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Sometimes Optimus wonders if he really deserves such a kind fate.
Millennia upon millennia of death and heartbreak, some of which had been wrought by his own servos or through his own begrudging actions or his impotent inability to do more to save as many lives as possible. It did not matter. No punishment he received could make up for his actions and the lives under his supposed protection.
The damage had been done, and his home was left an irreparable wasteland.
Well… Not entirely irreparable. The many reconstruction projects started after the war were some form of cold solace for his incompetence. Energon production was at least going steady. The meager amounts being produced were steadily rising to help keep everyone fueled while some form of stability could be achieved. Even then, fights would break out between desperate Cybertronians quite often, especially between those that had once been a proud part of the Autobot and Decepticon factions. He’d step in whenever he could but his former second-in-command had to discretely pull him aside after one of the scuffles ended with one of the oil bars exploding, informing him that his presence was only riling up both parties for completely different yet similar and more worryingly, explosive reasons.
He was already forced to step down from his role of the commander due to the peace treaty, putting him in a rather uncomfortable position where he was unable to help anyone even though it was all he wanted to do. It felt…unfair in a way, sitting on the sidelines while his people were forced to clean up after his mess when he was clearly more than willing to get his servos dirty working with metal and grit in order to lighten their burden even the smallest amount.
His former comrades, sensing his constant unease and restlessness, had very graciously found a courier job for him, where he would drive between the many cities of Cybertron to deliver supplies to those in need, it was a rigorous job, and most importantly out of the way while still allowing him to still feel somewhat useful. He did not mind, truly he was grateful to be given a task to keep his mind off his darker thoughts, plus it allowed him to catch up with his mile-long list of data pads that he never got the chance to finish reading. It was the very least he could do for ruining the lives of everyone around him…
He shook his proverbial head as he tried to clear his morose thoughts that had somehow snuck up on him again. He vents in and out, once, twice, and a third time for good measure as he tries to think about something else.
Making the deliveries is strangely…therapeutic, as the whole idea of the job was to essentially drive for hundreds if not thousands of miles while dragging tons of raw materials behind him to their destination. Whenever he stopped to pick up or drop off the wares packed in his trailer, he rarely ever turned back into his robot-mode. It was just more practical to be some faceless drone doing its duty.
Primus, what he wouldn’t give to just stop the emotions running through his processor. To just accept his role in the tragedies of his own makings and try to atone–
His spiraling is interrupted by an unexpected ping on his comm.
Optimus almost pauses at the message notification, but ultimately decides to continue his trek, assuming that it was from Prowl admonishing him for his tardiness or even the occasional thank-you message for a delivery well done from some of the clients on his daily mailing list.
What he gets instead when he opens his notifications is a simple:
Fight Me.
After seeing that lovely message, he elects to ignore it and continue his drive.
It’s not long before his processor is practically vibrating with how quickly the messages start to pester him once again. Apparently, the perks of being friends with Soundwave meant that Megatron could automate his messages for as long as he wanted without lifting a single digit. The thought of possibly enduring the onslaught for the rest of the day forces his servo as he sends an appropriately exasperated message back.
Why exactly?
He’s pinged a few more times before it slows to a halt, most likely due to Megatron stopping the algorithm in order to respond.
I’m bored, and I’m not allowed to hunt Starscream for sport.
And so you are bothering me now?
You sound surprised.
I’m not, but I am busy right now, please go ask one of your comrades to spar with you.
He doesn’t get another ping from Megatron for a while after that, and Optimus allows himself to foolishly hope that the ex-warlord had finally come to his senses. He drives in silence, with only the dry, borderline monotone voice from his audio track about Cybertron’s history playing to keep him company.
Unfortunately, the track is soon drowned out by the loud roar of a hovercraft’s engine, rapidly descending on his exact location. Optimus winces at the sharp crackle of the intercom. He can barely concentrate on the track as his beloved nemesis’ turbines roar into his audials, and Megatron’s voice rings through his processor.
“FINALLY, I FOUND YOU PRIME!”
Optimus popped one of his blasters out of its hidden compartment and aimed at Megatron’s right turbine.
“STAND FOR MY ARRI-ow!”
The affronted yelp at the nonchalant shot connecting was almost worth the full-frontal slam into his back, knocking him loose from his trailer and causing them to both veer off the road while kicking up dust as they tumble to the ground in a heap of disjointed limbs. Optimus quietly wonders when his disoriented foe had gained weight as he exerts a bit more force to shove the other off of himself.
