Sex, Lies, and the Autobot Leader
(or The Crush)
by Phantom
Author’s note: BEWARE: this fic is extremely rated, full of vulgar language as well as explicit sexual description and innuendo. This story takes place after Rebirth, where the Decepticons are more or less defeated and a new Golden Age is brought about on Cybertron. Optimus Prime is once again in command, and things are as close to idyllic as possible for the war-torn race. Each story I write is set in a completely different universe and has no bearing on any story that I have written before. Crystal is my character, but unlike in "Darkest Hour" she is not pregnant or involved with Thundercracker. Each of my stories are based on a "What if" question, and since each question is hypothetical, each of my stories is different and unrelated from the one before or the ones to come. Thus, you can read this one and understand what is happening without reading any other fics. And if you have read the others, they have no bearing on the events in this one. A quick note: Phoenix (Nixie) is Fiona Walker’s character. I am using her with permission. Sunrunner is a background character that I made up just for this fic.
Chapter One
rating: non-sexual
"What is love anyway?
Does anybody love anybody anyway?"
"What Is Love?" -- Howard Jones
The room was dark and very quiet. Anyone would assume that it was empty -- it would certainly be fitting, for that was exactly how the mech inside felt. Empty, hollow, drained. The forlorn figure sat on the edge of his recharging berth, head in his hands. The only light in the room shone in from a crack underneath the door -- all other sources had been ruthlessly extinguished.
The large mech sighed wearily and flopped onto his back, staring morosely at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so rotten. He was no stranger to agony, to stress, to heartbreak, but this was more than he was used to bearing. It took all of his strength just to drag himself through the day. He resented the sympathetic glances from passersby -- his private problems were none of their business! He wished he could just crawl under his recharge berth and hide there, alone and safe, wrapped in the darkness.
‘How could this happen?’ he asked himself, the same question that had nagged at him all week. ‘How could I let this happen?’ It was the mark of a good leader to accept responsibility when something went wrong, but this time it was personal -- it affected his private life, or what little there was of it. Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, guardian of the Matrix, paragon of virtue and compassion, who could hold together through any attack or energy shortage, no matter how severe or drawn-out, now found himself sinking into a vortex of depression and despair. Ironic how one slender pink femme could make so much difference in his life. She had always kept him going when things seemed bleak; the gentle touch of her hand was enough to still his darkest fears, and a light kiss would sweep away the strongest anxiety. Many times the fear of losing her had spurred an earthquake of agony in his heart, but he never thought it would happen this way. Their relationship had always been intense, but it had been tinged with his guilt and constant terror that Alita One would be used against him as a bargaining chip for the Decepticon army. She had convinced him that the risk was worth it.
The war had claimed so many lives, the death toll rising every day. Optimus and Alita both keenly felt the specter of Death hovering over them, and though their time together was brief, snatched in between the demands of their leadership positions, the fleetingness of it all made it that much more sweet and intense. Their relationship was a safety valve for the stress and anxiety created by the war, worsened by the fact that they were both leaders in their own right, holding the lives of their soldiers in their hands. They were dependent on each other for comfort as well as love, but Optimus had long suspected that he was much more needy of his ladylove than she was of him. In fact, he knew that her loyalty to him caused her suffering and anguish. He couldn’t afford to give her what she deserved -- a lover who would be by her side any time she needed him, who had the time to lavish attention upon her, take her out dancing or dining, and provide the things a femme deserved. He had always marveled at his good fortune, for she had remained by his side through thick and thin. How ironic that she should be lost to him now, through the most mundane of circumstances.
Indeed, that is what stung the most. Long ago, when the civil war was just beginning and the two had assumed their roles as leaders of the Autobots, they had made a pact with each other. Life was too fleeting, even for a robot, and if one of them should fall fighting for the Autobot cause, it was the other’s duty to carry on, to sustain the flame of hope for peace that burned within the heart of every Autobot fighter, and, on a more personal note, to seek another lifemate. Although both of them had thought the other to be dead once the Ark was lost, they had never been able to bring themselves to act on the promise, to forget what they had had together and start anew with another lover. Despite some myriad affairs, they had remained true to each other in their hearts. All those years that he had thought his lover to be dead, Optimus had felt a private pain, the sense that he had lost something precious. That pain was dulled and distant, so perhaps a part of him knew that Alita still lived and there was a small possibility of their reunion. Still, it would have been easier for him to accept her death than the way he had lost her now. He had steeled himself against the day that he would receive the fateful radio message, that Alita had been killed in the line of duty, but at least he had grudgingly accepted it as a possibility. He had never dreamed that things would work out this way. That he would have everything he ever wanted, and then lose it all. And it would all be his fault.
