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He didn’t realize at first. He’d been distracted by the hottest fragging of his life. His valve clenched so hard around Megatron’s spike that he was sure if he twisted he might have broken it off. At the start, he’d loosened his hip joints so he could almost feel him right up against his forging chamber. And he’d been rewarded. Was still being rewarded. Megatron’s grip tightened around his wrists and pulled him until he was stretched taut on the berth. Which of course tilted him into an angle he hadn’t thought possible, his pedes kicking weakly at Megatron’s legs. “Let me deeper, Autobot.” Megatron purred into his audial, glossa flicking over his finial.
“Can’t.” Trying not to let on how hot that was, knowing he failed when Megatron bit down on the finial in his intake forcing a low moan that rumbled through his frame.
“You can.” He shuddered at the demand, cycling his calipers to their widest possible setting. Megatron’s satisfied groan was lost in the roar of his flight engines when their panels scraped together. “There we are.” Megatron murmured, not moving as Optimus’s calipers rippled before finally giving up and loosening entirely. Pressure on his lower tanks drew his optics down to where Megatron was stroking...he wasn’t sure what with his free servo. A dizzy warmth spun up from where Megatron’s servos were stroking.
“Is that?”
“You’re quite the ambitious Autobot.” Megatron chuckled, patting where his spike was protruding from Optimus’s tanks. He swallowed down the weak laugh knocking around in his voice box. “What a sight you are.” His legs shook and he wrapped them more firmly around Megatron’s waist. “Shall I continue?” Not trusting his voice, he nodded. Sparks danced in his optics as Megatron ground down, pulling back just enough to allow Optimus’s calipers to begin to reset before thrusting even deeper. It was starting to feel like he was going to scrape the biolights off. Not that Megatron seemed to mind. In fact, that seemed to be entirely what he was going for. Liquid heat rolled through his valve, sizzling when it met Megatron’s burning, how were Decepticons so hot, panel.
“It’s too much.” Voice box aching with the whisper. Too good, the only working part of his processor corrected while the rest of it struggled to maintain any level of control under the slow assault of his sensors. Losing it instantly when Megatron released his wrists and he coiled like a spring, his faceplate pressing up against the Decepticon symbol. Hot digits pulled his face up into a clash of denta, Megatron’s fangs cutting into his dermas. Warm energon slipped over his glossa onto Megatron’s, the other’s optics brightening.
“Better than the finest oil.” Megatron cooed, his laugh smothered when Optimus pulled him back in for another kiss, his tanks squirming at the tone though he couldn’t figure out why.
“More.” Not really meaning it. Not sure how Megatron could do more. Anything to turn Megatron’s attention off of his taste.
“What a brave request.” Megatron vented harshly, optics growing hazy. “Perhaps here.” Megatron ran his servos down to Optimus’s external node and tapped it once, lightning fast pleasure turning his spinal strut molten. “Hm?” He nodded desperately, again tightening his legs around Megatron’s burning hips and glancing down. His optics caught on the bulge and a horrified curiosity brought his own servo down to trace the shape.“Yess.” Megatron hissed. He grinned then regretted it a bit when Megatron mirrored him and pinched the external node caught in his digits. His entire frame bowed and burned white hot. His processor exploded with pleasure then shut down entirely, the last thing he heard was his own voice. A crackling scream.
He onlined to Megatron still leaning over him, the rush of fluid running down onto the berth telling him that Megatron had enjoyed that as much as he had. Opening his intake to speak, he shut it immediately when there was just a flow of static from his voice box. Slowly, Megatron leaned back, pulling him along and reached towards the berthside table, opening the drawer and pulling out cube of medical grade energon. “Unless you have blown it entirely, that should suffice.” Megatron tilted the cube into his servo before reaching back into the drawer and grabbing a cube for himself. Optimus scanned the cube before knocking it back, relieved when the sharp pain in his voice box disappeared.
