Chapter Text
The berth was comfortable beneath his frame, as it always was. Plush pillows and comforters made relaxing an actual possibility. It was a stark contrast to Optimus's berth back in Iacon, which was so stiff and thin that he was forced to rest with his arms by his sides, his frame straight as a board to keep from damaging himself or the wall. Despite having been in Kaon for almost a full stellar cycle, he still found himself aweing over the whole thing every now and then.
He would have probably been more focused on gawking at the rest of his hab if not for the fact that so far, much of his time had been spent recovering from various incidents. He was very familiar with his gifted berth now, and for that reason, it was the first place he wandered to as thoughts began to plague him.
Curled up on the berth, he clutched Megatron's cape. It no longer held any trace of the Lord of the Decepticons, a fact Optimus internally lamented, much to his own surprise. But it was still a comfort, especially as he tried to plan his next moves. As it stood, his stay in Kaon had been left in a state of ambiguity that he was not fond of. According to the Council and his fellows back in Iacon, he was to continue on with his three stellar cycle stay but be willing to endure an extension if it was deemed too dangerous for him to return when he was supposed to.
Endure. The way Prowl spat that glyph left something dark bubbling in Optimus's spark. He wasn't sure what to think of it.
According to Decepticon news stations, he was now some sort of hero. A journalist at the anniversary event had captured the moment when he shoved Megatron out of the way in perfect detail. As such, at least according to the high brow mechs in charge of the media, he was someone partially trustworthy. Prowl had praised him for his efforts in light of the media's newfound sympathy for him.
It was all so strange. He'd spent several cycles recovering, although it was unnecessary. He'd send plenty of messages to his fellows to let them know he was fine, along with making an audio recording for Autobot media to latch onto as well. The news back in Iacon was, unsurprisingly, painting him to be some kind of saint. It was all tiring enough that Optimus had resolved to ignore the news after the minor cuts on his frame had largely repaired themselves.
That left him with his thoughts, and a message from Megatron that came in shortly after he returned to his quarters.
[Prime,
I apologize for all of this, Optimus. I'm still looking into the matter, but based on what I've found, there are a few disgruntled parties who are quite displeased with our upcoming union. They are attempting to sabotage our courting however they can. However, I would ask you to not worry. While you are in my city, you are under my protection, and I promise with all the sincerity in my spark that another incident like the most recent will not occur again.
For all the missteps and issues we have dealt with in our courting, I am proud to call you my betrothed. This changes nothing, Optimus. Those who stand against us will not succeed. I promise you this. I would make more oaths, but for now, all I ask is that you rest and recover. I will put together a safe and personal meeting soon, once I ensure that everything is taken care of.
- Megatron]
Over and over he'd read the note. It was a personal letter written on actual slagging parchment, a rarity considering the concept of physical non-digital messaging had largely been left behind after the Quintessons arrived. Cybertronians went from writing on stone and crystal tablets to datapads in less than a millennia thanks to their slavers. The idea of writing on parchment was something only reintroduced when trade with organic species reignited after the war.
It showed how much Megatron cared, at least in Optimus's optics. All of it was so very... odd. He couldn't get over how strange his situation was. One event after another. He'd been so anxious during his first deca-cycle in Kaon that he'd been unable to really think about anything other than not fragging up. Now though? He had time to consider just what it all meant.
Gifts. Shows of affection. The luxurious quarters he was in. The kiss-
"I've gotten too used to this pampering." Optimus sat up with a sigh, holding the note. It was a bit crinkled from how many times he'd held the delicate material. He looked it over once more before folding it gently and placing it on his side table. He paused as he prepared to close the drawer, seeing the holodisk left during his first night at the hab and the dagger Megatron had gifted him. He touched the dagger for a brief moment before pulling away.
This was wrong. It was all for show and he was getting attached. Even if they were no longer at war, he had to be FAR more cautious. His people were on the line, and in a way, so was their world. As such, he did his best to silence the fluttering feelings in his spark as he stepped into the washracks to prepare for the cycle. He'd lounged around long enough.
Standing in front of the mirror, Optimus couldn't help but pause in his attempts to reach for a cleaning cloth. His armor was back in place, and he was again the behemoth of a mech the Matrix turned him into after his rise to Prime. The delicate paintwork had long since been washed away, and the finery he'd been draped in had been carefully folded and stored so as to not be damaged more than it already was. Compared to the delicate flower of a mech who stood in front of the mirror cycles ago, he seemed like a giant, firm and unmoving.
He found a degree of comfort in the familiarity, but more so a deep sense of loss. There was something special about being able to show off, to bear himself freely and without fear. How long had it been since he'd so much as felt he looked anything close to attractive? It had to have been since his dockworker vorns. Millennia and now countless vorns of service as a soldier made him forget what it felt like to be wanted, appreciated in a way that was unrelated to the malice of war or the calculation of strategy.
At the anniversary, he had been in full control of his body. He chose to show himself. He basked in the awe that was shown to him. For once, instead of a soldier, he was something to be prized. Truly, a Prime.
But that wasn't right. He rose to his station through spilled energon. He was a Prime of war, not of peace. Too much time in Kaon had clearly altered his mental state.
"I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. Former Dock Worker and Enforcer. I am stoic. I am stalwart. I am a symbol to my people." Optimus spoke with all the power he could muster while keeping his tone low. He attempted to reaffirm himself, meeting the gaze of his reflection and staring into his own optics. Unwavering blue, as always. But softer in a way he was not entirely fond of.
He clutched the counter, Megatron's cape still tangled in one of his servos as his expression grew pinched, firm and even angry. His scar contorted his features into an enraged snarl as he glared at himself. He had been a fool. People were going to be hurt because of his idiocy. Because he had been too stupid to know what he was doing, there was a very real possibility that the people of Cybertron were going to suffer.
Not only that, but his spark ached at the very idea of seeing Megatron gaze upon him coldly or with rage. He'd lowered his shields too much already. He was drawn in as if on a hook. If he dared to pull away, it was going to tear at him forever. But what choice did he have? If he kept this up and allowed Megatron closer, he was only going to suffer more later.
This was all for show. Now that anxiety no longer wracked him, he could recollect himself and recall that fact. Megatron may not have been malicious, but he was no friend. They were doing this for their people... right?
"I am Primus's chosen. I am a figurehead before I am an individual." Optimus spoke again, hoping beyond hope that somehow his words would be directly transmitted into his spark in order to silence the blooming affection growing there. Despite his wishes, the warrior in the mirror kept glaring back at him, and for whatever reason, Optimus missed seeing the smile he bore as he admired his paintwork cycles prior.
"I am a warrior, not a civilian." His voice cracked, his expression changing from enraged to distraught before his very optics. His grip on the counter increased, his finials dipping as if to fight against his declaration.
"I am a WARFRAME! I am the sword of my people! I am firm! I am composed!" His voice rose in pitch and volume, and before he knew it, his fist collided with the glass, fracturing the devastated image of a soldier without identity. Optimus stumbled away, already feeling the energon oozing from cuts on his knuckles. He paid them no mind as he stared at the disaster, clutching Megatron's cape tighter.
Slag it all. Slag Megatron and his forwardness. Slag everyone around him for daring to make him feel as though he was someone else.
Someone worthy of dancing again.
