#Optimus is a cute little sass machine

[birthdaycakeplate]

Cute Tfa -earth bound and abandoned- Megop things:

•Optimus is finding he somehow prefers Blitzwing and Lugnut’s company to Megatron’s obnoxious aft a lot of the time

•Optimus has zero self-preservation when it comes to pissing off Megatron, and will question and interrogate and push him at every opportunity

•Optimus refers to Megatron’s romantic-ness as a ‘character flaw’

•Subsequently, Optimus (stiff as a board and impossible to make swoon over nonsense poetry and daring acts of romanticism that could get Megatron killed) is rarely moved by Megatron’s theatrics, and more so prefers the aftermath of a pouty, disappointed Megatron when his attempts fail

•Starscream thinks this is hilarious and tries to befriend the Autobot for future overthrowing reasons (Optimus is too loyal though)

•Optimus thinks of Megatron as ‘just a mech under all that armor’ (because he’s seen him and his legendary status crumble by his own hand) and is becoming steadily more convinced he isn’t the disease immune, wholly uncrushable, worlds eating powerhouse he actually is

•This leads to opportunities to thrust his personal, overly-cautious parameters upon him (one’s that should never apply to gladiatorial warlords) and embarrasses Megatron further when he shouts at him to ‘follow the carefully constructed safety procedures’ he has in place for all his crew mates. (Newsflash little Prime…)

•(this is Optimus’ love language, Megatron eventually realizes)

•Optimus will yell about Megatron’s PTSD in front of his own army to get him to go see Ratchet for a checkup, but this stops working when Megatron’s troops speak openly about PTSD like it’s all part of the Standard Decepticon Experience and is totally an ok thing to ignore

•Megatron will bring up Optimus’ own PTSD and further ruin his hypocritical attempts to control his lover into better mental health and a happier lifestyle

•Optimus can drink him under the table, but only because he’s built a high tolerance to drinking absolute tasteless, garbage, Academy booze and Megatron would never

•Optimus can not act normal when Megatron does the Hip Touching Thing ™ on him

•(At any given moment, Megatron will grasp one of Op’s hips by sheer subconscious impulse, hauling him close to his side. Then fails to connect it with the wild, biting attitude Optimus exhibits towards him in response)

•(Boy is flustered and confused about liking soft touches from a person he can’t believe genuinely likes him, even tho he’s his literal boyfriend) (and Megatron’s a possessive, touchy romantic so that’s nice) (definitely nobody ever gets hurt)

•Optimus nitpicked Megatron’s idea of a first date despite secretly loving it (because snarky ass Megatron can’t be allowed to have nice things)

Then accidentally cried later in the date when things got too real and ruined the evening probably

———

•Megatron thinks a lot about stepping on Optimus when they argue

•Thankfully he does not and simply dies instead- or usually just runs off in a huff to do something questionably ethical to soothe his nerves ‘til he can continue arguing with the righteous little sass machine. Feeding the endless cycle of ‘reasons that Optimus yells at Megatron’

•Megatron has been scratched in the face before while Optimus was wrestling his sword away after threatening a human, and Optimus never apologized for it, and Megatron won’t stop bringing it up

•Megatron does more insidious things than he usually would to be on the other end of Optimus’ ceaseless fussing. (He is clingy and attention seeking in the worst way possible)

•Megatron will not let him be a big spoon. Ever.

•Megatron also has zero self-preservation about pissing Prime off

•In retaliation to most of his sassing, Megatron will freely advertise what a masochist Optimus is for liking how nasty and awful his boyfriend is in front of anyone willing to listen. This includes Sumdac

•Megatron frequently steals Op’s axe to make unauthorized adjustments to it

•Megatron doesn’t get jealous of anything or anyone, because if he ever wanted something, he would just pull himself up and make it so. Take what he deserves.

…..But then Optimus happened to him, and now he feels threatened by his own reflection trying to eye up the pretty little firetruck

•Megatron has incinerated all damning evidence that he’s been writing sonnets just about Op’s audial fins

•Megatron will threaten Prime with hand holding in front of his subordinates (an unspeakable sin in stuffy ass Optimus’ rulebook of things good leaders should avoid: showing feelings)

•Megatron chickened out during the first kiss, because Prime fed him a random compliment, and Megatron can only handle brainwashed pontificating, not genuine adoration

•He had the audacity to blame it on Prime’s siren going off and startling them both, though

—

•These two do not respect each other, but they are somehow down bad

•This changes when they find their way off Earth and Megatron has more room to prove he can prioritize Optimus’ needs to his own ‘I must be a bastard today’ addiction

[birthdaycakeplate]

The very overdone ‘sparring turns into excessive kissing’ trope, plus Megop✨

Some sort of ceasefire AU with combined factions. As always...