“Thanks.” He rasped, clearing the damage report and dismissing the others looming in his processor. Placing the cube back on the berthside table, he laid back down. Realizing his legs were still locked tightly around Megatron’s, he loosened his hold, not quite ready to be entirely free. “I knew you still had some things to work out.” He laughed, pointedly not thinking about how often Megatron had showed up during his recharge just like this more times than he could count. Megatron leaned over him and hummed, optics narrowing as he considered Optimus’s words.
“Frustration and lust are never strangers. Now, as much as I’d prefer to stay in berth and consider “that” thought,” Megatron smirked down at him, surprising a hum of consideration out of him that he smothered too late, “I have meetings that require a certain amount of mental preparation.” Infusing dread into the thought. With Lugnut, Optimus assumed but didn’t confirm.
Megatron made to stand and he braced himself on the berth, trying not to look too eager. He had found, embarrassingly, that he enjoyed this part quite a bit. The buzz of pleasure when his valve was suddenly empty and his calipers rippled around nothing. Especially after this fragging. He felt the beginning slide then yelped when he left the berth in a rush and the world flipped upside down, pain jolting his hip joints. He had a faint memory of taking Sari to gymnastics during her one week interest in the sport before she discovered “morning practice”. Seeing the older students flipping themselves around on a bar, he had been impressed by the strength and speed required. Now he wondered if they just didn’t want to die. Another stab of pain and he realized that he had a limited amount of time before Megatron’s spike, still prodding protoform, ripped through his tanks. Feeling a bit like an earth fish on a hook, he swung up and gripped Megatron’s waist.
“Clinging, Optimus?” Megatron teased, like he wasn’t the one who used Optimus as a pillow regularly.
“Just overly attached to being in one piece.” He responded, relieved when Megatron knelt down again. He scanned their frames, focusing in on where his thighs had not budged from Megatron’s hip plates where pools of ribbed metal stood out against the black. There hadn’t been much he’d enjoyed about Space Bridge repair but he had seen plenty of welding. “I think we’re,” pausing to try and pull back his legs and finding no give “forged together?”
Megatron shook his helm, confusion twisting his faceplate. “Impossible. Cybertronians do not melt together.” Confusion turned to anger in a spark pulse, his flight engines roaring far too close for comfort. Optimus was starting to understand how this might have happened. “The inferior metal of that disgusting planet. There must be just enough of it mixed with the Destronium of my original frame.”
Indignant on Earth’s behalf, he slapped Megatron’s thigh. “Hey, I wouldn’t call this inferior metal.” Regretting it instantly when Megatron’s snarl softened into a smirk.
“The frame elevates the material.” Megatron drawled but his flight engines had quieted and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he’d done far more for Megatron than he had Earth.
“That’s not, I mean, fine, yeah.” He huffed, eager to move off the point. “I’ll call Ratchet. I guess.” Already imagining the lecture he was going to get while Ratchet pulled them apart. Obviously not knowing any better, Megatron seemed warm to the idea and waved him on officiously.
“I will inform Strika that we are detained. This seems an unnecessary reason to end our armistice.” Optimus scowled and Megatron rolled his optics. “Our peace treaty.”
He adjusted as best as he could as he scrolled though his contacts. Now that the hum of the overload was starting to wear off, the spike pulsing in his valve was beginning to hurt and his legs were remembering that they weren’t quite where they should be. Drying lubricant flaked off and itched. By now, he would have been out the door while Megatron was probably in his washracks, processor foggy. Instead, he was comming Ratchet as Megatron turned to contact Strika, the aft not looking nearly as uncomfortable.
“What, what is it?” Ratchet’s voice rang loud and grouchy in his audial and he winced. You’d think he’d have had some time to relax.
He had intended to give it to Ratchet straight. Megatron had already finished his unfairly short call and was eyeing him expectantly. Instead, “Hey, Ratchet, how are you doing?”
“Busy. Got cons’ and bots’ clogging up my lobby.” Weird, he hadn’t gotten any messages about fights. Sentinel usually sent them as high priority message with an aggressive amount of exclamation points. Then Ratchet continued. “They’re trying “Interfaction Lob Ball.” Ratchet groused and he could hear the quotations. “It’s looking more like some bots volunteered to be the ball.”
