TF FIC: "Dashboard Confessional" Sam/Bee, human/robot love!
This is a Transformers movie fic. It has robot/human love, but not really. Ah, you'll see what I mean.
Dashboard Confessional
by bionic
rating: NC-17 to be safe.
summary: Sam has an intimate moment with his favorite autobot.
notes: I wrote this so long ago and finally decided to post it. Thought of the title in ten seconds, so uh, run with it. Thanks to permetaform for a great beta that was ages ago - I tried to follow her helpful suggestions and all remaining mistakes are mine.
Things are better in the flesh. Bumblebee has never understood the saying better than he does now.
Like when Sam is lying across Bumblebee’s backseat at 1 in the morning in nothing but his faded cotton boxers, washed through so many cycles they’re unbelievably soft against Bee’s leather, and a thin t-shirt that’s a little too big for him. His socked feet are planted flat on the seat, his back pressed into a comfortable groove, and he gazes up at Bee’s top, occasionally pushing up to run fingers along the soft material as he speaks, shifting this way and that.
Sam makes idle conversation, and Bee hums a little every now and then through the speakers, but mostly he likes to listen to Sam’s voice, how it echoes all around him, fills him, or bounces off his cabin walls when Sam laughs sharply at his own joke.
Eventually, Sam quiets down. He usually dozes off after an hour, but tonight, Bumblebee notices that Sam’s breathing hasn’t slowed and neither has his heartbeat.
“Bee,” Sam says softly, like he’s asking a question. His legs fall open and one stretches out to hang off the side of the seat. “You can feel me moving around in here, right?”
“Yes.”
“So when I do this,” Sam’s fingers press and curl around the edge of the seat, “it’s like I’m touching your skin, right?”
Bumblebee thinks about it for a moment, and finally decides that it would be too complicated to explain what sensor processors did. “Yes, it’s like human skin, if you wish to think of it that way.”
“Hmm…” Sam closes his eyes. He loosens his hand and starts sliding it back and forth along the leather. He curls his fingers and his knuckles brush against the dips along the seat underneath his ass. Bumblebee is no stranger to Sam’s affectionate gestures, although Sam’s never expressed interest in whether or not Bee could feel it until now. Bee only expected it was something Sam did absently. But tonight it feels different. If Bumblebee were experienced enough to read the tilt of a human palm or the different meanings the press of small, fragile fingers could impart, he would know that Sam was trying to say something.
“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Sam’s voice is suddenly very small, very quiet. He turns his face into the back of the seat and Bee can barely feel the tilt of Sam’s mouth, smiling. “My car, my best friend.”
“Yes, I know.” Bee pauses as Sam’s hand leaves the upholstery and slides up his thigh. Sam’s heart rate is speeding up, just slightly. “And you are my closest friend, Sam.”
“This may seem kind of weird,” Sam says, his words slightly slurring because he’s tired, he’s mumbling, half asleep already and way past his usual bedtime. “But I get - excited. When I think about you.” His voice is barely a hoarse whisper by the end, like the words are struggling to get out.
And it is weird and off-putting, because Bumblebee isn’t quite sure what Sam means. “You become - happy?”
Sam laughs. He stretches and rubs his stomach idly with one hand, t-shirt riding up as he does so.
“No. Yes. But more than that…” The Autobot can tell Sam’s struggling with his emotions. Sometimes Bee wishes humans could just come out and say whatever it is they wanted to say, instead of being coy all the time. Sam is no exception. It gets daunting, trying to read body language with nothing much else to go on.
Like right now, Sam’s body language says he’s relaxed, and Bee would describe him as intoxicated, if he didn’t know that the boy was in fact completely sober. Sam yawns loudly, filling the momentary silence in the cabin with what Bee equates to as warmth. Bumblebee shifts quietly on his springs, rocking gently. Sam laughs and swats at the seat with a playful hand until he stops. “Rocking me to sleep, huh? You trying to tell me to shut up?”
“Of course not, Sam. It’s pleasing, listening to you speak.”
“Even when I tell you I get excited thinking of you? That I have really inappropriate thoughts about you?”
“About me?”
“Yeah.” Sam says lazily. Bumblebee is suddenly aware that Sam’s body temperature is rising, and what little skin is touching the leather seats is warming, all over.
