were not always the most popular with his fellow officers. He ought to solve this! After all, he had brought the subject up! Prime cleared his throat. "Er - did you have anything - specific - in mind, Mirage?" However quirky it was, Prime decided, he would support it. Anything to get this sorted!

"Well ..." the spy looked around them, "as you know, Bumblebee will require some assistance ..." Prime noted with dismay that the eagerness on Jazz and Prowl's faces magnified. Prowl seemed to have abandoned attempts at hiding his desires. "However, "Mirage went on, "whoever provides this service will need to be - experienced in matters such as this. ..." He paused, smiling around the table. Prime's distress deepened at the sight of Jazz and Prowls' glossas virtually hanging out. Mirage turned to him. "As you know," he said, "Towers mechs excel in this area!"

Prime was a little surprised. But then, he supposed they would. Perhaps. Well who knew what they'd gotten up to behind the esteemed walls of upper crust wealth and power? It didn't matter. He nodded. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Good!'

Mirage smiled again, evidently pleased. "That is precisely why Bumblebee's assistant ought to be ..." he looked around the table once more, "Me!"

Indignation erupted immediately. "That ain't fair man!" cried Jazz. "It's hardly within the regulations!" retorted Prowl, whilst Ironhide muttered. "Outrageous!" Then, to Prime's further dismay, a barrage of angry questions were directed at the spy.

"Ain't it enough you already get your pick of mechs here?" accused Jazz.

"What's wrong with a prototype beta-one law enforcer showing him the ropes?" said Prowl.

"He needs a straightforward demonstration not some - kinky - caper!" Ironhide retorted. "Yes!" Prowl agreed. "Especially some highfalutin kinky Towers caper!" Jazz nodded and they both glared at Mirage.

"What you're suggesting, Mirage, is an absolute abuse of position!" said Ironhide. His optics narrowed. "What's wrong with him being made to control himself until his commanding officer finds him a suitable match?" They all looked at Prime.

Prime said nothing. He guessed he'd been wrong about Mirage. Why did he always have to sort these matters out for them? Did commanding the Ark have to be like directing a human soap opera?

Perhaps, he thought, he should ask one of Bumblebee's cousin minibots to take care of the situation. Surely it was more appropriate that they looked after their own kind? Of course, there were those taboos of theirs but surely a stern order requiring an act in the name of the Autobot cause would soon overcome those? Yes, that would remove things from this realm altogether. That was definitely the best solution!

Drawing himself up, Prime forced a stern expression to come on to his own features, knowing it made him look just a tiny bit like his brother. "Now Mirage," he said, furrowing his optic ridges. "Ironhide does have a point. There are protocols to be observed!" He looked at them each in turn. "For one thing," he said, "it is simply not within those rules for any officer to engage in these sorts of activities with a newly - er - uncovered mech ..." Jazz opened his mouth to protest but Prime went on: "... especially when that mech is a junior officer!" He turned back to Mirage again. "Secondly there is the time honoured tradition of a newly uncovered mech picking his first – er – experience, for himself. I am disappointed that a Towers mech would flaunt that rule, Mirage, it would be most ..."

"No, no, no!" Mirage laughed. "You've all got it wrong!" They were silent, their optics upon him once more. "I don't intend actually providing his first experience," he laughed again, "I've got quite enough on my plate for that!" At this, Ironhide grunted with renewed disapproval and Prowl stiffened awkwardly. "My intention is to provide him with the best possible advice as to who his first – encounter – should be!"

Prime thought of the minibots again. An image of the expression on Gears' face when the "order" was made sprung into his awareness. It wasn't pleasant. Had Mirage not already made himself far from popular - some 'involvement' with Clliffjumper which resulted in that insecticon fiasco? Primus forbid that episode coming up again.

But he took in Mirage's words and relaxed inside. Surely this would be all right! Even for Gears.

There was a silence, then he beamed, relieved. "Ho ho!" he chuckled. "Well of course, Mirage! I should have known. It was most remiss of me to jump to such rash conclusions. Please accept my apology."

Mirage smiled. "Accepted!" he said.

But the others were not so happy. "Now wait a minute!" Jazz could not contain himself. "That ain't fair either!" he burst out. "Everyone knows Bee's gonna be so desperate when he gets the urge he's gonna pick the first mech standing in fronta him. And if you happen to be right there that's gonna just happen to be you, ain't it Raj?"

Prowl and Ironhide made noises of agreement. "And I see no reason why you would be able to resist a newly popped mech any more than the rest of us!" Prowl said, and Ironhide nodded.

