Closer to Prime

(’07 Bay Movieverse, Written in conjunction with Yiggersentia, thanks hon!)



Optimus glanced up, then kept tapping Cybertronian characters into the command log. Stupid fragging “nano” technology here on Earth. It was damned near impossible to find a screen big enough for his digits to process their written language. Did they even know what nano meant? “Yes, Bumblebee?”

“There seems to be a… disturbance inside the perimeter.”

Must he command everything? “Then see to it, Bumblebee, you’re the scout.” Gah! Nam-tah, not Dube-tah. Work, you fragging piece of scrap…

“Yes, well, Ironhide went off in that direction about a joor ago, so I may need some backup.”

Optimus stopped tapping and sighed. Of course he would. No one approached Ironhide alone after a fuel-injected bout of…recreation. They just didn’t know what to expect and frankly, the Weapons Specialist was unpredictable in his choice of entertainment. “All right. I’m coming.” He stacked the datapad inside a makeshift cubby hole and met Bumblebee at the door. He sent a light scan over the quadrant and found what Bumblebee was worried about. “Is that…music?”

“Not that I know of, but then Sam’s not here to interpret for me. I can’t figure out if it’s music or a demolition derby.” Bumblebee kept pace as they headed out to the center of a signal about a mile northwest.

It looked…like Bee might have been right about the derby. As they approached, they heard the rending screech of metal against immovable force. Optimus cringed. If Ironhide was in one of his sadistic moods, they’d have a hard time getting him back inside. He zoomed his apertures closer to the scene and found…carnage? Car parts were everywhere…

Then the faint strains of lyric hit his audios:

You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you
Help me I broke apart your insides, help me I’ve got no car to sell
Help me, the only thing that works for me, help me get
Away from myself


Optimus looked, perplexed, at Bee, shrugging his shoulders in response. Bee shook his head, and oddly enough, looking like he was about to roll in laughter. Optimus raised an optic ridge, not wanting to exert the patience…

“He’s improvised the lyrics, here.” A brief data burst loaded the song “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails to his meta. Oh Primus. What was Ironhide DOING? A car door flew out of the rolling mass of Topkick metal, though it was clearly not Hide’s, being pink.

I want to park you like an animal
I want to build you from the inside
I want to park you like an animal
and watch your RPM climb
You get me closer to Prime

He glanced to Bee, just knowing he was going to catch hell for that one…but Bee kept a straight faceplate and watched in fascination as Ironhide ripped more and more off the defenseless little inanimate machine. The distinctly Decepticon grin on his Weapon Specialist’s faceplates was two parts disturbing, three parts intriguing. It wasn’t like the car felt it… Come to think of it, the idea wasn’t half bad for de-stressing. Hmm.

You can have my ammunition, you can have the hate that It brings
You can have my interfacing, you can have my everything
Help me tear down my suspension, help me its your fuel I can smell
Help me you make me perfect, help me become some-bot else

Some-bot else. Yes. “Bumblebee? Head back to base, I’ll take care of this myself.”


He didn’t want their youngest bot to see him like this. Ironhide was different… “Bee…”

Something must have come across in his expression of his intentions to join Ironhide in his sadistic little rip-fest, for the scout took a step back, then another, then transformed and spun a rooster tail of gravel in his haste to retreat. Good. They’d have time for another round before heading back.

I want to park you like an animal
I want to build you from the inside
I want to park you like an animal
and watch your RPM climb

You get me closer to Prime

“You really want that, Hide?” Optimus had stepped slowly closer to Ironhide, carefully avoiding the small, curled missiles of sheet metal, dreaming they were bits of the command log instead of a deck lid.

Ironhide froze, his systems heaving with exertion. Hydraulics, cams, pistons…all chugging and writhing in the big black metal camouflage of Ironhide’s Earth form…it all made his response shaky: “P-prime?” He turned, pulling the drive train around with him like some dismembered spinal axis.

They exchanged a long, dark look, and Ironhide’s apprehension melted into a hungry grin. “I’ve got a Mustang I’ve been saving up…we can do her together.”

He grinned back, folding his arms around his chestplates and shifting to his dominant pede. It was the best thing Optimus’ audios had heard in orns. “Let’s go get ‘er.”

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