Scent of the Future

Authors Note: This is set after chapter 28 of 'Scent of the Future'. Warnings for stickiness and bot sex in this one, just like the other special chapters. This is dedicated to optimus prime 007. Enjoy, sweetie! Hope you like it.

Special Edition Chapter 4

Autobot base, Ultra Magnus' quarters...

Ultra Magnus stared at the beautiful rose-armored form of Elita One like she'd just ripped off her precious Autobot symbol and replaced it with a Decepticon insignia.

"Um...." Magnus' optics scrutinised her sparklings; Sabre and Safire. Prime and Elita's sparkling brood. The sparkling femme Safire was propped up in Elita's right arm, one tiny finger in her mouth being sucked while she stared blankly at the giant bot her mother was talking to. Sabre was standing politely next to Elita, blinking up the mech that looked so much like his Sire. "Uh..."

"Oh come on, Magnus, it isn't hard. Optimus and I both trust you implicitly. There's nothing to worry about, it really is very easy. I need some alone time with Optimus-"

An image appeared in Magnus' flawless CPU of what that implied. His optics shot wide and stayed that way. Optimus Prime was his oldest and best friend, he would doing anything for him, anything, but he really didn't want to be told when Optimus was going to be engaging in certain activities with his cherished femme. Primus save him. Prime was everything to him, he was, but he drew the line at picturing him doing... doing... that.

"-and since you're currently free and available, why not?" Elita put on her best you-know-you-can't-resist-me smile, her blue optics twinkling, setting off the matt silver planes and angles of her face perfectly. "Look, tell you what, let's let Safire decide, hmm? If she will allow you to hold her, you must agree to looking after her for a few Earth hours. Agreed? C'mon Magnus, you're a big mech, not afraid of a little femme are you?"

Ultra Magnus honestly didn't think the tiny femme would go anywhere near him. Sparklings – especially female sparklings – were intimidated by his huge size, abundant armor, deep voice, and no-nonsense attitude. Not to mention his near complete lack of humor and inability to engage in 'fun stuff' that sparklings enjoyed. Playing games and talking in a silly tone were beyond him.

Magnus opened his mouthplates cautiously, "I guess that sounds fair, but I still don't understand why one of the others-"

"Arms out, solider," Elita ordered brusquely.

Automatically, Magnus held his arms out, the palms of his hands facing upwards. Before he knew what was happening Elita had positioned Safire in his hands and manipulated him into delicately carrying her sparkling femme by wrapping his fingers around her body and holding her.

Gotcha! Just like Optimus, Elita thought gleefully to herself, taking a step back with a victorious smile. Give him an order and he follows it without thinking that maybe he doesn't want to do it.

While Magnus stared down with shock at the small bundle he'd been saddled with, Prime's daughter looked around cautiously from her new position. Her little optics travelled upwards, taking in the sheer mass of the bot she'd just been handed to. Elita's intakes froze; praying to Primus that Safire wouldn't begin crying or shrieking. Luck was on her side. Safire gave a small sigh and stuck her arms out towards Magnus' chest – hug?

Ultra Magnus felt that familiar sinking feeling that happened whenever one of his command decisions went awry, or the Con's came up with a new trick. He'd just lost this round. He shifted Safire so he was holding her against his chest. Safire blinked and looked at his massive chest with awe, laying her tiny hands flat upon it. Just like Sire!

Elita didn't waste any more time. She cuddled her sparkling son to her lower leg, patting his back before directing him to stand with the huge adult mech towering over him. "Sabre, stay with Magnus, I'll be back for you in a little while. Thanks ever so much for this, Mags!" With that, the Femme Commander disappeared down the hall.

Ultra Magnus stood in the doorway to his quarters with a perplexed expression, one sparkling in his arms and the other at his feet. He sighed, moving his gaze from one sparkling to the other. "I guess I'm on sparkling duty..." Safire cooed at him. Sabre blew a raspberry. "Optimus, enjoy yourself, because you will be owing me some serious debt credit for this. Serious credit." Propping Safire in one immense and powerful arm, the big mech rubbed at his forehead plating. "Maybe we can call Bumblebee and Jazz in for some help..."

