A/N: god help me I watched TLK and my ovaries haven't been the same since

E-Brakes On

Part 4

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Mikaela's drink of choice was a whiskey-and-coke.

She was the only girl she knew that genuinely liked the taste of it. There was just something about the sweet, syrupy way the coke mixed with the harshness of the whiskey that made it one of the only drinks she could handle sipping all night without getting too drunk. The kind of buzz she'd get off of the sugar alone practically promised that the good times were rolling, and the many fuzzy memories she'd had half-wasted on the stuff made her wonder sometimes if it hadn't been magic instead of whiskey that she'd been nursing from her cup.

But she always, always remembered to stay sober enough to at least walk herself home. That was important, Mikaela had learned; it was super important to keep your wits about you when you were drinking. There were far, far too many people out there who were all-too-willing to take advantage of a young woman, especially of one who was drunk—so nope, no thanks, no white-girl-wasted for Mikaela if she could help it, no sirrie. Because as much as Mikaela did resemble 'those kinds' of girls—the ones that you could easily find in just about any night club, dressed to the nines and hot-to-trot on any sweltering midsummer Saturday night—Mikaela was different.

A rebel girl attitude and a near-fetish for frayed, short skirts, chrome studded leather jackets, and rumbling motorcycles did not automatically mean she was stupid. Mikaela was far from stupid, and that meant that she fully believed in drinking responsibly and taking care of herself. Even when scumbags like her ex ex-boyfriend Trent had partied with her. No, scratch that, especially when guys like Trent were around.

Because guys like Trent—with their big muscles and fancy Hummers that mommy bought for them on their sixteenth birthdays—had this kind of power trip. They were forceful and mean and never listened when you said no to them, no matter how much you meant it. They were the kinds of guys that you could never really trust to get wasted around, for fear of being pressured sexually, and you could bet on them hurling abuse at you if you actually did manage to find a way to talk yourself out of the situation. They just couldn't take it, how 'bad' you were making them look in front of their friends—at which point you'd have to really watch your back, because ten to one they'd probably ditch you right then and there and leave you to find your own way home, or worse, slip something nasty into your drink when you weren't looking.

This had been part of the reason why Mikaela had been so willing to give Sam a chance. There was only so much bullshit a woman could handle before she snapped and said fuck it. Fuck the muscles. Fuck the nice cars. She'd rather have the dorkiness. And that was Sam—Sam was her version of 'screw it, I've tried everything else, and now I'm trying this'.

Sam, though, for his part, had not really been that bad of a boyfriend. He had not been an asshole, and he really did have a cute, endlessly sweet side to him. What had killed the mood in the end, however, was how frustratingly immature he could be once the adrenaline rush from the countless battles they'd faced together had worn off. So, in addition to being really freaking done with dating assholes, Mikaela was also really done with dating little boys that had excuses for everything and who still lived at home with their parents.

Gorgeous girls like Mikaela deserved more. Gorgeous girls who were hot, sexy, and newly twenty-one and god damn it, she deserved a man. A real man. Someone mature, and loyal, and respectful, and goddang intelligent—and god bless heaven, mother earth, the Cybertronian god Primus and everything in between all of them because this was exactly what kind of boyfriend she had tonight. Optimus Prime was god's gift to humanity (and to Cybertronians themselves, of course).

There were so many great things about Optimus. For example, his absolutely jelly-legs-inducing voice that she could never, ever—no matter how much time she spent around the Autobot leader—fully get over. Optimus was seriously the best thing—he was gorgeous, sweet, caring, wise, dorky in all the right ways, and was even cuddly at all the right times. Plus, being with him meant that she got to look forward to staring into those near-perfect optics near every weekend, all weekend. Dang.

Yup, Mikaela would unabashedly admit to just about anyone that she was pretty much ruined for human males indefinitely by this point, because Optimus had it all and then some. And she'd also admit that she'd become fully, irreversibly attracted to robots thanks to him, too, with zero regrets—one-hundred-and-twenty percent down to 'face, do data exchange, whatever. Once you go Cybertronian, you never go back… Is that your drive shaft, or are you just happy to see me? Are you parallel or serial, baby, because I've got a hard on for hard drives and I gotta say, your dongle is looking fiiiine as all hell, Optimus Prime. Was sex with a member of an alien robot species unadvisable? Potentially dangerous? Possibly downright disturbing and not for the faint of heart? Probably, but Mikaela had only three words to say about that: cling clang, motherfucker. Life's great when your boyfriend is an actual sex machine.

