#little implied one-sided MegOp

[spencerthedeerhumanhybrid]

Chapter 14 of A Contract I Regret Signing

Written by SpencerTheDeerHumanHybrid

The Trial

Bumblebee felt like it was right to say that being on a ship with Sentinel Prime and a bunch of runaway Decepticons was the worst. Despite the whole fighting thing that went on Earth, most of the Decepticons surrendered and agreed to a peace treaty when Megatron realized he was getting his aft kicked by a space bridge repair team so the trial could be easygoing but Bumblebee wasn’t sure that anyone wanted to hear about what happened, especially the High Council.

Bumblebee came out of these thoughts when Blurr got closer to him and gingerly put their arm around him.

”It’s-gonna-to-okay-Honeybee-I-promise,” He said. Bumblebee smiled up and Blurr and gave a small peck to his cheek which caused them to blushed slightly.

”Alright, we are at the pede of Cybertron!” Sentinel yelled. Everyone stopped what they were doing and got the rouge Decepticons from the cells. Optimus motioned for Bumblebee to get closer to him and when he did, he leaned down and said,

”Don’t worry Bee, you will get justice.” Bumblebee smiled at the Prime (who felt more like his dad than his own father in his opinion) and replied,

”Thanks bossbot.”

They had arrived at Cybertron..

~…~

Beachcomber laid on the couch of his courtmate when he saw that a ship had just recently arrived at Cybertron and he saw someone familiar from all the bots there.

”Yo, Tracks! Look at this!” He yelled. Tracks came over to his courtmate and looked at the TV. He was confused before he saw the familiar shade of yellow he had seen all those vorns ago.

”Is…Is that Bee?!” Tracks yelled.

”Yeah! Wanna go over there?” Beachcomber asked.

“Duh!!” Tracks said in response. They hurried over to where the crew and Bumblebee had landed, happy to see that their friend was still alive after all this time!

”Wait!” Beachcomber yelled. ”We should tell Hot Rod!” He added. Tracks nodded and they went over to where Hot Rod was training.

Hot Rod was practicing his arrow shooting when Beachcomber and Tracks bursted in.

”Beach! Tracks! What happened- Bee’s here!!” Hot Rod looked at Beachcomber with surprise and happiness when he realized his brother was still online.

”We gotta go!” Hot Rod yelled. Him, Tracks, and Beachcomber transformed into their alt-modes and went towards where Bumblebee and the others were going.

~…~

If someone would’ve told Bumblebee that in the future he would have been seen by the High Council, he would’ve laughed in their face-plates, now however? He didn’t know how to react if he was being honest. Everyone present there (even the normal citizens) stood or sat there in awkward silence for a few cycles before Alpha Trion spoke up.

”What have you come here for?” He asked. Optimus could see that Bumblebee was nervous so he spoke up,

”We have come here because something bad has happened to my scout and we have found some rogue Decepticons on the planet we were on.” He gestured towards Bumblebee and the Decepticons they found, most of the attention was on Shockwave however since it prompted Ultra Magnus to call Megatron and the others.

Megatron, Starscream, Blackarachnia, Blitzwing, and Lugnut all came from a separate room and stared down at the opposing bots with Megatron giving a small wave to Optimus. Megatron stared at Shockwave for a breem before exclaiming,

”What did you do?” Shockwave only looked down at the floor below him.

“Please, step up Bumblebee and tell your case,” Ultra Magnus said. Bumblebee nervously stepped up to the podium and looked at the crowd below.

’Why? Why? Why? Why did they have to make this into such a big deal?!’ The voice in his processor yelled. He noticed that his team, Nova, brothers, and Blurr were trying to encourage him into telling the others about what happened. So with a deep breath, he began to tell them all about what happened to him and what Shockwave made him do. Everyone who didn’t already know what happened and even the former Decepticons gasped with shock at the story he told but everyone (except Nova who looked down with shame) stared at him with silence as he told them what happened to him on that one Solar cycle…

~…~

Bumblebee groaned as he sat up in his berth. He felt a lot more sick than he did yesterday for some reason. Brushing it off, he leapt out of the berth and walked to the kitchen to make his morning oil. He felt much more slower than he usually did and he felt more sick, while he did get sick every once in a while this felt… different.

‘Eh, probably just my processor playing tricks on me again,’ He thought as he went about his day like usual. It wasn’t until he went to do this job late at night when he felt really off, sure his usual dancing was a little bit more slower but it was still elegant as always but his tanks were hurting for whatever reason.

He got onto the berth of Shockwave and it went as it usually did but it still hurt like the Pitts! Shockwave stopped his movements, pulled out of him, retracted his plating and asked,

’What happened?’ Although this was said without a hint of concern, only annoyance.

’I…I don’t know. I just feel weird in my tanks,’ Bumblebee said. Shockwave let go of Bumblebee and stood up next to the berth. After a few kilks of Shockwave thinking he said,

’Go check what's happening to you in your dressing room.” Bumblebee nodded and got out of the office to go to his dressing room a few feet away.

He looked in the mirror as he entered the room and stood in front of it. He could see that he seemed to put on just a tiny bit of weight and his chest seemed to pop out by a bit. He suddenly felt a large deal of pain shot across his spark and he looked at it confused.

He opened his spark chamber and gasped at what he saw. In the mirror he saw his spark where it should and saw a tiny little spark next to it.

’This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING!’ He yelled. Bumblebee was panicking a lot, he couldn’t let his team find out that he got sparked by a Decepticon especially Ratchet since he would be livid. After a lot of thought, Bumblebee hesitantly closed his spark chamber and went back to Shockwave’s office.

‘Shockwave?’ Bumblebee asked when he entered Shockwave’s office. Shockwave looked at him acceptly, waiting for him to show him what was wrong. With an ex-vent, Bumblebee stood up straight and opened his spark chamber.

Shockwave froze at what he was looking at. Bumblebee onlined his optics (he didn’t even know that he offlined them) and looked up at Shockwave.

’Shockwave?- Get rid of it.’ Bumblebee gasped at what Shockwave said.

’I-I can’t get rid of the sparkling!’ Bumblebee yelled.

’I don’t care, you need to get rid of it. NOW!’ Shockwave shouted. Bumblebee glared at Shockwave, he could abuse and hurt him but he’ll never let him get rid of the sparkling that was growing inside of him.

’No. I don’t care what you think, I am not getting rid of MY child!’ Shockwave suddenly pinned Bumblebee on the wall and looked directly at him with rage in his single optic.

’I will hunt down your fucking family, team, and friends and tell them how much of a slut you are to accept a deal with a Decepticon and get sparked by them. Do you understand me?’ Shockwave threatened. Bumblebee looked at Shockwave with disbelief, he couldn’t let his family, his team, and his friends get hurt because of him! With obvious signs of hesitation, Bumblebee nodded and Shockwave let him go, dropping him onto the floor.

’Good. I don’t care how you do it, just get rid of it any way you can. And if you don't, well.’ Shockwave made a cutting motion with one of his servos across his neck. Bumblebee nodded once more before leaving the office and the building. He transformed into his alt-form (albeit very difficult) and drove towards the river. He stopped in front of the waters and transformed back into root-mode while holding a servo to his chassis. Hesitantly, he opened his spark chamber and hovered his servo over the tiny spark, he looked at it with pity.

’I’m so sorry,’ He said softly to the spark. He reached down to grab the spark firmly.. and pulled hard. Bumblebee shoved his knuckle into his mouth to prevent him from attracting attention as he pulled and pulled. Finally, the spark was completely ripped from his spark and he paused to look at the flickering spark.

’I-I’m s-so s-sorry.’ He offlined his optics and threw the spark into the river, it drifted away underneath the waves. Bumblebee fell on his knee joints and started to cry as he began to comprehend what he just did.

Nova gingerly walked to the river as she saw her Amica Endura crying.

’Bee, what's wrong?’ She asked. Bumblebee snapped his head towards her and tried to scramble away from her.

’No! Get away from me! I’m a monster!’ Bumblebee shouted at her. Nova held Bumblebee by his shoulders and angrily said,

’What did he do this time-‘ She stopped when she saw his spark chamber opened and the pink energon covering the ground underneath him.

’W…What did- He made me get rid of it.’ Bumblebee cut her off. Nova looked at him. She didn’t understand, what did Shockwave make him get rid of? Nova froze as she realized that the energon was coming from his spark chamber and that he said that he was feeling weird the Solar cycle before.

’Bee… Oh my Primus, I’m so sorry,’ Nova said while holding him close to her tanks. Bumblebee sobbed into her Midsection plating, wanting to forget about what happened. Nova was going to kill that son-of-a-glitch no matter what but she let Bumblebee cry and cry into her Midsection and that’s all she could do for now.

~…~

”And that’s it,” Bumblebee said, tears coming down his optics as he relived the memory. Everyone there stood in silence as the story was still processing in their processors (even the former Decepticons were shocked). Ultra Magnus suddenly cleared his throat and said,

”Shockwave for your crimes against this mech, you will be sentenced to a lifecycle in the Stockades.” Upon hearing about the Stockades, Bumblebee said,

”Wait! Is Wasp still in the stockades?”

“I do believe so, why?” Ultra Magnus asked.

“He wasn’t the real spy, so we need to get him out of there!” Bumblebee yelled. Ultra Magnus paused for a moment before saying,

”I will get him out of there with a fair trial this time.” Bumblebee gave a sigh of relief before remembering something else.

”What do we do about this?” Bumblebee asked, holding up the cracked data-pad in his servo. Ultra Magnus took the contract from Bumblebee.

”I will have someone look at it but until then you can be at peace, little one,” He said.

”Thank you, sir,” Bumblebee replied. When Ultra Magnus announced the trial to be over, the others (Except, Sentinel) quickly went over to Bumblebee. Bumblebee smiled as he could tell everyone wanted to make him feel better after relieving such a traumatic experience and they all walked out the door to the High Council when they were suddenly assaulted with a bunch of newsbots asking Bumblebee questions.

”Were you really a cam-bot?”