Sabre skipped boldly into Magnus' rooms and began to investigate anything and everything that looked interesting.

In Prime and Elita's temporary quarters (Optimus broke their previous rooms)...

Elita strode confidently into the recharge berth room of her quarters – and felt her ego and anticipation deflate. Optimus was stretched out on his front on their recharge berth, his ankles dangling his humongous feet over the side of one berth edge, and his arms laid out in disarray by his side, his head turned sideways and his optics unlit. The fearsome, mech-wrecking, all-knowing Autobot Commander was absolutely flat out in recharge.

Huffing a growl of disappointment and standing still while tapping her fingers on her thigh and thinking, Elita thought up a plan of action. His aft did look so nice from this angle. It was easy to think about reaching out and running her hands up and down his back and ending in one long sweep over his aft plates.

Knowing that Optimus wasn't easily brought out of recharge in his own quarters, Elita slowly and soundlessly eased herself onto the recharge berth. With infinite care, she threw one of her thighs over his lower back and settled herself down comfortably to sit on his solid frame. She leaned forwards. Her hands spread out to run slickly over the armor of his small door wings fitted above his alt mode fuel tanks into the upper curve of his back. Her mouthplates planted a kiss on the back of his neck.

"Oh Optimus... I know I don't often tell you this, but I'm so glad you're mine..." she whispered, nudging her noseplates into his neck. "I couldn't take it if some other femme had her hands on you."

She froze when a small grunt came from him. When he didn't offer any more noises and didn't move, she relaxed. After admiring his form for a while longer, and teasing herself by stroking the armor of his back and shoulders, she decided it was time for him to wake up. And she knew just the best way to get his attention too...

Stifling her excitement enough to only show a broad devious grin, Elita lay herself down delicately along her sparkmates broad back, and slipped an arm down around his waist. With a bit of inventive hand wriggling she made contact with his main crotchplate. She bit her lip. Where was that little latch he'd shown her before – CLICK - ah, there it was. Prime's groin armor partially retracted. She pushed it aside the rest of the way. His very mechly goods were now at her mercy. She could only get two fingers in there, but that was enough.

"Don't let me down, Orion, work with me here," she purred softly at him.

The big mech rumbled a groan. His hips undulated, pushing her up into the air on his back.

"That's my mech. You've never refused me before, I know what your interface drive is like, if there's any chance that you might be able to 'get some' you'll be the first mech with your hand up in the air." She brushed her mouthplates over his back armor, "Don't want your adoring soldiers to know that, do you?"

As if he could hear her, a double grunt came from the recharging mech. She thought the game was up when he lifted his head – but he was only moving it so he could lie with the other side of his face down on the padded berth. She froze her fingers for a moment. He re-settled and stayed quiet.

...and then his sheathed interface spike came sliding out into her hand. It was nicely warm and VERY eager, even if the rest of his body was still in rechargeland.

She blinked in surprise, "Oh! Well. You've done me proud, Orion. That part of you never has any issues."

Because Optimus was lying on his front, his long spike was forced to bend sharply upwards underneath his abdominal plates and be compressed by his body weight.

"That's gotta hurt a bit..." Elita murmured, rubbing her hand on his shoulder strut. "Can't let you damage yourself. Time to wake up, bigbot."

She wrapped her whole hand around his thickness, and squeezed hard enough to get a response from him.

Optimus Prime's optics flashed on and he jerked himself abruptly up onto his arms, "What the?!", his attention focused on the sneaky hand that had slipped itself down to his crotch and was holding him intimately. He hung his head down between his arms to stare at his thickly upright exposed interface which had a sly feminine hand encased around it.

Elita smiled, releasing his erect spike reluctantly and sitting up on his hips. She rested her chin indulgently on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, did I wake you up, sweetspark? I didn't mean to." She smiled coyly. "Honest."

His head turned to look at her. Large blue optics looked with amusement at twinkling azure female optics. "Elita..." Prime groaned.

The Femme Commander poked him in the back of the head, "Nope, no whining, you're filthy. Only clean sexy mechs are allowed on my berth, not dirty sexy ones. You need a wash before you recharge. Into the wash racks with you. Come on."

