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neverminetohold in tfanimated_fic

Symmetry in Contrasts: Prowl/Optimus - 08

Title: Symmetry in Contrasts: Prowl/Optimus (OneShot Collection)
Chapter: One Shot 8 – Haunted?!
Author: neverminetohold (LJ/FF.net)
Rating: T
Summary: Something is going on within the Autobot base... Weird sensations haunt Optimus all day. Seeing ghost’s?! NOT funny, Bumblebee!
Pairing or Character(s): Prowl, Optimus Prime; Bumblebee, others mentioned
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers in any form... Poor me!
Warning(s)/Genre: omitted on purpose ^-^
Note: This is a stand alone AU within the series and not part of the interconnected pieces (part 01 – 03, 05 - 07). The next part will be up, as soon as I am able to write it. At the moment, other fanficton’s got higher priority – sorry for the wait! However long it takes, I have no intention whatsoever to abandon ”Symmetry”! So stay tuned ^-^
Feedback: welcome as always!

Drabble 08: Haunted?!
Out of nowhere, Optimus felt the slightest flutter of a touch, ghosting over his shoulder plate. He almost spilled his cube of morning energon as he whirled around in reflex; pink drops of liquid overflowing.
All his sensors onlined, scanning the vicinity, feedback filtered and analyzed instantly, his blue optics flashing around too. Without thought, Optimus’ frame dropped into a defensive stance in response to a potential threat. Automatically, he positioned himself so that his vulnerable back was turned towards the wall.
But the corridor to and from their quarters was empty. Nothing moved, could have hidden in shadows or lurked behind the small stacks of discarded equipment. – And the covers of the ventilation’s duct were firmly shut; sealed close.
The only thing remotely out of the ordinary was a small cloud of dust and plaster, swirling lazily to the ground. It flaked off and drifted down from a crack in the ceiling.
Optimus’ red and blue frame relaxed, weight shifting back and musculature uncoiling. He figured with easy acceptance that one of the bigger pieces must have pattered against his armor plating, as he had passed under that spot.
He resumed his loose stride towards the main room of the plant, shrugging the inconsequential event off his processor with ease. Optimus sipped at his energon, licking the spill off his digits, feeling the energy flaring in his system, revitalizing with its sweet-sharp taste.


Optimus stood in front of the rows of monitors, starting his shift. He watched the various feeds from Detroit’s network of surveillance cameras with practiced focus.
”Yes! Come on, Bee. You can do it!” cheered Sari in the background; clapping her hands in an excited rhythm.
”Sure can – I’m the fastest ‘bot around!”
”Right, lil’ buddy – but not in this game,” teased Bulkhead; his helm bent in dogged determination over his controller; optics fixed on the screen.
There, two sport cars raced, chasing each other through a futuristic city with squealing tires; burning asphalt. Both mechs playing were set on claiming the first place on the medallists’ podium in friendly rivalry.
Glancing over, distracted by Bee’s desperate moaning and another cheer, Optimus turned half-way. Then he felt it, like a jolt of electricity: Something touched the small of his back, drawing a smooth line up to brush his neck cables; almost as if to tease the sensitive parts. A shiver raced over his frame, following it, but the sensation vanished in this moment of frozen stillness, before Optimus managed to spin around.
The window behind him was open...
Optimus wondered whether his sensor nodes had merely misinterpreted the mild summers breeze blowing in... Maybe it was a bit of damaged coding. Or, possibly, after his check-up yesterday, the setting of his receptors was off, - it had happened before.
Although a throughout system scan turned up blank, informing Optimus that he was functioning above standard working parameters, he soon forgot all about it, because the Angry Archer appeared. He sneaked into a bank, disabling the camera filming his grand entrance with one of his arrows.
”Playtime is over,” Optimus called, assembling his team to head out and assist the local police forces.


It only got worse from there, though – he could no longer write it off as the product of his over imaginative processor or a small glitch Ratchet could look into later.
Wherever Optimus went, whatever he did – butterfly soft sensations seemed to chase after him, confusion his sensor-net in a maddening, stirring way.
His sensors could not decide how to interpret and file the input, the signals received were both sharp like a jolt but yet not, instead soft, mere brushes.
Ratchet and the others soon noticed and threw him odd looks now and then, of which Optimus was keenly aware. He felt on edge, so it was no wonder that it showed, as his rigid composure crumbled; slowly but surely.
Optimus just prayed to Primus that the CMO would refrain from scanning him – his core temperature was steadily rising. In dread, of course. He didn’t react to the confusing touches themselves. Not at all, he told himself firmly.
Because he was just imagining them – recharge deprivation, probably. Yes, that must be it.


”What’s wrong, boss ‘bot? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”
Bumblebee laughed at his own joke, not noticing how a shiver went through Optimus’ frame. Yes, maybe I am haunted, he thought. - Only to sigh deeply at how ridiculous that notion was.


Come evening, Optimus was jumpy with... anticipation of the next ghost of a touch.
All his sensors were on high alert, responding not to his rational commands but his inner turmoil; expecting, almost craving it.
So, when it happened again, the soft, circling touch, almost squeezing around his audio fin, - the sensations washed through his frame with the force of an implosion; plates rattling together.
It brought a delicious spike of heat with it, rushing over Optimus, taking him by surprise – and it shouldn’t have. A shuddering gust of air left his vents. Nothing was to be seen in his room, he was definitely alone. Right?
What was happening to him?!


Optimus burst into the dojo-like room without stopping to knock; his momentum carried him forward as far as the tree.
”Prowl, I need to talk to you. Something is –”
With the slightest rustle of leaves, Prowl’s upper body burst down in front of him, helmfirst. His pedes had wedged themselves with ease in the fork of a branch, to keep his frame from dropping any farther; displaying the sleek stretch of his armor.
Optimus’ words were swallowed by a mouth on his, metal smooth and warm. A glossa dove in teasingly, but soon raked sensually over every sensor node it could reach; tangling with its twin, igniting liquid fires along his circuitry.
The shock made Optimus unresponsive, open for the ninjabot to thoroughly explore. The stolen kiss ended with a playful nip at his lower lip component; hot air was vented against his faceplate; making it tingle.
It felt intense beyond measure, with his systems so riled up already, - hyperactive from those touches out of thin air.
”Prowl...”, it was almost a moan, half drowned in static; Optimus’ vocalizer mirroring his dazed state.
The ninjabot smiled: ”Took you long enough to find your way here... Wait – did I... scare you?” he asked, with an innocent tilt of his dark helm, the golden chevron gleaming in the midnight moonlight.
A stealthy ghost, choosing to reveal itself after a day of chasing, unknown, - and, in hindsight, the sweetest torture a ‘bot could imagine. Quite the devious way to apply Circuit-Su skills...
Optimus’ stalling processor could have, given some time, come up with many things to say to that. – But who would waste such an opportunity?
So, instead of answering, Optimus grabbed a gentle hold of Prowl’s helm with both servos, trapping the unresisting ninjabot. His engines revved in excitement as he leaned in for another kiss.
Optimus delighted in the slight chuckle which vibrated between them, straight from Prowl’s mouth into his own, and further, into his sensitized frame. The pulse of his spark quickened, a hard, wonderful throbbing.


Drowsy from recharge, pleased and tingling with satisfaction, Optimus discovered that he still had a firm grip on Prowl. Their limps were entangled, the dark helm resting against his shoulder plate.
Oh yes, Optimus thought, dazed, he loved it when the ninjabot acted OOC. In fact, it should happen more often!