Manpower

N.E.S.T base, one year after the Egypt incident...

Elita One was annoyed. Very annoyed. She watched the human command staff once again take off with her bonded, and found her fingers itching to rip her rifle from her hip and use threatening gestures to obtain her and Optimus Prime some peace. Ironhide had offered to convert her right arm into a pulse cannon like the mech's used, but she didn't think she'd feel the right kind of satisfaction similar to that a large rifle gave her when she wanted to act threatening. Besides, Optimus had long ago endearingly engraved his name on the barrel one night after an intense bout of 'alone' time... she was never going to give up her rifle.
Her optics followed one human male in particular. One man that irritated her more than the others did, since he was the one that demanded more and more of her sparkmate's time than any other man on the base. The one with glasses, a stiff suit, and a love of getting up the aft of any Autobot he could.
Galloway.
With a scowl – her right fingers settling on the grip of her rifle with a gentle caress – she turned and strode back to the Autobots residential hangar. If Optimus was going to allow Galloway to ruin their day off together, she was going for a drive. A long one. Even if she had to circle the pitifully small circumference of the base's small isolated island a hundred times to improve her mood, it didn't matter; she was driving.
Robert Epps paused in his work when he heard the distinctive sounds of a Transformer doing their signature 'thing' - transform - and looked up to see a rose red Mazda sports car pull a wheel-spinning smoking half circle and peel rubber away from the base.
His lips creased into a smile. "Wow. One angry woman..."
By the time Elita got tired of mashing her gears and ripping up the road, she had been driving for several hours. She was tired and covered in a thick layer of dust. Halting in front of the Autobot hangar in the hot afternoon sun, twinklets of dust kicking up around her halted wheels, her sensors told her Optimus was still busy with their human allies. She transformed and clenched her fists. Her big mech was worried about the repercussions of ignoring any request or whim the humans had, he was determined to keep on the humans good side. Elita was becoming very tired of duty coming before her needs when said duty involved nothing more than Optimus repeatedly kissing human aft. She was sick of it.
Running a finger down the dirty, rounded armor of her cocked upper thigh, the tall warrior femme smirked as an evil idea blossomed in her sharp CPU. With a chuckle, she sent out a comlink call to several human soldiers on the base that she was friendly with. Human soldiers that she knew looked good in tight uniforms. Today was a good day for a wash, and she was going to see to it that her often ignored delicate femme qualities were indulged to the full. As she had heard the human women say, it was time for the full beauty treatment.
Optimus was going to pay.
Hard.
One hour later...
Optimus Prime walked with heavy thumping footfalls out of the Command hangar. Standing in the open air out on the tarmac, he sucked air into his intakes and stretched the cables and hydraulics in his chest. He was about ready to start remodelling some human men into pretzels. Humans were pedantic, annoying, thorough, and obsessed with tiny details. Maybe Elita was right. Maybe he was over-indulging the Government humans with their non-stop requests.
The sound of laughter hit his audios.
He tilted his head, listening. His optics widened when the unmistakablele purr of Elita's low-timbred throaty voice floated along the breeze with the human laughter. Someone was having fun. Turning on one leg, he strode towards the commotion.
... and came upon the startling sight of his bonded sparkmate in her car mode surrounded by at least five half-naked human men. Elita's metal was wet and covered with detergent bubbles. The human males were in a similar state – bare chests glistening, and their tiny much-too-tight shorts wet enough to be almost transparent – as they washed, stroked, and caressed Elita with various sponges and cloths.
Optimus jerked to a halt. The metal arches above his optics shot up onto his forehead, his optics wide.
"Guh..."
Elita was purring and shuddering at her luxurious treatment. It wasn't at all lost on her that Optimus was going to be upset at seeing her aroused by the hands of males other than HIM. She sent him waves of her desire over their sparklink and laughed when his enormous frame trembled. It was entirely her intention to make him fume with irritation and outrage. On Cybertron, it was taboo for another mech to lay his hands on a spark-bonded femme without permission (apart from medical staff, of course), and while humans were a different species, they were still male. Prime was going to be blowing steam out of his hydraulics...
It was Will Lennox who spotted Optimus Prime first. Squinting in the harsh sunlight while washing Elita's windscreen, his eyes picked up on the sight of the massive over-powered mech standing fifty metres away and staring at them. The waves of indignant fury coming off the alien were very worrying.
"Oh shit..." he murmured, his hands going still. "Epps, you see what I see?"
"Oh yeah. I see him." Epps kept washing Elita's boot. His eyes watched the Autobot Commander from behind his heavy sunglasses. Like Will, he was nearly naked with just his scrappy shorts on. "Keep washing, man."
Carefully keeping his head angled downwards, Lennox picked up his vigorous washing once more. "But we've got our hands all over his, er, wife. I mean, c'mon... we're going to be squished. Badly."
"No we won't," Epps chortled, flicking some suds off Elita's rear windscreen wiper. "Keep it cool."
On the other side of Epps, Captain Graham listened to the conversation his American counterparts were making.
"Excuse me? Did you say 'wife'?" he asked with concern. It wasn't lost on him that making the biggest and baddest alien robot angry was a bad idea in the history of bad ideas. "What the hell?"
"Don't stop washing. I won't let him hurt you," Elita directed to her adoring harem of human men. "Lennox, Epps, could you perhaps stretch out your muscles? I don't want you to get cramps and require a visit to Ratchet."