With a series of deep grumbles and more than one irritable glance her way, Optimus clambered slowly off the berth and meekly followed her into the wash rack room with tired steps. Couldn't she wait until AFTER he'd recharged? He stood and leaned his bulk on the doorway while watching her start the solvent spray and adjust the temperature. He glanced down at his prominent erection and grimaced at it, muttering, "This is all your fault. Any femme comes within sniffing distance and you can't control yourself," he flicked his forefinger lightly over the thick head, watching the stiffness bounce from his touch, "we need recharge, not humping and spark merging."

Holding one of her hands under the solvent outlets, Elita sent him an appraising glance. "From the beginning of time mechs have been trying to control that thing. I'd give up if I were you."

Optimus rolled his optics and stood up straight. His chest armor flared outwards. "Autobots don't give up, Lita."

The femme snorted, putting her hands on her hips, "What happened to the mech that was smirking his way down the corridor and chattering about 'wash and wax, femme, wash and wax', hmm?"

The Autobot Commander lowered his head sheepishly, "...I guess all that rampaging took more out of me than I thought. I am tired. My apologies."

Elita stared at her bashful tall mech lounging in the doorway. She could never fail to be impressed by the overwhelming maleness of his imposing presence. His power. His size. That wide chest topped by even wider shoulders. The exquisitely made thighs that were as supple and strong as those possessed by Primus himself. Narrow hips that made her groan with desire whenever he casually slung his thick silver rifle from them (he usually stored his rifle underneath his back armour, but he knew how to warm up her systems by simply placing it on his hip instead, while giving her a sultry hooded stare and a pulse over their sparklink).

"Are you certain this can't wait until morning?" Optimus asked hopefully, using the same expression and hopeful vocal tone that his sparkling son Sabre utilised when he wanted something he knew he shouldn't have.

Elita placed her finger on her chin thoughtfully, "We could... but then Sabby and Saffy will be back, and I don't think you want them to see what's currently standing at attention between your thighs, my love. Sabre doesn't need the interfacing talk yet, and Safire would just be horribly confused."

"Good point," Optimus rumbled, stroking one finger down his length. He sighed, taking one long stride forward and ducking under the multiple wash rack sprayers. He looked down at her and nodded, "Ready when you are."

His femme sparkmate watched the solvent beginning to stream down his huge body and closed her optics for a moment, willing her heating up systems to back down. She wasn't going to jump him just yet. Her brave and heroic mech really did deserve some pampering first. When she charged up her optics again, Optimus had leant his head back to cover his faceplates with liquid. His mouthplates pouted. His optics dimmed themselves under the onslaught and his optic sweepers clicked several times, clearing themselves of dirt particles. Optimus held his arms out and watched the solvent pouring down his lower body and legs turn brown from the embedded dirt.

"There was more filth in there than I realised..." Optimus chuckled, arching an optic ridge at her.

Elita snorted, gathering up some cloths and scrubbers. "Lean on the wall if you get tired. Let me get to work."

"I've heard those kind of words before," Prime playfully flicked some solvent her way, making her squeal and duck. "But do you mean to deliver?"

Prime got slapped on his aft for that one. He laughed at her.

"Stop that, mech!"

Smiling, and giving his femme many adoring and loving glances, Optimus let her strut her stuff. She was a hard and diligent worker, his female. Optimus found himself being scrubbed, cleaned, and worked over until he thought she was going to rub his paint off. He wondered about when she was going to pay attention to the only part of his physique that hadn't been dirtied – his straining interface – since she hadn't made any moves to touch it. Yet. Only when her strokes turned sensual and her hands glided down his grill covered abdomen did he relax and allow his arousal to bloom. The warmth she was producing in him from smoothing her splayed hands around his midsection, and up and down his thighs, made his spark throb with need.

One bold hand slid up his inner thigh – and rubbed at the underside of his erection.

Prime leaned his forehead on the wall and stopped trying to rein in his pleasure. Desire for her filled his chest while lust lit up his CPU.

"You better get rid of that before I wax you. It sticks out too much, it'll get in the way." She then pouted, thinking. "Um, no, better wait until after you're cleaned and polished, I think. Business first."