”Did you really fall in love with the former Decepticon spy, Shockwave?”

“Are you proud of being a stripper or not?”

These questions quickly sensed Bumblebee into a mental breakdown as he became overwhelmed. The others tried to get the newsbots to go away and leave them alone but to no avail as they still persisted. Bumblebee offlined his optics and he could still hear the loud noises, he wanted it to just stop already! The crowd suddenly went silent and Bumblebee onlined his optics again to see.. Hot Rod.

”Back the fuck way from my brother. Now,” Hot Rod was pointing his arrows at the crowd, who were silently backing away from them. After a while Hot Rod gave a sigh of relief, put his arrows back into his subspace, and turned around.

”Hey!” Hot Rod said with a large grin.

“Rodimus Prime?- HOT ROD!!” Optimus started before getting interrupted by Bumblebee running to the Prime.

“Bee!” Hot Rod yelled as he gave Bumblebee a tight hug.

”How’s my little brother been?” Hot Rod asked.

“I’ve been doing alright!” Bumblebee responded. The others (except Nova, Cliffjumper, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe) had their jaws to the floor.

”YOUR BROTHER IS A PRIME?!” They yelled. Bumblebee, Hot Rod, Cliffjumper, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe all looked at each other before laughing.

”Let’s just go home already,” Bumblebee said after he was put down back onto the ground. Blurr ran excitingly up to Bumblebee and picked him up; bridal style. Hot Rod gave a small “Aww” at this when he realized his brother was dating someone! All of them went back into the Steelhaven and set their course onto earth for a celebration!

”Blurr, can I talk with you privately?” Hot Rod asked midway to their destination.

”Okay!” Blurr was a little hesitant because Bumblebee’s other brothers had threatened him before but Hot Rod felt like a nice mech. They went to a dark section of the ship and Hot Rod laid on his knee joints to grab Blurr by the shoulders.

”Listen, I know you love my brother a lot and I’m happy that he’s found a good mech to be with,” Hot Rod said while slowly squeezing Blurr shoulder pads by a bit. “But if you ever hurt him, I will crush your frame into a tiny square and put you somewhere that no one can find you. Get me?”

Blurr gave a small “Yes-sir” and nodded.

”Good. Bye, have a nice day!” Hot Rod yelled before letting go of them and walking back to the others. Blurr sighed as he tried to massage their shoulder pads.

”Don’t listen to them, you’re a great mech to be with,” Bumblebee said, leaning on the wall. Blurr jumped at his voice, turned around, and smiled at him. Bumblebee walked up to Blurr and kissed them with Blurr returning the kiss.

”Let’s go back before Nova makes a weird joke about us again,” Bumblebee said while holding Blurr’s servo.

”Great-idea!” Blurr said. They walked servo-in-servo back to the others, Bumblebee was finally at peace and happy.

[lord-squiggletits]

for the director's cut meme: I am very fond of Cooling Off, and interested in the "thank you for protecting me"/"not shooting you is an obvious tactical benefit", because the one doesn't quite follow from the other and I've wondered what your reading of that is...

Cooling Off, the fic in question, and the relevant excerpt:

"By the way... thank you for protecting me during that battle. I appreciate it." [...Prime, not shooting you is just an obvious tactical benefit,] Megatron said. [And since when did you need anyone to protect you? I think you hit your reality processor on the way down here.] Optimus' chuckle was low and quiet, resonating slightly through the barrel and grip of Megatron's alt-mode. "I would shoot you any time you let me. I enjoy the feeling of a well-crafted gun in my hands."

Ah, this one was written almost 2 years ago, so it's super not fresh in my mind. But this bit is easy enough for me to explain! The intention was to show some subtle megop banter: as in, they aren't lovers in this scene, and they can't even really be friendly because the (mostly irrelevant) background of this is a temporary faction truce. But nevertheless, I wanted to have some banter in which the pair of them betray their fondness for each other. Also, Megatron is really tsundere about his side of the affection, obviously.

In this part, Optimus is trying to distract Megatron from transforming out of gun mode (bc he wants to keep holding him) and opts to show gratitude towards Megatron. Basically, trying to distract Megatron with soft, friendly feelings.

But Megatron, being tsundere and unable to acknowledge for pride/political reasons that he likes being around Optimus too, deliberately sidesteps Optimus' gratitude by essentially expressing "Don't thank me, I would be shooting you right now if it weren't for the fact that keeping you alive helps us fight our common enemy." He's essentially rejecting Optimus' attempt to connect as people via compassion and gratitude and responding by saying their relationship is pragmatic, nothing more. Which is also followed up in a subsequent line:

[You're a good shot, Prime,] Megatron eventually replied. [Why don't we keep it at that until we get out of here? And stop fondling me, you're embarrassing yourself touching a gun like that.]

Again, Megatron is deflecting Optimus' soft and affectionate emotions by putting on a veneer of pragmatism, a "we only work well together because we have to" style of deflection and denial. But this time he returns Optimus' emotion a little by giving him a compliment about his shooting-- a useful, pragmatic skill, not one about OP as a person. So Megatron is returning OP's warmth a little, but being sure to do it in a way that maintains the plausible deniability: he is, of course, only working with Optimus because it's a tactical advantage, and he of course only likes being held in gun mode because Optimus is a good shot. But he also leaves a little bit of mystery by saying "Why don't we keep it at that until we get out of here," as if implying he's interested in reciprocating OP's affections in a more optimal location.

TLDR: Megatron is being coy.

Remember that ask I answered a little bit ago about how Megatron and Optimus are the kind of people that have invisible conversations underneath the surface of every seemingly superficial/everyday discussion? This is a prime example of that.

[xensilverquill]

short TFA MegOP prompt i did for @pastelpaperplanes​ ! i hope you like it!

Meet in the Heat of the Day

"Good evening, Autobot." 

Oh, fragging Pits. 

The burned-out baritone of Megatron's voxcoder instantly had his battle systems initiating. It was everything Optimus could do not to instantly whip his plasma axes out and throw it in what he thought was the Decepticon's general direction. The control bridge's monitors offered little enough light, and there was no making out Megatron's form in the gloom. A quick switch of his optics to thermal-mode revealed his hulking form leaning against the far wall, his own optics shuttered but that stupid smug smirk still on his face.

Primus, but Optimus wanted to punch him.

"Out for a late night stroll and sabotage, are we?" Megatron asked, not moving a mechano-inch from his present position. "I hope you were not so naive as to believe taking over the Nemesis' command protocols would be so easy."

"No, I leave that kind of thing to the professionals," he replied, pleased to find at least his voice did not betray how much the mech had startled him. "Speaking of which, I passed Starscream in the hall earlier. He said to, and I quote, 'go frag yourself.' His words, not mine." 

"How kind of you to relay the message for him."

"Besides, if you really thought all that," Optimus continued, "I doubt I'd still be standing here."

"Wiser and more perceptive than you appear, I see." Megatron finally did open his optics to look at him then, the dull crimson casting a faint halo over his faceplates. "Much as I enjoy our little spark-to-sparks, I doubt you came just to make polite conversation. What business do you have with me?"

Optimus shrugged. "Shocking as this might sound, not everything is about you." He held up his servos in mock surrender and turned on his pedes. "Recharge is an elusive glitch lately, and clearly I won't find it here. I'll be going now. Happy brooding, or whatever it is you're doing in the dark like a creep."

"Oh, no need to leave on my account." His laughter was as smug as his smile, though it lacked the usual cruel edge to it. Or maybe that was just the compilation errors piling up in Optimus' processor and fragging with his audials. "And your company here would be... tolerable."

"I feel so loved," Optimus grumbled, but he turned back to face Megatron. He went to lean against the opposite wall in a mirror of the Decepticon's repose. A beat of silence or two in which they merely stared at each other. Grasping for any topic that would not send them right into another round of quipping, he asked, "So... any updates from your side?"

"Concerning the Quintessons, you mean? No, though it is not for lack of looking or listening. Neither Shockwave nor the other sources in his employ have heard so much as a whisper of those filthy techorganics..."

"Mm." He was tempted to poke at Megatron for that last one, but there was no use banging his helm against that particular wall. Again. Little wonder Blackarachnia never spent any more time than she had to in the company of her leader. "Would it be naive of me if I said that maybe no news was good news?"

"In the extreme," Megatron replied, though there was no heat in his words. "Nightmares of those tentacled terrors keeping you from recharge, Autobot?"

"Nightmares would, again, imply that I could find recharge in the first place. You?"

"Ha! No. It is merely that I dislike the idling, the..."

"The waiting?" Optimus offered. His slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, helm falling back and optics offlining. "Same here, honestly. I figure it's either walk the halls at night, or finally give in to the stir-craze and throttle someone just to have something to do."

"If you are looking for my leave to offline someone, then you have my every blessing to snuff the spark out of that scheming Starscream." He looked up to see Megatron offering him a smile that bordered on the genuine for once. And, in the clarity and intimacy one could only find in the quiet of these late hours, Optimus found himself smiling back.

"Heh... I'll keep that in mind."

---

"Cut that obnoxious little droning slag you call a voxcoder before I cut it out for you, you little insect!"

"Shove it up your tailpipe and twist it, three-face!"

Screeching metal and a grunting heave was his only warning. Twisting to one side, Optimus narrowly avoided getting his helm knocked off by a table as it went flying across the room. A quick glance back and he saw Bumblebee had managed to dodge as well and was quickly scrambling over the upturned chairs out of immediate grabbing-range of Blitzwing, who was currently presenting as Hothead. Broken energon cubes and crushed oil cans lay like so many dead frames on the canteen floor, the fuel trickling slowly towards the drain in the center of the floor. 

Optimus groaned tiredly. So much for having his morning ration in peace.

"Say that again, I dare you!"

"You're just torqued I was the one with the ball bearings to say it first!" Bumblebee had found a precarious perch on the thin ledge of a shelf, just a little higher than Blitzwing's head. "Not my fault you're a little we-- Heyheyhey!"