“God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Sam admits, but he doesn’t seem all that upset over it. It could be that he’s too tired to worry. Bumblebee doesn’t know what to say. He’s not averse to the idea of Sam liking him, but in a physical way, a sexual way…
“It’s rather unorthodox.” Bee rumbles quietly. Sam’s eyes slide open, half-mast. His hand rests near the front of his boxers, one thumb hooked under the waistband.
“Tell me about it.”
Bee is acutely aware of the heat of Sam’s skin, his body like the sun focused ten times closer on Bee’s cool leather seats.
“Thanks for not freaking out on me,” Sam says after a beat. He turns on his side and curls up. The position doesn’t look comfortable.
“Sam, maybe you should go inside. My seats are too small and your bed is much larger.”
A snort is the only response Bumblebee gets for a while. Just as he thinks the boy is falling asleep, Sam gives a small moan. Bumblebee flicks on his interior light in alarm, but Sam doesn’t flinch or protest, his lips slightly parted and his eyes closed, too busy with his hand down his pants to notice. Bumblebee realizes with shock that Sam is touching himself, inside his cabin, and turns the light off before anyone else should see.
“God, Bee…” Sam’s hand is a big bulge at the front of his boxers. He’s stroking himself, fisting his cock with a slow and precise kind of familiarity, up-down, up-down. Sam shifts again onto his back and Bumblebee processes the heat pouring from Sam’s spine, and the muscles and tendons there flex, little shifts of warmth and hardness. Bee remains quiet, not sure of what he is expected to do or say. He’s never been in a situation like this, and he cares enough for Sam to want the boy to feel comfortable and safe. So he doesn’t say a word, but he can feel his own pleasure sensors being triggered, spots of warmth buzzing through his frame and sparking like matches being lit, until he’s slightly shivering from the sensation. He tries to relax, let Sam have this moment.
“I don’t know - ” Sam’s breath catches, hitching on an inhale as his movements become faster. “I don’t know what it is - but I get. Fuck. I get so turned on - ” Bee eases the radio on, unable to say anything but wanting to show that he is there, he can feel what Sam’s doing, and some soft rock fades in that makes Sam laugh. His warm laughter seems to soak into Bee’s seat, rumbling down until it touches Bee’s spark. Sam doesn’t stop though, and soon he’s bucking his hips up into the air, and his laughter turns into more moans and jumbled, ragged panting.
“Bee, can you feel this?” Sam mumbles into the back of the seat, and presses kisses into the upholstery. Bee’s radio flickers in and out in response, the tingly euphoric feeling in his pleasure sensors building. Then Sam opens his mouth and slides his tongue out, licking a long, wet swath up Bee’s seat. Bumblebee’s frame shudders around him, and he’s forgotten all about keeping the radio on so the only thing there is to hear are Sam’s moans and harsh breaths, fogging up the windows.
“Tell me you can feel me.” Sam squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, one hand on his dick pulling long and hard. He reaches up his other hand and wraps it around the seatbelt twice, tugging with every down-stroke.
“I can feel you,” Bumblebee grates out, and he doesn’t know why his vocal processor sounds like it’s shot to hell. He can feel his own pleasure coiling up, heat thrumming through his entire frame and sliding along the metal and wires, pulsing in growing waves straight to his very center.
Sam’s back twists and arches, and suddenly he’s keening, “Ah - mmnph - Bee -,” and coming, white, thick liquid darkening his boxers, sliding down his cock and coating his hand in a sticky mess. He bites his lip, riding it out, pulling hard on the belt coiled like a tether along his arm, keeping him afloat.
Tingling pleasure burns white hot in Bumblebee’s spark, washing in from all parts of his form like waves. Then, slowly, as Sam shivers and stills, Bee does as well. He wants suddenly to be in his bi-pedal form, to be able to hold Sam in the cup of his palm and run a gentle finger along his skin.
Sam is quiet, spent, and he’s sprawled on Bee’s seat like a prone man in the dry desert. He looks parched, but he smiles like he’s sated.
Bee shifts on his tires, settling. “Sam?”
“Hm…” Sam manages enough energy to wipe his sticky hand on his shirt before falling still again.
“Nevermind.”
Sam’s already asleep. His soft snores are like stars in the night sky, calm and peaceful.
Bumblebee cradles Sam as best as he can. Sam looks completely at peace, as safe as Bee will ever have him. He may not understand a lot of what humans do, but he understands Sam. He can read the curve of Sam’s backbone like his own wiring; intimate in all the ways they could ever hope to be.
the end.
