FICLET: [Transformers] Car wash (PG-13)
Title: Car wash
Author: Soraya
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash, UST
Pairing: Sam/Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Not mine, Hasbro and others own Transformers
Warnings: It's only dirty if you have a filthy mind
Summary: It can be hard to stay clean
He knows he shouldn't want these things from Sam. The boy is his friend and his charge; he has sworn to protect him with his life if that's what it comes down to. But life here is the very thing that's fuelling this problem. Some days, he gets so lonely. Sam is growing up, moving away from him, and he doesn't know how much longer he has before Sam moves on for good. He has heard the boy talking about wanting to go away to some place called college, where Sam thinks he can have a normal life. And why someone so unique would want to be normal is truly a mystery to him.
The question baffles him each day more than all the strangeness he sees on this bizarre, blue planet. It's what drives him out at night when the house is quiet, when there's nothing around to hold him back but the wind and the dust and the dirt underneath his tires. The answer he feels lies somewhere on this road to nowhere, if only he could see the shape of it. The urge to transform seems trivial out here, and rather than ask why, he pushes forward as fast as he can, past the fear charging through in his circuits, going so fast it feels like he's finally flying.
Only one thing would make that feeling better: having Sam there inside him.
***
When he gets home the next day, Sam is waiting for him, pacing around the garage that is both his paradise and his prison. Sometimes, he thinks the boy may be telepathic since he can never get too far without Sam sensing that there's something wrong.
"Hey, Bee, where have you been?"
Instead of giving a straight answer, he pulls up close, close enough to nudge Sam with his plates, and then flashes his lights meaningfully.
Sam, as usual, doesn't get it. "So another night on the town, huh? Cruising for ladies, hanging out with the boys?" And those big brown eyes gaze warmly back at him with something that looks a lot like amusement.
Bumblebee honks his horn mirthlessly. It's easy enough then to roll himself back outside and onto the driveway where the sun is still bright, shining and warm. Because it's pointless, he tells himself. Sam is human, fragile and above all, Sam will never see him as anything more than a giant robot car. Even if by some miracle Sam were to manage that-to see past the shell and really see him-there's probably not much they can do about it.
He's not sure how long he sits out there feeling sorry for himself before Sam says, "Okay, seriously, Bee? You're a total mess right now!"
For a moment, he thinks Sam really is telepathic and that Sam knows exactly what's running through his circuits. Then Sam adds, "Where the hell were you last night? A biker bar? You know what: I don't even want to know, and I'm not going to ask what that crap is all over you!" And it's enough to let him know that it's just Sam being Sam-strange yet concerned as always.
In a matter of minutes, a bucket lies beside him on the driveway, along with a sponge, a few rags and a long, rubber hose. And he knows exactly what this means: Sam is going to wash him again.
He tries to keep it together, but a little tire-spin slips through, making Sam glance at him fondly. This is one of his favourite things in the universe, at least now that Sam knows not to take him anywhere near that car wash-because, ouch, those bristles, no way! Here and now, though, it's all about the water. Buckets of it, which Sam starts by pouring over his windshield, then down his sides and over his trunk, after which Sam soaps him up gently for what seems like hours before dousing him with water all over again.
Once he's clean and dry, things take a slightly different turn. Sam pulls a tub of Carnuba wax out of his back pocket. "To give you that extra shine," he says casually, like it's perfectly normal to be carrying that stuff around.
The wax goes onto one of the rags Sam brought out earlier. Then, by the all-spark, Sam starts rubbing him down right on his hood, right where he loves it the most. Before he can stop himself, his radio blasts out:
"Do me right, just do me right,
Gonna have some fun tonight,
(Some fun tonight, some fun tonight)."
Sam laughs and just keeps on rubbing him right there-rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing. And it's so good, so perfect, he just loses it all of a sudden, hosing the boy down from head to toe.
"Jesus, Bee, what the hell-" Sam jumps back, but not far enough or fast enough because he still manages to hit Sam in the face with another thick, sticky spurt. He shudders again, revving his engines a little, because now Sam is soaked in his oils, looking beautiful and wet and so very his.
Sam glares at him then, eyes narrow and accusing. "You know, sometimes, I think you get dirty on purpose, just so you can do that to me."
Bumblebee doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. If Sam's not smart enough to figure it out, then he's certainly not going to explain.
The End.