"I'll torque your bearings straight through your fuel pump!" Blitzwing had managed to grab at a pede, and he wrenched the smaller mech down with ease.

"Leggo!" Bumblebee shrieked, aiming a kick at those bucked dentae with his free leg. "Fine! You want me to say it again, I'll say it, Blitzbrain! You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid--!"

"Bee, stop!" Optimus ground out.

Megatron's voice nearly drowned out his own at the same moment. "Cease, Blitzwing!" 

It took scant seconds for the two of them to take their respective mechs by the scruff, so to speak. Optimus sent a grappling hook to anchor onto Bumblebee's plating, yanking him back and winding him up in the same, practiced motion. Megatron, meanwhile, used the cannons on Blitzwing's shoulder as convenient handles for gripping the triplechanger and flinging him none-too-gently at the wall. 

Fortunately, Bumblebee and Blitzwing had been separated before they could come to any real blows. Unfortunately, they now had the wrath of their superiors to endure.

"What in Primus' name do you think you're doing?" Optimus hissed at him, holding the still trussed-up mech so they were looking at each other optic-to-optic. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: stop baiting Blitzwing!"

"But bossbot--"

"Stow it!" He jerked a digit at Bumblebee's face and revved his engines in warning. "This truce is dangling by a frayed wire as it is without you taking a chainsaw to it. You think any of these 'cons will hesitate to scrap you if you get them angry enough? Either you and Blitzwing work--" Optimus waved his servo irritably. "-- whatever this is out civilly, or I'll have you confined to the barracks until the next landing. Have I made myself clear?"

Bumblebee looked like he wanted to protest, but he had the good grace to flush and glance down at the smoldering look Optimus gave him. Plating and field tight against his frame, he muttered, "... Yes, bossbot."

"Good." He dropped the yellow much unceremoniously and jerked a thumb at the nearest maintenance closet. "You've got a joor to get this canteen cleaned up and back in working order." He held up another digit. "Then, I want you in the training salle with me for a one-on-one session. Clearly you've got too much excess charge for your own good. I'll be more than happy to help you take that out on some old boot camp exercises." A third digit. "And I expect you to make a public apology to Blitzwing before the cycle is out." He pointed again at the closet. "You have your orders, soldier. Now go."

Crossing his arms, he watched Bumblebee slink away. Only when he was sure the mech was doing as he instructed did he look to see how Megatron was dealing with his own mech. The servo he had on the triplechanger's intake was just a touch short of a chokehold, and he held the other pinned against the wall with all the effort he might have pinned a rustfly down. Megatron was all but growling in his audial, the exact words unintelligible at this distance but the anger in them unmistakable. At the tight and fearful expression on Blitzwing's face -- now the Icy persona -- he could almost feel sorry for him. Almost. 

Bumblebee and Blitzwing took great pains not to even look at one another when Megatron finally let Blitzwing free sometime later. They kept as far away from each other as their respective rounds of cleaning would let them. As they worked, Optimus and Megatron sat to one side at the only intact table and oversaw them in a clear statement that they did not trust the two not to start fighting again like two troublesome sparklings.

"Primus grant me strength," Optimus huffed over a new cup of hot oil. He took the barrel he and Megatron were splitting and poured some into the Decepticon's own cup. "That's, what, the fifth time in the past decacycle?"

"The sixth -- yes, thank you -- you are forgetting when they nearly got themselves launched out of the airlock yesterday." 

"Right, right. Still, the way things are going, I'm more than a little worried that these brawls of theirs are going turn from public fighting to public fragging one of these days. They're... Well, neither of them are exactly being subtle about it anymore."

"Hm, so I've noted," Megatron replied, quirking an optic ridge at him. "Let us hope they remember the loyalty to their factions above their... rivalry." 

Optimus only "hmm"-ed noncommittally. He took a long draw from his cup, venting out slowly as the warmth radiated from his tanks to the rest of his frame. Casting a cursory glance over at others, he caught Megatron's gaze and nodded at the door. "I can take it from here. If you've got somewhere else to be, I mean. This wouldn't be the first time I've sparklingsat a couple of misbehaving bots."

"And risk Blitzwing thinking my absence is license to resume hostilities with your little scout? I think not." Chuckling, he waved away any implication of incompetence Optimus might have interpreted towards himself with a wink. "As lovely a picture as you make when you are righteously angry, little Prime, it does absolutely nothing for most Decepticons, and it will not cow one such as Blitzwing into submission."

"Most Decepticons?" Resting his chin on one hand, he leaned forward slightly as he smirked at the warlord. "Dare I ask if it does anything for you, Megatron?"

Another chuckle. "Now, now, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

--

Verdant skies ran parallel to endless cyan sands. Oddly enough it reminded Optimus of an inversion of Earth's own landscapes. As he sat on the rocky outcropping, simpling basking under the twin suns as he looked down on his mechs zipping this way and that across the dunes, his thoughts turned to Sari. His spark twisted a little at the memory of having to leave her behind, even if he and the others had agreed doing so had been for the best. With the ages-old conflict between the Cybertronians and the Quintessons fast reigniting across the galaxy, the safest place was with her own father back home.

We'll see you soon, kid, he promised silently, as much to himself as to the girl who was now light year away. Assuming they did not end up getting mulched by the Quintessons, and assuming the uneasy little alliance aboard the Nemesis did not disintegrate into a pile of graying frames in a pool of their own energon.

Hence the little -- well, it could not be called a proper vacation -- trip they were presently making on Letsap Three. Officially, they were here to do a bit of recon work to find any Quintesson signs and even scrounge up a bit of crude oil for fuel if they could find a well that could be tapped with minimal effort. Unofficially, this was something of a mental health visit. 

Even a ship as large as the Nemesis, built to comfortably hold far more Decepticon warframes than it presently did, was still entirely too small to keep the tension between the Autobots and Decepticons below flash point for long. To Ratchet, the last little spat between Bumblebee and Blitzwing had been the cadmium canary in the energon mine and he had ordered an immediate detour at the nearest likely star system and planet that would give them all a place to stretch their alt-modes and work out that pent-up frustration. Hook, the ship's medic and generally the most sensible 'con among them, had agreed and diplomatically communicated the order as a suggestion to Megatron.

Above him, the Cons were wheeling and whirring and streaking their way across the clear sky. The thermals coming off the hot sands allowed them to reach dizzying heights, and Optimus craned his neck to watch them for a few moments. Starscream, a seeker down to his spark, was riding the wind like he was one with it. Blitzwing was making a game of diving in and out of Lugnut's general vicinity and making clipping, glancing blows on the bomber's chassis. (Probably Random leading at that particular moment, then.) 

It took him a moment to realize someone was missing from the antics taking place above, and as if summoned by his thoughts alone, Megatron came flying at a leisurely pace from over a nearby ridge. His grey-and-crimson plating gleamed under the light of the suns. His altmode fairly dwarfed that of his fellow Decepticons, and even Optimus had to admit he made for a fetching sight--

Purging that particular thought right out of his processor, he opened up a commlink.

:Well, look who finally decided he's not too good to join the rest of us on a break,: Optimus said by way of greeting. 

:I was scouting,: he replied tersely. :I was of the understanding we were here to do actual work, not merely gambol about like errant sparklings.:

:It can be both, you know.: He was considering ending the transmission there, but... :So... I take it that's a 'no' to my earlier suggestion?:

:Indeed.: Megatron's tone was firm and brooked no argument, but it was not unkind. :You may not feel a need to maintain a certain degree of dignity and separation from your mechs, but it is a necessary thing in managing a squadron of warframes. If I cannot present at least the impression of being in control of my baser impulses, what hope do the rest of them have to keep themselves in check?:

:It was an invitation for a race, Megatron, not an orgy,: Optimus replied, rolling his optics. Still, he stood and stretched his arms to the sky, flaring his plating to catch every of ray sunshine. :Well, I guess it's just as well. Your mechs watching you lose your aft in a competition with an Autobot probably wouldn't do any favors for your 'dignity.' And a mech your age racing like that? You'd probably just burn out your poor engines and end up in the medbay for a decacycle.:

The taunts were baseless, of course and scarcely any classier than a creche-yard taunt. His bid to goad the warlord was a transparent one to both of them. Still, that did not seem to stop Megatron from rising to it. Optimus was spitefully delighted as he vaulted over the rocks and slid down the dune he had been perched on.

:Bold words for a mech in firing range, Autobot.: 

:You know my designation, Megatron. Use it.:

:Optimus.: The Decepticon drawled out the designation derisively. (There was certainly nothing heady or attractive at all about the way it sounded in those growling tones.) :If you wish to humiliate yourself in front of those under your command, far be it from me to deny you. Only understand, regardless of this truce we find ourselves under, that I have no intention of holding back to spare your pride.:

:Funny, neither do I.:

When he reached the bottom of the dune, he wasted no time in transforming. The moment his wheels touched sand Optimus was burning rubber. Grit sprayed in his wake as he raced past the others, scarcely sparing the half-second it took to send the rest of the Autobots a comm that, no, there was no danger and, no, he did not need company just this moment. Then he was barreling over the dunes, the shadow of Megatron's altmode to one side of him, exhaust trails following in the Decepticons' wake as he flew across the sky.

:You realize that this little alliance of ours will not last forever,: Megatron said, their commlink still open. :These little amiable overtures of yours are futile at best, naive at worst. Even when we drive back the Quintessons, there will be no love lost between our two peoples. The Decepticon mission will remain the same, and you and I will be at each other's intakes once more.:

:I know that,: Optimus replied, even as his tanks roiled a little in spite of the giddy thrill of the race. :But in the meantime, it's going to be easier on all of us if we at least pretend we don't hate each other's guts. There won't be an after to worry about if we do the Quintessons' job for them and kill each other. If there comes a day I get to actually put one of my axes through your spark, Megatron, I'd like to live to see it.:

:Hm.: It almost sounded like a laugh. :Fair enough, I suppose. The feeling is mutual, Optimus.:

:Good, I'm glad we agree.: Grinning inwardly, he put on a renewed burst of speed and actually managed to pull ahead of the Decepticon. :Now, eat my skids!:

--

"And that, I think, was when it truly began," he rumbled, "when I started to take a shine to your sire."

