"I cannot allow..." something makes Optimus's words die as he sees his nemesis closer; something seems... off. Still, he does not let his guard down; his blades remain drawn, stance ready to spring him back into action.
01/19/2025 - 01/23/2025 ⋆ Honesty M!A Jan 2025
no longer accepting — just answering late
Megatron wasn't quite sure what compelled him to join the battle this time, even despite knowing he was compromised. It was foolish and maybe a little reckless, to think that perhaps he could quietly watch it all unfold in front of him without him feeling compelled to step into the fray when inevitably his incompetent lackeys crumbled like so much dust before the Autobot's advances.
He was cursing himself now, as he strode into the midst of the turmoil, his fusion canon blazing as he fired weak blasts at all who dared approach him too closely, doing much to keep them at a safe distance and defend himself from revealing more than he ever intended. But Optimus is a different beast entirely, and no weak blast had ever deterred him the way it would deter others. Megatron leveled his canon with the Prime's faceplate — but Optimus was already charging towards him with his blade drawn, intending for hand to hand combat. Seemingly seeing through Megatron's plan to stay sniping at them all from afar.
Reflexively, Megatron drew his Energon mace in the place of his left servo, already cocking his shoulder back to swing it as hard as he could into the other's frame. A good swing would demolish most anything, and rend a smoking hole in even the most resilient armor. For most mecha, the mere threat of such certain destruction would be enough. But he's misjudged the speed with which he could swing the mace, and the distance between them is closed way, way too fast.
With Optimus this close, Megatron slowly lowers his swing before it could even begin, and he moves for him as a mech possessed — slowly and methodically, like a zombie. Though his every wire is screaming in protest, and his processor was working as fast as it could to think of something — anything! — to say that wouldn't be too revealing, he sees himself reaching for his face with both hands. He's holding his breath as his fingers brush across the other's protoform just as they had in years long past, feeling rushing away from his touch as he began to panic in earnest.
This isn't his Optimus. He knows that. But even still, a long-held truth tumbles from his dermas anyway.
"I never told you how I felt back then. But I wonder now how much it would've even changed. I... I know you don't feel the same, and never have. No matter how I wish... differently..."
The look in his optics is agonized, as if the words stabbed through his very Spark; and perhaps they did, because this was something he had never ever intended to say. And to have the words forced out of him in this context —
He ripped his hands away from Optimus when the spell was broken and he'd regained control of his faculties. One last terrified look at him, wildly searching the Prime's face for some derision or disgust that he knew he'd certainly see in light of this unwilling admission, but he doesn't linger long. He's gritting his jaw hard, his every strut tense with humiliation and self-disgust as he turned from him.
Then he's transforming into his jet alt. and thundering off at full speed, the resultant thunderclap of the sound barrier being broken the only indication Megatron had ever even been there.