I refuse to proof read this anytime soon, I don’t want to see what humiliation I’ve conjured for myself.

Warnings are in the tags💕

————————-

“If you’re going to live amongst arrogant bots thousands of tonnes bigger than you are, you’ll have to learn how to defend yourself.” Megatron said seriously, but the irony, of course, left a tickle in his throat.

Obviously Optimus could hold his own against mechs 3 times his size and then some, or Megatron wouldn’t have been forced into this ceasefire in the first place by the little Prime’s bare fists and a shoddy axe.

Which speaking of, he really needed to repay the smaller mech for shattering it during their artillery training. It really had been an accident. Though he suspected Optimus was going to hit during this sparring match with a lot less forgiveness than he’d assured him with at the time.

“Oh, so you admit that your soldiers are rude, thuggish brutes half the time there’s an Autobot in the control room?” Optimus asked, readying his stance on the square of padded floor. He would never stop being amazed that the Decepticons had entertained such a luxury -that is, until he’d learnt that Starscream had been the one to complain about being thrown to her delicate wings on the cold, hard floor one too many times.

That Megatron had been the only one the self-obsessed seeker leveled to spar with meant that Megatron had agreed solely on the promise that he’d be able to continue doing so.

Megatron sized up the brazen thing before  him and smiled. In regards to his question, Decepticons were like that more than just half the time.

“Yes, I confess. Though I also admit I’m often guilty of the same arrogance myself.” Because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have thought so little of one lowly Prime once upon a time, and would have otherwise dominated an entire foreign planet in deca-cycles. Perhaps that was the arrogance talking again.

But Optimus had indeed bested him, and thank goodness it’d happened sooner than later before Megatron had let himself go completely.

He’d found his footing since then and was moving with a ferocity he hadn’t in ages. He hadn’t even known he was slipping until he was shaping his wayward Decepticons, thousands of years out of practice, up in one single, terrifying rant about the disobedience he’d noticed in his absence. He hadn’t even needed to threaten them. It felt so good to be back.

And he believed he had this brave mech here to thank for that. Which unfortunately meant that Optimus really did have a merciless force of nature to worry about now in a way he hadn’t before.

Well... only a little bit ‘merciless’.

Optimus returned his smile then, though it was far more genuine. Megatron tried not to let it sway him off his pedes and focused on the lesson.

“Now,” He began, distributing his weight through spread pedes and opening his palms, making for a more intimidating foe. It would have worked on anybody else.

“Ready yourself, little Prime.”

“I’m ready.” Optimus murmured, big optics trained on the other, and innocent little smile starting to look a tinge wicked.

Megatron liked the fire in this one, possibly too much, as he often tried to rile it out of him.

To test his claim, Megatron offered no further warning and lunged.

Optimus was easily taken to the floor with a surprised little ‘oof’.

“Decepticons don’t play fair.” Megatron purred. His gentle reminder overshadowed by the crush of his chest into Optimus’. He could hear him struggle to vent and had to repress a snicker.

A knee thrusting up just above his pelvic plating, forcing the air from his vents, turned that snicker into a wheeze.

“I can see that.” Optimus hissed, already adapting to the change of pace.

Dumbstruck, Optimus was able to roll Megatron off of him and pin him to the mat by his shoulders.

Megatron considered reaching up and digging his claws into his forearms and tearing, just to reiterate what he’d said about playing fair -and he would have, if it wasn’t Optimus.

A simple buck of the hips was enough to throw the other off his balance and push him away.

Feeling generous, Megatron even allowed him to scramble to his pedes.

“You’ll have to be on your guard at all times.” Megatron said, infrared pupils dissolving into slits. Assessing.

That time the lesson stuck, and Optimus was quick to dodge another lunge.

But predictably was unlikely a thing in the wild. Decepticons were conniving and unfair. They’d had to be to resist Autobot forces, who were supplied by better resources and more fuel.