Optimus knew exactly which body part she was referring to. "Get rid of it? Femme, you don't have enough respect for my 'Prime' qualities."

She 'hmmmed' at him, then a finger poked experimentally at a spot underneath his upper chestplates where his split windscreen was. "You've got some stuff embedded in there. Open up so I can clean it out."

"If I open up, you might get quite a mess on your front from what is happening down below. Are you ready for that?" Optimus said lightly, turning his helmeted head to meet her optics with his own.

It had been a while since he'd had an overload with his interface. He didn't think he could stop himself if his beautiful rose-red femme began playing around with his spark at the same time. That would be murder. It would be a quick – but spectacular – conclusion. And he'd probably end up in a haze of post-overload happiness on his aft on the tiles at her feet with a transfluid covered sticky femme laughing at him.

"I think I can handle that outcome, my love," Elita answered, leaning into his lower body to press a kiss to one of his headlights. A small clicking sound make Prime's antennae perk up – literally.

His femme had just opened her interface port. He wasn't the only bot in the room getting worked up.

Elita jumped when one of her sparkmates hands went between her legs and cupped her crotch warmly.

"Getting eager for me, femme? Are my 'Prime' qualities turning you on?" Optimus rumbled softly, pulling her firmly against the front of his heated wet body and leaning down to bite at the side of her neck.

When he ran his fingers up her back armor and arched his hips into her body while sucking on one of her neck cables, Elita jammed her hands against his grill-covered midsection and shoved herself backwards. She hit the slippery wall behind her and stood panting. Slag, her body was doing everything BUT holding signs up on sticks screaming, 'TAKE ME NOW!'. Traitorous piece of metal.

"NO! Stop that!", she pointed a shaking finger at him while he held his arms out with his mouthplates parted in an innocent gesture of 'What did I do wrong?'. She felt like stamping her foot but she restrained herself. "I am going to wash you, and get you waxed up, then you can fool around. Not before!"

Elita almost lost the plot when her massive mech dropped his arms to his sides and stuck his bottom lip out in an expression of 'don't wanna'. If Sabre was going to be acting like this when he got his final body upgrade and became as huge and powerful as his sire, she would be in trouble. Putting her son in his room for time out and sitting in the corner wouldn't work.

Optimus was getting frustrated. He tried to shake her up a little. Widening his shoulders and giving her a defiant stare, he wantonly opened his chestplates. The red and blue flamed armor split down the middle of his chest then retracted across his ribstruts. "Even if you refuse to touch me, I am more than capable of bringing myself to overload. We mechs are very skilled at it." The excited blue-white spark in his bare chest flared and vibrated at her. "I very much desire to share pleasure with you, right now, right here. Please?"

She stared at him, blinking.

Keeping his optics square with hers, Optimus stroked one big finger over his spark casing. Tendrils of spark energy wrapped around his digit and glowed brightly. The solvent coming down his chest sizzled and turned into steam where it contacted his bare spark. He reached down with his free hand and squeezed his hard male length – and Elita couldn't do anything about it but stand and growl at him. Hers hands curled into frustrated fists. Optimus knew she was really fragged off when she hissed. The femme was thunderstruck by an intoxicating combination of indignation and awe at the sight of her mech standing tall with his chestplates swept open, head bent back, his spike sticking out in front of him and throbbing – and he was making no move to reach out to her or encourage her to join in because she wanted him to get clean first. Slaghead!

Still touching himself, Optimus casually glanced around the small washing room. "It is a shame there isn't an oil bath in here. I would love to toss you in it and make you happily scream for me."

Hating being ignored, Elita narrowed her optics at her mate, swore in Cybertronian at him – he could fragging well clean and wax himself! - then spun on one leg to leave; and shrieked when strong arms threaded themselves around her body and lifted her up into the air. She struggled and yelled when he pushed her backplates up against the wall and held her there with his superior mass. When she began to protest about the coldness of the wall, he upped the temperature of the solvent jets and directed them to stream fluid down the wall so she had one less thing to yell at him about.

Prime knew that when it came to all things involving his beloved femme, he needed to make her as happy as possible by keeping the things she could whine about to a minimum.