Megatron finally comes to his senses when Optimus gets to his knees. As Optimus dusts himself off, Megatron gets up onto his aft, looking offended by the Prime’s lack of reaction to him, particularly by Optimus’ refusal to even look at him.
“You-You shot me!”
Optimus is struck with the desire to smack the other mech for his foolishness but only flicks him gently on the helm in affectionate exasperation, “You'll live, it is not like I hit you with a ballistic.”
The gray mech glares at him while rubbing at the dent.
“It felt like a ballistic,” said Megatron with an adorably angry expression, edging quite close to a petulant pout.
“I can't believe my pious and honorable Prime would be so afraid of facing me that he'd resort to such underhanded tactics.”
Optimus rolled his optics, “Do not be such a bitlet, I fired a pebble at you, and I am starting to regret it considering the fact that I quite liked that rock.”
Megatron was ready to say something else, but then shifted his optics away for a klik and decided to instead once again demand for Optimus to–
“Fight me.”
Optimus sighed, “I am good, now please let me continue my–”
“Oh shut it!” Megatron flicked a dismissive servo. “You’re already ahead of schedule by cycles, I'm sure no sane bot would miss you if you take an extra solar cycle to reach your destination.”
His retort gives the dusty prime pause. “How do you know my delivery schedule?”
Megatron doesn’t even miss a beat to answer in an unconcerned manner, “You left your data pad out on our berth stand.”
“How? I was certain to make sure that it was password-protected!” Optimus said, faceplate as incredulous as his voice.
“Some password,” scoffed Megatron, already raising his fists up in a fighting position while discreetly trying to shake off some dust off his fusion cannon. “It’s Bumblebee’s creation date with ‘18’ tacked on the end because you refuse to use anything else.”
“That’s–That’s not true…” Optimus mumbled, his whole chassis heating up from embarrassment. He coughed into his fist discreetly, “I have other passwords that you are not aware of…”
He shifts his hip joints around in a way that was sure to get the other’s attention, co-habitation with the other for so long had made him privy to the other’s…tastes.
Megatron’s optics widen and cycle for a mere nano-klik before squinting his optics accusingly at the flustered prime’s sad attempt at seduction.
“You’re trying to distract me, so I forget about fighting you right now, aren’t you?”
Optimus shrugs in a half-hearted attempt to look apologetic, “I would never stoop to such lowly tactics…unless it is working?”
Megatron’s response is to clumsily punch the prime in the face, but Optimus handily side steps the blow, catching the limb in between his servos as he twists the other’s arm, threatening to pop it out of its socket. The shrill shriek of metal plating scratching each other as they passed one another was audial-splitting and the perfect diversion for Megatron to hook his leg underneath the Prime’s adjacent leg, forcing him back on the ground. They tumble to the ground once again in a pile of flailing limbs, desperately rolling around in their facsimile of an embrace.
Optimus’s processor is still ringing after Megatron’s headbutt. He tries to get that infuriating mech into a restricting hold, but the damned bot is surprisingly slippery. After some very unsportsbotlike biting, and shoving a digit into his audial as a final last desperate gambit, the former warlord is finally flat on his back with his most beloved nemesis on top of him, pinning those dark servos above his head, straddling his hip joints and tightening those silvery-white thighs to keep him in place.
Not that Megatron was really struggling to leave his current position…
“Are you ready to admit defeat now, my dear?” said Optimus, venting heavily as he tried to restrain the other. He barely noticed the slip of an endearment.
Megatron flashes him an annoyingly arrogant grin, as though this was all some kind of silly game to him. “Never, my Prime, I would rather dive into the core of a dying star before ever surrendering to you,” he said with a delightfully wicked glint in his optic.
“Really now?” mused Optimus, shifting his own hips to grind down on Megatron’s stubbornly shut panels. This causes the ex-warlord to look a little uncharacteristically flustered as he tries to stifle a moan, which of course, Optimus took advantage of, leaning forward to whisper into his audial, “Not even if I do this?” as he started gently rocking his hips back and forth.
“Nghh–Never!” gasped Megatron, straining against the Prime’s movement, his sleek hips trying to rise up minutely to meet the other’s frustratingly closed panels, “I will never–Ah!–submit to you!”
“I am not asking you to submit. I am merely following the logical endpoint of a battle that, excuse me for being frank, you fragging started against my explicit wishes?” stated Optimus, like they were merely having a heated discussion about what engex was suited for date nights and not doing…whatever it was they were doing. “Truly, it is a miracle that your stubborn hard-headedness allows for any higher thought,” finished Optimus with an annoyed huff.