“I bet Bulkhead would love that.” Hissing when a large digit tapped his thigh impatiently. Ratchet surprised him with a laugh.
“Funny you should mention that.” A file arrived from Ratchet that he temporarily dismissed. There would be plenty of time for it later. “Show it to Megatron, I bet he’d get a kick out of it.”
“Yeah, probably. Listen, we need some help.”
“Some over the comm help or are you going to need to come down here?” He imagined the walk to Ratchet’s clinic. If he was really persistent, maybe Megatron would knock him into recharge first. “Optimus? Do I need to send someone over? Jazz?”
“No, no, just you. I think you need to come down here.” Megatron mouthed. “Think?”. He waved him off. Ratchet was quiet for a long moment. Optimus could almost see the scenarios whirring around in Ratchet’s head.
“You better send me some pictures.” With a sigh, he cycled his optics, snapping several pictures, contorting himself as much as possible to get as clear an image as he could. Little jolts of heat followed each twist and judging by the way Megatron was gripping the berth, he was in the same position. As Megatron’s spike pressed up against his internals, he amended that to “nearly in the same position”. At least they were both somewhat suffering. Feeling like he was waiting for execution, he sent the files and peered up to find Megatron staring down at him with a strange, tight look.
“Are you-?” Metal scraped in his audial, loud enough that he was sure Megatron could hear it. “Ratchet?”A strangled bark of laughter had him turning the volume down. “You’re laughing?” He asked incredulously. Beneath him, Megatron’s legs shuddered, prompting him to look up in time to see Megatron cover a very unwarlord like chuckle. Alright, only one of them was really suffering here. Ratchet coughed and vented several times before he recovered himself. Then the dam broke. Very loudly. “Come on, Ratchet, you’re a medic. I’m sure you’ve seen situations like this.” He said, gambling on Ratchet’s pride.
It worked. “’Course I have. You think you’re the first pair of Bots who a ran a little too hot? Usually they were attached to something else though. There’s always some new thrill going around with you young Mechs.”
“As entertaining as this is.” Megatron cut in, this time tapping Optimus’s distended protoform. Right.
“So, soon do you think?”
“Already on my way out. Fortunately for you. First Aid was coming on duty and she’s got a whole bunch of young Medics itching to work on Bots.” Ratchet chuckled again. “I’ll even put on the siren.” He teased.
“Please no.” The last thing either of them needed was Strika or Sentinel to come barreling in. He was pretty sure he’d offline on the spot if Sentinel saw them like this. They’d be calling him Rack. Ruin, he was sure Megatron would claim immediately once he turned the offending Mech into a pile of scrap.
“Relax. As Bumblebee might say have: Cool your engines. Have Megatron explain a joke to you. Real funny Mech, I bet. Now let me drive.” The comm dropped before he could tell Ratchet how ridiculous it was that he of all Bots was telling him to relax.
“So.” Megatron, who had clearly grown bored and started checking his internal messages, jerked a bit. His calipers tightened in response as Megatron’s spike also jerked up, “Ahh.” Slag. “No, that wasn’t it.”
“No? A pity.” Megatron leered down at him for a nanoklik then shrugged. “What is it?”
Swallowing against the pulse of arousal that pinged through his frame like a pinball, he gestured to the washracks. “Just to get some of it off before Ratchet gets here.” A knot of tension he hadn’t even noticed in Megatron’s spinal strut loosened, his pauldrons slumping in obvious relief.
“A truly excellent idea.” Megatron’s pressed a servo to his back and pushed him into Megatron’s chassis, he really was going to have the Decepticon symbol burned into his faceplate. He gripped Megatron’s sides again as Megatron turned and stood up slowly. Besides the stretching pain in his thighs and the dull ache in his valve where Megatron’s spike had taken up temporary residence, as long as he didn’t move much, he could definitely say he’d felt worse. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel in another half a cycle but he’d take what he could get. “At least we are not bound at the legs. That would certainly be a far faster but more painful procedure.” Megatron said as he walked, glacially slow he noted, careful not to jostle Optimus any more than he had to.
