Verse: Transformers Prime
Notes: I blame my sudden love of college based stories on "Community". Troy and Abed in the moooooorning!
Prompt: Melee In March: #29 “You call it madness, but I call it love.”
She had known he was odd as far as humans went, even long before he had bumbled his way through asking her for a first date. He was more like a Cybertronian. Brave in the face of what appeared to be insurmountable odds. A blend of sweet and fierce. Honor bound in all he did. If he'd been living metal, instead of soft flesh, during Cybertron's golden age he would have been considered the perfect mate.
As it was, she still considered him perfect for her. Even if he was perfectly odd at times. Like now, when he was curled up in the garage. Agent Fowler had procured private, off campus housing. Certain things would be easier to hide if they had their own residence, with its own garage. Fewer people to see him spending all his time in the garage. Fewer people to see him talking to a motorcycle.
And no one to see the beautiful, new looking bike, turn into an autonomous robotic organism.
Jack was lying half in her lap, curled up against her chassis and part way into his version of recharge. She could hear him snuffling against the warm metal. Deep inhale. Soft exhale. Deep inhale. Softer exhale. It reminded her vaguely of the small organic he had in the house. The tiny, furry creature he had pulled from behind a campus dumpster. The little creature had a toy that it snuffled much the same way Jack was doing to her now.
"You smell so good," he dreamily murmured. "What do you do that you smell so good? I think I could spend the rest of the night out here if it meant I could smell you."
She rolled her optics softly. "Thank you, I think. Though if you spent the entire night out here I'm pretty sure your poli sci paper would never get done."
He grinned up at her lazily, sniffing deeply once more. She shook her head. He was the queerest fish. But he was hers and she loved him.
"I swear, Cee. You smell like the open road. And that wax you've been using on the seat. And something else, other worldly. There's nothing else that smells quite like you. I'm pretty sure I'm addicted, but I know I don't want the treatment," his grin had turned as predatory as he ever got.
Her engines revved against her better judgement. This would not do at all. There was a liaison job in his future, but he needed the proper grades for it. He wouldn't be getting those grades if he didn't finish his papers. And lying in the garage, trying to crawl under her plating, was certainly not getting the work done.
"Jack," Arcee tried to warn. She tried to push him away, really she did. It wasn't her fault that the moment she attempted to push him back those smaller, clever hands found some of her harder to reach wires.
"Just a little longer," he practically purred. "I swear I'll have it done by the time it's due. But right now I need a little more of you."
She pushed a puff of air through her vents. Exasperated that he could still do this to her. That she wanted it as badly as he seemed to. Maybe even more than he did. He wasn't the only one addicted to whatever they were doing now.
Her olfactory sensors could pick up the spicy tang of the shampoo he preferred to use. The heady musk that grew stronger the more they were together. Her own personal mix of the well of sparks and the pit. She was fairly sure they were both damned in the visions of their personal deities, but she had a hard time being upset about it.
She thrummed, pulling him closer. "Maybe...just a little longer."