Transformers (movieverse): Optimus/Sam, drive
Sam bit his lip and dug his fingertips into Optimus Prime's steering wheel and tried really, really hard to not come in his pants. Optimus let out a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a moan, entirely inhuman and completely erotic, almost lost beneath the roar of the semi-alien-demigod's engine.
But Sam heard it. Sam heard it and he whimpered out something in response, shoving harder against the gas pedal that was already all the way down. He felt the steering wheel drift and he fought it, arms straining to keep Optimus on the road as they barreled across the dusky Nevada desert. Optimus wouldn't let them crash, he was sure, but the rules had been set and Sam was steering, Sam was in charge.
At least, until they flipped over or Sam came-climaxed-overloaded himself into a stupor.
Conscious electric feedback through the steering wheel, the seat, the air around him and the ever-present voices in the back of his skull whispered that Optimus was about as close to release as he was. Sam jerked the wheel and Optimus obligingly turned off of the road, a roaring red-blue-chrome blur as they dove headlong into the brush. Sam could practically feel what Optimus felt; the grainy earth beneath his hands-feet-tires, the fierce whistle of the wind against his cheeks-grill-windshield, the danger of off-roading at almost two hundred miles an hour commingled with the safety net of each other's presence-mind-spark-soul and oh God Primus God Primus Optimus-!
The truck exploded around him, shifting razor-edged metal and hot wires, but Sam was not afraid. He smiled and leaned back and fell into a huge, gentle hand, and at the contact they both peaked, their shared pleasure shouted at the flawless sky.
He lay against a broad metal chest, that hand cupped over him protectively, and damn, was it nice to be here when neither of them were in danger of dying any time soon. He let his hand dangle between plates and wires, nudging against something that he somehow knew connected to the Prime's spark, and the magnificent form beneath him twitched as if tickled. Sam grinned and poked it again and got a prod in the ribs in return.
Still grinning, Sam sat up and locked eyes-optics-minds with Optimus, who looked more sated and relaxed and, and happy than Sam could ever remember him being. Sam abruptly felt like a fumbling human again, unsure of what to say, what to do, what to think, so he didn't, letting out the first thing that came to mind; "So, how about instead of going back, we go to Vegas tonight and hit on sports cars together?"
Optimus laughed, long and loud, and it was so infectious that Sam couldn't help but join in. "I'd be glad to," Optimus said, sitting up and carefully lowering Sam to the ground. "But only if you agree to drive again."