So it was only natural that Mikaela could not help but check out the big Autobot leader's aft as he walked away to grab them their drinks. It was, in all honesty, a super-fine aft, and she was no more than your average human woman who absolutely had currently-very-unfulfilled needs. Shameless unfulfilled needs that of course led to very shameless unfulfilled staring. Yowza.

Mikaela felt her mouth start to water. She couldn't even remember the last time they'd done anything more sexual together than going for a nice long, 'relaxing' (okay more like way too freakin' vanilla) drive, wink wink. Optimus was a very busy dude and hell, she respected him for that, but at the same time she was fast-reaching a point where, size difference be damned, she wanted on that metal cock like no tomorrow, even if it meant she'd have to scale the bloody thing and dry hump it until she was either going to have a grand mal or le petit mort (or maybe both, if he was good enough).

Mikaela continued to watch the Autobot leader's hips swing as he walked. Is he doing that on purpose? she wondered, gritting her teeth with teeth-shattering force. The freaking tease. The nerve of him… acting like he really thinks he knows what teasing is... ha, I'll show him…

Mikaela was brought back to reality by the somewhat unpleasant sound of Sam clearing his throat loudly. She hadn't noticed Bee leaving shortly after Optimus had, which meant that she, Carly, and Sam were now the only ones left outside on the airstrip's asphalt, and the latter was looking at Mikaela as though he'd just taken a very potent shot of very horrible whiskey and was fully suffering the consequences of it.

Sam's eyes met Mikaela's and she tried to rearrange her face into a nonchalant expression, totally aware of how flushed her cheeks were but not really caring, because Optimus was hot. So what if Sam had seen her looking at his aft?

"Could you, like, try not to undress Optimus with your eyes in front of us?" he groaned with a grimace. "It's really, really weird, if I'm honest. And creepy. Like. Really creepy."

Mikaela shrugged, grinning unapologetically as Optimus paused in his quest for drinks to talk to one very excitable Major Lennox. "There's not a lot that's there to undress," she said truthfully, thinking of the way the bits of armour that hung down low from Optimus's groin like some kind of tribal alien loin cloth (and didn't quite cover all the areas a loin cloth should have covered, hoo-ooly hell) moved with him whenever he walked in a hypnotizing kind of way. "But sure. If it makes you feel that uncomfortable, I'll stop." Or try to stop. Can't promise anything at this point…

Carly scoffed and rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. "Oh Sam. Mikaela has every right to have a look at him—they're dating, remember?"

Sam made a strangled noise that was meant to be partially false laughter before sinking into a genuine coughing fit. Carly thumped him hard on the back. "S-sorry, Mikaela," he wheezed, partially out-of-breath. "But it's just—he's Optimus Prime, y'know? He's an ancient Cybertronian war hero who we resurrected from the dead last summer. He's not some—some guy who you can just gawk at whenever you please. He's an alien. A giant ancient alien. Who also happens to hold the matrix of leadership. He's a prime, Mikaela! That's like, half-a-god, to them! You—you wouldn't stare at Zeus like that!"

But wouldn't I, she thought, but decided not to say this aloud.

It was Carly's turn to shrug. "I think you're overreacting, Sam," she said softly, patting him affectionately on the arm. "The normal rules of society don't always apply to things like love and attraction, and I'm sure it works the same way for Optimus and his kind. Optimus and Mikaela are obviously together because they care for and like each other a lot. So what if that means she's attracted to an alien? I still think that's lovely. We all need a little more love in this world, even if it's cross-species. Wouldn't you agree?"

Mikaela nodded passionately. Damn it all, she'd been so determined not to like this gorgeous, tall, elegant young woman out of spite alone (because who did get along with the girlfriends of their ex boyfriends at first, anyway—no one, that's who), but if she kept saying things like this, Mikaela was going to have to break down and admit that Carly, at least, had some sense in her head.

"Yeah, but—" Sam started, but Carly interrupted him.