Notes: This answers the 'vehicular' prompt on my
kink_bingo card. The song Bumblebee plays on his radio is: "Do me right!" by Pebbles
Author: Soraya
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Slash, UST
Pairing: Sam/Bumblebee
Disclaimer: Not mine, Hasbro and others own Transformers
Warnings: It's only dirty if you have a filthy mind
Summary: It can be hard to stay clean
He knows he shouldn't want these things from Sam. The boy is his friend and his charge; he has sworn to protect him with his life if that's what it comes down to. But life here is the very thing that's fuelling this problem. Some days, he gets so lonely. Sam is growing up, moving away from him, and he doesn't know how much longer he has before Sam moves on for good. He has heard the boy talking about wanting to go away to some place called college, where Sam thinks he can have a normal life. And why someone so unique would want to be normal is truly a mystery to him.
The question baffles him each day more than all the strangeness he sees on this bizarre, blue planet. It's what drives him out at night when the house is quiet, when there's nothing around to hold him back but the wind and the dust and the dirt underneath his tires. The answer he feels lies somewhere on this road to nowhere, if only he could see the shape of it. The urge to transform seems trivial out here, and rather than ask why, he pushes forward as fast as he can, past the fear charging through in his circuits, going so fast it feels like he's finally flying.
Only one thing would make that feeling better: having Sam there inside him.
***
When he gets home the next day, Sam is waiting for him, pacing around the garage that is both his paradise and his prison. Sometimes, he thinks the boy may be telepathic since he can never get too far without Sam sensing that there's something wrong.
"Hey, Bee, where have you been?"
Instead of giving a straight answer, he pulls up close, close enough to nudge Sam with his plates, and then flashes his lights meaningfully.
Sam, as usual, doesn't get it. "So another night on the town, huh? Cruising for ladies, hanging out with the boys?" And those big brown eyes gaze warmly back at him with something that looks a lot like amusement.
Bumblebee honks his horn mirthlessly. It's easy enough then to roll himself back outside and onto the driveway where the sun is still bright, shining and warm. Because it's pointless, he tells himself. Sam is human, fragile and above all, Sam will never see him as anything more than a giant robot car. Even if by some miracle Sam were to manage that-to see past the shell and really see him-there's probably not much they can do about it.
He's not sure how long he sits out there feeling sorry for himself before Sam says, "Okay, seriously, Bee? You're a total mess right now!"
For a moment, he thinks Sam really is telepathic and that Sam knows exactly what's running through his circuits. Then Sam adds, "Where the hell were you last night? A biker bar? You know what: I don't even want to know, and I'm not going to ask what that crap is all over you!" And it's enough to let him know that it's just Sam being Sam-strange yet concerned as always.
In a matter of minutes, a bucket lies beside him on the driveway, along with a sponge, a few rags and a long, rubber hose. And he knows exactly what this means: Sam is going to wash him again.
He tries to keep it together, but a little tire-spin slips through, making Sam glance at him fondly. This is one of his favourite things in the universe, at least now that Sam knows not to take him anywhere near that car wash-because, ouch, those bristles, no way! Here and now, though, it's all about the water. Buckets of it, which Sam starts by pouring over his windshield, then down his sides and over his trunk, after which Sam soaps him up gently for what seems like hours before dousing him with water all over again.
Once he's clean and dry, things take a slightly different turn. Sam pulls a tub of Carnuba wax out of his back pocket. "To give you that extra shine," he says casually, like it's perfectly normal to be carrying that stuff around.
The wax goes onto one of the rags Sam brought out earlier. Then, by the all-spark, Sam starts rubbing him down right on his hood, right where he loves it the most. Before he can stop himself, his radio blasts out:
"Do me right, just do me right,
Gonna have some fun tonight,
(Some fun tonight, some fun tonight)."
Sam laughs and just keeps on rubbing him right there-rubbing, and rubbing, and rubbing. And it's so good, so perfect, he just loses it all of a sudden, hosing the boy down from head to toe.
"Jesus, Bee, what the hell-" Sam jumps back, but not far enough or fast enough because he still manages to hit Sam in the face with another thick, sticky spurt. He shudders again, revving his engines a little, because now Sam is soaked in his oils, looking beautiful and wet and so very his.
Sam glares at him then, eyes narrow and accusing. "You know, sometimes, I think you get dirty on purpose, just so you can do that to me."
Bumblebee doesn't bother to dignify that with a response. If Sam's not smart enough to figure it out, then he's certainly not going to explain.
The End.
Notes: This answers the 'vehicular' prompt on my
kink_bingo card. The song Bumblebee plays on his radio is: "Do me right!" by Pebbles