"Well Mirage?" said Prime, wearily. Unfortunately, they did have a point.

Mirage laughed again. "You are not aware of certain facts!" he said. "For one thing, even though Alphamechs such as myself had the same desires as any other Cybertronian we are programmed to resist mechanisms of an – er – lesser status." The other three officers bristled and Prime rested his face on his hand and shuttered his optics. Not the spy's controversial social standing on top of this!

Mirage continued, unabashed. "It simply is not cricket for me to risk conjugation and possibly even replication with a mechanism who would inevitably be – unsuitable," he said. "Furthermore ..." he ignored the now outward indignation evident, "... my special Trion training wherein I learnt the art of espionage provided special intensive instruction in this area!"

There was a silence. Prime thanked Primus for the ministrations of the Trion Academy. It was, indeed, difficult to argue with that particular logic. It usefully eclipsed the rest. Deciding this was the opportunity he had been waiting for, and that there would be no more argument, he smiled around the table. "Well that's settled then!" he said. "Now – I think this time we can truly call this meeting dismissed!"

Wasting no time, he rose again and this time made a hasty departure, ignoring the sudden sullen silence but noting the quietly pleased expression of the spy. His officers knew when enough was enough and he asserted his authority. The Bumblebee business would be dealt with – somehow.

At the Decepticon Base ...

On his uncomfortably narrow berth in the miserable little subterranean chamber he shared with Frenzy, Rumble tossed and turned, unable to recharge. Compact little yellow forms infused his processor and his circuits burned with longing. His intakes sighed, his spark thudding, heavy in his chest.

The cassette opened his optics, unvisored in the dim light, and watched, mournfully, as brightly coloured fish zoomed to and fro past the portal. He thought, painfully, of the dressing down from the leaders. They just didn't understand! Sure, his last time had been a while back – some time back on Cybertron, long before they came to Earth. But what he was going through was so much more than a desire to romp in the tailings, definitely more than just a need to stick connectors here and there with some half afted moron.

Rumble's intakes exhaled mournfully again. This thing was - tender. It was – beautiful, Primusdamnit. Magnificent! And so agonisingly, exquisitely painful! There was no doubt in Rumble's processor – absolutely no question in the great scheme of Primus only known things in the Universe - he was in love. There was no other explanation! It was meant to be. And the likes of Starscream could stick it up their afterburners.

Rumble shuttered his optics. The conversation with Soundwave still burned in his processor. Not that his creator had really gotten a word in edgeways:

"No I don't need yer help!" he'd said at the outset, as the blue mech opened his mouth. "I heard what Megatron said ... it's serious, OK? I know its serious!"

Soundwave had closed his mouth, and then opened it again. Rumble had been ready. "No I don't need you to do a mind probe and find out who's having the dirtiest thoughts about me on the base!" he'd said, pacing dramatically up and down. "An' I heard about Bonecrusher lasting for three cycles in a row but he ain't my type – OK?"

Soundwave had made a deep booming noise, but Rumble had cut him off again. "Look - I know the Seekers have got big doodahs ..." he'd said. "Yeah! An' I know how Thrust an' Ramjet got their names!" The red optics regarded him seriously. "I know everything you're gonna say about everyone, Sounders! Now cut me a break will ya!"

The blue telepath had simply nodded. "Acknowledged, Rumble! As you wish!"

Relief had swept through the cassette. "Look - Soundwave - I've got a mech in mind ... and I can handle it. OK?"

"Confirm. As you wish." And then his creator had simply turned and stridden away, the Cat still smirking as she padded beside him.

Rumble had watched them depart. Then he had rushed straight to the quarters and flung himself down in an agony of wanting and despair.

Now he turned over again, thankful beyond all reason that the cassettes, alone of all the Decepticons on the base, could block Soundwave's mind reading function. Of course, Cons fragging bots was hardly an unknown, but there was a certain risk factor involved – it was called Megatron's Extreme Disapproval. It had not escaped Rumble that this was one possibility the silver leader had decidedly omitted to mention, and the likely consequences of such indulgence were far from appealing. Yet, the cassette allowed himself a moment of optimism, there had to be a way.

Rumble looked across at the cupboard in which he had locked the holocube. His whole being ached to get it out and look at the image again, but he gritted his dental plates and resisted. He needed to think up a strategy. Some way, that when next they met on the battlefield he could convey to his beloved the depth of his passion. And he needed for his processor to be clear, and it could not be clear once he had flicked the switch which revealed the divine little form.