Optimus nuzzled and pressed his mouth against the side of her head, murmuring, "Open your chestplates for me."

"You wish! You're not getting me that easily! I -"

Giving her a 'I'm-not-impressed' glare that he usually reserved for badly behaved new recruits, he covered her smaller chest with one big hand and sent the largest magnetic pulse he could muster into her body. Her plates parted for him rapidly. He smiled at the way she moaned and arched her back, her spark quivering openly in response to him.

Despite the sweep of pleasure taking over her systems, Elita still fought back. She pushed her faceplates into his right shoulder and thumped a fist on his chest lightly while groaning, "I'm getting Magnus to kick your aft for this... we can do intimate stuff later, not now! Clean and wax comes first!"

Prime smiled and smoothed a hand down her back, patting her, "You would do better to get Ironhide to perform the task of kicking me, femme. I have no fear of Magnus doing something like that, he just would not act in such a fashion towards his Leader."

Elita panted, squirming, "Ratchet will do-"

Optimus shook his head at her and vibrated a series of small mag pulses across her abdomen and down into her groin. She shuddered in his arms. "Put your legs around my hips," he demanded. Male pride swelled in his chest when she shook her head vigorously in denial but her thighs obediently lifted to settle snuggly across his hip armor. Smart femme. Her feminine port was now easily accessible to him. "Ratchet will do what, sweetspark?" he asked her mildly.

"Remove your-" her words became a shriek when he rudely interrupted her by sliding a thick probing finger into her open interface port, "-interface! Stop that!"

"Mmm – no." He stopped gently feeling the interior walls of her interface and pushed his finger inside of her completely, her lubricant smothering him and easing his way in. Then pulled out. Back in. Out.

Her hips hitched against him. She thunked her head back against the wall, hung onto his neck, and ground her jaw in frustration. "Evil... ugh... slagheaded... ugh... Optimus!!"

"Evil?" Prime lifted an optic ridge and clicked his vocaliser at her, the spinners on the side of his head rattling, "Now if only all the Decepticons were female, I could have won this war and saved our planet a long time ago, don't you think?"

"DON'T BRING POLITICS INTO THIS~!"

He sighed dramatically, giving a shake of his regal head, "Yes, femme."

Placing his thick thighs wider under himself to brace his body and give him more leverage, the massive mech began his assault on the female body he was holding captive. When she surged against him, he lifted one hand from holding her hips up and swept his thumb back and forth across her cheek. "Shhh, don't struggle so much. You do enjoy me pleasuring you, don't you?"

Elita panted, "Not when you're taking advantage because you want to play! I should let you walk around covered in muck, if that's what you want!"

"Oh Elita," Optimus delicately pressed his forehead to hers, "you are a strong femme and you like to fight, but you have to let me pleasure you when I see opportunities to do so. Magnus has our little botlings, and YOU-" he tapped his finger on her chest playfully, "are all wet and in the wash racks with me. Give in. Please?"

She stared at him. The peaceful, hopeful, smile on his face, the solvent cascading down his faceplates and onto his delectable body. Hadn't she made a pledge with herself to try and be less argumentative and more agreeable with him? His spark – the part of him that only she (and Ratchet, when he needed to) ever saw - was bare and glowing fantastically brightly in front of her face. The part of him that many Cybertronians revered with mystique and thought of as having God-like qualities. He had given that part to her. Hers. Whenever she wanted it. Maybe she didn't want it often enough.

Her optics lifted to his – and softened.

"Come here, you," she lifted her faceplates up towards him, "I think this femme needs ravishing."

His optics sparkled brightly. Happily. If his antennae had been physically able to perk up straighter, they would've. "One Prime ravishing coming up."

She grinned widely at him as his mouth descended towards hers, "I hope you can put out what you think you can."

A few shifts of his weight, some verbal expressions of pleasure, and the male and female Cybertronian found themselves entwined in a powerful sparkmerge. Elita refused to complain at the hard thumps of her sparkmates chest pressing almost violently into hers. He did scramble inelegantly against her body a little. When your mech wanted 'in' so badly, protesting about it was bad form. Anyone watching them would've thought he was hurting her, but that wasn't the case. Pain belonged to another universe, not theirs. With Optimus' complete essence ruling her spark, and her physical body following it like a cyberpuppy, she was a completely satisfied femme.