What a difference nearly a year had made between their factions and their coming together. How long before natural instincts such as those became obsolete and written from their code?

Megatron made to lunge again and deftly fell to the floor on palms and knee to sweep a pede out and right from underneath a parrying Optimus. He fell hard and had to bite back a curse when the other was moving to cage him there, giant black servos encasing his again. Crushing him into the mat.

Knocked to his back twice in half as much time...

Megatron didn’t let up this time and tensed his abdominal plates for any impending kicks. What would Optimus do when he ran into the less honorable sorts? He’d have to find a way out of this without Megatron’s goodwill.

Optimus pulled and writhed and made to kick something that’d have some affect, but all he could do was scramble against slick, gunmetal grey armor and the servos clutching him.

“Are you going to keep me down here?” He growled.

“Or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

Megatron snorted. Warm breath ghosting over a finial and making it twitch.

“Are you trying to talk your way out of this?”

When plenty of the ‘Con population could hardly be bothered to articulate beyond grunts?

Optimus had stopped trying to wriggle his way out then, so clearly he thought a bit of psychology was the logical way to go here. Most mechs weren’t Megatron, unfortunately, and couldn’t withstand a legitimate conversation, though.

“It worked on you.” Optimus pointed out. Which wasn’t saying too much these days.

Megatron remembered how’d he’d gotten here with nothing but Optimus trying to talk his way around everything like a hopeful, insistent fool -around violence and conflicting agendas of mass destruction. And the fact that that had eventually done him in somehow was.... well....

Regardless, it had worked. Partly. Though another part of Optimus’ success at establishing this ceasefire was due to his impressive display of tactical resourcefulness during their Earthly encounters- and, admittedly, a bit of his brute strength. He was worthy, Megatron had come to find, and only then had he learnt to listen.

Decepticons weren’t going to spare him much time to prove himself. They couldn’t afford to in the wars prior.

But... Megatron was just fine to let him try.

Talking to Optimus was it’s own reward, and it was easy to forget he was supposed to be teaching him an important lesson when he’d managed to get him like this.

“Go on and try to get yourself out of this, then, if you’re so sure.” Megatron’s grip tightened painfully on his wrists to remind him this was supposed to be an example of some nameless thug getting the upper hand on him.

Optimus swallowed, and Megatron watched with terrifying interest the way his throat tubing moved.

Miraculously, he pushed the tremor from his voice when he next spoke.

“You’re supposed to be teaching me to fight, aren’t you? You can’t do that from here.”

On the contrary...

But Megatron wanted to see where this was going.

“Yes, I am, but these imaginary foes who have only the wish to harm you will have no other reason to release you. Your enemy, Decepticon or not, is going to need a reason to let you out of this. If you’re so intent to talk your way out still.”

Megatron secured Optimus’ wrists into one massive servo and bared down.

Optimus went deathly still, carefully distant stare betraying any fear that might be thumping around his spark chamber, threatening to burst through.

Megatron couldn’t help but grin at his cornered prey. Optimus’ poker face was was truly a commendable thing, but there was little that could sway Megatron from his goals once he was determined.

“So...” He whispered, dipping his helm into the small space of Optimus’ throat cabling and his servo raised above and pinned. Mouth angled towards his audial.

“You’ll have to give me an incentive to let you up~”

He was impressed by how limp the other had gone, rather than tensing and squirming in every direction to break free. When he slowly pulled away to get a look at that pretty blue face, Megatron had expected to see the same disinterested gaze the other always wore when he was trying -and failing- to intimidate him.

But there was Optimus, practically thrumming below him as the gears turned and his processor span. Thinking much too hard about.... something....

Optimus stared up at him for so long with those wide blue optics that Megatron worried he’d broken him. Either by being too suggestive or too outright forward. He could never tell how civil frames perceived the things war types casually said -and Strika was always threatening him to act with some amount of manners towards the little mech, so he must be coming off too strong in most cases.

He decided he’d gone and crossed a line this time, too, when-

“Let me up... and I’ll thank you.” Optimus whispered, barely able to withhold an embarrassing stutter.

Megatron was compelled to challenge him how that would incentivize a foe to do anything, if only to further the lesson and keep them on track. But he’d had the mech off his pedes for long enough to make his point.