"You mean when you fell in love with him?"

"Hm... No, not as such. The beginnings of it, perhaps. You inherit a grand tradition of stubbornness and refusal to accept the inevitable from the both of us, little love. Neither of us would acknowledge it for stellar cycles, and it was a long and needlessly complicated affair when all was said and done. But looking back on it all, that was the turning point. For me, at any rate." 

"Ooooh... Okay."

Oversized finials wiggled in excitement and bapped lightly against the plating under Megatron's chin. Bright red optics stared up at him, the challenge and mischief so very much like Optimus'. Their pedes dug hard into the ridge on his chestplate to keep themself balanced on their little perch as they leaned ever-so-slightly forward, as if that small distance would let them look further past the horizon.

"You sure this is the right planet, carrier?" the sparkling asked, flopping back after a long minute against Megatron's shoulder. "We've been here forever!"

"We have been here for less than a cycle," he laughed, lightly poking at their tummy with a claw. "Have patience. He will be here soon."

"Sooner than you think!"

A shout from above had the both of them looking up slightly, squinting at the light of the setting suns. Something thumped in the sand a short distance in front of them, sending grit flying into their optics and vents. The sparkling sneezed once, twice as Megatron brushed their faceplate clean with the back of one digit. When he looked up again, it was to see Optimus -- Magnus now, Prime no more -- staring back at him with a smile as bright as his own.

The Autobot's expression turned a touch unsure and apprehensive after a moment or two, glancing away for a moment.

"Hey, uh... Megatron." He looked back up at the Decepticon with a visible effort. "I, uh... I got your note? Or your poem, I guess?" He pulled out a worn datapad, waving it in the air a moment. "'Meet me beneath the emerald skies we once raced under together.' That was you, right? I mean, of course, it had to be, otherwise why would you be he--"

"Peace, dearspark." In the time Optimus had been rambling, he had walked up to stand scarce mechano-inches from the other. Reaching down, he cradled the Autobot's helm between his servos. He bent down, and Optimus, a whimper in his throat, leaned up on his pedes to meet him in a kiss. When they parted, breathless and dizzy, Megatron nuzzled against his faceplate and unfurled his field so that Optimus might know the truth of his words.

"I am here, Optimus. We are both here. Together."

"Yeah," the shorter mech replied, voice sounding choked and a tentatively hopeful expression on his face. "Yeah, we are."

He leaned forward again, as if he meant to kiss Megatron again when--

"Eeeew!" The sparkling piped up, poking their helm from where they had been clinging behind Megatron's shoulder. "Stop trying to give carrier cooties!"

"Carrier--" Surprised turned to confusion, then to disbelief in Optimus' optics as he looked between Megatron and the sparkling. "Megatron, who--"

"I believe some introductions are in order," he cut in, scarcely restraining the laughter that threatened to rattle his plating and their sparkling right off his frame. "Little one, this is Optimus, your sire. Optimus... meet Crusade."

[heliopauseentertainments]

Mutual Fixation

A prompt for @megop Week 2022 on Tumblr. Prompt Day 2: Solace / Obsession

Continuity: G1 Rating: General Relationship: Megatron/Optimus Prime Characters: Megatron, Starscream, Optimus Prime, Ratchet Warnings: A vaguely suggestive comment and implied canon-typical violence

Summary: In which Starscream and Ratchet notice that their respective leaders seem to developed fixations on the enemy.

Crossposting: In a reblog

Fic under the cut

Starscream watched quietly from his side of the table, arms folded together and his toe tapping against the ground in boredom. Megatron pointed to the holographic projection of the planned battlefield in the middle of the space. This was a normal, everyday occurrence. Planning where to ambush the Autobots or lead them into a trap. This time it seemed the stupid plan would be luring the dolts into a box canyon, to keep them occupied while a solar power plant was raided elsewhere.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing that ever really worked.

While, unfortunately, Megatron wasn’t a stupid individual, his plans were generally worthless… or at least tended to have flaws the old bastard didn’t anticipate. Planning wasn’t his strong suit, despite the fool having convinced himself otherwise. Megatron wasn’t nearly as smart as he thought he was. Sometimes this was exploitable, sometimes not so much.

If the problem couldn’t be solved with brute force or threats, the problem tended not to be solved, at least in Starscream’s humble opinion no one asked for. He would happily provide it anyway. For free, no less. Such a deal. Yet no one ever listened to his highly valuable advice.

“You realize that Prime can scale those walls with his axe, right? He can, and will, climb right up the damn thing and stick that axe of his right up your aft.”

Then again, there was a nonzero chance that’s exactly what Megatron wanted.

Anything and everything that got him up close and personal to Prime tended to be something he’d jump on without hesitation. It was almost like he wanted to be in that self-righteous idiot’s company, like he wanted Prime’s attention…. Probably something else of his as well given the sheer enthusiasm with which Megatron threw himself at Prime on the battlefield.

“All the better then.” Megatron smirked. “Then I’ll take care of him personally. Right in front of all his little minions.”

Probably with the excuse of demoralizing the lot of them, but Starscream knew that would not be how the situation would play out.

They would neither be demoralized nor would Prime be taken care of. Megatron and Prime would probably just smack each other around a little and call it a day when it stopped being fun for the both of them. Prime would make a dumb, but accurate comment about Decepticon failures. Then Megatron would call a retreat and pretend he had an ounce of dignity where Prime was concerned. They were all supposed to ignore the fact that he would regularly look back at Prime all moon-eyed while they ran away.

“If you ask me, we all know how this insipid opera goes. We practically watch it every Tuesday,” he said, idly examining the ends of his fingers to make sure he hadn’t scuffed them already this morning. It was fine, expected even, when he was in the lab or in battle but just standing around, listening to Megatron’s boring plan? Unacceptable.

It was so stupid and they’d done it all a million times. Starscream was sick to death of this routine. Hell, he should have been made leader on those grounds alone. Megatron kept doing the same idiotic dance with Prime for no damn good reason.

“You realize, of course, that with your pointless plans that just end up with you and Prime wrestling on the ground and given that you keep making high-fidelity clones of him for ‘strategic purposes,’” Starscream sneered, shifting to lean his elbow against the planning table. “People might start coming to the obvious conclusion that you’ve got something of an obsession with Prime.”

There was a moment of silence. Starscream knew he was being glared at, but the silence was new. Normally, it came with shouting. Silence could mean a million things. After a second’s hesitation, he turned to look.

Megatron was just glaring, as expected, but his fists were clenched on the edge of the table. Starscream didn’t particularly care for where the situation might be headed.

“What did you just say?”

That was a threat. He knew it. Yet none of that stopped Starscream from opening his damn mouth again because it was just too easy.

“Oh, nothing, just that you keep using the same plan to try and grab Prime’s aft and maybe you should try something else if you actually want to get anywhere with that—“

Good thing expert flying could help with dodging clumsily thrown tables.

--

Ratchet wasn’t particularly enjoying this particular follow-up. It wasn’t unusual for him to have to chase down his patients later to check up on them. Autobots apparently had an aversion for coming back to see him if symptoms returned or otherwise taking care of themselves in the first place.

This time, however, the situation was a little out of his league. Ratchet wasn’t particularly skilled in providing psychological support and care. He had some minimal training, but it wasn’t his specialty. Unfortunately, even to his relatively untrained optic, in this particular field, he knew something wasn’t quite right with Optimus.

Every little thing that went wrong lately—every tiny little thing from a lightbulb breaking to traffic jams to  Bumblebee sneaking off to watch movies with Spike at the drive-in theater late at night—Optimus had been attributing unduly to Megatron’s nefarious machinations. At first, Ratchet had ignored it, but then it started being over pettier and pettier things. Most recently there had been a crack in his energon cube this morning from Sunstreaker bumping into a wall with it, but the crack had been on the top so fuel hadn’t escaped. Yet Ratchet had walked by just as Optimus muttered something about Megatron trying to ruin his morning.

The incident set off Ratchet’s alarms, which meant following Optimus around all morning and hoping Prime would just… talk to him, tell him what was wrong. They had been good friends for ages. They knew each other well and ought to have been able to trust each other by now. Yet… Optimus was hiding something from him and Ratchet had a horrible little inkling about what it was.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t going quite as well as he’d hoped. Optimus seemed to think Ratchet was trying to drag him in for a check-up and kept moving around the Ark, probably in hopes of tiring the smaller medic out. It wasn’t working because apparently someone had forgotten that Ratchet was a field medic.

“Optimus,” Ratchet said, grabbing the larger mech by the elbow as he tried to duck around a corner in the hallway. “Stop trying to avoid me. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Ratchet—“ The larger mech paused and turned towards him, escape from “unnecessary medical attention” momentarily halted. Optimus’ hand firmly grabbed his own, a silent threat for the medic to remove his hand of his own volition in contrast to the friendly and jovial tone Prime had taken. “I assure you, I’m in perfect health. You always worry so much.”

“Physically, yes.” With a huff, the medic reluctantly took his hand back. “But not necessarily… psychologically.”

Optimus laughed, a familiar, good-natured laugh that Ratchet knew very well. Normally, it was comforting, but this time he simply felt like he was being brushed off.

“Don’t tell me you think I’m going binary, Ratchet.”

“No, not quite yet.” Not if I have anything to say about it, he thought. He coughed to clear his vocalizer of static. This was not a conversation he really wanted to be having, but it was necessary. “I wanted to talk to you about this… thing you have about Megatron.”

“’Thing’?”

“I’m—“ Ratchet sighed, resting his palm against his forehead. “I’m not sure what to call it exactly. An obsession, maybe—“

“Obsession?”

“Whatever it is, it’s not healthy.” Sure, given the nature of the war, perhaps Optimus had a good reason to think Megatron was behind a lot of things. He often was, the scheming rascal, but he certainly wasn’t behind everything. Least of all random inconveniences that were simply part of functioning. “He’s not going to waste time ruining your breakfast just for the sake of ruining your breakfast!”