"Being in love doesn't make you mental," she said dreamily. "Optimus seems like a smashing chap, Mikaela. I haven't known him for very long, so I'm going based almost entirely on what Sam's said about him, but he's clearly a really talented leader and a totally genuine, protective person. And that's hard to come across these days." Carly wrinkled her nose as Sam stuck his fingers into his mouth and mimed gagging. "Oh, real mature, Sam—it's not like Optimus is bad looking. I haven't a clue why you're so bothered by this. You're the one that's been harbouring no less than three alien robots in your house for the past two or more years. And I'm getting tired of pulling Brains and Wheelie out of my underwear drawer."

Sam did not comment on this, and continued to gape at Mikaela as though she was morphing into some kind of human-alien hybrid machine right before his very eyes. "You do both realize that he's like, thirty feet tall, right?" he said faintly.

"Uh, yes?!" answered Mikaela forcefully, thinking he was the crazy one for saying that like it was a bad thing. Because in all honesty, thirty feet tall was attractive as fuck.

"Exactly my point," nodded Carly with shared enthusiasm. "He's extremely tall and made of metal and it's the stuff that humanity has been fantasizing about for centuries for a reason—he could take over for a Greek God and no one would know the difference. Like you said yourself, Sam. He's like… Zeus, or something."

"Okay no. No, no, no, no, no," Sam was shaking his head violently. "I don't care what kind of fantasies Mikaela or anyone else has been having about Optimus, and I don't really want to know about any of them—all I know is that it just. Wouldn't. Work. There's no way that she could. Uh. Yeah."

Mikaela raised a curious eyebrow at her ex. He doesn't mean what I think he means, does he? she wondered, but Sam's face growing increasingly red was a dead giveaway. So, her ex-boyfriend was trying to imagine how the, ah, mechanics of robot sex worked, was he? Well then…

It was an opportunity too good to miss. Even though Mikaela had mostly forgiven Sam for showing up largely uninvited (in her opinion, at least) to her birthday party, she couldn't resist the idea of messing around with him just a little. Make him earn his stay by amusing her, and all. Optimus did not show signs of returning as of yet, anyways, and Mikaela didn't really feel all that into following the 'bot inside—the interior of the large, normally-roomy hangar was cramped and noisy and through the open doors she could see that Major Lennox (who had climbed up onto a catwalk so that he could talk with Optimus face-to-face) still had the Autobot leader's attention and was violently brandishing some kind of white tarp thing covered with darkish colored circles that looked suspiciously like a Twister mat.

Mikaela shook her head to clear the weird image. "There's no way I could what?" she asked, keeping her voice as steady and as innocent-sounding as she could while delighting in the way Sam's previously flushed face dropped a few shades. "Care to explain what the heck you're talking about?"

For a moment, it looked like Sam was not going to take the bait and had mentally refused to pursue the subject further. However, his curiosity eventually won out against his self-control and he blurted, "I mean how in the name of freaking planet Cybertron do you guys have sex? Holy god the dude must have a dick the size of a military-grade cannon! You'd die! It would kill you! I mean, I know you can be a little kinkier than I am, but jesus, Mikaela—"

"Sam…" said Carly warningly. "It shouldn't matter, not every relationship needs to be sexual—"

"Carly, trust me, it matters. Size matters, okay. How would you feel if you could never have sex with your boyfriend because his dick was too… too large?"

"Mmm, just as tactless as ever, Sam," purred Mikaela in a smooth, almost seductive voice with only half her mind on the conversation. The mention of the Autobot leader's 'pride' had gunned her imagination back into overdrive as she recalled a particular weekend not too long ago when Optimus himself had been suffering through the symptoms of extreme sexual frustration.

The poor Autobot leader had had a legit hard time 'composing himself' for long enough to leave his quarters and go about his regular daily duties when he had a fox of a woman on his berth all weekend long that was more than happy to curl up against his warm, smooth chest plates and fondle them exactly how he'd liked. It had all started with a wash, but it ended in a wax-and-polish (can you say 'happy ending'?), and long gone were the relatively innocent days when Mikaela had thought that Optimus had no wild side, thank god—he still didn't have the time to mess around as much as she'd have liked him to, but at least she did get to catch a rare glimpse of a ferociously horny Optimus Prime every now again and by god was it ever beautiful.