Epps burst out laughing and complied. He was fully aware of what game Elita was playing. He rippled the muscle in his arms and back, flexing himself in the sunlight while leaning his butt on Elita's drivers-side door, showing off buffed and naked male power. The other soldiers followed his example (even Graham gave a half-hearted bicep flex), except for Lennox who froze in place and hissed at them.
"Stop that! Don't piss him off!"
Epps smirked at him, nudging Graham, "Don't worry about him, he's married. Keep washin' Will, you can't back out now, my man."
Lennox groaned, slumping.
Epps grinned, "Oh hey, here comes the big guy. Hang loose fellas."
Optimus Prime was indeed coming their way, and from the sound of his footsteps, he was one very unhappy robot.
"Elita," Optimus growled, stopping in front of his bonded, "explain yourself."
"Sure. I went driving and got dirty. Very dirty. The men are helping me out. Honestly, I do not need your permission to clean myself, Optimus. Besides, you were busy with Galloway. I didn't dare interrupt you." Elita's tone was light. She wasn't going to admit to anything. Pure innocence.
The human men paused and stared up at Prime's towering cranky mass. The Autobot Leader's optics were shaded under the heavy drawn-down weight of his angry furrowing optic ridges. His mouthplates had set themselves in an unhappy downward curve.
The metal of Prime's tight fisted hands creaked. He snarled soundlessly. With one backwards step, he pulled back from Elita, summoning his human holoform – and appeared as an equally pissed-off human man in front of the group.
Lennox whistled, "Woah."
"Yeah. At least he's got clothes on this time. First time he did that, he was butt nekkid, if you know what I mean," Epps said conversationally, "has the women of the base yakking about him non-stop. Me, I'm sick of listening to it."
The men were right. Optimus Prime's qualities as an inorganic alien had translated down into one awesome and soul-shatteringly handsome human man. Tall, wide, slick-muscled, and an absolute ladykiller; a veritable human God clad in tight blue jeans that clung to his legs and thickly muscled thighs. His chest on top of his ridged and lean abdominal musculature was bare – hard, hairless, of enormous width topped by elongated sloping thick shoulders – and obviously more than a match for the real human men. It was a big 'I dare you to challenge your maleness against mine' to the human men. They were second-rate in comparison.
Primes' original displeased expression had also transferred into his human form. He was glowering with an intensity that made Epps sit up and start to get concerned.
"Elita, stop this charade," Optimus growled again.
The Cybertronian femme chuckled. She wasn't swayed in the slightest by her mate's display of masculine authority. Lennox choked when another holoform flashed into life directly in front of Prime's. This one was a human woman. Blonde, curvy but slim, wearing tight jeans and a midriff-baring tight v-neck t-shirt that showed off a proud and deep cleavage.
Lennox rolled his eyes. Obviously, this was Elita One's holoform. She was doing better than her mate for her first time – she had clothes on. There was nothing Epps could do or say to stop him from screaming and running if Elita had appeared naked.
The femme stepped up to Prime's holoform and placed her hands palm down on his chest. She gave him a shove that made him flex back on his heels slightly.
Leaning on his chest with a bright smile, Elita angled her face upwards to meet his gaze with her own, saying in a sultry purr, "Make me... lover."
A mixture of emotions flickered over Optimus Prime's holoform face. Surprise. Shock. Anger. Arousal. Confusion. Finally, grim realisation settled on his features while his human eyes flashed supernaturally bright blue.
"Have it your way, femme," he rumbled menacingly, "I will not be denied."
Prime's holoform disappeared abruptly, leaving Elita's holoform flailing and about to fall on her face. She too, flashed out of existence before she went intimately close with the tarmac. Optimus stepped towards her, causing Elita to roll backwards out from under the hands of her human harem, and transform in an awful hurry. Soap bubbles trickled down her legs and her armor twinkled in the sunlight as she eyed off the menacing approach of her immense sparkmate.
"Optimus..."
Prime kept coming. The men parted down the middle to allow the giant Autobot to stride between them. It was that or be flattened. No one was getting in the way of Prime and his femme.
"Optimus!"
The Autobot Commander lunged with a speed Lennox and Epps has witnessed many times before. He was a blur of whistling parts and flashing flamed metal. His hands locked onto Elita's upper arms.
"Don't you DARE~!" Elita shrieked at high volume, trying to jerk away from him.
"Too late," Optimus chuckled with a smirk, lifting his femme up with no effort at all (he could have lifted a hundred Elita One's at once and still found it no effort), and dumping her over his right shoulder in a fireman's carry. "You need to be punished."
So saying, he began stalking back to the residential hangar. The men stared at Elita's shocked face. She was hanging down his back, her hands braced on his parts to keep herself steady.
"PUT ME DOWN YOU BIG AFTHEAD~!"
"No."
Elita growled, bouncing and jostling her way on Prime's shoulder. "This is not a comfortable place to be, you idiot!"
"Not my problem."
"ARGH!"
"Suck it up, femme. You have some apologising to do, and I am going to see to it that I get to experience every apology that comes out of your mouthplates."
Galloway exited the Command hangar, once again looking for Optimus Prime. He had yet more questions to be answered. But one look at Optimus Prime striding resolutely past with a shrieking angry robot femme on his shoulder made his mouth go slack and his face go pale. He adjusted his tie and smoothed out his shirt nervously. The White House could wait. No Presidential order could make him interfere with that.