"This is all for show. This is a misunderstanding turned into politics." Optimus's voice was little more than a mutter as he stared. The fractures in the mirror turned his image into countless shards of different parts of himself. In some, he saw his snarl, an angry and vicious thing ready to rip and tear at foes that could not be seen. In others he saw optics filled with coolant that refused to fall, their brightness so great that they shone in the relative gloom of the washracks. And in a few, he saw his face reflected back at him in full, his scar clear as crystal.
Tenderly, he touched the warped metal. He caressed the gash that marred his once perfectly ordinary features. He was simply another dockworker, a copy and pasted mech meant to live and die for everyone except himself. But Megatron saw something else. He looked upon Optimus's face and saw an individual. He saw something other than the last remnant of Iacon and its old corruption. He saw a mech beneath the veil of Prime.
How cruel for Primus to allow this.
"Yet... I might be starting to love him anyway." A dark chuckle escaped Optimus's vocalizer, bordering on the beginnings of a sob as he clutched Megatron's cape, bringing it up to his face. He took in the scent of the cloth, finding nothing but his own signature upon it. He was coming to adore a mech who had tried to murder him for the entirety of a war, a mech who, most likely, saw him as nothing more than a means to an end and was pampering him for that purpose.
What a joke.
"Oh, Dion... if you were here, you'd laugh at me." Optimus went quiet, staring at the broken mirror as he cradled the cape against his features, taking solace in the texture as he quietly allowed himself to cry. Everything had been so wonderful. Every mech so kind...
And that kiss... it was something desperate and loving, at least to his weary spark. He wanted to believe it meant something, but there was no way it could. Megatron had no reason to love him. All of this was-
Just for show.
"What are you moping about for?" Starscream's voice rang out in the washracks, startling Optimus so badly that he just about ran into the nearest wall in his attempts to compose himself. His battlemask snapped into place and he hurriedly folded up the cape as if he hadn't been weeping into it moments before.
"Starscream! It is nothing of importance." His words emerged more sputtered and distorted than he would have liked, but there was really no hiding the situation. The mirror was broken, Optimus's knuckles were bleeding, and his optics were likely agitated from his tears. Starscream certainly didn't seem convinced as he made a noise of discontentment and stared Optimus down as if he'd personally offended his creator.
"Oh really? Then why the battlemask?" Starscream gestured toward Optimus accusingly. He shrank in on himself a bit, unused to such statements from anyone other than Ratchet. He didn't even have the will to try and deflect and return to work. He had exactly nothing to distract himself with or reasonable excuses to make.
"Get your aft into the living room. I'll have ST3V3 prep some energon while you and I chat." Starscream sauntered out with a huff. Optimus could only stand and gape. Was he supposed to reject the offer? He theoretically could, but what would that get him? More pushing from Starscream probably.
With a sigh, Optimus looked at himself in the broken mirror one more time before following. Before long, he found himself seated across from Starscream in the lounge, a cup of energon in one servo and Megatron's cape carefully folded next to him. Starscream sipped his energon lazily, looking out the towering window as if he owned the place. Optimus followed his gaze, taking a moment to admire the flourishing city outside.
Decepticon territory was different in many regards. Their architecture favored spires and sharp jagged structures designed to show strength. When they weren't towering up, Decepticon buildings tended to stand firm, wide and imposing. The rebuilt city of Kaon embodied that preference. Yet, unlike the structures seen during the war, the city was filled with buildings of all sorts of hues. Spikes and sharp edges were used more for decoration than for actual deterrence. And above all else, the skies were clear. Flight framed bots cruised them without a care in the world, the faint golden hue of Cybertron airspace during its current moon phase basking Kaon in a curtain of yellow.
It was unlike Iacon which shone golden and blue, but it was no less beautiful in Optimus's optics.
"So what's on your mind?" Starscream broke the atmosphere with a calm but targeted question. For once, he didn't seem snarky or taunting, merely interested in the manner of a friend sharing a drink at a local diner. It was both off putting and comforting, and ultimately, Optimus saw no reason to dodge the question. Who was going to believe Starscream if he babbled anyway?
"I have been contemplating my relationship with Megatron." Against his expectations, Starscream didn't laugh, mock, or cut him off. The seeker sat quietly, looking at Optimus with optics that seemed to hold more wisdom than they usually let on. He nodded, gesturing for Optimus to continue.
It was jarring, but the quiet allowed Optimus to actually put words to the feelings that had plagued his spark since he and Megatron danced together.
"I will be honest... I did not expect him to accept my proposal, much less take it in such stride. I merely wanted to try and... express my desires, I suppose." How else was he meant to explain that he had no slagging clue what he was doing, and in an attempt to reignite an old friendship, instead found himself engaged? This was not what he wanted, but he was quickly coming to like the situation more than he cared to admit.
"It took you by surprise, and now you don't know what to do about all the reciprocated feelings. Right?" Starscream crossed his legs, his posture still somehow relaxed despite the air of regality he gave off. It was not often anyone, Optimus included, had the chance to really appreciate Starscream's position. He was usually busy drowning out his aura of leadership with scheming and various objections to everything and anything.
But like this? Optimus couldn't help but retract his battlemask, his shoulders slumping as he sighed.
"He's been so kind to me. All of this, all the things he's done for me. I don't know how to respond or pay it back. I don't know how to make this partnership of ours equal." Optimus brought his cup of energon to his derma, sipping quietly. The layers of flavor in the fuel distracted him enough that he was unable to properly spiral into grim thoughts, but he still contemplated the situation all the same. Megatron was giving him so much... in accordance to Iaconian custom, he was meant to pay it back at least in part. But even without considering the traditions of his people, he hated the idea of being indebted.
That was a weakness, one Senator Shockwave had used against him several times throughout their friendship. That particular instance wasn't malicious, but others were. Zeta Prime's demands, Elita calling upon shared history to have him support her as she rose to her station and became leader of her people. He could not afford to owe Megatron more than he already did.
"Why does it matter? Why all this paying it back nonsense?" Starscream leaned forward, pointing toward Optimus accusingly. The faint flare of irritation in the seeker's field flipped some forgotten switch in Optimus's mind, and before he knew it, he slammed his cup down onto the table between them.
"Because it's not nonsense, Starscream!" He shouted without meaning to, his face contorted as it had been in the mirror before he took a deep vent and muttered an apology. Glancing at the cup, he was lucky it hadn't broken, although there were cracks.
"All of my life since I left the docks, there has always been a sense of control within my relationships. While I was an Enforcer, I was often the subordinate, and I repaid kindness through my service. As Prime, I hold much of the power, but to maintain what I have, there are standards I must meet." Unable to stop himself, Optimus rubbed his face with one servo while he clutched Megatron's cape with the other.
"There were always rules, of sorts. Dynamics I was and still am obliged to follow. Even in the relationships that were supposedly equal, there were still shifts that were adhered to, an understanding of unspoken hierarchy." His venting came deep and shuddering as Optimus looked back up. He entirely expected Starscream to laugh, but what he saw had words tumbling from his mouth faster than he could stop them.
Starscream's helm was tilted ever so slightly, his optics cycling thoughtfully and without any observable cunning. Few looked at him without wanting something. And it was enough for him to crack.