Well, probably not anyway. The Decepticons tended to be strapped for resources. Instead of breaking the cube or rigging it to crack, they’d be more likely to steal it in the first place.

“Ratchet, I know you like to think the best of people, but you’re—“

“Prime, I’m not thinking the best of Megatron, of all mechs! It’s just that you’re going to go insane—”

“But you’re wrong,” Prime calmly continued, as though lecturing one of Wheeljack’s foolish saurian new-builds. “You don’t understand what he’s like, how cunning he can be. He’s always up to something and every little thing he does is part of some greater evil plan.”

“He’s not that smart!” Ratchet objected.

“He’s smarter than he looks.” Optimus sighed and shook his head, placing an offended hand on his chest. “I know you mean well, Ratchet, but please understand that in order to prevent the worst, I have to be on the lookout for anything that might be part of—“

Ratchet, giving up, threw his hands in the air and walked away. This was a lost cause.

[pastelpaperplanes]

Battlesleep? What is that?

Battlesleep is a primarily megop fic that’s been ongoing for guess ehh six years now? Multi chaptered and HELLA dramatic, a bit on the darker side (mind those tags) but a great story and it has interesting take on Cybertronian biology

I think I’d consider it to be a more well-known fic, but maybe that’s just bc l’ve stumbled across more fanart/recommendations for it compared to a lot of others out there. But eh, well-known is relative anyways

Basically the plot picks up after S3, it’s got all that post-war drama, break outs, political drama, hard conversations of buried pasts, and YEARNING

It’s definitely one of the more entertaining fics I think bc it centers around a bunch of different sub plot lines!! like for example Sentinel and Sari’s little escapades are HILARIOUS, the end of chapter logs are so FUNNY and add a lot subtly implied details to backstories and Cybertronian media regulations oh it’s the best!!

I don’t wanna spoil too much but let’s just say the title of the fic alone when it has its context revealed floored me and oh I was hooked. SO MUCH MORE makes sense and again I think this author’s interpretation of warframe and civilian frame dynamics/biology is FASCINATING

it took me long enough to start it but yessss it’s a good megop fic for sure, there’s a lot of humor mixed into the plot, the way Op is written cracks me up (he’s so done. let him have a vacation or I stg), there’s a lot of variety in dynamics, the original characters written in are the BEST, and it’s a good read that will blue ball you like no other talk about a slow burn >:3

eh, those are my ramblings! 10/10 recommend

[xensilverquill]

Unfold Me, a MegOP fic

Warning: This is a courtesan!AU, with offscreen/implied dubious consent and all that implies. Everything concerning Orion and Megatronus is consentual, however.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558870

Summary:

"You are naught but a vessel. You are naught but a spectacle. You know no anger, no pain, no fear. You will bow, you will bend, and you will break for the pleasure of your patron. All that you were, all that you are, and all that you will be is for the honor of your house. You are a courtesan, and until the Creator calls you back, that is all you must be. You are are naught but a vessel..."

With his strange and irreverent patron, however, premiere courtesan Orion dares to hope for something different.

Another night, another spectacle.

As the sun set over the city skyline, the sister moons rose to take its place. The residents of the Magnesium Flare Pleasure House rose with them to greet a new work night. For as the nightlife buzzed to life in Praxus, so too did the vices of every mech from the most esteemed noble to the lowest energon miner.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-bee- Thnk!

Orion slammed a servo on the snooze button of his alarm. The last rays of the day through the window stabbed him in the optics as they flickered on. Groaning softly, he rolled over in the berth to shield his face in the crook of his arm. He prayed to whatever higher power might be listening for a little more recharge. Just a few kliks more before he had to get up and face the night's overcharged and entitled rabble. Surely he was allowed that much.

His alarm chimed to the contrary a minute later, however, and with a sigh he pushed aside the soft mesh sheets. Struts creaked and cable-kinks tugged as he stretched his arms behind him. He frowned as he felt more than a few abused components slip back into place with a pop , a memento from last night's client. Tarnish military elites certainly paid well, but at what cost to his internals?

Well, nothing a few sensornet-dulling pills with his evening cube could not alleviate. He consumed both in short order, discarding the cube in the waste receptacle in the wall. Then it was off to the washrack. Not that he was particularly dirty, far from it. The house matron would have stripped him down to his protoform and mounted him on the walls of the common if he had gone to recharge without cleaning up after a session with a client. Proper hygiene and maintenance was key -- rule number one for any courtesan that did not want to end up a poor house-less streetwalker.

Of course, it was not enough to be merely clean. Every noble and senator that swaggered into the Flare expected its residents to be as shiny and pristine as the day they were forged. Their establishment catered only to the best and brightest of Cybertronian society, after all, and its courtesans had to polish and paint themselves accordingly.

Closing the door behind him, he turned the solvent stream on its hottest setting. A soft moan, in relief this time, escaped him as it worked its way beneath his plating to soothe his aching protoform. He indulged himself and simply stood under the shower for several moments.

He tilted his helm back, the silver and glyph-inscribed collar around his neck ringing slightly with the motion. Only to hiss lightly between clenched dentae as the solvent poured over the bite marks on his neck cabling. Another souvenir from the Tarnish mech. It was a wonder the brute had not punctured an energon line.

"Nope," he grumbled to himself, stepping out of the washrack again. "Never again. Don't care how much they tip afterward..." As if he had any real choice in the matter, in this place.

Quickly toweling himself dry, he took the buffing brushes and bottle of carnauba wax out of the cabinet. He worked the wax into his frame until his plating had a mirror shine, starting at the tips of his pedes and working his way up. Small circles, shallow strokes, just the way that one mech -- Breakdown, was that his name? -- had taught him in his earliest days as a courtesan. A final flourish on his crest, and his polishing was finished.

If only that were all his nightly ritual entailed he mused as he took at seat at the vanity. Air brushes and paint canisters and stencils lay scattered across the tabletop, every one a tool of his peculiar trade. His optics glanced between the paint before settling on gold. Hooking the air brush up to the canister, he first began applying it to his faceplate. Geometric tear-tracks down his cheeks, a dusting beneath his optics, intricate glyph-work on his temple with the help of his stencils. He performed a similar treatment on the plating on his forearms, shoulders, and chest until he was as decorated and gaudy as any noble or senator could please.

Now for his silk-meshes. Orion pulled the gauzy fabric out of the trunk at the foot of the berth, a brass color to compliment the designs he had just painted on himself. Small magnets locked them into place on his frame. First a headpiece that flowed like so much high-grade over his shoulders. Then twin strips connecting from his wrist to upper arm. And finally long, flowing pieces that sat at his hips and draped over his aft and interface panel.

As little as it left to the imagination, it was the most pointless ensemble in the entire history of apparel. A few stretches and an experimental twirl or two, just to make sure none of the cloth had gotten caught. Countless nights of the same routine ensured that there was not so much as a single flaw in his paint or a wrinkle in his silks.

And as his frame was now prepared, so too did his manner and speech need to be attended. He shuttered his optics and clasped his servos together. Opening his vents, he counted one, two, three cycles. Twisting lightly and smoothly on his pedes, he gazed into the vanity mirror, expression serene and empty of unsightly cares and his field blank.  

"You are naught but a vessel," he began, the old mantra all but branded into his processor. "You are naught but a spectacle. You know no anger, no pain, no fear. You will bow, you will bend, and you will break for the pleasure of your patron. All that you were, all that you are, and all that you will be is for the honor of your house. You are a courtesan, and until the Creator calls you back, that is all you must be."

It seemed to him that the collar grew colder and heavier with each word. It pressed down upon his neck and shoulders, as much a burden as a yoke on a charger bull. Helm tipping forward, he brushed his digits against the cool and engraved surface. "You are naught but a vessel..."

And there he was, no longer Orion Pax but Optimus: premier courtesan of the Magnesium Flare, Praxus' most esteemed pleasure-house.

Still, something was missing. He gave himself another once-over, but as before he found everything to be in place. After a pause he thought perhaps the issue was that everything was too in place. There was nothing on his person to catch the attention of his client and subsequently their credits. He would need to remedy that before the night began.

He paced over to the display table nearest the door. Beneath a protective casing of transparisteel lay a modest collection of jewelry, all gifts from clients and admirers and other mechs who made the mistake of giving their affections to a courtesan.

Immediately in front of him were ropes of organic pearls imported from the ocean planets of the Kepler system. Further over were bangles of nephrite and quartz and citrine. Here kyanite baubles that could be mag-locked to his finials, there a Vosnian circlet painstakingly forged from iridescent bismuth and set with diamonds. Each boasted of the wealth of its giver, and each was just as garish and ugly.

Well, save one. Nestled in the center was a sapphire pendant housed in sterling silver. The gem was rough-cut and full of off-color inclusions. The color itself was nothing to marvel either, only a cloudy cerulean compared to the deep cobalt of superior grades. The piece paled in comparison to the others within the case. Only an especially dim-witted or tasteless fool would choose it in favor of the rest of the collection.

What a fool he was then he thought wryly as he opened the casing and picked the pendant up. He turned it over idly in his servo. Thin glyphs were etched into the back, and they were slightly worn with how often he had rubbed his thumb lightly over them. A small smile curled on Orion's faceplate as he read the simple inscription: 'To the keeper of my spark.'

"Pax!" a booming voice on the other side of the door had him starting slightly. "The group you're entertaining tonight just arrived, and you're on in precisely ten kliks! Tell me you didn't manage to break your alarm again ..."

"Will he ever let that go? You come out of recharge a few minutes late and accidentally murder a chronometer once and suddenly you're a tardy reprobate for the rest of your life," he muttered to himself before raising his face. "Just a moment, I'm nearly ready!"

He quickly fastened the clasp of the necklace around his neck. The pendant itself fell the width of a few digits below his collar, and its silver casing winked in the light. There, now the look was complete. He pressed his servo to the touchpad, the door sliding smoothly aside and revealing the none-too-patient countenance of his bodyguard and enforcer.