....And he really wanted whatever this ‘thank you’ was.

It’d be his own fault if the ‘thank you’ was a swift punch to the nasal ridge, and he hoped honestly it was just that. Optimus would certainly prove he had the necessary skills to handle his opponents that way.

Megatron was on his stabilizers in two short moves and helping Optimus up with the assistance of those manners Strika had insisted he locate from deep within his hard drive.

Oddly enough, manners had never been a chore when extended to any other bot. Optimus made him forget how to act half the time.

But on his feet again, Optimus looked considerably less annoyed to be thrown about as freely as he had been than he should.

Megatron wondered if that was because he had been the bot doing all the throwing. Optimus had shown himself rather tolerant of his touch on prior occasions since peacetime. And he’d been no stranger to it before peacetime either, unfortunately.

When he didn’t back away to put some more appropriate distance between them, it became clear he was anything but ‘annoyed’ with the treatment.

“Better?” Megatron couldn’t help but tease, something warm licking below his tanks. Optimus, breathless and flushed, was a sight. Better than with his battle mask sheathing his face, and an axe poised and ready to split Megatron’s helm with.

Which he really did owe him a new one. One made from durabyllium-steel so that he might shave the arm off any attacker who might come his way and avoid all this talking nonsense in the first place.

“Yeah.” Optimus said then. His voice pinched, clearly struggling to voice his real concerns.

“Allow me to thank you.” He added, after a tense moment.

Megatron’s glossa worked faster than his brain module could.

“That’s not necessary.”

Maybe those manners weren’t so far out of reach, actually...

Optimus’ finials did that infuriating thing when he was nervous where the dipped down upon his helm, making Megatron physically have to restrain himself from reaching to touch them, and shifted his stance on restless pedes. Trying to quiet the urge.

“Well, it was part of the deal.” Optimus murmured, voice gone soft, optics growing heavy. Megatron unconsciously leaned into him.

“I am a mech of my word, after all.”

Which was how Megatron had known he could come to trust him as he had. But still-

‘I am a mech of standards.’ Megatron had wanted to say -to insist it wasn’t necessary. Instead, a less coherent gasp of some indecipherable thing escaped the tip of his glossa, as a firm blue palm planted itself high up on his chest plates.

There was a brief pause, and then someone’s engine rumbled at the contact. Warmth began to flood their cheek plates, a vibrant color bleeding through. Suddenly keeping optic contact was too great a feat for either of them.

“Here.” Optimus maneuvered them closer, and Megatron was moved without the barest hint of resistance. Vaguely aware he was being moved from helm to toe-pede by two little palms cupping his cheeks.

So be it.

He leaned over the shorter bot just enough to reach him better. Face level and drawn in a line to Optimus’ full lip plates like he was being pulled forward by a string.

Which was good, as that was exactly where the smaller mech had blessedly wanted him.

Their lips nudged and parted until they were properly slotted together.

Megatron swallowed the sound the other made into his open mouth. Little servos fell away from striped cheek plates to run themselves down and over layers of thick chassis, beginning a curious search to map the other out.

Megatron was happy to let him. The distraction gave him an opportunity to deepen the kiss with a tilt of his helm.

Optimus jumped, seeming to just realize he was stood there, locking lips with a once fearsome warlord and finding it unbearably dizzying. In an absolutely delicious way.

Megatron lavished the inside of his mouth with tame little licks, purely to incite some warmth and comfort in the other.

Encouraging intimacy, encouraging Optimus to trust Megatron with the more private, delicate parts of himself. Encouraging those hands to linger longer.

Optimus hummed something like the start of his name into his mouth and something blistering hot shot through Megatron’s spinal strut and down to his pedes.

Proving he could manage some ounce of control of himself, the bigger mech somehow refrained from wrapping a servo around Optimus’ middle and lifting him up into a kiss more fierce and inescapable.

He curled thick digits easily around the other’s arms instead. Pulling him close, forcing their chests to bump, knocking a noise loose from Optimus’ throat.

The little truck settled an open palm over a hip seam and stroked, and Megatron did well enough not to smotherhim back into the floor right there and-

“Ze mat is for sparring.”

Optimus pulled away with a squeal not unlike that of a trapped glitch-mouse in a Cyber cat’s claws. Megatron grinned like an incorrigible cur, elated to have left the other in such a bothered state.

