Highlight and Reciprocate
Plenoptic
Guess what inspired Plenoptic to write a piece of smut? A song. What song? "Hips Don't Lie" by Shakira, which I recently acquired on my recently acquired iPod. A long time ago, my friend Bee and I officially decided that Elita plus that song would make Optimus go crazy, and now I'm putting some words into the thought.
Hope you don't hate me too much. :D By the way, this takes place on Cybertron, before Optimus and Elita have bonded…waaaaaay back when Opt and Megs ruled together. Commanders should really use discretion when checking out femmes…XD
NOTE: This story in no way pertains to Things Not Spoken. And don't ask me how Chromia knows about cupid. She just does. Stupid critics.
Optimus Prime groaned quietly. This was a nightmare. No, never mind. This was what happened when he and his brother let Jazz organize social gatherings. What was supposed to be a nice, calm meet-and-greet affair had become a dirty, smutty dance party. He pressed himself closer to the wall, his optics narrowing in disgust as a young couple danced past him. As soon as he found the stupid saboteur…
"Glad to see I'm not the only one suffering," Megatron muttered, joining his brother and groaning through his teeth. "Have you found Jazz?"
"Not yet," Optimus growled through a locked jaw. "But when I do…"
"Don't hurt him too bad," Megatron advised, leaping out of the way of an--uh--hooker. "Some of us seem to be enjoying this, at least."
"Oh, Primus," Optimus moaned weakly. "Oh Primus almighty. Hide me."
"That's gonna be a little hard, Fattie."
"Shut up and get me out of here!" Optimus insisted feverishly, and Megatron cocked an optic ridge.
"Why? What's up your tailpipe?"
"It's Elita," Optimus groaned, edging towards the door. Megatron smirked and grabbed his twin's arm.
"Now hold on just a minute, Optimus. No need to be so hasty. Did it ever occur to you that maybe miss Elita would like to see you in a place like this, under just these circumstances?"
Optimus stared at him, at first bewildered, but then his expression hardened beneath his mask. "You're disgusting. That's absolutely revolting, mister leader of the Cybertronian government. I'm out of here."
"Hey, she's looking your way."
"She is?!"
"Well, she was. Now she's not. You missed it."
"Ugh."
Across the wide, currently very hot room, Elita had her arms crossed firmly over her chest, glaring death at her two younger subordiantes. Moonracer and Firestar weren't technically allowed into the affair due to their being underage, and Elita had found it difficult to resist their pleading for her to escort them. But one femme commander could only watch her subordinates taunt young mechs for so long. What was worse, they were now trying to convince her to mimic them…but instead use her tactics on the bashful commander across the room.
"For the last time, no," she ground out, her optics flashing dangerously. "I'm not about to go and tempt Optimus."
"But you like him," Moonracer whined. "This isn't bad behavior, Elita. This is practically an art form." Firestar vigorously nodded her assent. "Besides, look at Chromia! She's over there with Ironhide!"
Elita didn't have to exercise much self control to avoid following Moonracer's accusatory finger. She really didn't want to watch Chromia and Ironhide at a Jazz-style party. Her innocent, uncorrupt processor was at stake.
"Chromia can do whatever the Pit she wants," Elita growled, her optics narrowing. "Their reputations are stable such that they can do just about anything and get away with it. Optimus and I, on the other hand, are commanders, and must act as such."
"Have you always been a wet blanket, Elita, or did the military do this to you? You poor, poor deprived femme," Firestar said sympathetically, and her commander snarled.
"You want me to seduce Optimus Prime?"
"Yes," the two chorused brightly.
Elita took a moment out of her anger to carefully consider her spark, and immediately wished she hadn't; her spark was telling her to use any means possible to possess the handsome commander, to make Optimus Prime hers. It wasn't as though such actions would be too out of the blue, after all, she reasoned silently. She'd kissed the mech before. She'd once recharged in his lap. The inklings of a relationship were there--maybe all they needed was a real spark, a real move, a little passion to get things moving.
On the contrary, her processor was telling her to turn around and high-tail it out of there. She'd worked to hard for the respect she'd gained to ruin it all because she couldn't contain her own desire for Optimus Prime. It was bad enough she'd appeared at this Jazz-spawned smut-fest.
"I'm leaving," she said flatly, turning to go, but was immediately grabbed by the two younger femmes.
"No, Elita, don't go!"
"Go after him! Go!"
"You've gotta try!"
"You might not get another chance like this!"
"He's totally looking at you!"
"Shut up!" Elita snapped angrily, struggling to throw them off. Their scuffle was already attracting curious onlookers. She needed to get out of there! "If I ever form a relationship with Optimus, I don't want it to be one based on passion!"
Across the room, Optimus was posing a similar argument to his brother, who had positioned himself behind the larger mech and was stubbornly attempting to push him towards his intended femme.
