@silenceofthewave cont. from here.
Megatron completely and totally despised this time of year.
Ever since having contact with humans, it seems like pieces of their abominable culture had slowly assimilated into their own. And one such example was something the humans called colloquially ‘the Holidays’ to refer to an intermingling celebration of various human cultures, that all had a certain sentimental pine-scented, nutmeg, sugar-and-gumdrop flavor to them.
String lights on trees, gaudy ‘ornaments’ dangling precariously from plant life… the humans loved to exchange gifts with their fellows, as well, seemingly for no other reason that Megatron could see than the vaguely called ‘Spirit of Giving’. Whatever that was.
He’d reluctantly allowed all of these indulgences from his Decepticons, mostly because he was intensely aware that for most of the year his forces tended to suffer from low-level malaise. The atmosphere of the Nemesis on most days was rife with despair and unhappiness, and rarely seemed to lift so consistently as it did this time of year — when his fellow Decepticons secretly, or in some cases overtly, indulged in this misguided pantomime of human traditions, not knowing nor particularly caring the message behind the holidays, and rather just latching onto the ‘spirit’ of the celebration itself. Megatron could only roll his optics at this, but the indulgence kept his forces in line and that’s all that mattered at the end of the day. No matter his own personal contempt for the tone of the celebrations.
He glared at the ceiling when Soundwave abruptly stopped him on the Bridge and took his hand. And Primus DAMN it, there it was — one of the most egregious offenders of the Season.
Birdshit on a fucking stick, which then sprouted into parasitic plantlife that the humans loved to dangle over doorways for some reason. And which compelled you to kiss those who passed beneath with you.
He never should’ve allowed this foolishness. He’d been avoiding the Bridge all day, after being informed of its installation — by Knock Out, the stupid fool! — conveniently over the main command console of the ship, trusting instead that his ever-loyal Third in Command would field such unwelcome advances in his stead. And truthfully, he’d just forgotten about it, and been about to ask Soundwave something related to their upcoming mission when he was caught.
But he could acquiesce that perhaps... there was some charm in the holidays, if it meant at long last he could finally...
"...Soundwave." Megatron's voice is so low, his red gaze so fond and open as the other draws him in closer, and he's already offlining his optics in bliss as the other's visor pressed coolly to his lips. How long had he wished for a moment like this with the other? How long had he desired to pull his friend close, cradle it in his arms, touch it as he was touching it now — his servos running tenderly up the other's back, finding sensitive gaps in its armor with the readiness that only a consistent lover should know.
He actually shuddered when they pulled apart, his jaw hard with resolve but his Spark clenching in mingled unhappiness at their separation and joy at the long-awaited kiss he'd yearned for for eons.
He tilted his helm at it, not yet releasing it from his arms. There's a distinct scraping sound as he shifted his weight to better accommodate holding them both upright. No doubt, some superficial paint transfers on them both.
"...Have you wished for this as long as I have?" The question is out before he can help himself, but he can't very well take it back.