"Megatron is... I simply do not know how to deal with him, or rather, react to him. Especially when my spark flutters around him as if he were a gift from Primus himself." Optimus was prepared to wince, curl up and die, or mix the two options together. But Starscream didn't laugh or launch into some fantastic shutdown like Prowl or Ratchet would. Instead, he nodded, taking a sip of his energon before responding casually.
"You sound like a newbuild who's never shared cables with anyone before and doesn't know how to deal with something not intended to be transactional." The comment left Optimus resetting his audials a few times. His mouth hung open, his optics wide. On one servo, he wanted to be offended at the implication that he'd never shared a berth with anyone before after so many millennia of functioning. On the other... he couldn't help but admit that Starscream wasn't exactly wrong. He did sound like an anxious newbuild.
And he hadn’t engaged in anything more than simply stress relief amongst his High Command since his cycles down at the docks, but Starscream didn’t need to know that.
"Back when Vos still stood, it was understood that all relationships were and are based on trust, not transaction." Starscream spoke with an uncharacteristic calmness, his posture and tone conveying nothing short of composed and rational wisdom. Optimus couldn't help but sit a little straighter in response. He and many others tended to forget that Starscream was one of the oldest living Cybertronians from before the war. His attitude tended to make him look younger, perhaps a purposeful move to be overlooked when tensions were high.
"Anyone could trine if there was enough trust between them. Young, old, high caste, low caste. It didn't matter to us." The seeker raised a servo to the sky, gesturing in some vague motion that had to have been cultural. Then, he proceeded to check his digits for any imperfection before meeting Optimus's gaze dead on.
"And you know why?" The question hung in the air like an executioner's axe. What was he supposed to say? Friendship could surpass all boundaries? That felt right, and yet he expected Starscream to want more from him.
"No... I am afraid I do not. To my knowledge, Vos had a strict hierarchy, just like every other city on Cybertron." Mentally kicking himself, Optimus opted for a verbal retreat. He sat straighter, but he was sure Prowl would be on his case for his inability to maintain superiority in field and posture.
Thankfully, Starscream didn't seem inclined to act on his newfound position of power within their conversation.
"We did have ranks, yes. But those only mattered in official settings. Our bonds, our trines, all of that stood alone." The seeker placed down his cup, his expression shifting into a faint smirk.
"What does this have to do with my dilemma?" Vaguely frustrated, Optimus rubbed his face and gestured to Starscream before he could stop himself. The seeker’s wings rose, a snarl bubbling in his throat as something familiar finally burst from him.
"It has everything to do with it, so shut it and let me talk!" Just like that, Optimus found himself even more at ease upon seeing Starscream’s regular behavior return. Then, as if it hadn’t happened, the former Winglord downed his cup of energon in one gulp and lounged on the couch again, as if exhausted.
"You need to stop looking at this whole thing with Megatron as some sort of deal, because it's not. Real relationships aren't transactions or swapped favors, they are connections built on trust and affection." There was such a weight to Starscream’s tone that Optimus froze in place, his finials perked up as he absorbed the information. It sounded like something Dion would have declared over a few drinks.
"They are sacred, Optimus. I know I'm one to talk considering my track record, but when you really care about someone, it isn't supposed to be all about work. Affection, especially like this, is something precious shared between sparks." Starscream’s voice softened, a wistful emotion echoing in his field before it vanished. Everyone lost people they cared about during the war, but Starscream had most certainly been among one of those to suffer most when he lost his original trine.
To his knowledge, Thundercracker and Skywarp were still beloved by the former Winglord, but they simply weren’t like Jetfire and Ulchtar. Technically, the former was still alive, but those bonds were broken long ago and Skyfire was not fond of discussing his old name or history.
"So stop taking it so seriously. Get to know Megatron like you would any other mech and act accordingly." Breaking the tension, Starscream huffed and stared at his cup as if it held the secrets to the universe. Silence fell over them for a while, and Optimus had time to wonder.
Could he really just do that? Chat it up with Megatron as if they hadn’t tried to slaughter each other for the past few million years and somehow end up Conjunxed and happy like in those cheesy rom coms back before the war? It didn’t feel real.
He didn’t feel he deserved it, after everything.
"What if I ruin everything? I barely understand what's going on as it is." Optimus’s lamentations earned a knowing shrug from the resident seeker.
"You will screw up, and that's just a fact of life. But I doubt you'll go ruining everything over one bad cycle or a stupid statement." Optimus could argue against that. One bad cycle was the thing that tipped Cybertron’s delicate political situation into outright war.
"And if you're really so hung up on not understanding, then go pick up a datapad and learn. You're a smart mech, aren't you? There's no reason for you to be wallowing when you can fix the problem." Now that was something Optimus could work with. The glyphs rattled around in his helm for a moment, silence following Starscream’s declaration. But… he wasn’t wrong. Optimus didn’t have to remain ignorant. He had resources. He had the Matrix, although the relic had been quite content to maintain its relative silence since the end of the war.
He could work with this. There was only one thing he needed…
"Where am I supposed to start?" Starscream looked up at him, and for the first time since the start of their conversation, his grin grew vicious.
"That's a good question. You've got options, Prime." There was a hint of a laugh in Starscream’s voice. It was enough to put Optimus on edge, leaving him clutching Megatron’s cape just a bit tighter.
"How so?"
"Decepticon culture has many sub-cultures sewn into it. 'Decepticon culture' is a generalized term, and when we use it, we are usually referring to the wartime unity and habits we developed." Optimus could almost see the Starscream’s from before the war as he listened. There was a brightness to the seeker that was undeniable, although a small and immature part of Optimus couldn’t help but imagine him with glasses.
He had to reset his optics in order to refocus, but once he did, he hummed in understanding. The explanation made sense. Autobot culture worked in a similar fashion, although their umbrella traditions tended to be wider spread due to much of the faction being composed of middle caste workers.
"Should I not learn these habits?" Opting to try and stay on target, he found himself leaning forward, his finials perked. Starscream noticed, Optimus could tell based on the way his wings twitched.
"Oh no you absolutely should. You'll have to learn the Kaoni dialect in order to operate without assistance, and there's all sorts of social norms you'll have to pick up on to not stick out like a beacon more than you already do." It sounded exhausting, but Optimus learned the ways of Autobot high society once. Compared to that pit, learning a language or two and getting yelled at for accidentally doing something taboo couldn’t be that bad.
"But our actual culture? That's all separated based on our origins. Kaon, Tarn, Polyhex, Vos, countless other cities, and all sorts of other niche groups that joined up during the war. All of them are under the Decepticon banner." Well slag. Logically he knew there would be all sorts of things to educate himself in, but having it laid out once more by Starscream sucked just a bit of his spark away. As much as he liked reading, he never was much of a linguist before the Matrix.
Maybe the relic would make things easier? It was hard to tell.
"So really, the question is, what do you want to learn first?" With a clap and a pointed look, Starscream got to his pedes. While Optimus processed the information, the seeker circled his seat, coming up behind him on the couch to ever so gently touch his armor. He certainly couldn’t be sure, but based on how little Decepticons touched, he assumed the gesture conveyed trust and smiled accordingly.