“Trust me. I’m grateful.”
Finally, they entered the washracks and Megatron made a beeline, as much as he could, for a stool surrounded by jets. Of course Megatron had sprung for wall jets. A large shelf stretched across the back wall, slightly higher than his helm, laden with bottles of polish and what looked like folded washcloths. It also didn’t surprise him that Megatron kept an organized washrack. “Slowly.” He urged.
“Obviously.” As Megatron sat, his digits pressed into Optimus’s back, lifting him as much as he could. Still as gently, Optimus noted. It was doing funny things to his spark. And his tanks. Even with Megatron’s extra care, the impact drove Megatron’s spike deep again., forcing another strangled whine out of his intake. His internals twitched around Megatron’s spike. “Ngh.” Megatron covered his optics with a servo, fangs biting his lower dermas.
“Maybe the stool isn’t the brightest idea.” He said with a weak chuckle, hoping to defuse some of the tension. Megatron’s optics rolled down to him from under his servo and after a long moment, his lips turned up into what he had come to understand was Megatron’s version of a teasing smile.
“You’d deny an old Mech his pleasures?” Considering the situation, it didn’t seem possible to really deny Megatron anything.
“Yeah, you seemed really old a cycle ago.” Especially when he had held Optimus so high that only his finials scraped the berth. It hadn’t been the first time that he had ever thought he was going to offline but it was the first time that he had considered asking for a repeat performance. Now that he thought about it, that would have been a much worse angle to get stuck at. Yet more small victories. Steam filled the room as the spigots came to life on all sides. Loose flakes of paint slid onto the floor with the mess of transfluid and lubricants and swirled in the drain. This had been an excellent idea. The tension in his legs didn’t disappear but did fade to a manageable level. Megatron was watching him carefully, face clearing when it was obvious that Optimus’s pain had lessened. It was still incredible to think that this was the same Mech that had nearly killed him. Could still kill him right now if he chose. There was nothing stopping him from taking what could be considered well earned but not well thought out revenge. But the thought didn’t cause his spark to flare in terror as it once would have. Megatron’s digits pressed against his finial, smoothing out the dents he had left.
As if sharing a processor, Megatron chuckled. “How easy it would be to crush you right now.” He murmured with an unacceptable softness. “But what a waste that would be.” The digits trailed down and stroked his cheek, the protoform tingling in its wake.
“Well, thank you for that.” He quipped, unable to bear the strange atmosphere. Judging by Megatron’s appraising look, it didn’t have the intended effect. Instead, he busied himself with Megatron’s side vents, wiping at the smudges of lubricant that clung stubbornly. Megatron twitched but didn’t stop him immediately, that tight look back then gone when Optimus did a double take. He moved to the next. “Your vents really do collect a lot.” He laughed, scraping at a splash of blue paint that better matched him than Megatron. Another twitch, more violent then a large servo settled on his own.
“Even for a Mech with such low self-preservation instincts, that seems unwise.” Swallowing, he pulled his servos back but cataloged it for next time. Ticklish Decepticons, who knew? He tamped down on the urge to reach back with wriggling digits, an urge absolutely born from living with Bumblebee, and instead reached for and patted the wall until he felt the curve of the shelf. “Allow me.” Megatron grabbed two of the wash clothes and dropped one in his servo before turning to a patch of silver on Optimus’s chassis.
Looking at Megatron like this was a questionable luxury. That they were like this at all was a still a bit of a tangle for him. Cycles into Megatron’s trial, it was clear that this wasn’t the solution. That this court case would simply be the interlude to another Great War. He had sat behind his desk and watched video after video, several of them his own, but his attention had been drawn to Megatron. More than was reasonable. Partly waiting for him to leap to his pedes and disarm his guards. Mostly to see any reaction at all. Their last fight had bothered him. Under the overwhelming static of victory and loss, there was a still a part of him glued to that memory of Megatron asking, not pleading, for him to finish the job. He could still feel his servo tightening around the handle of the hammer. Trying to find the rage that would make him strong enough to finish it. But he had only been tired, fatigue rippling through every circuit. He’d felt right in not offlining him there. It felt like a choice Prowl would have made in his place.