...the Femme Commander did ponder abstractedly about the warning flashing on her internal display. She guessed at what it was, and knew she'd be visiting Ratchet later. Then Optimus wouldn't be the only mech with a disgruntled femme poking at his chestplates.

Optimus Prime was quick to follow up the blinding flash of their sparkmerge with the physical connection of his hardened spike within her wet interface port. As they came down from their sparkplay, he lowered them both to the wet floor and voided the space between their groins. Keeping himself flush to her hips, he pumped and strained his overload into her. Her body accepted his transfluid as a part of itself. He'd done it enough throughout their relationship that her systems had long ago classified it as a pseudo part of her, and not something foreign. She followed him into an explosive climax shortly after. Her hands roamed and clutched over his spread chest armor and she moaned her pleasure out loud.

With his hand clasping the back of her neck, he couldn't take his optics off her climaxing body. He kneeled on the floor with her impaled on top of him and cradled her tenderly through it. Elita arched. She strained into his embrace while he made soothing verbal sounds, and shook hard, her faceplates grimacing at the double pleasure.

When it was over, they both sat silently. Elita with her back strut slumping and aching from all the pounding it had taken, and her face turned cheek first into his shoulder, her thighs spread wide and dangling at the knee over his male ones; Optimus with his legs folded kneeling beneath his body and his arms clasped solidly around her back. The solvent coming down over both of them was becoming annoying. He reached out a hand and blindly turned it off.

Both of the wet bots sat pressed to each other. Not wanting to move and disturb the happy warmth of post-merge and post-interface haze.

A slight cough. A rumble from a big chest. "Alright?"

Elita shifted against him. He was a lot of mech to take between her legs, but she liked it that way. "Yes." Her hand felt around her midsection then dropped into her lap. "Fine."

Words were always few after their joinings. Their sparks were satisfied, their sparklink was still echoing and overloaded with love and a feeling of 'completeness'. Nothing much was waiting to be verbalised. They were whole. Neither of them wanted to disturb the feeling.

Optimus eyed off their bare recharge berth through the open wash rack doors. That looked enticing. He swayed himself backwards enough to fully close his chestplates and grunted while getting to his feet with a blissed-out femme clutched to his body. He slipped his spike from her port with the change of body positions. Elita didn't protest. She stayed huddled in his arms like one of her sparklings would, and let him transport her to their place of rest.

Lying beside him, she wiggled her body as intimately close as she could to his larger frame, and followed him into recharge. Waxing would happen when she awoke. Later. When her hands were strong enough to touch his body again without shaking. When she awoke to see his clean self and reached automatically for the wax supplies.

And maybe... maybe another round of merging and interfacing. Optimus was a Prime, after all. He had reserves that other mechs didn't. She would make a very poor Femme Commander if she didn't take advantage of that...

Ultra Magnus' quarters...

Ultra Magnus lay back on his large recharge berth and sighed. His hand was splayed out over his faceplates, blocking his view. It was easier that way. Easier to block out the mayhem that was him trying to control sparklings gone mad.

On his left side sat Safire. She was currently siting upright on her petite aft and ranting about something in a rapidfire series of clicks, warbles and trills. Sabre, her brother, was sitting on the other side of Magnus with his short arms crossed pompously over his chest and a 'You suck!' expression on his faceplates. He was declining to get into whatever argument his sister had started, and was practising his 'silent treatment' act. Just like his sire.

The hand that Magnus was holding over his face slipped downwards enough that he could move his optics from one pissy sparkling to the other.

The big adult mech sighed, "I do not know if you can understand me or not, but truthfully, I am sad to say that this is just like being caught in the middle of an argument between your creators, and I am not enjoying it."

After a quiet moment of contemplation, Safire sent her angry clicks and whistles in his direction while waving her arms haphazardly and Sabre glared at him with a ferocity that was a little frightening.

Magnus placed his hand back over his optics and pretended it wasn't happening. "Just like those two, my aft. You're worse!"