Fic: Hora Somni
Title: Hora Somni
Fandom: Transformers
Characters: Bumblebee, Sam, .2 seconds of Mikaela and Sam's parents.
Pairings: BeexSam
Word Count: 1,106
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of nummy images.
Summary: Before Bee, he could never sleep in cars.
Author's Notes: Sequel of a sorts to Aegri Somnia. It's more of a parallel perspective. Really only the last three paragraphs and the italicized part at the end actually qualify as a sequel. Personally, I liked Aegri Somnia better, even though this took me like a week to write this one. It didn't turn out how I wanted it to, and it doesn't have the same style as the first. This is un-betaed, so please inform me of my spelling and grammatical errors. ^_^ Oh, and the title means "at the hour of sleep" (horray once again for wikipedia).
Admittedly, falling asleep in the backseat of a car was a bad habit. But the leather seats were so damned comfy. They would shift and meld until they were in the perfect position and he could curl up with one arm hanging over the edge of the seat and the other tucked under stomach while his legs bent against his chest. Then the air conditioning would cool down to the perfect temperature and tilt so his entire body was the exact same temperature. And the radio would be on just loud enough so he could hear it, but not understand the words. The perfect sleeping conditions.
Before Bee, he could never sleep in cars.
He could sleep anywhere (and everywhere) else that wasn’t a car - his bed (obviously), a couch, a la-z-boy chair, a carpeted floor, an uncarpeted floor, buses, trains, airplanes, a dog house (he lost a bet), a tree, on grass, a tent, a sleeping bag, and a dining room table. But not cars (though he managed to nearly pass out in an SUV once). Maybe it was something about the fumes in the air, or the rest of the world rushing by in a dizzying manner, or the rumble of the seat beneath him, or the headrests that were never in the right position. Maybe it was all of those things put together, because sleeping in cars just made him sick.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Either way, sleeping in a car - moving or not - was impossible by his book. There was just some psychological roadblock (no pun intended) that would snap him awake the moment his eyes were shut for longer than a minute. That, naturally, made road trips nearly unbearable. The Witwicky family only attempted such a trip once, when he was in third grade. The memory still made him shudder. “Enjoy the scenery,” said his father. “Sing some songs,” said his mother. He stared, he sang, and that quickly bored him to tears. “Then go to asleep,” they chorused together. He had tried. Oh, did he try. But even as the sun sank low in the sky as they crossed the state line and the exhaustion from doing absolutely nothing tugged at his eyelids, he found that unconsciousness eluded him. Needless to say, the trip ended with him crying in the backseat until his father found them a Motel Six - even though they were less than halfway to their desired stopping point.
Then he met Bee.
With Bee, the simple act of driving became something he looked forward to day in and day out. For once, the stupid motto of ‘the journey is more important than the destination’ (or something along those lines) made sense. It didn’t matter where he was going - just that he was going. For the first time in his life, he wished things were farther apart, so it would take longer to get from point a to b. Driving with Bee was… comfortable. More than comfortable. It was… right.
So it really was natural for him to fall asleep inside of Bee. The first time it was late, he was drunk, and in no condition to drive at all. Still (against his better judgment that had been brutally put down in an intoxicating haze), he shakily climbed into the driver’s seat and started off into the night. But after a few minutes he began nodding off at the wheel and Bee didn’t help the situation at all be lowering the music and reclining the seat. So before he knew what was happening, he was asleep.
He woke up three hours later wondering where the hell he was. But the engine gave a gentle rumble, and all was well. Then he freaked out about actually falling asleep in a car. And then freaked out about it being three in the morning and wondered if his parents called the cops yet. Luckily, they hadn’t. But he was grounded for two months (the fact that he smelled like alcohol didn’t really help his case).
Bee’s interior became his favorite place to sleep.
Those nights (and on occasion, days) resting in Bee became his safe-haven. Bee’s car form was practically soundproof - it kept everything away from him, and him away from everything else (because the car doors would only unlock when he wanted them to). Everything would melt away while he slept on and on: his constantly fluctuating grades, his still minimal social status in school, his relationship problems with Mikaela, the alienation from his parents - all gone. All that could be heard was the radio playing a soothing melody lulling him into unconsciousness.