“Fragg—Ahn!” Megatron’s whole frame shudders as Optimus kisses the side of his neck, and then nibbles on some of the looser cables. The gray mech’s servos went limp under Optimus’ grip, making the fearsome ex-warlord resemble more of a jelly-like human desert than a battle hardened veteran. A comparison all the more fitting when Megatron’s panels snapped open to release his spike, the sound alone made Optimus’ mouth instantly began to water.
The increasingly intense, quiet gasps for air from Megatron’s mouth is enough to convince Optimus to slowly remove his dark blue servos and place them on his gray chassis to push himself up back to straddling position.
“Although, I wouldn’t have thought that a grown mech such as yourself could have such a hard time finding some entertainment,” Optimus’s gaze never left those bright red optics while his dark blue servos slowly reached down to his array, carefully stroking them in a hypnotic pattern that has Megatron at rapt attention. Megatron’s little gasp was more than gratifying when his panels were eventually coaxed open, exposing his blinking node and dripping valve. “Don’t tell me you can’t even do that anymore without me?” said Optimus with a sympathetic croon.
Those beautiful red optics are the first to shift away, Megatron’s face morphing into one of discomfort, “No…that’s–never mind, it’s not important, Prime,” he finished with a guilty expression on his faceplate.
Optimus blinks at him.
“Oh. I am sorry, please forgive my impulsivity, I do not know what came over me,” he said, leaning back to get off the other when he feels the other bot’s servos suddenly wrap around his waist in a firm grip. The expression on Megatron’s face is unreadable.
“Don't go.”
It’s strange.
As they stare into each other’s optics, as isolated as they are on the side of a seldom traveled Cybertronian road, it really does feel like they’re the only two bots in the universe. Their past is far behind them and their future far too fraught for a clear view.
But here?
At this very moment?
There's no place where Optimus would rather be in the infinite cosmos, cradling the love of his life in a truly scandalous position. He'd laugh at the absurd situation they found themselves in, but he was loath to break the quiet moment they had found themselves in.
Instead, he leans down to brush his beloved’s cheek before softly placing his lips against Megatron's, allowing himself to memorize the way that they fit together and move together in perfect harmony. It was as if Primus and Unicron personally had made their very existence impossible without the other. That was the only explanation for this inexplicable feeling deep in Optimus’s chassis, thrumming and burning at his very spark.
Their embrace ends with Optimus reluctantly pulling away to give Megatron a fond look, and Megatron mirroring his own… it was rare to see such a soft expression on that hardened faceplate but that just made it even more precious to the Prime as he tucked the image away into the most secure portion of his processor.
“Sometimes, I wonder why I even get out of berth, when I have someone as wonderful as you laying by my side,” Optimus said fondly, sadly, probably some messy mix of the two, brushing the other bot’s cheek for some imaginary speck of dirt stubbornly clinging on.
It makes his spark tighten up when he feels Megatron turn his head into his touch, optics cycled close in contentment. The greatest warrior of Cybertron, ones whose servos are eternally stained with the energon of countless lives and nearly bringing their entire planet to ruin. The fact that he still functions even now is almost tantamount to spitting on those who had suffered his wanton destruction.
Although…
What does that say about his own energon-stained servos?
What right does he have to lay judgment on the bot beneath him, as if he’s some kind of tragic figure that was powerless to stop the tragedies that laid before him? Was it not his own words, his very actions and principles, that made his people follow him to the bitter end? He may have found Megatron’s disregard for life in general to be abhorrent at the time, but had he not done the same? To his own troops that had looked at him with stars in their eyes, who would–no, had, gladly sacrifice themselves for him and their shared goal for the freedom of all sentient life.
If he was a sane mech, he would hate and despise Megatron to the end of their lifetimes.
Curse his name and pray for his eternal punishment.
And yet… His happiest memories are when he's with Megatron, when they're laughing together, enjoying some subpar energon together, and falling asleep together. Small innocuous moments that he shouldn't even be able to hope for due to the simple reason being that he simply doesn't deserve to have such wonderful moments when there was so much more that he could have done. He can’t even excuse it as something more logical, for what prison guard frets about their prisoner's well-being and happiness? It's shameful how often he happily reminisces in the way that their servo fit together in that firm yet oh-so gentle grip, it's the quiet way they show affection when words are too much to ever let escape their dermas. They’ve settled into this unusually…domestic relationship so long ago that Optimus can’t even recall why or even when it had first occurred.