He looked down at the plush of those dermamesh cheeks, turning the same color as his daydreams. Soft, gentle hues of pink and red. Megatron could kiss at them until the end of time, let the world and empire he’d built for himself crumble around them.

But there he’d gone and been appallingly romantic again.

“I’m sorry, Commander Strika.” Optimus said looking somewhere between brave for the sake of due respect and melting through Megatron’s servos and into the floor.

Megatron looked considerably less apologetic. He looked downright proud of himself, even.

“Well, we were sparring, if you ask me.” He chuckled, delighting in his mate’s affronted gasp.

Strika was quick to defend Optimus’ honor, intent on Megatron keeping this intelligent, responsible mech in his life for as long as she was able to see to such. If that meant acting her age while her Lord was acting half it, very well.

She was only a party mech on her off shifts, anyway.

“You outdated, carnal-wired circuit board. Take zis somevhere you aren’t parading your prize for every optic to see.”

Optimus blushed deeper at being called a ‘prize’. And by his temporary commander, no less.

“You don’t want just anybot ogling your precious little Prime vhen he’s like zis, do you?”

That did it.

Megatron bristled. Optimus could feel his plates tighten and lock, finding the decency to compose himself finally. His hands on Optimus’ low back -when had they gotten there?- flattened, as if to shield as much of him as he could from the world outside their little sparring mat.

“You are the only one taking audience.” He snarled at the tank.

Optimus always admired how Strika never buckled like most mechs did under his ferocious gaze. Like how he did when it was Ultra Magnus talking to him.

“I’m making sure jou don’t do anyving inadvisable and unbefitting out here in public.” Vacant room, or not. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Her leader chided, and Strika looked closer to punching him now, than ensuring he had a future with this darling, little idiot firetruck.

But Megatron stood firm.

“It wasn’t going in.... that... direction, obviously.” He carefully explained. Honestly unsure how the civil frame would feel about such a thing. He certainly didn’t want to imply he would have done so without his agreeing to such.

But Optimus blinked in surprise at this.

“It wasn’t?” He asked before his better sense could tell him to bite his glossa and think first.

The two war mechs startled and looked him over, then shared a look amongst themselves. In the next blink, Megatron was back to looking his wolffish and clever self again. Eyeing Optimus up and down shamelessly, despite their livid chaperone.

“I was trying to be a gentle mech-“

“Not hardly, my ‘Lord’.”

“And keep my intentions to myself, until they’d been discussed properly. Gracious, little Prime. Were you hoping for something more?”

“Megatron!” Strika had forgone formalities. They’d agreed using his title while she was beating him into stasis did feel condescending, honestly.

Optimus was torn how to answer, because yes. He definitely had been thinking it was.. headed... that.... ‘direction’.....

Oh, Spark.

Optimus stared down at his pedes like they’d done him a great disservice not choosing to run at full speed in the opposite direction. Full lips pulled into a scowl that looked rather venomous.

Megatron basked in the sight of those glowing red cheeks on his favorite mech in the infinite universe, standing there flustered and fuming at having been so free with his affections.

Well, Megatron would gladly be the first to assure him they hadn’t been misplaced, nor were they unappreciated.

“The room is yours.” He told Strika, not sparing a glance away from the pretty Prime who’d occupied much of his processing power -including the parts once dedicated to the important matters of being a faction wide leader.

He’d given up getting through a field report without staring at sleek, silver pedes walking about in the corner of his optic. Imagining them strutting over his way and offering him to come take a break from ‘working so hard’ with their company. Crossed at the knee, sat atop the edge of his desk.

“I don’t vant it.” Strika sighed, exhausted, though waiting until Megatron had carried off his ‘prize’ and found someplace secure before abandoning the misused room.

Comforted only by the memory of what she’d had Lugnut do to her on the very mat they’d gotten themselves familiar on.

Megatron, as she’d imagined, couldn’t resist a spark deep calling within himself to sling an indignant Optimus over his shoulder and march off towards his quarters like a gladiator peacocking his beaten opponent in the pits.

Optimus put up a well enough attempt at looking scandalized by it. All up until Megatron dropped him down into his awaiting arms and carried him off with a tentative palm rubbing under both his knees and back. He forgot he was supposed to be offended after that.

—————

Just wanted to write Megop kissing, y’all, I’m dying.