Megatron was playing with his audial fins again. In public.
Optimus was torn. It was–well, it was something closer to a public display of affection than he’d ever really become accustomed to. Still a few steps down from the graceless (and frankly, weirdly performative) makeouts he’d seen Sentinel initiate (gleefully, in as public a space as possibly), but still, he shouldn’t encourage this. Even if they weren’t on duty. People might see.
What the frag right do they have to care? demanded part of his processor. It sounded suspiciously like Megatron.
And Megatron was right there, his warm frame leaned slightly against Optimus’ own, and Optimus shivered under the intense regard radiating from him. Fond. Perhaps even a little predatory. It was thrilling, to have the other mech’s full attention like this. You know. When they weren’t trying to slag each other.
Maybe even a little when they’d been trying to slag each other. There was a reason Megatron never remembering his name bugged Optimus more than he’d cared to admit. And well. The reason he’d been so willing to volunteer to fight Megatron on Earth hadn’t all been heroics.
And currently? He was the subject of Megatron’s focus, and the pressure on the audial fin was really, really nice. Maybe a little too nice for public.
Part of Optimus kind of wanted to be seen. Part of him didn’t care. Together, they outweighed the part of his processor fretting about propriety. He was considering leaning up and initiating one of those graceless makeouts when Megatron leaned down and murmured, “You know, my dear, the supply closet is vacant,” and Optimus almost choked on his oil.
He wasn’t sure if it had been Megatron’s suggestion that had done it, or the fact that he was very very into that idea, yes please.
Strika had been one of Lord Megatron’s lieutenants for several million years.
Strika had been under the impression she’d seen all of the possible slag Lord Megatron could pull, and then some.
As she looked at the ruins of the supply closet, she reminded herself that becoming complacent was a serious tactical mistake.
It seemed that Megatron had–what was the term the mecha who’d been on Earth used? Ah. Yes.–Megatron had rediscovered what it was like to be a “horny teenager”.
She was not cleaning this up. As happy as she was to see Lord Megatron cheer up, that was better left to one of the synchophants. Like Tarn. It was even odds whether it would send him into raptures or outraged insult and either way she didn’t care.
She chuckled a little to herself as she walked away. It really was about time Megatron found something that made him happy.
That that something was an Autobot? Really a minor detail. The young Prime had proven himself worthy by defeating Megatron, however temporarily. There were few enough mecha who could keep up with Megatron in the first place. That this one was also interested in him? Excellent.
Of course, if he broke Megatron’s spark, she’d have to kill him, but given that was the third supply closet they’d done in this week, she wasn’t terribly worried.
Ratchet wasn’t going to claim he was a pinnacle of responsibility, but when the two local love- (or lust-) struck idiots decided to frag on the outside of the (moving) spaceship, he had to take matters into his own servos.
He was pretty sure neither of them listened to him, but to be fair, his preprepared lecture hadn’t survived the revelation it had been Optimus’ idea.
“Well,” he said to Strika, “at least we’re not like humans.”
“Sexually reproducing. We’d be neck-deep in protoforms by now.”
“What is ‘sexually reproducing’?”
Ratchet explained, and considered the horrorstruck expression of one of the most feared Decepticon Generals as a good consolation prize.
“Now, see here, Optimus, I hear you’ve been fragging Megatron.”
A few months ago, Optimus would have internally panicked and frozen at Sentinel’s accusatory tone. Now, he just gave the other Prime a bored look. “So?”
Optimus didn’t dignify that with a response. He took another sip of oil.
“The leader of the Decepticons.” For a moment, Optimus wondered if that was accusation or jealousy he was hearing.
“We are at peace,” he stated. Megatron had emerged from the meeting room, finally finished after a day of treaty negotiations with Ultra Magnus. For a big mech, he could move surprisingly silently. Sentinel didn’t have a clue.
“What were you thinking? I mean, it’s not like you think a lot but that’s abnormally stupid, even for you, Optimus. Like… like how does that even work?”
“Spectacularly,” said Megatron from just behind Sentinel. Sentinel froze.
Megatron stepped around him and to Optimus, scooped Optimus up bodily, and kissed him. For a moment, Optimus considered a human gesture involving an extended middle digit, but decided against it. As tired as he was with Sentinel’s insults, and as suspicious as he was that Sentinel was, in fact envious (his ugliest mood–he couldn’t stand anyone, particularly Optimus, having the spotlight), and as much of a bad influence as Megatron was, he wasn’t quite that petty.
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