"Megatron hails from Tarn but developed in Kaon. So you could start there. Or... you could learn a thing or two from me, the one and only Winglord of Vos." There was an underlying meaning to Starscream’s glyphs. But even if Optimus weren’t accustomed to picking up on the nudging word choices the higher castes used, tonal indicators made Starscream’s desires clear.
The choice felt important. If he chose to focus on learning Megatron’s personal culture, his chances of surviving the next forever would increase dramatically. But at the same time, he was being presented with an opportunity to get a look into the rest of the faction that had previously been against his own. Additionally, a small part of his processor reminded him that he’d have the remainder of his life to learn Megatron’s tastes and traditions. But others? That was rarer.
The decision quickly became obvious.
"I believe it would serve me well to learn the culture and language of my soon to be Conjunx." Starscream deflated like a balloon, a fact Optimus chuckled at before he continued.
"But I would also like to learn from you, Starscream. I have found during my time as Prime that the best way to know the people is to learn all their ways, not just a mere few." A beat of shocked silence followed his declaration. Then, Starscream smiled so widely his fangs shone in the light, reminiscent of a feline if Optimus had to make a comparison.
"We might just make a Vosian of you yet, Prime." With that, the seeker got to his pedes once more and all but bounded around the living room, rubbing his servos together and cackling. His wings were held so high they were shaking with the strain. Clearly this meant something to him.
"I must learn more than just your traditions, Starscream. It is in my best interest to be familiar with all of Decepticon culture if I am to stand by Megatron's side." Trying to gently calm him, Optimus attempted to remind Starscream of his plans. The former Winglord huffed, waving him off without a second thought.
"And you will! Vosians are very adaptable mecha! We integrate into different societies regularly!" ST3V3, who had up until that point been quiet and largely ignored, sighed as Starscream threw out his arms.
"We'll build you up as if you were a Winglord in training! Then you'll have all the skills you need to pick up everything else!" Evil laughter followed his statement. It would have been fitting for there to be lightening, but unfortunately for Starscream’s dramatics, the darkening sky was clear and comforting.
"I am not a flight frame, Starscream. And while I appreciate the enthusiasm, I am limited in what I can learn." Again, an attempt to remind Starscream of the situation was made. But he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as the seeker ignored him and went on merrily.
"You don't have to be a flight frame, Prime! Vosians are a culture just as much as they are a frame type! Besides, last I checked, you come from a line of flight frames, don't you?" Starscream kept up his little cackles. Optimus, for his part, had to do a double take. His smile faltered, but he found himself nodding. How did Starscream know such information?
Wait. It was probably on his medical files before everything went to slag.
"I did not know the ones who contributed to my forging, but my pre-war records did indicate that my sentio metallico was collected from a shuttle frame and two unknown grounders, likely dock workers giving their tithe." Seeing no point in hiding, Optimus leaned back in his seat to hold Megatron’s cape more fondly. He was lucky in a way. While technically cold forged into a specific frame and shape, his CNA came from a diverse source. It had been part of Zeta’s attempts to boost the general health and productivity of the middle and lower castes while still keeping function and form in place.
It really didn’t mean anything. But Starscream clearly thought differently considering the huge smile on his face.
"You've got the CNA in you, and I bet all it needs is a little prompting for you to become the Vosian I know you can be." Starscream, unwilling to give up on his scheming, went on to ramble to himself. Optimus sighed.
"Would it not be best for me to learn the native language first?" No answer met him. Optimus sat back in his seat in defeat. Whatever.
"We can call Soundwave if Starscream is being too taxing, Consort." ST3V3, ever the best assistant, patted Optimus’s shoulder fondly as he snuck up from nowhere. It wasn’t frightening in the slightest, surprisingly.
"There is no need. I'll pick up some datapads to supplement my education until I can find another teacher." Shaking his helm, Optimus found himself at ease as the Vehicon began to work tense cables in his shoulders. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, but he turned into putty almost instantly.
"If it is not too bold of me, might I recommend us Vehicons? We might all look the same now, but before the war, many of us came from different Decepticon aligned cities. We have much we can teach." ST3V3’s offer felt like a gift from Primus compared to Starscream’s. Not that he hated Starscream or his future lessons, he just knew it was going to be a lot. The gentle servos of his attendant were far more preferable if he were honest with himself.
Or maybe that was the massage talking.
"That would be wonderful, if you don't mind." With a happy rumble of his engine, Optimus allowed himself to relax as more of his attendants came from nowhere, quickly making themselves at home working on his frame. The Vehicons always seemed to know when the time to ambush and pamper him was.
"Not at all. It would be our pleasure." One of the Vehicons replied, but Optimus was rather occupied with the sheer bliss of ancient knots being worked out to properly respond.
He could worry about everything later, once his processor wasn’t goo.
Cycles passed in relative ease. Optimus waited patiently for further communication with his soon to be Conjunx, but received nothing. He occupied himself with lessons and learning from his Vehicons whenever Starscream wasn’t directing him in proper Vosian behaviors.
Learning Kaoni, an ordeal he thought he would despise, ended up being quite enjoyable. The Vehicons made a game of it, creating cards in order to play a makeshift version of go-bots where he was forced to recognize a glyph, speak it aloud to request another’s card, and then write it in order to succeed. There were moments of aggravation, but the game was fun, and the Vehicons were quick to begin slipping Kaoni into their usual speech. In under a deca-cycle, he was picking up simple words and even mastered his first phrase.
It was Starscream that insisted he learn to say ‘I am Optimus Prime, Consort to the Lord of the Decepticons’. It felt gaudy, but his Vehicons practically lost their minds the first time he said it. As such, he quietly muttered the phrase whenever asked.
Starscream, for his part, taught in an odd manner. He didn’t lay out books or laws. Instead, he was a firm believer in learning through observation, example, and imitation. Every waking moment, he would correct anything in Optimus’s posture, pose, or expression that didn’t match his image. A lot of the time that amounted to standing straighter, his hips pushed slightly more forward than he normally would like in order to, in Starscream’s words, make him look ‘regal yet relaxed’. He was encouraged to smile only when with those he cared about and he was constantly instructed in non-verbal communication through field, frame, and even servos.
It was a lot. But it seemed to stick. Something in his code accepted the shift without much complaint.
At least, until he began to miss Megatron something fierce.
It had only been about a deca-cycle and a half, but after the mirror incident and in light of learning his newfound catchphrase, he found himself looking at the door, the window, anywhere really. Hoping to see a towering silver frame for no other reason than because his slagging spark was filled with fluttering affection he wished he could smother.
It was aggravating, anxiety inducing, and generally left him somber. And so finally, he decided to do something about it.
"I would like to visit Megatron to return his cape, if that is permissible." Starscream looked up from his plate, energon halfway to his mouth. Optimus clutched the cape in his servos tighter. It felt like a reasonable excuse to go see Megatron in his mind, but it all depended on Starscream. If the seeker said no, then he wasn’t risking an international incident.
"I'm sure he wouldn't be all that torn up if his betrothed paid him a visit." With a grin and an unnecessary flourish to chuck his half finished fuel into the disposal, Starscream got up and snapped his digits for the Vehicons. Optimus was more invested in lamenting the energon Starscream discarded. That was at least a solid fifty shanix, if not more.
"R1CK! Get the transport ready! We're going to pay Lord Megatron a visit. Don't bother informing him or anyone else." The Vehicon in question saluted and hurried off. Optimus reset his optics in surprise.