The cassetticon let out another deep and agonized sigh, unshuttering and reshuttering his optics. "Ah Bumblebee," he murmured, turning over. "Bumblebee, Bumblebee, you really are the mech for me ..."

Rumble froze halfway through turning over. And suddenly it was as though the universe lit up! He sat bolt upright. Of course: Poetry! He could do poetry! None of the other Decepticons did it, or would even bother trying, but he came out with quite natty bits of rhyme sometimes. And even though the others usually laughed and sneered, the Cat had told him she was secretly impressed and even Megatron had complimented him once. What a perfect and unique way to impress his true love!

Swinging his legs over the side of the berth, his spark suddenly singing, Rumble tried to recall whether he had ever heard any of the Autobots come out with poetry. He could not think of any instances. Somehow the thought of Optimus Prime, or that stuffed fronted tactician, or that old codger Ironhide, or that miserable old medic doing so seemed highly unlikely. And as for those maniac twins – well, that was even more improbable than Starscream or Scrapper or Shrapnel doing it!

No, this would be a first! He would woo the minibot with sparkfelt verse; yell it out, when the Autobots attacked them, or something. And then ...

Well things would just work out after that, wouldn't they?

Feeling a sudden surge of delighted enthusiasm, Rumble leapt from the berth and moving to the computer console, grabbed a datapad and sat down, staring at the fish circulating in the dim light outside through the dark portal.

He closed his optics and thought for a moment, and then wrote:

"Ode to Bumblebee, the sweetest little mech I've ever set optics on." Then, after a few astroseconds more of deeply creative thought, he wrote:

The way you gleam in the bright Earth sun,

And grab your shiny Autobot gun,

You and me could really have some fun!

Oh Yeah! Rumble was happy, now. A smile spread across his face. That sounded all right! Bee would certainly get the gist. He would appreciate it! Rumble knew it. Still, it could still be a bit more romantic, he supposed ...

When I look at you, my circuits, sizzle

You make my facing gear fizzle ...

Rumble looked at the words and thought about them. No, no! That wouldn't do at all! It was too – crude. This was Bumblebee he was talking about here! Not some piece of slag from the smelting pits.

He crossed it out, and wrote:

When I see you there in the middle of fights,

My brain goes fuzzy and my spark ignites!

He paused for a moment and thought blissfully of the minibot. The words were true, but not dirty. That was the trick, obviously! To say it exactly as he thought it, but to not think of the nether regions. Greatly encouraged, Rumble thought again. He should say something about particular components of the minibot, he thought. There was instant movement beneath his interface panel. No, he reminded himself – not those parts. Other bits – arms, legs, - eyes. Yes! A sudden wave of inspiration swept through him and he wrote:

Your optics shine out of your head so blue,

They make my circuitry go all like goo,

Your cute little smexy yellow hide,

Makes me wanna blow up inside!

Rumble read the lines back again. By Primus! He was powering now! And it wasn't bad - not bad at all! That last expressed it perfectly how he wanted! He thought of the yellow form again and a buzz ran around his circuits and his spark panged. There was no doubt about the next lines. Rumble wrote:

Cos though I'm a ruthless and fearless con,

Bee you really turn me on,

An I wanna be with you so bad,

I'd even risk Megatron getting mad!

Well he would! He thought of the silver leader again and a momentary shudder ran through his frame, but then his spark burned with a new resolve and determination. Now, all this needed was an sparkrending appeal to Bee. An indication of the worthlessness of his life and how much better it would be with the minibot in it. Like – say it all in a nutshell. That was the expression, he was sure, even though Primus on his fraggin throne knew what a nutshell was.

He thought again and then, proudly wrote the final couplets:

So think of me, my darlin' Bumble

As through the darkness of the Decepticon base I stumble

Thoughts of you through my processor tumble

I'm here forever! Your adorer - Rumble!

Rumble could hardly believe himself. That last bit was extreme, granted, but it was so – supereloquent!

Putting down the pad and writer he sighed, leaning back in his chair and watching the sea creatures flit to and fro through the murky water outside the portal and feeling suddenly tired. Well - it was tiring, this creativity stuff! But the cassette was happy. It was sooo worth it! Heck! In a little while, after a spot of recharge, he might even churn out a bit more. Then all he had to do was get it across.

The very next time they attacked the Autobots, he was finding an opportunity.

And afterwards, Bumblebee would never doubt him again.

To be continued ...