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“Is that all you got! ”
Optimus presses Megatron further into the ground, growling at his enemy as his grip tightens enough to, hopefully, cut off circulation to Megatron’s trapped wrists. He digs his knee deeper on the man’s spine.
Megatron grunts from where he’s flattened against the ground, as if he has any upper hand. “How typical of you, Prime,” He scoffs, voice clear and loud despite Optimus’ efforts. “Always counting me out,” The man suddenly slackens after speaking.
All the tension runs out of the warlord like flowing water. Optimus’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise, even as his grip doesn’t waver. Optimus frowns, “It would be stupid of me to ever count you out. Underestimating the enemy is a death sentence.”
What Optimus doesn’t expect is Megatron twisting to fully look him in the eyes, blood-red on crystallized blues, and smirks, lasciviously. It’s an expression that’s out of left field, and it knocks Optimus enough off-kilter that his concentration slips up. Megatron murmurs, “Yet, it’s all you ever do.”
They have a song and dance they engage in now after these few years. A ritual of war just for them. If Megatron and Optimus find each other, and they often do, it’s almost second nature to drop into defensive stances and begin. The punches, kicks, and shooting. A swing at each other, fighting tooth and nail to get the other incapacitated. Their respective subordinates peeling the other off the battlegrounds at the end of it all. Optimus tries not to look too closely at the irony of their nearly perfect orbits returning from a bygone era, for his own sanity.
Megatron decided to throw some sort of strange plan into the mix. Perhaps, it’s just a diversion. Whatever it is, Megatron has obtained what he needed.
It just takes only a moment for Megatron to seize an opportunity and fast as a whip, he snaps a leg up and behind to stab a hidden knife tip in his boot against Optimus. It slashes a wide arc over Optimus’ back, hissing as his grip is entirely loose and leg jostled. Megatron tears his wrists away and propels himself up and to the side, pushing off Optimus.
Megatron throws his heavier body weight on Optimus who finds himself flat on the ground just like the warlord before he’s yanked up into a sitting position. Optimus jabs his elbow backwards, and it strikes the man but doesn't throw him off balance like he wanted. A muscled arm clamps Optimus’ wrists next to his throat, effectively trapping the Prime's upper body in Megatron's cocoon.
Optimus can only get a leg flailing in or two before Megatron intertwines their legs to stop movement. Optimus keeps wiggling around, even if his injured back is pressed against Megatron’s front.
“Is that all you got, Prime?” purrs the warlord straight to his covered ears. Optimus feels an immediate rage burning a hole in his chest. (He also traitorously feels a sudden shot of lust crackle in him.)
Optimus wishes his battle mask was off so he could bite the offending forearms squeezing him. However, the armor plating on Megatron’s forearm doesn't give him any leeway to work with when Optimus tries to flex his gloved fingers against the silver tactical gear.
“You wish,” Optimus grunts when Megatron presses his forearm closer.
Megatron tuts at the Prime, “Don't make any sudden moves, I wouldn't recommend it.”
Optimus is about to bite out a retort when, even through layers of clothing, the familiar press of blade taps against his crotch. He immediately stills with a flash of alarm.
Optimus’ lips pull back in a snarl of teeth and spits out, “Now this is a new low for even you, Megatron.”
The warlord hums, “No, no. This isn't a low for me, it's just… a potential exchange.” The blade slowly taps the fabric, sending the slightest vibrations to Optimus’ core. “Think of it as a stress outlet.”
Optimus tries not to focus on the knife now starting to caress him, and balls his hands into fists. “A stress outlet? Or a diversion meant to keep me away from the rest of my people?”
“You could be doing the same as me,” Megatron responds nonchalantly. “This distraction goes both ways,” He slides a finger from the hilt to join the rhythmic tapping.
Optimus has to squeeze his eyes tight, even if it leaves him in a disadvantage. It’s a strange, disorientating sensation to have the warlord touch him without violent intent again. Stranger yet to have those fingers brush over him so carelessly, trying to draw out pleasure .
It speaks volume to his own celibacy and touch-starvation when even these fleeting touches are enough to send him in confusion. Optimus is a chosen vessel of Primus, the Matrix of Leadership courses through his veins almost like a replacement of life force. There is a deity’s strength, a dedication to duty he is bestowed upon, that weaves itself into the very course of his soul. Even with all these upgrades, he is still a human vessel, flesh rendered malleable and vulnerable like any other. A stalwart willpower, folding weak when the right person tries to pry him open.