"Are you sure that is wise?"
"Oh don't you worry, Prime. Let's just get you prettied up." Starscream, as usual, waved away his concerns. Optimus sighed as he was ushered into his room and propped up in front of the repaired mirror. He admittedly enjoyed being dressed up, but standing before a mirror was a difficult affair after his breakdown cycles prior.
"Stand proudly, Prime. A Vosian never lets his wings dip! Not for anyone or anything!" Starscream did a little hop in order to shove at Optimus’s shoulders. He complied without question, rolling them back and adjusting his stance to Starscream’s preferred one.
"Relaxed pride is our speciality. We don't need to prove anything to anyone. We are better than the masses and we show it in our every motion." Starscream huffed, tapping Optimus’s hips to force him to widen his position. It went against Optimus’s training. When he was new to the Primacy, he was told to stand tall, but to not be too imposing. He had to be a mech as well as a leader, and that meant compromise.
Starscream however? He saw things differently.
"I am not better than anyone. All are equal." The statement came quickly, a song and dance they’d repeated a few dozen times. Starscream rolled his optics, as usual.
"Under Primus, sure. But you have status, and the people look to you for guidance." Again, the usual answer. Optimus couldn’t argue, especially as Starscream took the chance to stand at his side, smiling into the mirror. It wasn’t quite as lonely when there was another reflection beside his own.
"You are Primus's chosen. Carry yourself like it." With a happy sound, Starscream reached out to caress Optimus’s back. He stiffened, as he always did. But quickly, his guard fell and he calmed. There was something soothing behind the motion, and considering they were no longer at war, he saw no need to bat the seeker away. For all he knew, this was a Vosian tradition.
"One cycle, we'll give you a set of wings worthy of your station." It should have been ominous. But Optimus heard only fondness in his guide’s tone. Distantly, he wondered if Starscream saw Jetfire in him. A towering mech, one who might have, in another life, been meant for the skies.
"I look forward to seeing you make the attempt." Optimus’s battlemask retracted as he offered a light smile. Starscream gasped in mock offense, swapping Optimus’s shoulder lightly as Vehicons began to approach with garments.
"Attempt?! Have some faith in me, Optimus!" The former Winglord scoffed, muttering something or other in his dialect as he took a scarf from an ornate box. The material looked heavy, but only in certain parts. As Starscream dutifully wrapped it around Optimus’s neck, he noticed how the ends seemed to thin out, widening until they flowed down Optimus’s back like ghostly wings.
He chose not to question it.
"I do not need to be dressed every single time I go out. Back in Iacon, myself and my companions rarely did more than apply polish for formal events." Fondling the material with his free servo, Optimus couldn’t help but mutter. Starscream hissed in disgruntlement, adjusting the scarf to let Optimus hide his face if he so pleased, a small kindness.
"And that's one of the many MANY poor habits you and your stupid Autobots have had drilled into your helms. We aren't at war anymore! Enjoy life and give yourself some character outside of being a big and tough warrior." With that, the Vehicons set about delicately wiping down his plating, ensuring he shined. One puffed some sweet scented thing on him, a perfume of sorts. It was hard to tell. His olfactory sensors were no longer in great shape after a lifetime of war and plasma scorched earth.
"It is important not just to the people of Vos, but to Decepticons as a whole, to keep up appearances. If you show weakness or a lack of confidence, then you are automatically looked down on." Optimus’s optics widened a fraction as he mentally noted the information. The clothing made a lot more sense now.
Autobots rarely cared about accessories. Functionalism lingered in their minds as they focused more on frame practicality, expressing themselves through polish and paintwork rather than attire.
"If you want to be one of us, you have to act like us. And that means taking care of yourself for once. No more of this rationing, terrible recharge schedule, poor posture, and overworking slag." Oddly enough, Optimus found Starscream’s declaration soothing. Rarely was he ever considered by others, at least in a tender sense. He was looked to for war, for peace, for decisions. Only close friends asked about or cared for his wellbeing, and even then, they were all skewed in their understanding of normalcy.
Being with the Decepticons had shown him that much.
"Finish up and meet me down at the entrance!" Just like that, Starscream took his leave. Optimus smiled, tugging the scarf up further instinctually. The Vehicons applied polish to his armor, all but smothering him in praise. It came to easily to them. He often wondered if they actually meant any of it.
"At the anniversary party I had markings painted under my optics. Megatron seemed to like them a great deal... could I have them again?" The idea came suddenly, but the way the Vehicons perked up told Optimus he’d either messed up or done something correct. The squeals that followed soon after had him sagging in relief.
"Absolutely, Lord Consort!"
"Lord Megatron will be very pleased!"
"You look so dashing in his markings!" Hold on.
"His markings?" Optimus startled, thinking back on the markings as his processor floundered to recall much of anything in detail from the night of the anniversary. It had been rather hectic.
"Yes, these are traditional Kaoni gladiatorial markings. Every fighter had a unique set." ST3V3, bless his spark, responded promptly as he took up a small bottle of red paint.
"Anything or anyone bearing the markings of a specific gladiator was perceived as belonging to them." As the paint was applied, Optimus found his jaw dropping. All that time, throughout the entire anniversary…
"So in wearing these marks-?"
"You are telling the entire world who you have chosen." ST3V3 all but puffed up in pride. Optimus blushed harder than he had since he and Megatron shared their kiss. It took all his will to not flinch as delicate brush strokes were applied, familiar marks taking place.
By Primus, he probably looked like a buymech. Starscream had allowed it. Sweet Solus, what a mess.
Getting to the transport was a bit of a blur, as was settling down across from the resident seeker. Half of Optimus felt like a traitor for essentially branding himself as belonging to Megatron of all mecha, but another part? That quiet section of his processor was oddly pleased. It was confusing at best.
"Did you know these were Megatron's marks when you had them painted on me before the anniversary party?" The question came unprompted. But Starscream didn’t seem at all phased.
"I did."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Optimus’s reply emerged sharper than he intended, but he was unable to fully smother the hint of betrayal that bubbled in his spark. So much could have gone wrong and Starscream saw fit to say nothing.
"Because you can be a bit of an idiot, Optimus. You have no idea how to go about courting in our way, so I took it upon myself to make sure you looked your best." His optic twitched. His servos clenched against his thighs. Did he really seem so incompetent? Did Starscream look down on him that much?
It didn’t matter. He was a Decepticon.
But it did matter, didn’t it?
He was the Prime, a leader with millennia of battle experience, and now Consort to the Lord of the Decepticons himself. He didn’t need to take such an insult lying down.
He had to be humble, part of his spark supplied. Yet, he also had to be firm. A weak Prime led to a weak nation.
He couldn’t be steamrolled, not by anyone. Not anymore.
"From now on, I would appreciate it if you informed me of things of such significance." A bit of bite entered his voice, and instead of growing upset as he feared, Starscream cackled.
"Oh? That's the first order I've received from you." He leaned forward, his helm tilting as a coy, almost teasing look entered his optics. Their red felt taunting, glowing as if daring Optimus to stop and backpedal rather than continue.
"Good. Now try again, with more authority. Any true Decepticon, especially a Vosian, makes a statement with their full spark. No half afting it." Optimus stared. Starscream grinned. The whole situation felt like a fragged up test.
