Optimus Prime's Hobby
Optimus Prime's Hobby
Optimus Prime’s Hobby
By Sefiru
Greetings from the nuthouse! Some of you might be familiar with my DBZ and YuYu Hakusho fics; I’ve just recently gotten into Transformers and, well, this demanded to be written.
Summary: Optimus Prime is in his quarters, alone; the Autobots wonder what he’s up to.
Rating: R
Warnings: Humor, SoloM (sort of)
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers and make no money off this, obviously.
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“Hey, bots!” Jazz skidded into the Ark’s main bay and transformed, leaving a stack of small items on the deck. “The goods are here, come and get’em!”
“Did you remember to buy detergent?” Wheeljack growled. “And where are the others ”
“Bee’s still at the arcade with Spike; where do you think?” Jazz, Bumblebee and Prime had gone into the city to buy supplies; their leader should have returned with a loaded trailer, but he was nowhere to be seen. As Sunstreaker grabbed the latest issue of Paint & Body from the pile, Jazz said, “All the big stuff is down in the cargo hold. And get this!” He lowered his voice. “After we unloaded everything, there were three spools of cable and some steel rods in Optimus’s trailer. And then he took them into his room and locked the door.”
Optics widened all around. “You don’t think …”
“Well,” Prowl said reluctantly, “He had mentioned needing to relieve stress.”
“How cable relieve stress? Me Grimlock not understand.” The gathered bots looked at each other; none of them wanted to explain what they were imagining. Alone … in a locked room … with cable and steel rods. The processor boggled.
“I can’t believe we’re talking about Optimus Prime like this,” Cliffjumper said.
“I never knew the Big Bot had it in him,” Sunstreaker added from behind his magazine.
“Wait, how does that even work?” asked Jazz. “It was pretty thin cable.”
“You just need a little imagination, if you know what I mean.”
“Sunny, is that all you ever think about?”
“Hey, I got a reputation to keep up. Look at me; this is a face made for ‘facing.”
“Yeah, cause it looks like an aft!”
“Hey!”
Mirage ignored the squabbling, all too common when Sunstreaker was around, and activated his stealth systems. There was only one way to satisfy his curiosity; he crept up to Prime’s door and shunted processing resources to his audios.
His optics widened again as he realized what he was hearing. None of the Autobots could have imagined this; none of them could picture their majestic leader in this situation. But Mirage could not deny the words that filtered through the door in Optimus Prime’s deep rumble:
“Knit one , purl two …”
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