“Why even-” Optimus’ hips jolt when Megatron presses the flat blade against him, “Offer?”
The blade is heavy between his legs, its piercing edges blunted by thick fabric. Megatron slowly pushes the metal harder into him, until Optimus is forced to acknowledge the beginnings of wetness sticking to his underwear.
“Perhaps,” Megatron sighs a low thing, “I’m selfish.”
A stroke of visceral fear explodes in Optimus when Megatron, with an easy flick of his wrist, shreds apart layered fabric as it shrieks in the quiet clearing. The rush of cool air is stark on his slowly overheating skin. The knife clinks from where Megatron drops it, now disinterested, and ghosts a spread of fingers over neatly trimmed hair.
Optimus is horrified when he feels small beads of slick drip out of him. He’s distantly thankful for the battle mask that hides the scarlet blush marring his face and neck.
The warlord drops his fingers further down and with hooked fingers, he spreads Optimus open. Optimus lets out a choked noise. “Already wet,” Megatron observes with his low voice as he shifts to look from a better angle.
The arm caging him releases its grip, but Optimus can’t find it in himself to do something about it. His breath is caught in his throat and his heart beats an indecipherable pattern. Optimus had always known that Megatron was, just, a more built man compared to him, he long made peace with this fact ages ago, but when Megatron nearly engulfs him with one hand, Optimus’ racing heartbeat drops from his chest down straight to his cunt.
“You asshole,” Optimus grinds out, but it mostly escapes as a gasp, much to his increasing horror.
Megatron has the irritating gall to say, “You’re getting antsy but don’t worry, we’ll get there with this.”
The man brings out a familiar pistol, gleaming silver and black scope in all of its up close glory. Optimus stares in confusion at the unsheathed weapon until Megatron starts moving it. The Prime’s mind almost fizzles out when the pistol’s barrel teases a slow line down his inner thigh.
“Megatron,” Optimus’ knees threaten to close, “You… can’t be serious about this.”
Megatron actually bursts into a short laugh. He drags a thumb over the Prime's clit, eliciting a breathier gasp. “Says the one attracted to danger,” The warlord notes with mirth, “Or else we wouldn’t be here right now.”
Optimus might, very begrudgingly, agree if forced to under the threat of torture, but he’s not insane enough to want a loaded gun shoved in the softest part of him. The Prime smacks Megatron gently, because he doesn’t want to die, and projects an ounce of his usual Primely demeanor into his voice, “At least tell me the gun isn’t loaded.”
“The gun isn’t loaded.”
“... You think you’re so funny.”
Megatron starts rubbing his clit with purpose, “The funniest.”
Optimus’ breath hitches as Megatron works his calloused, rough finger on him. Megatron untangled his legs from Optimus and pulls the Prime up higher on his lap. Optimus’ legs spread even further apart, his twitching legs hooked over Megatron's pair and knocking against him.
A heat blossoms in Optimus’ core, tingling through his veins. Soft pants of air slip through his mouth as he tries to keep the majority from littering the surrounding air. Two fingers push inside, drawing a mortifying squeak from the Prime. Megatron keeps pushing until he's knuckle deep, thumb still pulling at the small bud of nerves. Slick starts coating the warlord’s scarred hand.
“Good, good,” Megatron murmurs.
Optimus’ battle mask is becoming more disgusting by the second, humidity rising up with every gasp. His tactical gear suddenly feels cumbersome, the warmth of his body running molten under reinforced Kevlar. Optimus wishes for his pants to rip open
Megatron pumps in and out, dragging his fingers all over the Prime's walls. Optimus scrambles to hold onto something, anything, and clamps down on the arm fucking him.
“Ah… Megatron,” Optimus shudders.
Too soon is when Megatron pulls out his fingers then whole hand entirely, leaving a bunch of slick behind. Optimus bites down on a lip hard enough to draw blood to block a desperate whine, to not acknowledge the immediate yearning.
“I swear to Primus--”
The smooth, cold metal of a barrel is shoved inside the Prime's folds. Harsh and unforgiving as it's roughly pushed in, similar in technique to blunted yet equally rough fingers. Pain sparks his nerves and melts into a pained pleasure. Another gush of slick pours out of him as his sensitive walls clench down on the pistol.