This was not how the chain of command worked with Autobots. Generally, it was understood that Optimus’s orders had to go through Prowl, Elita-One when she still sided with them, other bots involved with the logistics, and then through another bot of choice before actually being implemented. Even when Optimus gave a direct order, it was rarely a true order, moreso a firm suggestion. His word was obeyed out of respect and camaraderie, at least amongst the higher ranks.
Commanding without compassion felt… wrong. At the same time, there was an appeal to it. If he had some degree of actual authority, maybe he wouldn’t be in the dark anymore.
That thought spurred him to act.
"Starscream, you are to inform and consult with me before making any decisions that may compromise my appearance to the public. Is this understood?" A beat of silence followed before Starscream, much to Optimus’s mixed shock and horror, bowed in his seat and settled back down.
"Of course, Prime." The seeker looked disgustingly pleased, and in that moment, all Optimus could feel was shame. His spark boiled with it. This was… not right.
"Do Decepticons have no room in their sparks for softness?" Age old bitterness rattled his glyphs. Optimus regretted it almost instantly.
"Huh?" It was too late to backtrack now.
"My Autobots are more open. We touch, we speak fondly, we understand that even when an order is given, it is between friends and for the benefit of us all." Optimus sighed, the thoughts he’d been burying barreling forth like a vengeful swarm of scraplets.
"But here? All I've seen are harsh commands. Your people do not touch. You do not show your affections in ways I understand, if at all. Is there really something so wrong with being gentle?" He crossed his arms, waiting for the inevitable verbal smackdown or tantrum.
Instead, when he looked back up, Starscream merely tilted his helm, as if studying an interesting creature.
"There's nothing inherently wrong with being 'gentle', Optimus. But almost every single Decepticon is a warframe of some variety. Unlike you Autobots who have to jump through hoops to get mods or weapons to hurt each other physically, we are forged armed." Oh.
He tried to speak up, to apologize. But Starscream cut him off.
"I'm not getting into the mess that was Autobot empurata and shadowplay, or the political minefields the Council cultivated. I'm talking about the average person. The mid-caste workers and civilians." Starscream tapped the weapons strapped to his very frame. The blasters in his arms. The missiles he carried as part of being a combat grade flight frame.
"Your people can afford to be gentle because, generally speaking, you were made to be so. Builders, thinkers, innovators, and all that. Even after the war began, your people still had the ability to lower your weapons." He held up an arm, showing off the weaponry embedded in it. Optimus almost winced.
"We don't have that luxury. We have to remain stoic and establish a firm social order to things to ensure that no one gets hurt." The underlying insinuation didn’t need to be vocalized, but Starscream, ever the contrarian, did so anyway.
"We don't touch because we don't want to. We keep our distance to keep the peace. Gentleness is reserved for those closest to us, and for good reason." There was something so depressing about Starscream’s tone. It was simple. Matter of fact even.
"We aren't sparkless monsters, Prime. Just warframes trying to keep the peace." Primus, he felt like an aft.
"Do you not trust one another?" Another question emerged unbidden. Starscream didn’t hesitate to reply.
"Do you trust an armed stranger on the train to not lash out? Do you trust a gunmech wandering the streets to not hurt you? No, you generally wouldn't." He wanted to object, but there was little to object to. Rules about weapons existed for a reason. But warframes couldn’t exactly keep their firearms at home or go get a license test performed to see if they were permitted to open carry.
They were living weapons. Removing their weaponry was the same as delimbing them in many cases.
"That's how all of us feel about each other. And so to keep each other from lashing out in sheer fear, it is widely accepted that we keep our physical and emotional distance until comradery is established." How very sad.
He felt like a fool. But a great many things made more sense with Starscream’s explanation.
"I believe I understand, to an extent. That must be why pairings between Decepticons are so rarely seen." Starscream nodded sagely, his previously tense wings dipping just a fraction.
"A relationship of any kind is a weakness if the commitment is not mutual. So we go to great lengths to make sure there is enough trust between involved parties for a real bond to form." Optimus nodded along. Distantly he wondered how his life would have been different if he had been forged a warframe. Would he be nearly as kind if he had not been offered so much kindness himself?
"It is largely unconscious for us, but it's a real phenomenon. And it's partially why trine, Amica, and Conjunx Endura bonds take so long to be established." That left Optimus some room for contemplation. If forging a bond relied so much on trust, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d accidentally been doing something wrong with Megatron.
Thinking back to the party and their prior interactions, the most he’d given was the chance for them to hold servos or link arms. He never really made the first move for anything noteworthy. Meanwhile, Megatron was practically feeling him up at the anniversary. If touch was a show of trust, Megatron was an open book and Optimus a slagging fortress.
"Megatron has not been distant with his affection. Have I been snubbing him?" His concerned ponderings were voiced aloud before he could silence them. Starscream laughed boisterously in response.
"By Autobot standards, I have no slagging clue. But amongst our kind? No, you are well within your rights." It took the seeker a moment to recollect himself, during which Optimus buried his face further in the scarf. Mockery was not making him any more confident.
"You don't have to return his touches until you are good and ready. The fact that you accept them at all is a sign of reciprocation amongst most Decepticon cultures." That had Optimus sagging in relief. What a rollercoaster of emotions. He was going to deactivate early at this rate.
"This knowledge will prove very useful. Thank you, Starscream. And I apologize for my questioning." A little shaky, Optimus bowed his helm in a quiet show of apology. But before he could complete the motion, Starscream tapped his chin back up.
"No apologizing, Prime. Not yet." Optimus, baffled, could only stare as Starscream shook his helm.
"You don't apologize to those below you in rank unless there's a bond already present or you've royally fragged up. So unless you want there to be some sort of connection here, zip it and take my advice quietly." That felt… unusually cold. Starscream didn’t appear too put off, but seeing him sitting there all the way across the transport while telling him not to apologize did something to Optimus’s spark.
"I would like us to be comrades, if not friends. We are to be together for a while longer, are we not?" At his offer, Optimus finally got to watch Starscream express surprise. He sat there dumbly, a fact Optimus momentarily prided himself for, then, the seeker laughed again.
"How bold! Are you Autobots always so frank?"
"No. There is usually more posturing and wordplay involved in these things. But I have never seen the use in mincing glyphs outside of official settings." A more comfortable aura filled the transport as Starscream popped up, sauntered over, and plopped down directly at Optimus’s right. They weren’t touching, but the closeness was comforting. More Autobot than Decepticon and familiar in the best way, especially since Starscream willingly put off waves of contentment.
"You are going to be a fine Decepticon." The comment did something to his core processing that Optimus wasn’t sure how to react to. He chose to be quiet, holding Megatron’s cape tighter as he allowed the silence to take over. They’d talked enough.
By the time they reached their destination, he was too nervous to worry about friendship with Starscream anyway.
"I expected Megatron's place of work to be his stronghold." Staring up at the towering structure that was apparently Megatron’s workplace left Optimus wondering how in the pits he managed to afford anything. The building was disgustingly gaudy in a way only Megatron could contrive.
Lights everywhere. Sharp points where they weren’t needed. And yet the whole thing still fit the city block it was on.