A ragged sigh escaped Prime’s vocal unit as he thought back to the many times that he and Alita had clung to each other at what qualified as night on Cybertron, seeking mutual comfort when things seemed bleakest. It was then that they would murmur to each other about how things would be when the war ended: how they would be able to live in peace without fear of dying the next day, of being able to savor each day as it comes, of being able to just lay back and enjoy each other’s company, to enjoy life itself. He snorted, the sound echoing in the tomblike silence of his quarters. And what had become of all those dreams, all those desperate hopes for a better life? The irony cut him to the quick. All that they had fought so hard to gain was finally at their feet. The Autobots had essentially won the war. Deep inside, Optimus knew that Galvatron and Scorponok still survived and would stop at nothing until they had achieved their twisted objectives, but for the moment they were stranded on the far side of the galaxy, low on ammunition and power, essentially harmless. Not only was the threat of the Decepticons nullified, but their home planet of Cybertron was reborn into a second Golden Age. It was as close to paradise as this band of ragtag warriors could ever hope to come, and none of them could ask for any more.
So, after nine million years of war, Optimus had achieved all that he had fought for. Peace for his planet, prosperity for its citizens, leisure for himself and his mate. And yet, somehow, it had all crumbled to dust at his feet. He and Alita, despite their elaborate plans for a life together in a time of peace, never figured in a crucial factor. Their relationship was so strong because it was based on a mutual need for comfort. Not only that, it was filled with such passion and tender love because they both felt in their souls that it could end at any moment. When they were together, they lived for the moment, relishing their stolen moments and dreading the time that they would have to part. Their relationship never became mundane, never became routine. They rarely had to deal with the day-to-day conflicts of a normal, healthy relationship.
Once they had the peace and time together that they craved, their lovingly crafted relationship collapsed like a house of cards. Each discovered that they had spent so much time apart that the images they carried in their head of the other were mostly fantasy. The saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder" was all too true in their case -- the time apart only caused them to create an idealistic version of their lover that the real thing could never measure up to. It was unfair to expect so much of each other, and soon they both began to resent the expectations that were put upon them. Little habits that had seemed so endearing during the war soon became tedious and annoying. Alita had always admired Prime’s efficiency and organizational skills, but it became too much for her to bear when he straightened up her side of their quarters. She had her own system of organization, and how could she find anything if he moved it? In turn, Optimus was irritated by Alita’s habit of leaving bottles of polish open and cleansing rags scattered on the floor. He’d had no idea how she managed to survive underground for so long in cramped quarters when she made such a mess!
At first they hadn’t been able to spend much time together, due to all the demands placed upon them with the rebirth of their native planet. There was so much to do; so much that demanded their attention. They had managed to grab a few spare minutes together during that time, and their passion for each other seemed to ensure a strong relationship. But alas, it was not to be. The newness of the situation soon wore off, and reality sank in, slowly but surely. The passionate embraces soon cooled to a stiff peck on the cheek, and the loving words murmured at the cusp of recharge deteriorated to formal politeness, with a smattering of fiery arguments. The arguments were the worst part. They had had disagreements before, certainly, but never like this. During the war they would argue about their responsibilities to the army versus their responsibilities as a mate, and other sticky problems, but nowadays they fought about silly, petty things, like who had forgotten to cap the waste extractor. Life together was quickly becoming unbearable. Optimus had hated to even consider it, but the concept was staring him right in the face -- he and Alita weren’t suited to live together. Lately they couldn’t even come to a compromise over what vid program to watch in the evening. They had taken to spending late nights at work just to avoid each other, only to return and confront each other when both were tired and irritable.
One unforgettable night, during an argument that Optimus couldn’t even remember what the subject had been, Alita had yelled, "Well, maybe we should just call it quits then!" In a rare fit of temper, Optimus had snapped back, "Well, maybe we should! Clearly this isn’t working out between us. I’m sick of dealing with you!" As soon as the words had left his mouth, he had wanted to take them back, stomp on them and tear them into non-existence. But of course it was too late -- the words were out, and in a way, it was a relief. Despite their arguments, they had never discussed the core of their problems, the possibility of their incompatibility. The war had changed both of them, perhaps so much so that they were no longer suited for each other. They were both different people now, and instead of seeking comfort when things were at their worst, they tore each other down when life couldn’t be better. Once the fateful words had been uttered, it was as if a Pandora’s box had been opened, and Alita had moved out in a matter of hours. Unable to watch, Optimus had gone to the local dive and done something that he had only done a handful of times in his comparatively long life -- gotten completely smashed on high-grade energon.
A bitter laugh exploded, once again shattering the tomblike quiet of the room. So this was a peaceful life? If so, the Pit could take it! Optimus was miserable. Instead of holding his ladylove in his arms, his quarters were dark and lonely. And where was his beloved now? No doubt in the arms of some other receptive mech, vigorously asserting her newfound single status.
Optimus groaned, flopping backwards onto his recharge berth, lying across it lengthwise. He knew that he’d have to get up tomorrow and face the world again, pretending that nothing was wrong while his world was unraveling at the seams. The more things change....
end of Chapter One
go to Chapter Two
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