"Nine-and-a-half klicks now," Ultra Magnus groused, arms crossed and pede tapping. "I don't think I need to remind you how senators, not to mention myself, hate to be kept waiting. What were you even doing in there?"

"What does any courtesan do to prepare for another night?" Orion chimed pleasantly, though he had the good grace to glance up apologetically at the tall mech. "The paint and silks certainly don't put themselves on. They're expecting to be dazzled this evening, and the matron will have both our helms if I don't look the part."

The other only harrumphed a reply, though he did not seem to disagree as he fell into step behind his charge. It was a quiet walk to the lift, and only their pedesteps and the rustling of Orion’s silks broke the silence.

"You told me your client hadn't injured you last night," his bodyguard noted as they descended from his apartments on the top floor, voice still stormy but lacking its earlier edge. "What do you call that mark on your neck then, if not an injury?"

"A necessary sacrifice for the sake of both our jobs," Orion sighed, tugging the silk-mesh more securely over his neck. "You're already on sheet metal with management for the incident with that noble from Altihex. Short of drawing energon or ripping out internals, they won't be looking kindly on you for coming to my defense anytime soon."

"That's quite literally my occupation. What else am I here for?"

"Moral support?" he offered, placing a servo on the fist curled at Magnus' side. "They'll only send you away if you make a scene again. Forgive me if it sounds a bit selfish, but I'm not keen on losing the one real friend I've got in this place."

"I'm hardly a friend to you if you won't even let me--"

Whatever rebuttal the other might have had was interrupted as the elevator dinged when they reached the ground floor. The courtesan ex-vented gratefully. The last thing he needed before a performance was a row with Magnus.

"Put on your best slightly less grumpy face now. We'll talk about this later, all right?"

"I'll be counting on that. Don't think you've charmed your way out of this one, Pax."

"Oh, so you find me charming, do you?" Orion demurred as they stepped out into the bright lobby.

The Flare was not idly named; every square metron of the interior dazzled in a blinding array. Honey onyx tiles covered the floor of every room. Hardlight pillars glowed like white dwarf stars and turned the tiles a rich and warm amber. Great clusters of clear quartz were laid out a centerpieces on each table.

Here and there stood his fellow courtesans, each as glittering and be-silked as himself. Some simply hung off the arms of their richly-adorned clients as they spoke with their companions. A few chittered and cooed at whatever their client was talking about as they were escorted out for an evening on the town. Others still were spiriting their partners towards the lift and the suites in the floors above, no doubt to demonstrate to the highborn mech every intimate talent a courtesan possessed.

Orion caught his share of optics from their guests as he stepped across the open lobby. He kept his expression blank, gaze trained forward and slightly lowered. Servos clasped in front of him, his shoulders pulled back and his helm raised. Anything a potential client might have wanted to know about him was communicated in the way he carried himself: a well-trained pet, but not a broken or dull one. (Any so bold as to breach protocol likely thought twice with Magnus following a few steps behind him.)

Their destination lay through an archway into one of pleasure-house's larger exhibition halls. Built in the style of an amphitheatre, plush cushions were placed here and there for guests to lounge upon. The group of a dozen or so senators he was sleighted to entertain tonight had already settled, the buzz of their conversation audible from the entryway. To one side a small orchestra was warming up as the steelwinds hummed and the drummers tapped lightly on their instruments. All the lights were centered on a large, semicircular dais on the back wall. It was toward that platform that Orion descended, leaving Magnus behind to stand sentry at the door.

A hush fell over the room as, one by one, each mech noticed him in turn. He moved just slowly enough to make sure that all their optics were centered upon him before he ascended up the dais. A brief pause and he turned smoothly to face them, the light catching on every part of his frame. Sliding a pede out, he fell into a kneel in one fluid motion and bowed his helm to his audience.

"A good evening to you all, my lords," he greeted them as he stood once more. "I gladly welcome each of you into my humble house." He spread his arms as he spoke, palms upturned and his smile warm. "Heed me now: lose yourself in the pleasures of the night, and know what it means to taste paradise."

In the few nanokliks of silence that followed, he briefly glimpsed a familiar flared crest and set of wings: Senator Shockwave. He had clearly gotten a new paint job, now teal-and-bright-green where there had once been red-and-blue. There was no mistaking that smile, however, or those optics, their genuinity bright and rare in his profession. As welcome a face as he was, it was not often he frequented the Flare or establishments of his kind. How odd. The last time Orion had seen him, he had been with--

But then the music began, and he had no more time to think on the matter.

An Iaconian waltz floated into the upper reaches of the hall from the orchestra pit. Arms still outstretched, Orion's reached upward, as if he thought to catch the lilting tune as it flew away. His optics shuttered closed as the hall and everything fell away. He opened himself, a conduit to the melody. He let himself be moved as it willed, its avatar and puppet.

In slow and leisurely movements he circled round and round the dais. His silks flowed in his wake, and under the stage lights the dark fabric sparkled as brilliantly as the cosmos. Spinning to and fro, every smooth sweep and arc of his limbs served to further ensnare the gathered mechs. It was a dance meant to enchant, to beguile and to soothe. His was a lullaby in motion, and just as waltz wound to a close, he struck.

A loud bang of the drum broke the tranquility of the moment into a thousand pieces, and the sudden snap of his helm upward scattered them all to the wind. Flames burned in his cyan optics as the tempo picked up. His spark pulsed to the same wild tattoo as the music. Not hesitating a moment longer, he threw himself into fray.

The Torchbearers of Camien were renowned through the galaxy for their fire dance, and it was in their pedesteps that he moved now. His frame moved as a fighter's would, every motion swift and deliberate. Twisting here to dodge the blow of some invisible enemy, leaping there over an obstacle only he could perceive. Even his silks snapped like flames themselves and whipped through the air.

Every twist of his frame was a challenge to take and claim him if they dared, and it stirred the hunger and intrigue of more than a few. What a pity that they would not be sated tonight.

With a final resounding beat, the song ended and he was brought to his knees. A servo was clasped to his chest as if to keep his spark from spinning out of its chamber while the other splayed on the floor to balance himself. Static roared so loudly in his audials that he could not even hear the sound of his cycling vents. Only the memory of the drumbeat still rattled in his helm, slow and steady.

So sluggish were his senses that it was several moments before he realized it was not a drum at all. When he looked out on to the audience again, Orion found their optics not on him but on the two new arrivals at the doorway.

The first he spotted was as dark as the night over the Sea of Rust and forged like a prisma-panther. With that flat and expressionless mask obscuring his faceplate, the enigmatic mech could be none other than Soundwave. Where he stalked, his master was never far. It took every ounce of restraint Orion had to keep from smiling at his gaze traveled to the scarred, broad-shouldered warrior beside him, slowly clapping his servos and smirking as if he were privy to some great joke.

"A wonderful performance, Optimus," Megatronus greeted, his orator's voice easily reaching every audial in the room. His cloven pedes unceremoniously broke the silence as he moved down the steps, and it was with equally little ceremony that the gunmetal-grey gladiator joined the courtesan on the stage. "You dance as masterfully as ever."

"You honor me, my patron," Orion replied as he slipped into kneeling position, optics cast down at the other's pedes.

Megatronus said nothing to him at first. He only reached down, first to trace his digits over the pendant at Orion's throat and then to tip the smaller mech's helm so that their gaze might meet. Orion saw a fondness and softness in those optics that the other could not speak of, certainly not in a room of mechs who were his enemies in all but name alone. He took the servo that was offered him and rose, careful to keep the demure and humble mask of a courtesan on his own face. He took comfort as one great arm placed itself firmly against the small of his back though he knew it was as much for posturing before the senators as it was to comfort him.

"Sir," came Magnus' stern and warning tone, stepping just short of the dais, "I would kindly ask you to observe protocol and wait until the courtesan has finished his performance to approach him."

"Your forget yourself, enforcer. I would ask you remember protocol as well," Megatronus countered without skipping a beat, much to the chagrin of Orion's bodyguard. "As his patron, I hold his bond and my rights to him supercede those of everyone present." That smirk never left his faceplate as he met the gazes of each audience member in turn and pressed Orion into his side. "So with all due respect, my dear senators, I'll be claiming this beauty for myself this evening. Good night."

If he had not earned their ire by interrupting the performance, he certainly had it now. Oh but if looks could offline a mech. Every senator glared daggers at the lowly gladiator as he sauntered out of the hall with their stolen prize on his arm.

Bad enough that Megatronus had become a painful thorn in their side when it came to loyalties of the masses. Now he dared to walk among them as their equal, to taste in the pleasures meant exclusively for them? It was not even the first time he had committed such a blasphemy, either. Were he not so loved by the lower castes, the gladiator would have found himself in a pool of his own energon in a gutter, or at the very least rotting in a cell on Luna 2.

"It's as he says, my friends," Shockwave spoke up, rising from his seat with shrugging shoulders. "Our dear courtesan eludes us yet another night. But take spark!" He flashed one of those smiles that would make even the most incensed mech forget his anger, however briefly. "The night is still young, and I'll see each of you paired with a beauty of your own within the cycle. All expenses paid to my personal account, of course."

Orion felt his frame relax as they slipped out of the room, the wrath of senators diverted for now. He would have to send Shockwave a thank-you note in the morning for getting his patron out of harm's way once more. They owed so much to him already. It was only because of the sweet mech's anonymous sponsorship that Megatronus could afford to pay the fees that came with being a premier courtesan's patron. To hear the latest political gossip, Shockwave also fought a daily battle to keep the gladiator from being taken in by the authorities as a dangerous radical and upstart.

Soundwave and Magnus trailed close behind them. The former moved as quietly and inconspicuously as ever, and Orion felt a pain of sympathy for the processor-ache they were no doubt giving the latter. The list of inconveniences and grievances his poor bodyguard only grew as the evening progressed. He resolved to make it up to him later; Magnus was overdue for a proper vacation anyway.

"Soundwave, keep an optic on things for me," Megatronus ordered as he and Orion stepped into the lift. Not once did he loosen his hold on the small mech. "I'm sure Magnus will be fine company for you in the meantime."