“Prime, you were always a whore but this is something else,” Megatron speaks breathlessly. At least, Optimus isn't the only one losing control.
“I-I… don't want to hear-- ah!”
When the pistol moves deeper, the scope ends up bumping against Optimus’ aching clit. Megatron moves the gun slowly but takes care to grind the scope on the nub. The Prime
“If you can take this, then you'll be ready for me.”
Optimus fully whimpers when the salacious words are mumbled through his thinnest layer of fabric, imagining the warlord's cock forcing its way inside his awaiting cunt. To feel Megatron pump similarly and feel the drag of heated skin glide on his walls. Megatron slamming into him over and over again….
The orgasm courses through him without mercy. Optimus spasms from head to toe as garbled moans and whines drip from his bleeding mouth. The welcomed heat wraps around his insides like a weighted blanket.
All of his fresh wounds float back to his awareness as he slowly floats down the high. Everything sticks uncomfortably to his skin and dried blood flakes off his skin. Optimus opens his eyes again, staring at the dilapidated ceiling as his lungs regain air again.
Megatron is still fucking him with the gun, the slide completely effortless by now. Optimus grabs Megatron’s arm and drags the gun out of him, a soft whine tickling his throat as the metal leaves him. It's a vulgar sight, seeing the strings of slick connect his cunt and weapon together. The strands thinning out until they finally snap. Optimus burns the sight into his memories and shifts around in Megatron's lap.
“Enough,” The Prime breathes out, “We both want more.”
Megatron sets aside the gun with a gentle clink as he sits up straighter, eyes shining with want. “For once, I do agree with you, Prime.”
Optimus, now desperate to turn the tides against the warlord, shoves the man further on the ground and climbs on top. He's not the only one who can play a game here. Even with layers still covering them, Megatron's hard cock demands attention as Optimus supports himself with firm hands on Megatron’s chest and grinds down. The rough textured fabric is not as satisfying as it would've been if they were skin-to-skin, but the light burn still makes Optimus throb with want. Hands reach up and grip around his hips. Optimus smiles smugly as he watches Megatron already unwind from barely anything, a welcome change from their dizzying encounter.
If the Prime wasn't keyed up with thoughts of being fucked open, he could've dragged it out longer. With quick hands, Optimus undoes Megatron's pants and pulls out a heavy cock leaking pre-cum all down the shaft. The girth and curve fit so nicely in Optimus’ gloved hands. Visible veins are scattered throughout, ridged and nice. Optimus’ mouth waters, but he lets the urge go, it's not the time.
He has the distinct, nagging feeling that this might not be the last time they… hide away like this.
He takes off a glove and uses both hands to pull at Megatron’s cock. Optimus thumbs at the head with a blunted nail, letting the pre-cum smear over warm flesh and rubbing it down the shaft. The hiss that leaves Megatron’s lip as he lightly scratches at the slit sends a thrill up Optimus’ nerve. Optimus feels how Megatron’s hips jerk forward in his grip, how he bumps up to catch the pleasure.
“Bastard,” Megatron grits out. Optimus twists a certain way and tugs on his sack, eliciting a gasp from the man.
With a few more insistent tugs, Megatron has become well lubricated and Optimus is already scooting forward to drag his lips on Megatron’s cock. Hands tighten threateningly on Optimus’ hips as both leaders’ breaths shake at the touch. Optimus presses down as his clit touches Megatron’s head, a rumbling purr slipping out as he drags back again.
Optimus only manages a few more glides before Megatron is growling out, “Hurry up, Prime,” and he’s never been inclined to agree more. With near desperation buzzing in his veins, Optimus guides Megatron past his lips and into his hole.
“O-oh--”
“Fuck--”
The sensation is nearly euphoric. Optimus heaves for air like he’s ran for a long marathon when Megatron is fully sheathed in him and their bodies touch down again. Up to the hilt but Optimus wants him deeper, it’s not enough, he wants to feel Megatron hit his throat--
Megatron rasps, “Stop squeezing so much.”
“Ah,” Optimus consciously loosens up, “Sorry.”
The Prime tries not to collapse into a pile of sweat, every nerve rejoicing in the addictive sensation of Megatron inside him, like it always longed for. The copious flood of pre-cum coats Optimus’ walls and it’s-it’s magnificent. The first few glides are heavenly. Optimus sighs helplessly as he tries to commit every sensation and sparked nerve to memory until he could never forget it.