"The stronghold is for show and official business. Megatron does most of his work here, at the spire. Pretty gaudy isn't it?" Starscream scowled, cursing or muttering something else under his breath. The attending Vehicon sighed, but Optimus paid him no mind as he tried to be confident and step inside. He’d gone through enough just to get here and he wasn’t backing down.
Unfortunately for said confidence, he wanted to shy away the moment he saw the guards and receptionists inside startle.
"Forgive me for startling you-" Starscream kicked him before he could continue. Optimus coughed not so subtly and refocused.
"Nevermind. I would like to visit Megatron. Which floor would he happen to be on at the present moment?" Starscream grinned like he’d won the planet. The receptionist shakily pointed, looking rather dizzy.
"The top floor, my Lord Prime. Lord Megatron just flew in from his mid-cycle fueling. He should be there..." Optimus nodded and took his leave, not wanting to stress the poor mech out further. Guards tried to follow him into the elevator, but Starscream’s scowl was apparently enough to keep them busy.
Arriving at the top floor, the area was rather quaint. It was a waiting area of sorts, with a few chairs and a towering set of doors presumably leading into Megatron’s office. Seeing them, Optimus wanted to turn tail and run. He was walking into Megatron’s workplace uninvited and hadn’t even brought a gift, just a slagging cape.
"I will wait-"
"Absolutely not! Megatron announced during the anniversary that you are to be treated as being equal to him in rank! So get your aft over to those doors and do whatever it is you need to do." Starscream kicked him again, crossing his arms like a disappointed parent. Optimus couldn’t help the distress that radiated off him as he held the folded cape like it was his lifeline.
"A true Vosian, or any Decepticon for that matter, must assert dominance. Grow some spine. Step. Forward." Frag it. What did he have to lose aside from his life?
Taking a deep vent, Optimus worked up his courage and knocked. A nano-klik later, Megatron’s booming voice nearly had him shaking from sheer nerves.
"Enter!" With another soothing vent, he stepped in. The doors were silent, only adding to his discomfort. This place was his personal battleground, but looking around, he noted that the walls were covered in bookshelves filled with various works, most of which he could not identify. There were a few crystals, some pictures of notable events. But largely, the room was simple, unlike the rest of the building. The only other thing that caught his optic was the blade he’d gifted Megatron, proudly displayed on a whole shelf of its own.
The whole area was surprisingly peaceful up until he looked up at Megatron seated at his desk. He didn’t glance up from his work, his frame silhouetted by the huge full wall window behind him that showed the city.
"I have no visitors scheduled. To get up here you must have something important to say." Optimus froze like a cyber-deer in headlights, holding the cape dumbly. Megatron’s voice was soothing in a way he was unable to describe, and at the same time, old memories had him hesitating.
"Spit it out! What is it you have to say?" The sharp tone almost had him flinching, but after the dance they shared, the moments of intimacy… he found himself calm enough to step forward, gingerly holding out the cape.
"I came to return this." Megatron stalled, tired optics taking a moment too long to register what was going on before he shot up as if he’d been attacked. He looked exhausted, his features weary and his field an erratic mess even as his optics lit up with what Optimus hoped was joy. But above all else, he was worried. Megatron was not one to go into anything unrested if he could help it.
"Optimus! I was not expecting you!" Megatron reached out, grasping Optimus’s servos in his own. The cape was threaded between their digits, the folds coming undone. Optimus blushed faintly as he watched Megatron’s optics widen further as he noticed the marks.
Yeah, he was doing this again.
"I know. I wanted to... surprise you, I suppose." His spark blazed in his chassis like a firestorm, affection all but forcing Optimus to smile and his finials to perk up eagerly. He was getting far too attached for a fragging political union… but by the stars, being with Megatron felt nice.
"Thank you for giving this to me after the anniversary. It was a great comfort during my recovery." He was becoming a sap.
"It seems that every time we have met, I have been confined to my berth afterwards." A very un-Primely laugh bubbled in his vocalizer before Optimus could stamp it out. But seeing the appreciative look in Megatron’s gaze, he didn’t feel all that bad about it.
"And I lament that fact." Desperate to keep some semblance of composure, Optimus let his servos fall. Megatron held the cape like it had personally betrayed him before putting it aside, his digits twitching as if he missed something.
Optimus’s processor conjured images of Megatron wanting him of all mechs, but he did his best to quiet them.
"I am glad you are doing well. I worried for you, Optimus. The damage to your warrior glass could have easily reached your spark." A frown marred Megatron’s otherwise chiseled features, his optics locked onto Optimus’s chassis in a way that would not have been appropriate without context. Optimus was unable to resist as he felt the urge to comfort.
"The Matrix would have protected me from all minor damage. Besides, I recovered quickly. I only have a small scar on my arm." Tenderly touching Megatron’s arm, he tried to ease the tension in Megatron’s frame. But the moment he finished speaking, his words seemed to have done the exact opposite.
"You WHAT!?" In an instant, Megatron was rubbing his arms, searching frantically.
"Which one? Where is it?" Optimus was admittedly taken aback by the forwardness, but with Starscream’s lesson in trust fresh in his mind, he clasped Megatron’s arms in turn, a smile on his face.
"I'm fine, Megatron. I promise you. This scar is merely an addition to the many I am already covered in." Attempting to soothe, Optimus gently guided Megatron’s servos up to marks on his arms. They were old, most from the war. There were a couple from incidents of idiocy, such as when he fell down the stairs after running into the doorway leading up to them.
Being tall had downsides.
"That does not comfort me. If I could have my way, there would not be a single mark upon your frame." Megatron sounded so deadly serious. His expression was the embodiment of remorse as he took the chance to caress every nick and scar he could find on Optimus’s arms. It was touching, intimate really. The gentleness was enough for Optimus to find the will to voice his concerns.
"You seem tired, Megatron." He hesitated, but before he could let Megatron speak, he brought a servo to his former foe’s face. Megatron lit up like a newbuild on their creation cycle, enough so that Optimus couldn’t help but cup his cheek.
"You look to have been overworking yourself." It wasn’t a question. Megatron didn’t even bother to object and instead occupied himself nuzzling Optimus servo as if Primus himself were the one touching him. He even went so far as to grasp Optimus’s arm, his grip firm but not unkind.
"The group targeting us is of great concern. I've done all I can to try and find them, but I cannot rest easy until this is dealt with and you can wander my cities without fear." Optimus couldn’t help but sigh. Megatron was the embodiment of a wet cyber-feline, and it simply couldn’t stand.
"That cycle will never come. I have been your enemy for far longer than I have been... betrothed to you. There will always be those who want to see me torn limb from limb for all the lives I've taken." Megatron looked ready to object, but Optimus took a page from Starscream’s book and gave him a look to keep him quiet.
"I'm a veteran and a warframe in my own right. I can defend myself. You don't need to watch over me every waking moment." His voice dipped, softening in a way it hadn’t since he’d shared a berth with his first lover. He couldn’t even remember their face. All he saw when he thought of those memories was Megatron beside him.
He didn’t hate it.
"You can rest." Megatron’s optics widened as if he’d been slapped. Then, he shook his helm, grasping Optimus’s servo and lacing their digits together instead. Their frames were closer now, so much so that Optimus could feel Megatron’s field brushing against his own without even trying to focus on it.