His dark companion said nothing, of course, only briefly dipping his helm before parting ways with his fellow gladiator. With a nod and a small smile from Orion, Magnus followed suit with a slow and barely restrained exhale through his vents.

A small eternity passed in the time it took to reach the top floor and return to Orion's apartments. A part of him would have been happy to let Megatronus have his merry way with him right there in the lift. His test of patience was rewarded in shorter as he keyed in the passcode and they disappeared into the dark of his room.

Strong servos took hold of his hip plating and pinned him against the door not a moment after it slid shut behind them. Orion's helm turned up, lips parted as his patron took him in a hungry kiss. He moaned against the other and looped his arms around Megatronus' neck. That earned him a hard rev from those powerful engines, and he was breathless when they parted again.

"You couldn't have waited for a few more clicks for me to finish?" he scolded without any real heat in his voice. "You make enough enemies out there in the arena without making more in a pleasure-house of all places. I know your entire political stance is 'stick it to higher castes.' but you might save yourself some trouble now and then with a few good manners."

"Perhaps," the other remarked without so much as an ounce of remorse. "But the fact of the matter is I simply don't care. They can take their customs and niceties and frag themselves thoroughly with them." He bent to rumble cheekily in Orion's audial. "Just as I intend to with you presently."

Megatronus was certainly nothing if not a mech of his word. Another few kliks they stood there, panting and tangling glossas until they were both breathless. Orion found himself smiling and sighing like a lovestruck virgin in one of those tawdry half-credit romance novels sold at the newstand on the corner.

Servos falling to take hold of his patron's own, he tugged and guided them both towards the large berth. He let go only to throw off his silks (they were a pain to clean and repair and he had completely lost more than a few sets to Megatronus' enthusiasm). Deftly he moved to kneel on the berth, his back to the wall. His servos gestured the invitation mirrored in his optics, and it pleased the small part of him that still found the act of interface enjoyable to see Megatron accept it.

The cushy pad beneath him dipped with the considerable weight of the gladiator. Orion yelped as it had him sliding face-first into those broad chestplates. Megatronus laughed softly and simply stared down at him for a moment.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

The odd question gave him pause for a moment before he answered. "How could I forget? We both made consummate fools of ourselves that night, if I recall."

"Hmph, trust you to remember all my shortcomings." A firm tap on his helm had Orion falling on his back with a loud clanging of plating. Both his collar and necklace were set askew, and he had time to adjust neither as Megatronus descended on him again.

"Hey, I said 'both,' didn't I? What are you-- Ah! Ah, please..."

It was not often they entertained gladiators at the Flare. Few could afford even a few kliks of a courtesan's time, much less buy them out for the night. Only the most prestigious fighters ever had a high enough pay grade for their services. Even then, a mech like the pleasure-house's premier courtesan should have been well beyond their reach.

Imagine Orion's surprise, then, to see 'Entertain a party of gladiators from Kaon in the Spires' on his itinerary for the night. At first he thought it to be some joke, but the terse response from his matron confirmed that he would indeed be keeping company with the brawlers tonight.

Unease churned in his tanks. It was not their caste so much as their manners that gave him cause to worry; he had seen firsthand what warriors like them could do when they became careless with their evening frag. Magnus -- his newly assigned bodyguard -- would make sure no permanent damage was inflicted on him. Even so, anxiety kept his field tight to his frame as he sat among them in the Spire penthouse that had been set aside for the occasion.

"How's a pretty mech like you not landed himself as the consort of a senator yet?" one boisterous mech boomed, his vents stinking of flavored high-grade.

"I suppose I've just never been the bonding type," Orion flirted back, winking an optic at the paint-scraped gladiator. "Besides, mechs like them are too busy making matches with nobles for their careers to give someone like me a second glance.

"More like they know you've been handed around to every other one of their friends," another drunken mech chimed in before a mohawked mech slapped him the back of the helm. "Ow!"

"Stop insultin' the entertainment," he growled. He -- Impactor, if Orion recalled correctly -- turned to the courtesan apologetically and offered his arm. "Sorry about that, sweetspark. How's about I introduce you to some politer company?"

Orion took the out gratefully and placed his servo on the mech's forearm as he was guided in the direction of the balcony.

"Truth is I've got a favor to ask you," Impactor continued once they were out of audialshot. "A friend of mine's been in slump lately, fragging-wise, and it isn't doing him any favors in the games. Think you could give him some of your time tonight, and be discreet about it? Compensated, of course."

"If you wish, certainly," he replied easily enough. It was not the first time he had been given as a gift, though it would certainly be the first gladiator to whom he had ever been presented. He only hoped they had a modicum more manners than the company they kept. "Where is the friend in question, might I ask?"

"Out there." Impactor gestured to a lone mech leaning on the railing of the balcony, looking quietly out over the city. He spared the courtesan a rakish grin before heading back. "Thanks. Don't keep him out too late, y'hear?"

Orion paused at the doorway for a klik or two, simply staring at his would-be client. He was a large mech even for a gladiator, and he had a frame-type more similar to a miner's than anything else. As grey and silent as he was, he had more of a bearing to a corpse than any mech might find attractive. He suspected that might be why he was in his current 'slump,' at least until he walked up and had a glimpse of his faceplate. Well-built as any noble, optics a true energon blue.

Well, the courtesan had certainly attended to far less handsome clients.

"A bit of a cold night to be out here alone, don't you think?" he spoke up, coming to lean with his back against the balcony.

"I--" The gladiator started, surprise coloring his field before he composed himself. "No, I prefer it this way, actually."

"Oh? Not much of a party mech, are you?"

"Not really, no." A dark flush stole over the gladiator's face as he stared at the Orion a few nanokliks more than strictly necessary. He turned to glance out on the skyline with renewed interest.

"Fair enough," Orion chuckled. "Perhaps we could be alone together then? If just for a while." He laid a servo over the other's, sending the other's optics snapping up to meet his again. "I'm Optimus, by the way. What's yours?"

"... Megatronus. And yes, I-- I would like that. I would like that very much, Optimus."

"I'll never forget the look on your faceplate when you found out I was a paid-for courtesan," Orion laughed even as his patron's digits stroked over his plating. "I don't think even those senators tonight were as offended as you were then."

"Believe it or not, finding out the most beautiful mech you've ever seen is only flirting with you because his friend paid him to is not particularly flattering." He nipped at Orion's audial fins in petty vengeance, and his lover squirmed beneath him.The courtesan stayed him by bring his servos up to frame the larger mech's face. He tilting his own helm back to expose his neck and pulled Megatronus down to him.

"It's not as if I didn't spend the rest of the evening making it up to you," Orion reasoned, "or every night we've shared since."

His patron did not bother denying it, only pressed kisses to the throat offered to him. His glossa stroked now and then over the cabling. Each plied a soft sigh from Orion. He fancied he might drift away on that sensation -- at least until the gladiator unknowingly nudged at the wound on his neck, making Orion wince and Megatronus pause. There was no hiding the mark, either, one servo firmly holding the other's helm to the side as he inspected the damage dealt to his courtesan.

"Who left you with this, then?" the gladiator rumbled quietly. Orion's spark pulsed fearfully in his chest at the sudden steel in his voice. Even though he knew that fury was not directed at him, his patron's temper was a terrifying thing. "Don't bother with supplications, it won't save him. Give me the designation, love, or I can simply have Soundwave find out for me. Either way, I'll have his helm on a pike."

Tense silence spread between them and all the levity of the past few clicks disappeared. Knowing there was nothing for it, Orion before his optics fell and he slumped against the berth in defeat. His helm turned so that he did not have to meet that searching, burning gaze.

"... Shank of Tarn, Commander of the Third Imperial Legion. That's his designation."

He did not realize his digits were trembling before Megatronus gently took hold of them. Nuzzling Orion's servo, he pressed a kiss to his palm before doing the same to his other servo.

"Orion," he spoke. "Look at me." The courtesan did as he was bid, and he found the fire had gone out of the other's gaze. "My anger isn't with you. No, never with you..." Megatronus pressed their temples together and ex-vented softly. "You are mine. I'll protect what is mine, and I don't give anyone leave to put a mark upon what is mine." He began to press kisses against Orion's frame again, coaxing his ardor to return. "Tell me, Orion. Tell me that you're mine."

"Yours," Orion breathed. Every kiss and nips on his plating sent a shudder through his sensornet. "Yours, only yours. As I've always been..."

 "And why not, Orion? Tell me exactly why I'm not allowed to have any affection for you!"

"It's 'Optimus,' to you and every other bot who's ever paid to put their spike in me. And it's because a courtesan and client is all we can ever be. It's hardly my fault you were naive enough to give your spark to a whore!"

He tred angrily over the silks and trinkets strung across the suite floor to the window, not caring what he might accidentally crush underpede. Orion hid his faceplate in his servo and was determined not to show the coolant leaking from his optics. Only moments ago they had been fragging in his berth, chasing overload after processor-shattering overload with one another. He could have remained in that bliss forever.

Then the slag-headed idiot had just had to tell him he loved him.

"Do you honestly think I give a damn about your occupation anymore?" Megatronus sneered from where he stood on the other side of the berth. "If I did, if that were all I saw in you, I certainly wouldn't have come back to you night after night. You're simply too stubborn and jaded to see yourself as someone worthy of being loved!"

Orion whirled around with a snarl,  his tears marring the paint on his faceplate. "Shut up! You don't know anything about my life or what's been done to me! What they've warped me into!"

"Then tell me I'm wrong." The gladiator marched up to him, but Orion would not be cowed. He returned the glare and refused to look away. Not even when the mech took a hard hold of his shoulders and shook him. "Tell me that you're happy in this role they've forced you into all your life. Tell me you're content only to give pleasure and never to keep a shred for yourself." Something in his expression softened even as he kept an iron-grip on Orion.

"Look me in the optics and tell me my feelings are not reciprocated, and I'll leave and never darken your doorstep again."