At first the Warlord had watched it all dispassionately with a glaze over his optics. But at one point, and he can’t be sure that he can really blame it on any of the videos, Megatron’s dermas twitched. Suddenly as if he was back in the simulator, he saw the next hundred megacycles spinning out in front of him. Megatron escaping, reuniting with Strika whose ships had prowled the perimeter of Autobot space throughout the trial, and plunging them back into war. It had felt as if he was at the beginning of a very long and familiar song. A bubble of hysteria had rolled up into his voice box and he had cleared his intake loud enough to catch the room’s attention. Sentinel had just gaped at him before returning his attention to the rest of the room. But Megatron had just run his glossa over his denta and smirked at him as if to say “You hear it too?” before turning back to the front of the room, his optics clear. At the end of that cycle, a frustrated Sentinel on his heels, he had stood in front of Megatron’s cell. He had expected his internals to be liquefying in shame. Instead, a familiar peace had settled around his spark. He had never known Prowl to turn down the chance to make peace where only Energon had been shed.
Megatron, at first, had simply offlined his optics and perhaps his audials given his lack of reaction to Sentinel’s screech of rage. It had also occurred to him that perhaps he was simply used to it given his usual proximity to Starscream. Threats had rolled around his intake, smoothing into cajoling but never becoming words. Instead he had taken in Megatron’s appearance. Medics had done what they could and at least the internal damage had been repaired but the external cracks, cracks he was more than familiar with, had remained. On Megatron, it had looked a bit like the destruction of a priceless relic. Every guard had said that since he had arrived, unless he was being moved to his trial, he had not moved, simply sitting in his cell with his helm bowed and his digits laced together. A feeling revoltingly like pity had slithered though him and finally what came out was “We can’t keep you in here forever, there’s no use in that.” The room had glowed then, an eerie red, when Megatron looked at him, both of them now ignoring Sentinel’s spluttering.
“No?” The question had seemed genuine and he had jumped on the sincerity in it eagerly.
“If we just return to this same ceasefire, even with different players, nothing changes.” Hardly believing his own surety but not his words, he pushed on. “Decepticons are Cybertronians. We cannot keep all of you off of the planet.” Mistakes were inevitable. Decepticon sympathizers thrived in the seams of Cybertron. “Or in cells.” The word echoing loudly in the quiet hall.
“You can certainly try.” Megatron had grinned then, denta glinting in the red glow, looking uncomfortably like human blood. “What is your superior alternative, Optimus Prime?” Using a far silkier tone than when he had used it last time.
“We learn to live with each other since it seems like we’re stuck with each other.” He wouldn’t go backwards. And deep down, after all this time, he didn’t think Megatron wanted that either.
Truer words, he thought wryly. He rubbed at a spot of blue on Megatron’s arm, remnants of his own tight grip coming back to him as his cloth dipped into the small grooves. Megatron had chosen to devote his time to where they were joined, every once in a while pressing his digits to the underside of Optimus’s thigh and lifting as if the steam was hot enough to separate them. He supposed that Meltdown might have been able to do the job but he was a big fan of having legs and he was sure that Megatron wasn’t that eager to lose his after getting them back so recently. Also, one of the only perks of being so far from Earth was that he did not have to visit their Earth enemies. The Cybertronian ones were more than enough for him.
They stayed in the washracks until Ratchet messaged him that he was nearly there while also cursing the layers of traffic, around and above. One side effect of their burgeoning population was that the traffic had doubled. Maybe the siren wouldn’t have been such a bad idea. “What a shame.” Megatron said when he updated him on Ratchet’s progress, sounding not particularly bothered.