"Optimus, for once in your life, get your head out of your aft and make a move on someone!" Megatron groaned in frustration. "She's obviously into you! Please, for the love of Primus, reciprocate!"
"No!"
"Reciprocate!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"Nuh-uh!"
"Uh-huh!"
"Absolutely not!"
"Absolutely so!"
"Megatron, I can't--"
"Optimus, you can!"
"I don't know how to get femmes!"
"Easy," Megatron panted with a laugh. "Just wiggle that cute little aft of yours!"
"Megatron!" Optimus said miserably, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. Barricade had. He arched an optic ridge at the squabbling twins, and Optimus credited him with a death glare that clearly said, "Say one word and I will remember it when I write your next paycheck." Barricade looked away, but couldn't hide the coy smile on his faceplates.
"They're having fun," Chromia noted lightly, glancing over at the now flailing Elita One.
"Hn?" Ironhide grunted, busy massaging her neck with his mouth plates. She shoved him off somewhat irritably, now curiously watching the wrestling twins across the room.
"Huh."
"Huh what?" Ironhide demanded, drawing her against his frame once more. Primus, he finally got his femme to himself and…
"I think the girls and Megatron are trying to play cupid."
"Good for them," Ironhide replied, attempting to lock her in a kiss, but once again she avoided him.
"Don't know why she's fighting it so hard," the trigger-happy femme sighed, watching her commander with doleful optics.
"Who cares?" Ironhide finally snapped in exasperation. "Let them work it out."
Chromia scowled at him. "I happen to have an interest in Elita's well being," she said huffily, arching an optic ridge. "If you can't accept that--"
"I never said that," he said hastily, back tracking. "I'm interested in Optimus's, don't get me wrong. But…above the guy who spends all day giving me orders, I'm interested in you."
Chromia stalled, wondering if she should be angry or pleased. Maybe she could be both. Deciding to let Optimus and Elita work things out for their stubborn selves, she relaxed back into her mate, releasing a small gasp as he bit triumphantly into her neck wiring.
"If you won't go over to her, Optimus, I swear I'll go get her myself," Megatron threatened at last, folding his arms over his chest.
"She looks just as resistant as I am!" Optimus replied indignantly, but back tracked mentally to assess what he had just said. She was being resistant.
Denial.
"I can get femmes for myself, thanks," he said coolly, looking calmly at his slightly younger twin. "If you'd just shut up for two seconds, Meggy."
Megatron flinched; Primus, how he hated his brother's nicknames. Hated it even more because he could hardly extract revenge; there wasn't much one could do to degrade a name like Optimus Prime. "Does that mean you'll go?" he asked hopefully.
"If you'd move your skinny aft out of the way," Optimus growled, and Megatron beamed.
"Oh, wait," the younger mech said suddenly, then reached over and snatched Optimus's mask from his face. "I don't think you'll be needing this."
Optimus automatically stiffened, his only protection gone. "I hate you," he groused, and Megatron grinned.
"Love you, too. Now go get her, big bro."
It was a shocked Elita that greeted Optimus Prime when he strode somewhat nervously across the floor to where she and her suddenly silent friends stood.
"Er…hi," he said awkwardly. Moonracer and Firestar giggled.
"Hi," Elita said blankly. Having the mech in such beautifully close proximity was making her spark race.
"Um…a moment?" he requested, lowering his voice slightly. The younger femmes both gasped dramatically, only to be silence by a glare from their commander.
"If you'd like," Elita said, trying her hardest to keep her tone light and innocent--and most important of all, not expectant. No--she couldn't seem like she was hoping he'd try something commanders should really engage in only in absolute privacy.
Feeling his confidence return, Optimus extended a hand, and she took it without debate. Glancing up, she smiled upon meeting his warm optics; at that moment, at least, interface seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind.
She allowed him to lead her to the furtherst corner of the room, and the only couple there vacated quickly at the sight of the approaching mech. Optimus drew her up at his side, and she smiled; he seemed to like her there. At his side. Like an equal.
"Having fun?" he asked lightly upon their entering of the darkness. She took a moment to enjoy the atmosphere. She was actually touching Optimus Prime. The music suddenly seemed very far away.
"Oodles," she snorted, pressing her hands to the wall and leaning on them; they were itching to pull the mech closer. His hand regretfully slipped from her body. "Nothing I like more than Jazz's crazy idea of democratic social gatherings."
He smiled, his optics warm as he gazed upon her, and a wave of contentment washed through her. This mech was something else.
"You seemed to be having fun with those two," he said, jerking his head towards the watching Moonracer and Firestar. Elita sent them some very harsh words through their bond, and they scattered.
"They were torturing me," the femme groaned, rolling her optics.
"Really? How so?" he inquired innocently.