"How can I rest when you might be hurt or in pain and I may not know about it?" Oh sweet Primus, if this was an act, it was the most sparkbreaking one Optimus had ever been subject to.
"Megatron, you cannot keep me safe from life. Let it go for a while. This organization you are so worried about will likely be nearly impossible to trace until they strike again. That is usually how these sorts of things work." His voice rattled a fraction, something he prayed Megatron didn’t notice as he squeezed the other’s servo, his field flaring out with the desperate affection of his spark.
It hurt. Primus it hurt so much to love this mech.
Yes, he loved him. He could admit that internally now.
"I am no stranger to assassins anyway. I've survived them before and I will continue to do so until my dying cycle." Trying to keep from breaking down, Optimus grabbed the cape and unfolded it fully. Once that was done, he wrapped it loosely around Megatron’s shoulders and tied it in place. It was ridiculous, and it looked more like a shawl than anything else. But it made Megatron smile.
That was enough.
"Instead of acting like Ratchet and obsessing over what may or may not happen, why don't we instead do something together?" His digits trembled as he pulled away. It was too much. Megatron was too much in the best way possible.
"Together?" Megatron was the embodiment of a mech hit upside the helm. He appeared dazed, but Optimus kept talking, unable to stop for fear of stuttering.
"I've been attempting to learn of your people and their cultures during my recovery period, and I've found I greatly enjoy Decepticon literature." He looked over at the shelves and the countless documents on them. It was quite the collection.
"I understand we cannot be together at all times, so why don't we read and converse at set times? I am still learning Kaoni and Tarnic dialects, so having a chance to talk in those languages with a native speaker would be quite the boon." He made his offer nervously, although he was fairly certain his voice did not betray that fact.
Megatron, for his part, reset his optics owlishly before he grinned.
"I would love to have the chance to help you learn the languages of my people." Stepping up, Megatron wrapped an arm around Optimus’s waist. The contact was dizzying for Optimus as his spark all but screamed in delight.
"You may have your pick of anything here and I would be happy to read with you right this moment." That wasn’t fair. His spark couldn’t handle it.
"Are you sure? I had intended to arrange small meetings perhaps... at least in between our more official dates." At his words, Megatron got a familiar glint in his optics. The cunning only seen on the battlefield. But instead of vicious mockery, what met Optimus instead was a squeeze to his side that had his horns blaring before he could stop it.
"I have you here already, do I not?" Megatron smiled so wide it must have hurt. Optimus wanted to curl up and die, but he followed Megatron to the shelves anyway.
"While you are in Kaon, please leave larger arrangements to me. I will inform you when it comes time for us to meet, both for courting and for the sake of the public." Megatron’s servo wandered, coming up to cup the side of his chassis teasingly. Optimus trembled, desperately keeping his optics on the datapads as he tried to bury any other noises.
"But for this? You may come at any time." As if trying to combat his attempts at composure, Megatron used his unoccupied servo to grasp Optimus’s, bringing it to his derma for a kiss.
"It would be a pleasure to have you arrive unannounced to read and discuss literature with me." That’s it. He was doomed.
Unable to deny the intoxicating draw of his soon to be Conjunx, Optimus helped him select a datapad. They settled at Megatron’s desk, a stool pulled up for Optimus’s sake after some bickering about who got the chair. Time passed in a blur as they read together. It was a simple collection of poems, but Megatron was beyond patient. He took time to guide Optimus through reading, pronouncing, and recognizing glyphs.
Sitting next to him and doing something so domestic altered coding deep in Optimus’s core. It had to have for him to be so comfortable.
At some point, they were laughing over a meaningless joke when their optics met. The moment dragged on, and logic dictated they should both pull away and return to the task before them. But as the situation played out, Optimus’s spark overrode any and all logic.
"Thank you, Megatron." Megatron didn’t say a word. Optimus took the chance to continue as his very core fluttered with such love he could almost feel it rattling around in every wire.
"I know all of this was unexpected, to say the least. But your kindness, your willingness to care for me like a true Conjunx, and your patience in rectifying my ignorance, have all been a blessing." He took a steadying vent, the peace of the situation and a new and unexpected thrum from the Matrix prompting him to continue.
"Even if all of this is for show... I thank you for it. I have not felt so loved, so precious, and so welcomed since I was dancing down by the docks as a newbuild." He took in Megatron’s expression, registering the shock, awe, and so much more he didn’t dare put a name to. But sensing the moment was drawing to a close, Optimus followed the promptings of his spark and closed the distance between them.
The kiss was feather light, a faint thing due to Optimus’s nervousness, but filled with as much affection as he could muster. He was unsure if Megatron felt it, but he reveled in the feel of smooth derma against his scarred ones. After taking a moment to commit it to memory, he pulled away.
"I apologize if that was unwanted." Readying himself for rejection, Optimus laced his digits together, trying desperately to still the shaking of his servos. He didn’t know if he could handle being cast aside, but he had to know. He couldn’t keep living under the assumption that everything was fake when Megatron treated him so well in public.
At least if he knew now, he could grieve while he still had some semblance of privacy.
"Please do not feel forced to return my affections. This... this has been enough for me." He gulped, biting back tears as he prepared for the worst. But as he tried to get up, Megatron grabbed his arm. It was enough to keep him in place without being demanding.
It was tender. So very tender.
"Optimus..." Megatron’s voice was so soft and vulnerable that Optimus couldn’t help but pause, his optics widening before he was drawn into a hug.
"I don't know what horrible thoughts plague that brilliant mind of yours, but I promise you, I swear on my very spark, that none of this is for show." Rough digits caressed his helm while a strong arm wrapped tight around his waist. But it wasn’t controlling. Rather, the gesture was careful, with logistics and combat protocols letting Optimus know that there were plenty of ways for him to slip out if he wanted to.
"We have much to learn about each other, and a great deal to discuss. But we are going to see this through together." Tears began to roll down Optimus’s face. His field flared, revealing everything he was feeling. Distress, love, confusion, shock, comfort. All of it was laid bare before the one mech who he would have rather tried to kill mere centuries earlier.
He could hide nothing, and Megatron merely held him all the tighter.
"No matter what happens, we are going to figure it out. No more wars, no more conflict. From now on, we'll talk, alright?" Optimus wanted to speak. He wanted to voice his confusion, his relief. All of it. Instead, what emerged was a croak as he hugged back, his digits digging into Megatron’s back before he could think better of it.
"I have you, Optimus. You don't need to hide anymore." It was impossible to fight against the brushes of comfort and love that washed over him from his betrothed. He cried. It was a sad messy thing that he would have been kicking himself over in any other situation. But as it stood, he wept and let Megatron wipe and kiss away his tears until he had nothing else to give.
At some point Soundwave entered with a cloak which Megatron helped Optimus put on. He was sure he looked like some sort of ghoul with all his messed up paintwork, but he was too emotionally wrought to care. He let himself be guided out to his transport and settled in. Megatron was kind enough to shield him, keeping his face from being seen by most as he muttered reassurance in endless streams.
"I will see you soon, Optimus." Pressing a kiss to his brow, Megatron held his face for a tender moment before stepping aside for Starscream. The duo spoke in their dialect, but Optimus didn’t bother to try and listen. He simply sat, reeling and exhausted.
He was beyond tired as they rode back.
But amidst it all… he was hopeful.