“You don’t seem nearly as annoyed about this as I thought.” Megatron shrugged, turning off the jets and returning his servo to Optimus’s back as he stood up.
“No, I suppose not. As frustrating as it is, it’s not nearly as painful.” As he spoke, he took a slightly heavier step that left Optimus wincing. “For me.” He’d have thought it was on purpose if it wasn’t for obvious frustration on Megatron’s face. “There are the advantages to consider.”
“Care to-” Wincing when his calipers tightened and recoiled at the shock of pain. “Elaborate?” Megatron didn’t speak until they returned to the berth, looking thoughtful. He pressed his digits into the exposed wiring of his thigh struts, massaging the straining cables. The warmth radiating off of Megatron’s frame helped more than he expected.
“Contrary to my earlier comments, it is extraordinarily difficult to pin you down.” Optimus considered pointing out the dents on his shoulders that proved otherwise but he knew that wasn’t what Megatron meant.
“I just thought you might not want me to stick around.” Megatron snorted and reached back into that earlier drawer. He was starting to think that actually might be a refrigerating unit. It wouldn’t surprise him that Megatron kept one right by his berth. He seemed the type. Out came two glasses and a small bottle of high-grade.
“To dull some of the pain before your medic arrives.” He accepted the glass and automatically scanned it. “At least you appear to have some self-preservation instincts though this would hardly be the time to poison myself.” Megatron noted before taking a long drink.
“Sari showed us a movie once, two humans had a “battle of wits” over whose glass had the poison in it. They both ended up drinking poison but the hero had built up a tolerance.” Prowl had especially liked that part, his helm swinging between both characters with a focus he usually saved for nature documentaries. Sari had considered it a win that she had found a movie that everybody liked.
“An unexpectedly convenient coincidence.” He couldn’t argue with that. Finally, he took a much smaller sip. Then a much longer one. “Even after all these cycles away, I still know the finest manufacturers on Cybertron. It is a pleasure to finally share it with you.”
“Me?” Choking a bit, high-grade splashing onto his face. He chased the drops with his glossa before they could trail downward. The last thing he needed was high-grade in his joints. That hadn’t happened since his Academy days after finals when Sentinel would drag them around to as many clubs as he thought they could handle. Often it had just ended up being him and Elita at the end of the night, clinking glasses and watching Sentinel hit on any Bot who stopped long enough to hear him out.
Megatron watched him speculatively then reached out to catch an errant drop of high-grade on his cheek, the protoform again tingling where his digit passed. “It seemed fitting to share this with the Mech that made it possible.”
“Even with the Mech that put you in prison?”
“I have had lovers do far worse. Though if you require the validation, you are the first to defeat me in combat.” Megatron noted dryly, taking another long drink. He shelved the lover comment for another time. A time when the word didn’t make his spark splutter and burn.
“I’d give most of the credit to your Starscream Supreme.” Resisting the urge to shudder at the memory. Megatron rapped him on the forehelm with his glass. “What?”
“Cease with your baseless humility. How does it reflect on me that you have no confidence in your victory.” Megatron’s optics flashed with irritation and he had to admit it was pretty convincing. “In our last battle, you were an entirely new Mech, don’t let him retreat back into that pathetic Autobot shell.”
“Now you sound like Starscream. You Autobots and your pathetic heroics.” Pitching his voice higher and leaning into the remaining rasp in his voice. It didn’t sound really right to him and he was sure Bumblebee would have had plenty of notes but it was worth it for the fading irritation on Megatron’s face. The only thing worse than being attached valve to spike with another Mech was being attached to a Mech that was touch and go on you.
“In terms of failing to eradicate you, I suppose we are somewhat alike.” Spitting the sentence out like it was going to attack him. For some reason that struck him as funny and he barely contained a laugh. “What?”