Dashboard Confessional
by bionic
rating: NC-17 to be safe.
summary: Sam has an intimate moment with his favorite autobot.
notes: I wrote this so long ago and finally decided to post it. Thought of the title in ten seconds, so uh, run with it. Thanks to permetaform for a great beta that was ages ago - I tried to follow her helpful suggestions and all remaining mistakes are mine.
Things are better in the flesh. Bumblebee has never understood the saying better than he does now.
Like when Sam is lying across Bumblebee’s backseat at 1 in the morning in nothing but his faded cotton boxers, washed through so many cycles they’re unbelievably soft against Bee’s leather, and a thin t-shirt that’s a little too big for him. His socked feet are planted flat on the seat, his back pressed into a comfortable groove, and he gazes up at Bee’s top, occasionally pushing up to run fingers along the soft material as he speaks, shifting this way and that.
Sam makes idle conversation, and Bee hums a little every now and then through the speakers, but mostly he likes to listen to Sam’s voice, how it echoes all around him, fills him, or bounces off his cabin walls when Sam laughs sharply at his own joke.
Eventually, Sam quiets down. He usually dozes off after an hour, but tonight, Bumblebee notices that Sam’s breathing hasn’t slowed and neither has his heartbeat.
“Bee,” Sam says softly, like he’s asking a question. His legs fall open and one stretches out to hang off the side of the seat. “You can feel me moving around in here, right?”
“Yes.”
“So when I do this,” Sam’s fingers press and curl around the edge of the seat, “it’s like I’m touching your skin, right?”
Bumblebee thinks about it for a moment, and finally decides that it would be too complicated to explain what sensor processors did. “Yes, it’s like human skin, if you wish to think of it that way.”
“Hmm…” Sam closes his eyes. He loosens his hand and starts sliding it back and forth along the leather. He curls his fingers and his knuckles brush against the dips along the seat underneath his ass. Bumblebee is no stranger to Sam’s affectionate gestures, although Sam’s never expressed interest in whether or not Bee could feel it until now. Bee only expected it was something Sam did absently. But tonight it feels different. If Bumblebee were experienced enough to read the tilt of a human palm or the different meanings the press of small, fragile fingers could impart, he would know that Sam was trying to say something.
“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Sam’s voice is suddenly very small, very quiet. He turns his face into the back of the seat and Bee can barely feel the tilt of Sam’s mouth, smiling. “My car, my best friend.”
“Yes, I know.” Bee pauses as Sam’s hand leaves the upholstery and slides up his thigh. Sam’s heart rate is speeding up, just slightly. “And you are my closest friend, Sam.”
“This may seem kind of weird,” Sam says, his words slightly slurring because he’s tired, he’s mumbling, half asleep already and way past his usual bedtime. “But I get - excited. When I think about you.” His voice is barely a hoarse whisper by the end, like the words are struggling to get out.
And it is weird and off-putting, because Bumblebee isn’t quite sure what Sam means. “You become - happy?”
Sam laughs. He stretches and rubs his stomach idly with one hand, t-shirt riding up as he does so.
“No. Yes. But more than that…” The Autobot can tell Sam’s struggling with his emotions. Sometimes Bee wishes humans could just come out and say whatever it is they wanted to say, instead of being coy all the time. Sam is no exception. It gets daunting, trying to read body language with nothing much else to go on.
Like right now, Sam’s body language says he’s relaxed, and Bee would describe him as intoxicated, if he didn’t know that the boy was in fact completely sober. Sam yawns loudly, filling the momentary silence in the cabin with what Bee equates to as warmth. Bumblebee shifts quietly on his springs, rocking gently. Sam laughs and swats at the seat with a playful hand until he stops. “Rocking me to sleep, huh? You trying to tell me to shut up?”
“Of course not, Sam. It’s pleasing, listening to you speak.”
“Even when I tell you I get excited thinking of you? That I have really inappropriate thoughts about you?”
“About me?”
“Yeah.” Sam says lazily. Bumblebee is suddenly aware that Sam’s body temperature is rising, and what little skin is touching the leather seats is warming, all over.