And he would dream.
He’s never really had sequential dreams that held any meaning or worth. Just nonsense scrambled together into a bizarre imitation of life. But soon his fantastical images took a different turn. Soon random scenes of juggling dogs or houses turned inside out became serene landscapes and winding roads. And while they were all different, they had one thing in common -
Bee.
It was just he and Bee, exploring a fantasy world with nothing but the two of them, an endless ribbon of highway, and Mother Nature dotting the corners of his vision. He’d never enjoyed dreams so much in his life. Then again, he’d never slept in the back of a car before.
Then the weird questions started.
Bee, asking about dreams whenever he managed to slip it into conversation. He wondered if Bee too dreamed of the open path into forever, but when he inquired about what his friend was dreaming, he was quickly rebuffed - autobots don’t dream.
Don’t dream? The thought was simply… wrong. Wrong. Strange. Suddenly his dreams began to spiral out of control, as though his mind was attempting to compensate for Bee. And something completely unexpected and disturbing entered the fray.
He woke up (in his bed, for once) sticky and images of yellow paint and tire rims still running behind his eyes.
Maybe his parents were right - falling asleep in his car was reckless and dangerous. But maybe Mikaela was right - sleeping in Bee was exactly what he’d needed all along.
*~*
“Still don’t dream, Bee?”
“…That’s correct.”
“Well I’ve been on the Internet a lot lately and…”
“And?”
Girls posed sexily on top of cars, doing things with a gearstick that he’d never thought possible.
“And it’s got me thinking. About my dreams and stuff.”
“And what do you dream about, Sam?”
Moaning, head thrown back, the seat vibrating deliciously beneath him with his hand on his…
“I told you, Bee.”
Sam shifts subtly to hide the bulge in his pants.
“I dream about you.”
"Prequel": Aegri Somnia
Oh, and in case any of your are interested in my mental break down, here. I mention Transformers, so horray!
Fandom: Transformers
Characters: Bumblebee, Sam, .2 seconds of Mikaela and Sam's parents.
Pairings: BeexSam
Word Count: 1,106
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of nummy images.
Summary: Before Bee, he could never sleep in cars.
Author's Notes: Sequel of a sorts to Aegri Somnia. It's more of a parallel perspective. Really only the last three paragraphs and the italicized part at the end actually qualify as a sequel. Personally, I liked Aegri Somnia better, even though this took me like a week to write this one. It didn't turn out how I wanted it to, and it doesn't have the same style as the first. This is un-betaed, so please inform me of my spelling and grammatical errors. ^_^ Oh, and the title means "at the hour of sleep" (horray once again for wikipedia).
Admittedly, falling asleep in the backseat of a car was a bad habit. But the leather seats were so damned comfy. They would shift and meld until they were in the perfect position and he could curl up with one arm hanging over the edge of the seat and the other tucked under stomach while his legs bent against his chest. Then the air conditioning would cool down to the perfect temperature and tilt so his entire body was the exact same temperature. And the radio would be on just loud enough so he could hear it, but not understand the words. The perfect sleeping conditions.
Before Bee, he could never sleep in cars.
He could sleep anywhere (and everywhere) else that wasn’t a car - his bed (obviously), a couch, a la-z-boy chair, a carpeted floor, an uncarpeted floor, buses, trains, airplanes, a dog house (he lost a bet), a tree, on grass, a tent, a sleeping bag, and a dining room table. But not cars (though he managed to nearly pass out in an SUV once). Maybe it was something about the fumes in the air, or the rest of the world rushing by in a dizzying manner, or the rumble of the seat beneath him, or the headrests that were never in the right position. Maybe it was all of those things put together, because sleeping in cars just made him sick.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
Either way, sleeping in a car - moving or not - was impossible by his book. There was just some psychological roadblock (no pun intended) that would snap him awake the moment his eyes were shut for longer than a minute. That, naturally, made road trips nearly unbearable. The Witwicky family only attempted such a trip once, when he was in third grade. The memory still made him shudder. “Enjoy the scenery,” said his father. “Sing some songs,” said his mother. He stared, he sang, and that quickly bored him to tears. “Then go to asleep,” they chorused together. He had tried. Oh, did he try. But even as the sun sank low in the sky as they crossed the state line and the exhaustion from doing absolutely nothing tugged at his eyelids, he found that unconsciousness eluded him. Needless to say, the trip ended with him crying in the backseat until his father found them a Motel Six - even though they were less than halfway to their desired stopping point.