"You-- You--" Now was his chance to break the gladiator's spark, to send him away for good and save them both from his doomed infatuation. Yet try as he might, the words remained choked in his voxcoder and refused to leave his mouth. All the righteous anger and every self-sacrificing notion left him then, and he could only bury his face against the gladiator's chassis. His servo curled into a fist and pounded half-sparkedly at the mech's chest.

"You slag-headed, overcharged, stubborn, wonderful idiot..."

Those arms, hesitating at first, came round to envelop him. Megatronus rested his chin lightly on top of his helm. Orion thought he felt the other's engines stuttering, too, but he did not have the energy or courage to see for himself. He could weep uselessly as servos stroked up and down his spinal strut. Silence spread between them for several long kliks.

"What did you used to dream of?" the taller mech asked quietly. "What did you aspire to be before they forced the collar of a courtesan on you?"

He considered simply leaving the question hanging in the air but could not. "... An archivist. I wanted to be an archivist in the Iacon Hall of Records."

"Then I swear on the Prime I took my designation from: I'll fight to help you realize that dream, Orion Pax. I'll fight to build a world that doesn't make you afraid to love me back."

His servos clenched in the sheets as his patron mercilessly worked his valve. When he looked between his thighs, lubricant drenched them and the mesh-sheet underneath. Large servos kneaded at his aft as they supported the lower half of his frame off the berth. Thumbs worked his anterior node with the mastery of a harpist, and Megatronus' mouth, oh blessed light of the Well, his mouth!

"Please, sweetspark, please!" he whimpered, begging for a release that would only come when the other deigned to give it to him and not a moment sooner.

Orion knew him to have a silver-glossa from the audio recordings of his speeches he heard on the extranet, and Megatronus knew how to work his frame just like he knew how to work a crowd in and out of the Pits. That glossa slid with such skillful ease between his calipers. It lapped at every bit of mesh within him it could reach and left him mourning every time it retreated. Now and then the gladiator would lock optics with him and rev his engines hard as he tasted deeply of him, and Orion swore he would overload from that alone.

Arching his frame forward was painful, yet he could do nothing else but hold desperately onto the other's shoulders to ground himself. In between his gasping and moaning he rained kisses on Megatronus' helm. He nuzzled against him so frantically that the gold paint on his face was left in streaks on his grey plating.

"I can't-- I can't wait any longer-- I need--"

"Then let go for me, love," was all the gladiator said in reply as he buried his faceplate completely into Orion's array.

Orion's frame snapped straight as an arrow and bucked his hips wildly. He screamed his release so loudly that his voxcoder cut out with a screech. His digits dug into those wide pauldrons as he rode out his overload on his patron's faceplate. And still Megatronus gave him no quarter, licking him thoroughly as he came down slowly, agonizingly, from his high.

Left to collapse on the berth, his optics and voxcoder struggled to reboot themselves. No one before Megatronus had ever seen to his own pleasure so thoroughly and so sweetly. Neither would there be another like him, not if he fragged every mech and femme on Cybertron and the colony worlds beyond. And deep down, he knew his spark would accept no other.

As if to chase the even possibility of it from his processor, the other flipped him over so fast that his calibration mods could not keep up and left his processor swimming. He was pulled none too delicately to his servos and knees. Orion shivered, both as his valve was exposed so completely to his patron and as he heard the distinct sound of a spike pressurizing. Burying his face in the sheets, he hiked his aft higher and spread the folds of his valve with a servo, begging without words for the gladiator to fill him.

And how the other obliged him, thrusting in and impaling his frame in one smooth stroke, leaving them both breathless and gasping.

"Congratulations then, my lord," the matron declared as she picked up the datapad with the newly signed paperwork. "You are officially the new patron of premiere courtesan Optimus of the Magnesium Flare. I will leave you to your business then." The stocky femme bowed at the waist to Megatronus before exiting the room.

Orion, who had been standing with clasped servos against the opposite wall of the receiving room, looked up with a bright smile the moment she had left. He was the first to move, and his spark practically sang as the mech swept him up into a kiss. Laughing as he pressed their helms together, Orion gazed upon him with stars in his optics.

"I can't believe you pulled it off," he whispered conspiratorialy. "A mere gladiator of Kaon claiming a Praxian courtesan for his own. I can just hear the gossip on the extranet now."

"You are a mech of such little faith," Megatronus teased, nuzzling his cheek and tightening his hold on him. "Not even the blasted senator was so cruel to me when I came to him with the proposition."

"That 'blasted senator' has a name, you know, and it's only thanks to him you haven't been offline gruesomely a dozen different times by now." He poked the other lightly between the optics. "Of course, it doesn't hurt that you have Alpha Trion's talent for persuasion or a courtesan who has all the blackmail you could ever need on all the high-caste mechs on Cybertron."

"Oh yes, how wonderfully blessed I am." He let Orion back down, only to pull a small box from his subspace and press it into his servos. "For you. Open it."

Orion cocked his helm at him but did as he was bid. His optics apertured wide on the contents before he glanced up questioningly at the other. "What is--?"

"I've heard it's customary for a patron to present his courtesan with a gift when they form a contract with one another." The mech circled behind him and pulled the necklace -- a sapphire pendant set in silver -- from the box. He fastened it around Orion's neck, and the pendant settled at the base of his throat as easily as if it had always been a part of him.

"The gift is meant to be a symbol of the patron's admiration, of his ability to provide for the keeper of his pleasure. Or, as is my case, the keeper of my spark." Placing his servos on Orion's shoulders, he nuzzled behind his audial. "I think it suits you quite well, don't you?"

The smaller mech could only smile, reaching behind him to caress the back of his patron's helm as he thumbed the rough facets of the gemstone. "Yes, I quite agree."

They overloaded together, servos linked and sparks spinning. Megatronus' huffed as he remained bent over Orion and barely kept from collapsing on top of the smaller frame. The courtesan had no such strength left in him. He collapsed on his belly, the gladiator's spike slipping out of his valve as he did. He was exhausted, sore, and so, so satisfied.

Orion let himself be handled as Megatronus rolled off him and pulled the courtesan into his arms. He curled into his patron, his lover, curled around him and focused only on the sound of their engines and cooling fans. Heat waves made the air around them ripple, and he wondered distantly how the mesh-sheets did not catch on fire during their interfacing. Digits tracing idle circles into Megatronus' chest, everything felt hazy and distant yet close and right.

Maybe that was love, in the end.

"... Everything is in place," Megatronus remarked quietly but matter-of-factly after a while. "The seeds of dissent been sown among the people. My mechs are ready to move. All that's needed now is a catalyst to begin our revolution."

He wished he could say he was surprised, but that would have meant being willfully blind to the misery and unrest that filled the tabloids and news feeds. It would mean that he had forgotten the whispered promise the gladiator had made to him all those vorns ago. Orion knew this day would eventually come even as a selfish part of him wanted to continue as they were, if only to keep his patron alive and out of harm's way. None of that rational thought could stop the feeling of his spark breaking in two, and he cannot keep the sadness from his field.

"You came to say goodbye, then," he murmured, not ceasing in his caresses.

"No, not goodbye," Megatronus said, shaking his helm. "At least, not forever. Much as I hate to admit it, you'll be far safer here than by my side in the cycles to come. But..." His servo reached for Orion's again. "If you asked me, if you wanted to come away with me tonight, I won't be able to find it in myself to deny you."

Orion laughed quietly, brokenly.

"Then it's just as well I won't tempt you," he replied. "You have my spark, Megatronus, but there's no place for us in the world, no place where a courtesan and gladiator can be together. I know that truth for the harsh reality that it is. Even so..." Shaking as he forced his tears back, he plastered on a smile that did not reach his optics and glanced up. "I also know that I believe in you. I believe that if any mech can change it all, it's you. You'll be the one to take the broken dreams of every mech and femme and put them back together again."

Reaching into his subspace, a small glowing plate of metal materialized in his palm. Intricate lines of energon pulsed through the intricate and arcane twists of the metalwork. If one were to squint, one might have mistaken it for a strange key.

"You gave me a gift once, so now I'll give one to you," he continued, holding it up for Megatronus to better see. "I've had this relic with me since the day I was forged. I could never figure out what it was for or where it came from. My dream to be an archivist? Well, I guess you could say it came from me wanting to find out more about this little thing." Placing it in the other's servo, he closed his digits around it.

"Orion," he rumbled, shaking his helm again. "I can't-- I can't take this."

"I want you to have it," the smaller mech insisted. "If things are really about to go to the Pits like you're implying, than I can't think of any safer place it could be except with you. Someday, if you still want to give it back so badly, then you'll just have to search me out yourself. It'll make sure you come back alive -- and to me."

"Then I'll guard it with my life." Megatronus drew him in close, embracing him tightly. "But gift or no, I will return for you when this war is over. Nothing will separate us then. Not even death will stop me."

"I'll be holding you to that." He closed his optics and drew himself closer to his patron. "But for now... Just hold me for a while. Just hold me before you go." And there they lay, long into the night, until the dawn came to take his patron away for the very last time.

"Keep looking."

"Sir, we've pulled every frame living or dead out of the wreckage. There are no others here-- Hrgh!"

"Did I stutter, soldier?" the scarred warlord growled as he held the unfortunate mech up by the throat. With a grunt he threw him back down, raising his voice so that all might hear him. "You will turn over every speck of rubble in this scrap heap until you find him! Am I understood?!"

No one moved to argue with him again after that. The commander who had disobeyed Megatron's directive and ordered the bombing of the city already lay graying outside the city, his spark carved from his very chest. Praxus lay in smoldering ruins around them. Smoke still rose from a few of the crumbling spires. A deeper crater was all that remained of the Flare.

When the others had ventured out of sight, he knelt at the edge. His faceplate contorted, grief taking root in his spark.

"You said you would be here when I returned. You promised to wait for me! You promised..."

Megatron's servos tightened around the objects in his hands. In one lay the relic Orion has given to him on their last night together. In the other, the necklace he had given him at the beginning of their contract, pulled from the remains of the building, the rough sapphire plucked from its housing...