Just that he has grown so accustomed to it that he knows for certain that he will never be able to live without it.
Megatron cracks open his optic to give Optimus a knowing look, “You're overthinking again, aren't you?” he says before giving him a mirrored smile belying his exhaustion.
“For a bot famed for his ability to inspire unshakable hope and optimism, you’re a surprisingly dour bot, maybe they should call you ‘Worri-mus Prime’ instead.”
The smug grin on that handsome gunmetal gray faceplate fills the Prime with the instinctual urge to smack him.
Instead, Optimus hums in half-hearted agreement, tracing Megatron’s hard contours reverently, “I do believe that there is a story about a clown that delves into those themes, I think you would enjoy it, actually.”
“Could you not bring up clowns during our foreplay?” groaned Megatron, scrunching his faceplate in immense displeasure, “I don’t want to ever compare your visage to some backwater organic planet’s idea of an entertaining fool, it makes me want to purge my waste tanks.”
Optimus laughs in response, “But you do agree that I am an entertaining fool, correct?” he finishes by discreetly shifting his hips down to grind on Megatron’s flagging spike, causing it to perk up with renewed interest, “You would not have hunted me down like some common gyro-deer if I was not.”
As if responding to his salacious words, Megatron’s hips suddenly jerk upward with a groan, causing the tip of his spike to meet with the lips of Optimus’s valve, and causing the Prime to let out a surprised gasp as he tightens his grip on his beloved’s face.
“Should–Shouldn’t I prepare you before we–?”
“Mmph–You have always said I have a problem with overthinking, a little pain will be no bother,” groaned Optimus as he brought his left servo down to guide that wonderful, perfect spike to line up with the welcoming, almost desperate heat of his valve, “Although…I do believe I have a solution that will make the two of us quite…satisfied.”
Megatron’s servos tighten in anticipation, “And what would that be, my Prime?”
“Please, I do not want to think right now,” he sighed as he lowered himself minutely onto the head of the spike, the transfluid starting to leak around the point of contact, he feels his processors fog up with only one primary goal, “I am sure that a mech as smart as you can figure out how to–Ah!–assist me in these matters?” rocking his hips with far more purpose, trying to work himself down that behem–
In his futile attempts to keep a level processor while trying to get them blown out by interfacing, he feels Megatron pull him down the shaft in one swift movement, surrounding his spike in the warm and tight heat of Optimus’s valve and for a singular moment, he feels as though he is seeing the cosmos themselves. The rough grunting from Megatron is enough proof that the mech feels very similarly, if not the same…although that may be because Optimus’s servo has tightened to a stranglehold around his head…not like he was complaining though.
“Oh–!”
“Fu–ack!”
They’re both frozen in place as they try to catch their breaths, the pain and pleasure morphing into a particularly intense feeling of euphoria while Optimus’s valve cycles and clenches around the intruding spike.
“Hah–How are you feeling?” Optimus asked with great difficulty, feeling his charge race through his entire form has he still stubbornly clings to rational thought, “Sorry, for–ugnh–grabbing you so hard.”
“It’s…It’s fine,” Megatron grits out, “Do you–Do you want me to move or do–Do you?”
“I–I’ll…move, hah, just lay back and let me take the lead,” clenching tightly as if to emphasize his point, a shudder of satisfaction runs down his spinal strut as he watches Megatron start to shake under him.
He moves his servos to grab onto Megatron’s shoulders as he steadies himself to start his movements in true earnest, every sensor in his valve rejoicing at the sensation of Megatron’s ridged spike brushing up against them. Those sinfully immovable dark servos simultaneously support and lock him in place, gripping his waist so tightly that he swears that he can almost feel the charge racing through them, all while helping to work him even more onto his spike.
Movement becomes even easier with how the copious amounts of pre-transfluid starts to coat the inner walls of his valve and even more so when it starts leaking out around the lips of the valve, coating his thighs to help him work the spike ever deeper up and up. Optimus wants–no, needs to feel that glorious spike reach the back of his forge, maybe even further if Primus is willing.
No prayers were needed, as it’s not long before Megatron’s spike is kissing the entrance to his forge, with the gestation iris slowly being worked open with each battering thrust. It becomes more receptive when more transfluid starts to fill the needy opening, loosening up to the point that the head of his spike easily breaches its paltry defenses. Optimus distantly, desperately, hopes that Megatron will stain the walls of his forge blue with transfluid.
“I, agh!, I’m…Working on it!”