She stalled. They wanted me to seduce you. Yeah, that would go over well. "Don't even go there," she laughed somewhat nervously, and he arched an optic ridge. Deep down--but not too deep--he sincerely hoped he had been the topic of conflict. "What about you? Megatron seemed to be giving you a hard time about something or other."
"Ah--well--that's--he's like that," Optimus offered reluctantly, shrugging.
"What did he want?" Elita pressed, smiling fiendishly.
Optimus sighed. "It's kind of a long story."
"Enlighten me."
He considered her carefully, and as she gazed up at him, an insane idea planted itself in his processor. "Would you like me to give you the highlights?" he inquired.
"Sure."
He bent over and kissed her, and she eagerly reciprocated. Within moments, they engaged in an all out war--the soldiers being their glossa. His probed her mouth, hers chased it out, he attacked again, and this time her defenses gave out. She shuddered as his fingers stroked the sensitive wires at the base of her back, and her own dug into his side panels. He moaned against her lips, tilting his head to deepen their frantic kisses. Her spark sang; she'd long wanted to see Optimus Prime when he lost his control. And if putting his hands on a femme he should have stayed away from didn't count as losing control, nothing did.
"Anyone watching?" he breathed, tracing her supple lips with his glossa. She shuddered and kissed him hard before glancing over his shoulder.
"Everyone," she summarized, not wanting to count the many curious (and envious) optics.
"Fine," he grunted, bending down further to bite gently into her neck wiring. She mewled helplessly, squirming in his arms. His hand graced the entire side of her body, pausing to stroke her inner thigh (she squealed) before cupping behind her knee and lifting her leg to hitch it around his waist. She whimpered as their hips pressed together, shivered as he bit down again on the sensitive wiring around her throat. She was just itching to get into his interface panel, completely forgetting that they were in a very public place.
"Would you like to go somewhere more private?" he suggested in a whisper, dipping his glossa into her mouth once more.
"Possibly," she murmured, easing her hand into the crevice of his chest plating. He shuddered violently, and she made a mental note; his chest was sensitive. Very, very sensitive. "Do you want to?"
"I want you," he growled, pressing a hard kiss upon her lips.
She lapped his glossa with hers before wrapping her arms around him, kissing his jaw. "Consider me yours. For tonight, at least."
"Happily," he purred triumphantly, sweeping her into his arms. One naughty hand clutched at her aft. "Happily."
She knew she'd never hear the end of this one. Optimus Prime had plucked her out of a smut-fest and carried her to his personal quarters. But at that moment, wrapping her legs around his waist and dragging him against her, she didn't particularly care. She wanted this mech, more than she'd wanted anything else in the world. And, judging from his lustful kisses, the feeling was not mutual.
"Got you," he growled, once again biting into her neck wiring. "Finally."
"You dirty old mech," she chided softly, caressing his audio receptors and completely ignoring the fact that he was still quite young. "How long have you been plotting this?"
He grinned wickedly and opened her interface panel. "Since I first set optics on you."
"Wonderful," she groaned, rolling her optics. "Pervert."
"Yup," he replied, unabashed. "Now, shh. No more words."
She whimpered, pleasure coursing through her as his thumb traced the circumference of her interface port. First mech to have ever touched there. Forget her innocent, uncorrupt processor. Why the slag hadn't she paid more attention to Chromia?!
He released a harsh cry as her nimble fingers found his interface appliance, his processor begging to be plugged in already. Why did femmes have to be difficult about this sort of thing? Not that he knew--he'd never had a femme in his berth before. He was rather enjoying having her writhe beneath him, though.
She arched into him as his naughty fingers continued to probe her port. "Optimus…" she whimpered, shuddering violently. Her processor was going blank. Overload?! Here, now, in the arms of Optimus Prime? Oh, Primus, was she ready for this?
"Elita?" he purred in response, smiling and kissing her.
"I…I…ah--"
She cried out, and his spark roared in satisfaction. He once again stroked the soft, sensitive metal to the left of her interface port, and once again she released a wail. Sweet spot.
"Primus, you're beautiful," he breathed, continuing his probe, thoroughly enjoying listening to her pant his name. "You must have half the mech population on base lusting after you." He abruptly cried out as her finger graced the entire length of his interface appliance, and his powerful frame curled more tightly around hers. She snuggled down on the berth to work her glossa between his chest plates, and he released a third ragged cry. Mwa ha ha.
"Payback," she giggled, enticing a low growl from him. He cupped his hand beneath her aft and dragged her back up to his optic level, pressing demanding lips upon hers.
"I'll get you for that one."
"I've no doubt."
Without warning, her quick fingers inserted his interface appliance into her port. Overload came instantaneously for both of them, and she arched into him with a wail; he released something resembling a roar.
Slag innocence and uncorrupt processors.
"…Hey, Chromia?"
"Hm? Ironhide?"
"You know what?"
"What's that, love?"
"I really wish Optimus would remember that I'm next door to him before he goes and frags Elita."
XO