Ugh. Mikaela's eyes were totally glossed over by the time she'd answered Sam's question. "What, his interface tool?" she said dreamily. "Oh, hell yeah. It's pretty fucking huge, not gonna lie."

Carly's sudden enthusiasm caught both her and Sam off guard. "Really?" she demanded curiously, persevering even under the withering look that Sam was giving her. "Um like, huge huge, or huge just because he's huge?"

This was probably the only thing capable of snapping Mikaela out of her hormone-fuelled stupor. She snorted in spite of herself. "I dunno, do I look like I'm an expert on Cybertronian cock sizes?" she laughed. "It's not like I've got a frame of reference, exactly, and there's no way in hell I'm about to ask any of the other dudes how 'big' they are down there…" Most of them would be just a liiittle too happy to divulge that kind of TMI, she thought to herself, remembering how even now, it seemed like every time Prime's back was turned to them, one of the Autobot mechs was shamelessly hitting on her. Namely Ironhide, who was the wannabe master-of-seduction himself (who actually was pretty damn suave, maybe even a little too much for his own good). Ironhide would probably volunteer to give me a hands-on demonstration, the sick slagger… "If you guys really want to know the details for yourselves, why don't you ask? I've never measured. I don't exactly keep a meter stick on me," she grinned.

"Meter stick…?" said Carly slowly, before blushing furiously—"Oh!"

"Carly," said Sam emphatically, clearly disliking the way his girlfriend was currently gazing in Optimus's direction with a very curious look on her face—Major Lennox was still hogging him all to himself, even though Optimus did look like he was trying really hard to escape (how many drinks had Lennox had by now, Mikaela wondered? He was still holding the Twister mat, but had now also managed to procure something that looked very much like a ridiculously ugly piñata). "Carly! He's an alien. A giant alien who transforms into a semi-truck. He's not human, don't even think about it, it's not normal—"

"No, it's not, and that's what makes it kind of exotic," Carly teased even further as her and Mikaela exchanged a quick, meaningful, and subtly-amused glance—and Mikaela knew instantly that Carly was milking Sam's discomfort at least a little bit for Mikaela's entertainment. She felt a rush of affection toward the slender woman and resolved to buy her a drink sometime, whenever an opportunity came around where it wouldn't be weird to do so. "A lot of girls have a thing for that sort of stuff. Really knocks their knickers to the floor—so yeah, totally, I can see why you'd be attracted to him, Mikaela."

Mikaela felt herself flushing, and not just because of the topic of conversation but also because Optimus had finally excused himself from Lennox's piñata and was making his way over to the bar. She was watching his legs as he went and damn that robot was fine. "Oh, you have no idea," Mikaela nearly groaned, barely even noticing the look of revulsion on Sam's face. All she could do was remember exactly how warm it felt to climb between those massively powerful thighs. "He's hot and good in bed."

This was too much for Sam. He nearly shrieked, his voice cracking awkwardly as his whole body shuddered in disgust. "Too far. Too far, Mikaela! I know you've got to be messing with me. I know you haven't actually done it, okay? I'm not that stupid, and I can tell when you're trying to screw around. Like now."

"No, I can guarantee you that it isn't you I'm trying to screw with tonight," Mikaela chuckled evilly. "But really though, I'm not lying. Optimus is better than you were. And you know I'm telling the truth, because you can't give me one good reason of why the fuck I wouldn't have already hit that, can you?"

"Well, uh, no, not really…" Sam said slowly.

"Exactly. I'd have to be crazy not to hit that. Seriously, it's like Carly said, he's a fucking metal god. And no, Sam, size isn't that big of an issue, haha, pun intended—if you could pretend for just one second that you actually have some semblance of sexual imagination, and then maybe you could think of some ways in which a girl can get freaky with a giant robot that transforms into a Peterbilt truck. And just because I know you and I know that you probably can't, I've got two words for you: gear stick, if you know what I mean." Mikaela wiggled her eyebrows at him mischievously.

"…Oh, oh wow," said Carly with wide eyes (blink, Carly, blink, Mikaela thought) before she turned to Sam, took one look at his face, and pulled him into an apologetic hug. He looked just about ready to give up all hope and beg his mother for a ride back home. "Okay, uh, cease fire, guys. I think that's enough talk about robot, um—equipment… even for me."