Megatron thrusts up and nearly throws Optimus off his groove, who moans. The Prime narrows his eyes and presses his hands down, pretending like he doesn't want Megatron to fuck him senseless.
“Don't you dare. I'm, hah, running this,” Optimus emphasizes his point by clenching tight on the way down, smug satisfaction curling when Megatron shudders.
Megatron snips back, “Work harder then,” and slaps Optimus on the ass. However, muted the sting is, Optimus jolts from the hit and more slick slips out.
Optimus glares at the offender and proceeds to do exactly what Megatron wants, and more. Planting himself more firmly, Optimus earnestly starts riding Megatron. He bounces up and down, twisting his hips and squeezing on every drag.
By sheer Primus-enhanced willpower, Optimus keeps his extremely impending orgasm at bay as he tries to make Megatron cum first in this battle of wills. His nerves are quaking and his over-sensitive cunt pulses uncontrollably, but Optimus keeps it together despite it all. The Prime shifts and leans backwards to anchor his arm on Megatron’s leg, except that is when Megatron decides to strike once more.
Megatron sits up in one fluid motion and jostles Optimus to lose balance. He pulls Optimus into an embrace, one arm clutching him while the other dives between their bodies.
“Mega--tron, you bi-, mmph!, bitch!” Optimus warbles out as Megatron rubs at his neglected clit.
Megatron only mouths at the battle mask, fingers working skillfully and playing noises out of the Prime like an instrument. The tightly wound spring rippling in Optimus’ core is right at the precipice of releasing, the commander writhing and moaning without abandon. It takes one last thrust, a sticky squelch, before Optimus falls apart in Megatron’s arms, throat choking out pornographic noises.
His mind floats off and his body shakes like a live wire. Optimus returns back to the world after a few moments and slowly realizes that Megatron is still chasing his own orgasm, uncoordinated and loose in tempo. In a moment of weakness, Optimus snuggles closer in the tight embrace Megatron has locked him in and helps the warlord along by tiredly rolling his hips. Megatron hugs tighter when he finishes, and a hot splash of cum warms Optimus’ insides. His cunt, despite being overworked by now, still throbs and greedily tries to swallow up all the cum.
By the time Megatron recovers, Optimus hasn’t even moved, only trickling his fingers across the broad expanse of his shoulders. Megatron pulls away first, arms slackening in contact but not removed, not yet.
They make eye contact, and something vulnerable momentarily makes itself bare between them before Optimus’ eyes skitter away while leaning back further.
Megatron smirks, “You lost.”
Optimus immediately straightens up with a glare, “Excuse me?! Says the cheater!”
It’s the most petulant thing he’s said in probable months, but after all they had done, he might’ve as well own it.
“How can I cheat when there’s no rules?” Megatron shrugs casually. “You lost fair and square, this time.”
Optimus stares in puzzlement. “This… time?” He repeats.
Megatron’s expression washes away to a mask of placid calm, “Yes, this time. Unless, you’ve been hiding a berth partner--”
“No,” Optimus quickly shoots the thought down with alarming speed. Deep in his veins compels him to set the truth straight. “I thought it was obvious by my performance that I’ve been alone,” Optimus admits with embarrassment.
Just as quick it went up, the mask drops and Megatron almost slouches in easy acceptance. “And I as well.” There’s a tentative something simmering in his red eyes that Optimus refuses to identify, let alone actively acknowledge. It’s strange seeing Megatron allow this to happen. A glimpse behind the silver armor.
Optimus is utterly grateful for the mask because he’s sure he would’ve been seen immediately. He chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking about this thing now existing and living, between them. Something similar to Megatron’s own thoughts slowly grows in his heart, long neglected and hidden away.
The Prime crosses his arms and tries for casual with a, “We’ll see if a next time could even happen.”
He chances a glance again when Megatron doesn’t grace his words with a response, and nearly freezes at the lazy smirk aimed at him. Megatron is smug, but Optimus knows where to look, and he sees the deeply concealed aching desire, a wistful reminder of kinder days. The enormity of Optimus’ own longing erupts like a dam, and he has to tamp down the rising desperation to fall deeper into Megatron’s arms and never leave his lap.