“I’m looking on the bright side, look who’s still alive drinking high-grade? We’re also both in the Survived Starscream club! High Five.” He held up a servo before his processor could catch up with him, then watched with muted horror as Megatron scrutinized both his face then his extended servo before slowly, with all the hesitance of a fresh protoform, raised his own servo to Optimus’s. The soft clink of metal echoed in the quiet berthroom. “Uh. Human thing.” Wondering if it was still possible to get knocked out before Ratchet got there.
“I gathered.” But did not remove his servo from Optimus’s. Long digits curled over his own.
“Usually they’re not this long.”
“I gathered that as well.” But did not move. “I’m just marveling. Such small servos that wielded the Magnus Hammer.” He opened his intake to, actually he wasn’t sure what, when a loud knock reverberated through the room, the door sliding open loudly. They both turned to the door, their servos dropping immediately. Ratchet’s face made him feel like he’d been sneaking upgrades.
“Alright, let’s see what you did to yourselves.” Ratchet said as he walked over, glancing at the glasses in their servos and rolling his optics. “Sorry to interrupt the party.” Dropping his medical bag on the floor, he pulled a chair over to the berth and sat down with a loud sigh.
“One drink is hardly a party.” Optimus retorted, draining the glass and handing it off to Megatron who took it with a grin. “This might be easier than dealing with the aftermath of Interfaction lob ball.”
“Ha, right. You look at the file I sent you?” Ratchet pulled a scanner from his subspace and ran it over them, nodding at the results. “Or been too busy?” Optics darting down as he spoke. He swallowed his response. They hadn’t not been busy. He didn’t have to dig at all for the file, tapping his Autobot symbol to display it for Megatron to see. And was surprised to see a dented and scraped Bulkhead and Ironhide in what looked like an animated but happy discussion with a similarly dented large gray Decepticon with long red pincers. He had seen him before, with Strika. Blackout? “Anyway, seems a lot of Mechs are following your lead. Never seen so many cons and bots in one room without ducking laser fire.” Megatron nodded, his optics glued to the holo and looking uncharacteristically proud. It wasn’t like Megatron hadn’t been putting in the same effort as he had. His choice to even entertain Optimus’s proposal and not turn it on him the instant his back was turned had enraged most Decepticons. Excluding Lugnut, the unexpected linchpin. His support had convinced Strika that this was not some type of Autobot strategy but a legitimate call for peace. And he’d give this to Decepticons, they weren’t stupid enough to try and take on both Strika and Megatron. If only he could say the same for some Autobots.
“I’ll have to invite Sentinel-” Hissing as Ratchet rotated his leg, “to the next game. He’s just waiting for this whole thing to blow up in my face. He’s got a parade route all planned. Right past Fortress Maximus so everyone can see.” But he was happy. For everyone who waiting for this to fail, there was a cautious optimism spreading
“All the more reason to ensure it’s success. I’d hate to give that pompous Autobot the satisfaction.” Ratchet nodded as Megatron spoke, selecting what looked like a hacksaw from his bag and pressing a button on the handle, the blade whirring back and forth at a dizzying speed. The thought of it near his array had his valve tightening. Megatron didn’t say a word but his optics were wide, not wavering from the blade, wider than he’d ever seen them. He guessed that even Decepticon Warlords were a bit nervous about blades barely an inch from their spikes. Fortunately, Ratchet turned it off and dropped it back in the bag, eyeing him mischievously.
“Very funny.”
Ratchet shrugged, rummaging again. “I’m glad neither of you panicked when it first happened. Could have done a lot of damage. Still might have. It’s hard to see around,” Pausing for a moment, “The intrusion.” After a moment of rustling, Ratchet pulled out a laser scalpel. “A little slower but it gets the job done.”