Then he met Bee.
With Bee, the simple act of driving became something he looked forward to day in and day out. For once, the stupid motto of ‘the journey is more important than the destination’ (or something along those lines) made sense. It didn’t matter where he was going - just that he was going. For the first time in his life, he wished things were farther apart, so it would take longer to get from point a to b. Driving with Bee was… comfortable. More than comfortable. It was… right.
So it really was natural for him to fall asleep inside of Bee. The first time it was late, he was drunk, and in no condition to drive at all. Still (against his better judgment that had been brutally put down in an intoxicating haze), he shakily climbed into the driver’s seat and started off into the night. But after a few minutes he began nodding off at the wheel and Bee didn’t help the situation at all be lowering the music and reclining the seat. So before he knew what was happening, he was asleep.
He woke up three hours later wondering where the hell he was. But the engine gave a gentle rumble, and all was well. Then he freaked out about actually falling asleep in a car. And then freaked out about it being three in the morning and wondered if his parents called the cops yet. Luckily, they hadn’t. But he was grounded for two months (the fact that he smelled like alcohol didn’t really help his case).
Bee’s interior became his favorite place to sleep.
Those nights (and on occasion, days) resting in Bee became his safe-haven. Bee’s car form was practically soundproof - it kept everything away from him, and him away from everything else (because the car doors would only unlock when he wanted them to). Everything would melt away while he slept on and on: his constantly fluctuating grades, his still minimal social status in school, his relationship problems with Mikaela, the alienation from his parents - all gone. All that could be heard was the radio playing a soothing melody lulling him into unconsciousness.
And he would dream.
He’s never really had sequential dreams that held any meaning or worth. Just nonsense scrambled together into a bizarre imitation of life. But soon his fantastical images took a different turn. Soon random scenes of juggling dogs or houses turned inside out became serene landscapes and winding roads. And while they were all different, they had one thing in common -
Bee.
It was just he and Bee, exploring a fantasy world with nothing but the two of them, an endless ribbon of highway, and Mother Nature dotting the corners of his vision. He’d never enjoyed dreams so much in his life. Then again, he’d never slept in the back of a car before.
Then the weird questions started.
Bee, asking about dreams whenever he managed to slip it into conversation. He wondered if Bee too dreamed of the open path into forever, but when he inquired about what his friend was dreaming, he was quickly rebuffed - autobots don’t dream.
Don’t dream? The thought was simply… wrong. Wrong. Strange. Suddenly his dreams began to spiral out of control, as though his mind was attempting to compensate for Bee. And something completely unexpected and disturbing entered the fray.
He woke up (in his bed, for once) sticky and images of yellow paint and tire rims still running behind his eyes.
Maybe his parents were right - falling asleep in his car was reckless and dangerous. But maybe Mikaela was right - sleeping in Bee was exactly what he’d needed all along.
*~*
“Still don’t dream, Bee?”
“…That’s correct.”
“Well I’ve been on the Internet a lot lately and…”
“And?”
Girls posed sexily on top of cars, doing things with a gearstick that he’d never thought possible.
“And it’s got me thinking. About my dreams and stuff.”
“And what do you dream about, Sam?”
Moaning, head thrown back, the seat vibrating deliciously beneath him with his hand on his…
“I told you, Bee.”
Sam shifts subtly to hide the bulge in his pants.
“I dream about you.”
"Prequel": Aegri Somnia
Oh, and in case any of your are interested in my mental break down, here. I mention Transformers, so horray!