“God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Sam admits, but he doesn’t seem all that upset over it. It could be that he’s too tired to worry. Bumblebee doesn’t know what to say. He’s not averse to the idea of Sam liking him, but in a physical way, a sexual way…
“It’s rather unorthodox.” Bee rumbles quietly. Sam’s eyes slide open, half-mast. His hand rests near the front of his boxers, one thumb hooked under the waistband.
“Tell me about it.”
Bee is acutely aware of the heat of Sam’s skin, his body like the sun focused ten times closer on Bee’s cool leather seats.
“Thanks for not freaking out on me,” Sam says after a beat. He turns on his side and curls up. The position doesn’t look comfortable.
“Sam, maybe you should go inside. My seats are too small and your bed is much larger.”
A snort is the only response Bumblebee gets for a while. Just as he thinks the boy is falling asleep, Sam gives a small moan. Bumblebee flicks on his interior light in alarm, but Sam doesn’t flinch or protest, his lips slightly parted and his eyes closed, too busy with his hand down his pants to notice. Bumblebee realizes with shock that Sam is touching himself, inside his cabin, and turns the light off before anyone else should see.
“God, Bee…” Sam’s hand is a big bulge at the front of his boxers. He’s stroking himself, fisting his cock with a slow and precise kind of familiarity, up-down, up-down. Sam shifts again onto his back and Bumblebee processes the heat pouring from Sam’s spine, and the muscles and tendons there flex, little shifts of warmth and hardness. Bee remains quiet, not sure of what he is expected to do or say. He’s never been in a situation like this, and he cares enough for Sam to want the boy to feel comfortable and safe. So he doesn’t say a word, but he can feel his own pleasure sensors being triggered, spots of warmth buzzing through his frame and sparking like matches being lit, until he’s slightly shivering from the sensation. He tries to relax, let Sam have this moment.
“I don’t know - ” Sam’s breath catches, hitching on an inhale as his movements become faster. “I don’t know what it is - but I get. Fuck. I get so turned on - ” Bee eases the radio on, unable to say anything but wanting to show that he is there, he can feel what Sam’s doing, and some soft rock fades in that makes Sam laugh. His warm laughter seems to soak into Bee’s seat, rumbling down until it touches Bee’s spark. Sam doesn’t stop though, and soon he’s bucking his hips up into the air, and his laughter turns into more moans and jumbled, ragged panting.
“Bee, can you feel this?” Sam mumbles into the back of the seat, and presses kisses into the upholstery. Bee’s radio flickers in and out in response, the tingly euphoric feeling in his pleasure sensors building. Then Sam opens his mouth and slides his tongue out, licking a long, wet swath up Bee’s seat. Bumblebee’s frame shudders around him, and he’s forgotten all about keeping the radio on so the only thing there is to hear are Sam’s moans and harsh breaths, fogging up the windows.
“Tell me you can feel me.” Sam squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, one hand on his dick pulling long and hard. He reaches up his other hand and wraps it around the seatbelt twice, tugging with every down-stroke.
“I can feel you,” Bumblebee grates out, and he doesn’t know why his vocal processor sounds like it’s shot to hell. He can feel his own pleasure coiling up, heat thrumming through his entire frame and sliding along the metal and wires, pulsing in growing waves straight to his very center.
Sam’s back twists and arches, and suddenly he’s keening, “Ah - mmnph - Bee -,” and coming, white, thick liquid darkening his boxers, sliding down his cock and coating his hand in a sticky mess. He bites his lip, riding it out, pulling hard on the belt coiled like a tether along his arm, keeping him afloat.
Tingling pleasure burns white hot in Bumblebee’s spark, washing in from all parts of his form like waves. Then, slowly, as Sam shivers and stills, Bee does as well. He wants suddenly to be in his bi-pedal form, to be able to hold Sam in the cup of his palm and run a gentle finger along his skin.
Sam is quiet, spent, and he’s sprawled on Bee’s seat like a prone man in the dry desert. He looks parched, but he smiles like he’s sated.
Bee shifts on his tires, settling. “Sam?”
“Hm…” Sam manages enough energy to wipe his sticky hand on his shirt before falling still again.
“Nevermind.”
Sam’s already asleep. His soft snores are like stars in the night sky, calm and peaceful.
Bumblebee cradles Sam as best as he can. Sam looks completely at peace, as safe as Bee will ever have him. He may not understand a lot of what humans do, but he understands Sam. He can read the curve of Sam’s backbone like his own wiring; intimate in all the ways they could ever hope to be.
the end.