Neither of them spoke while Ratchet worked aside from when he pressed a bit too close to protoform or checked in. Instead he looked around the room. Like the washracks, Megatron hadn’t wasted the space. And that had been a whole fight on it’s own. Cycles of arguing, “We can’t trot him out as a figurehead then put him back in a prison cell. We want full cooperation? We need to have a little trust” until it truly did feel like his spark was going to give out. When they’d finally given Megatron the space, he’d cleared out the furniture and called in his own bots. Apparently he still had active shanix accounts all across neutral space. The sterile white of the original walls had been replaced by a familiar purple, silver trimming windows that showed off the city skyline. His swords had been given a place of honor on one wall, bracketed by what looked like original Decepticon banners. He was not going to ask how he'd gotten them though he suspected Swindle had been involved. A large Vidscreen faced the berth. The image of Megatron relaxing and catching the latest news cycle stuck like gum in his processor and he stifled another laugh. But it was the wall that greeted everyone that had always caught his attention. An entire wall of data pads, neatly organized by size, some of them obviously from far before the war. His digits had itched to touch just one. He hadn’t thought Megatron would even tolerate the question but now they seemed far more in reach. The underside of his left thigh burned and he jerked, nearly tumbling backwards when his leg pulled back and automatically settled back in his hip joint.
“Oww, Ratchet.” Experimentally, he tried to pull off of Megatron’s spike but stopped immediately when it only ran down freshly reset nodes, Ratchet pulling away hastily when he shuddered.
“Not yet, not yet. You’re gonna break something.” Ratchet admonished. A few kliks and an “Ow, Ratchet, really?” and his other leg was free. “You want it to look pretty, call a cosmetic surgeon. I heard there’s a pretty good one setting up near the race tracks. Now if I can trust you both to do the rest of it slowly,” Optimus nodded for the both of them before Megatron could respond with something that got “the rest of it” supervised, “I’ll be over there, I see a history of Paradron on that shelf.” Ratchet pushed to his pedes and wandered over to the data pads.
Before he could just pull himself free, Megatron pressed down on his chassis. “Wait, slowly, Optimus. I know you enjoy this part.” No guarantee either of them were going to enjoy it this particular time but he stopped moving, weirdly pleased that Megatron had even noticed. In his peripheral, he noticed Ratchet shake his helm in exasperation. But Megatron was moving now, rising up on his knees and easing out of Optimus. He winced as his valve tried to contract but couldn’t. He could feel cool air on the outer nodes as every caliper felt like it was resetting individually. “Fascinating.” Looking far too eager with Ratchet in the room. Slowly, feeling each piston firing with resistance, he closed his legs as his valve twitched.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. For a number of reasons.” He glanced at Megatron’s spike and as he expected, several of the biolights flashed erratically.
“Something to consider then.” Megatron glanced over at where Ratchet was swiping through the data pad. “Consider it yours, for your continued discretion.”
“Like I want to give any of those news bots the time of day.” But Ratchet slipped the data pad into his subspace with a grin before coming back over. “Alright, now I’ve got this for you.” Slapping what looked like a gel packet into Megatron’s servo. “Apply this immediately to your spike after drying it off and before you put it back in it’s housing. I don’t want to get a call that you’ve gummed up your array. And you.” Optimus shivered when Ratchet’s optics swung back to him. “You’re coming back to the clinic for more scans.”
He swung his legs off the berth “Ratchet, I don’t think-” pausing to press his servo to his revolting tanks. “Actually, sure. I can learn more about Interfaction Lob Ball.” Ratchet’s dermas twitched but he didn’t say a word. Feeling suddenly awkward, he turned to Megatron. “I’ll see you later then?”
“Unless either of us plans to offline in the next cycle, I would say that was inevitable.” A few cycles ago, he would have thought that was a hint of an imminent assassination but he was reasonably sure that Megatron was still teasing. “Perhaps you will even entertain another drink.” Waving the glass Optimus had handed to him.
He considered his response, realizing that this was the moment that this whole affair jumped from frantic interface into something far more confusing. But Megatron had been the one to make the first gentle move and he wasn’t going to give up here. “As you wish.” Grinning at Megatron’s confused but pleased expression. He felt more like he was at the end of that particular movie as Ratchet helped him out the door.
They made it nearly to the bottom of the building before Ratchet prodded him in the faceplate. “So, when’s Megatron getting an Autobot brand on his face to match?”
Of course.