"Fair enough." Mikaela shrugged, admitting defeat. It wasn't her intention to make Sam regret coming to her birthday party or completely ruin his time, after all. She might not have liked the way in which their relationship had ended, or the immature way that he'd handled the breakup—but she was a long ways away from permanently hating the guy. He still did have a really good heart, and he was definitely someone who she'd rather keep as a friend than eventually become enemies with. "Sorry," she added, biting her lip. She felt sort of guilty for making him so obviously uncomfortable and wanted to show that she meant her apology. "For real. I uh, might have gotten a little carried away, there. I apologize for that."

Sam sniffed, but Mikaela caught the small, teasing grin on his face as he let go of Carly. "I knew something was wrong with you the moment you wouldn't stop Wheelie from humping your leg," he said, grinning in full. "I suppose I should have recognized the early warning signs that my girlfriend had roboerotic tendencies right from the start."

Mikaela scoffed and swatted him on the shoulder playfully. "Oh, shut up. Roboerotic tendencies, you can't be serious."

"…Come to think of it, where is that little monster, Wheelie?" Carly wondered, looking around for the rowdy little minibot. "We should probably keep an eye on him. He's way too much of a little troublemaker to be left on his own without proper adult supervision."

"He doesn't need us, Optimus'll put him in his place if he needs it," Sam reassured her. "Pretty sure that mech's the only one who'd be capable of inspiring the fear of god in him. Nothing I say ever phases him…"

"Oooh, Wheelie?" Mikaela cheered, glancing around the empty airstrip as though half-expecting him to crawl out from behind a parked car. "Did you guys really bring him? I honestly miss that little brat so much sometimes. Bonecrusher's great and I will always love him to bits but I gotta say, if I had to choose between having to spend an entire day with Wheelie or an entire day being slobbered on by Bonecrusher, I'd probably choose Wheelie."

"I think he misses you too," laughed Carly. "Miss warrior goddess."

"Ha!"

"Would you like to tell him exactly how much you've missed him?" said Sam, cocking an eyebrow at Mikaela. "Because I could go and find him…"

Giggling quietly, Mikaela turned around just in time to see Optimus finally heading towards them. He was carrying a very hefty-looking, Autobot-sized reinforced steel drinking tank in one hand, and with the other—balanced precariously between forefinger and thumb—was Mikaela's own drink. He was walking slowly and deliberately, as though anxiously aware of the very real possibility of a misstep making him accidentally shatter the glass before he had the chance to hand it to its recipient.

"Oh my god," was pretty much all Mikaela had the brainpower to whisper to herself before he was kneeling down in front of her and staring at her with those all-seeing, soul-searching eyes. And she had thought that she was the deer in headlights…

"Your drink," he rumbled smoothly with a small smile, holding out the glass. Mikaela took it, feeling like her knees could give out at any moment and she'd keel over backwards dead, while Optimus gestured to his own mug. "And I have mine. What should we drink to?"

"Um…" said Mikaela, wishing her brain would stop buzzing and start working properly again to no avail. "Uh. World peace?" Oh god oh god that's dumb as heck. Oops…

A disturbing snorting sound brought her back to earth and both she and Optimus turned around to see Sam sinking to the ground, shaking with badly-supressed laughter. "I can't believe this," he gasped between giggles. "I'm actually going to have a heart attack."

Optimus looked incredibly alarmed. "Are you certain? I will comm our CMO right away—"

"No, no, don't do that. It's a figure of speech," choked Sam. "I'm okay!"

Optimus, however, did not look fully convinced. "…Then why are you exhaling so forcefully? If you cannot breathe—"

"I can breathe, I swear." Sam was obviously regretting his decision to break out in helpless, silent giggles over the sight of the extremely large Autobot leader kneeling down to speak with his comparatively tiny human romantic charge. "I—it's nothing, I'm, ah. Fine. Maybe I just need something to drink, too, I think that will, um, help… Carly, do you want to—?"

"Sure," she answered him promptly, grateful for an excuse to give Mikaela and Optimus some private time alone together. "That sounds good to me!"