The flush of embarrassment at the realization that he had said that aloud seems to have a physical reaction on his processor and frame as Optimus grips down on Megatron so hard that he can feel the slightest give from the metal of his shoulders as he starts to intensely ride Megatron for everything he has, twisting his hips while bouncing up and down, making sure to squeeze his calipers on every push and pull.
It’s a miracle he hasn’t overloaded yet, but he can feel himself approaching the edge and the near painful grip that Megatron has on his waist signals that the other will not last long either.
“I–I do not—I will not last long!” cried Optimus, feeling the tell-tale rippling of his calipers as they started spiraling tighter and tighter.
“Optimus–Please. Please, let me–”
“Yes! Primus–Yes! Just–”
Megatron surges forward, capturing Optimus’s lips in his own as he finally thrusts deep into his Prime’s valve causing said Prime to scream in pure static, voice box fritzing as he tumbles into a shattering overload, he’s numbly aware that Megatron reaches his own climax when he stills after his final thrusts, a copious amount of transfluid filling his forge as it greedily tries to suck it up after being pummeled for so long.
He’s grateful for Megatron’s tight embrace, as he feels that he would fall backwards if released, judging by the limp state of his own arms dangling by his side, it’s not a baseless assumption. He slowly snakes them up and behind Megatron’s sides to gently hold him in turn, for no other reason than…he wanted to hold the mech even if it was futile beyond satisfying their beating sparks.
It’s dark now, with Luna-1 and her counterpart Luna-2 soon to appear above the horizon, signalling that Optimus was well and truly behind on his deliveries but…he truly cannot muster up any motivation to care now. Not while there was something far more interesting taking up all his attention, for now, he would allow himself this warmth in the silent darkness, far away from all obligations and expectations.
Megatron is the first to break it, “You hadn’t come back home for a while, I…was wondering what was keeping you,” his gruff voice tinged with worry and distress, “You never do that unless you’re spiraling.”
Optimus is silent at his companion's painful observation before leaning further into his hold, “I…I apologize once again, I did not mean to cause you so much pain, but then why did you come all the way out here? If you missed me, you could have written a comm or called me.”
“I didn’t miss you, and don't expect to be so easily forgiven with such a limp apology,” scoffed Megatron, blustering once again, “And you know how much of a hassle it is to call you…I wanted to see for myself how you were…holding up.”
“Hmmm, I see,” Optimus mumbled happily, leaning his head on the dented shoulder, “I’m glad, I missed you too.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted to fight you, I…I also missed that too.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“What else would we call it?”
“Making love?”
“Absolutely not.”
Optimus’s engine rumbles contentedly in response, “I do not care, I love you.”
He can feel Megatron roll his eyes in response, “What a foolish notion.”
“You love me too.”
“...If I say yes, will you come home more regularly?”
His bright blue optics stare up into the clear night sky, the stars dotting the night sky bring him some comfort, if there was anything that could possibly compete with the near-immortality of a Cybertronian, it would have to be the tiny pinpricks of starlight that were once a part of his original namesake. It’s nice to know that they’ll be around long after his frame has rusted away and his name long since forgotten to myth and legend.
They do say that time is the only true balm to hurt and tragedy, perhaps if he lived among the celestial beings, even his own endless list of sins would one day appear ephemeral and insignificant in the end…
“I will try.”
Megatron is silent for a single moment before letting out a tired sigh, “It’ll have to do, do not think I will let you off the hook if you fail to uphold that promise.”
“I would hope not, especially if we can do this again.”
“Hopefully somewhere more comfortable, my spinal struts are aching.”
“You barely even did anything?”
“Exactly, imagine how your frame is holding up, Ratchet is going to kill you.”
“He would not.”
“I will if you keep this up.”
Optimus laughs in response, “Okay, Okay, I will see Ratchet when I finish my delive–”
“First thing in the morning, get some other bot to do it.”
“Fine, first thing in the morning…anything else, my Lord?”
“Take a break for the next cycle or two, your damnable Autobots keep pestering me about your wellbeing, if we hurry back we can get back before they even notice.”
“Alright, but not right now,” Optimus said sleepily, barely even able to keep his optics alight, “I just want to be surrounded by nothing and you…especially you.”
Megatron huffs in response but Optimus can feel his other half relax in his hold, “Just this once, only because I will lord this over you when we get back,” he finished by readjusting his hold on Optimus, so that they could comfortably rest against each other.
“Of course.”
As Optimus drifts off into unconscious sleep, he feels light for the first time in cycles.