"Drinks?" repeated Optimus, frowning down at Sam. "…I think not. Your mother said—"

"What, are you going to report me for having a glass of orange juice?"

"No, but—"

"Chillax, Optimus. I promise it'll be just orange juice. You can taste it yourself if you don't believe me," he grumbled, linking arms with Carly as pulled her away toward the bar.

Optimus seemed satisfied enough with this as he watched the two of them disappear. Mikaela still couldn't help but marvel over how deeply the Autobot leader still cared for Sam's wellbeing, even after Sam had outright told him that he was very much done with having anything to do with the Autobots' or NEST's affairs in the war. Mikaela had found his refusal to continue to help to be extremely cold; it had been the subject of more than half a dozen arguments between them, and his selfishness on the subject might have had more than a little to do with their breakup, not that she'd ever want to admit it to herself.

Still though. Optimus's ability to care so deeply about his friends was an incredibly admirable trait.

"Well, I suppose that is fine…" Optimus hummed absent-mindedly at the two's backs before he remembered what he was doing. "Ah, Mikaela—where were we? I believe we were going to drink to 'world peace'… and I quite like that idea. It is something we could all benefit from, even if I must partially insist that we drink to you as well, as it is your birth-date… and tonight is supposed to be yours."

Optimus's eyes shone with the strength and genuineness of his feelings as he spoke. It was so intense that Mikaela could feel her chest tighten of its own accord while her face burned. "That was a joke," she squeaked, unable to help feeling somewhat embarrassed. "But if you really liked it that much—then sure, why don't we drink to both?"

"Another great idea, Mikaela. To world peace, then. And also to Miss Mikaela Banes, who is currently the most beautiful woman to ever turn twenty-one in the history of planet Earth."

He finished this off with making this very seductive, mechanical whirring sound that Mikaela knew he only did when he was trying (and succeeding) at being sexy—it was her absolute favorite. A low, drawn-out ex-vent, almost like a purr more than a growl, complete with lowered optic shields and a super laid-back, content expression—the kind he only did when he really was at peace with the world. The kind he only did when he was with her.

"I'll—I'll drink to that," she stuttered, knocking her tiny glass against his huge steel Autobot-tankard with a quiet clink.

And they both drank deeply, then—Mikaela downing at least half of the glass's syrupy-sweet contents in one go (liquid courage was a must when you were faced with the prospect of a night spent entirely in the company of an enormous shed packed with rowdy Autobots, ex-boyfriends, and one gorgeous Autobot leader), and sighed contentedly.

That's the stuff.

Optimus eventually lowered his mug, too, and fixed her with his most intense stare yet. "I would like to request something…" he said slowly and particularly carefully, as though he were weighing every single word in his mind before he spoke them. "In advance of you beginning to fully enjoy your much-deserved birth date celebration…"

"Sure," said Mikaela, sipping from her glass again. "Shoot."

"I would like you to take a short walk with me," he said calmly, the vibration of his deep, gravelly voice resonating inside of her chest this close-to. "I wish to enjoy your company, alone, if it is all right—before any of our friends can intercept us—as I have seen that already many of them have discovered the barrels of high-grade we have had stored in the warehouse for some time, as well as the liquor that Lennox has brought. Doubtlessly your company will be the most sought after tonight in due time, you being as beautiful as you are… and although I fully intend to outdo any mech—or man, for that matter—that may wish to steal your attention, I must admit that the idea of being the first mech to ask you if—if, ah… if you would like to—to dance with me—is of great importance to me."

The silence that stretched between them was as so thick and heavy with anticipation and expectation that she felt like she could practically reach out and touch it.

"I… wow…" she managed finally.

"Though if you don't want to…" Optimus continued in an uncharacteristically high voice. "I will understand… I am not, as you might say, potentially the best partner for dancing, if you are judging based on how large I am and how small you are… but I can promise that I am a lot more graceful than it may appear, and that no harm will come to you if you wish to proceed."

Dancing. Mikaela took one deep, dizzying breath. "God damned nonsense," she said quite a lot more confidently than she felt. Because it wasn't every day that Optimus asked someone to bloody well dance with him, and the heaviness and vulnerable anticipation he felt had still not left his voice. "I'd love to, Optimus."