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Chapter Text

The effects of war were a long lasting and painful reminder of the sins committed by those who came long before any of them were forged. A corrupt Council harmed all of them. Regardless of caste, each and every mech involved in the war suffered to a degree before its start. Megatron and his lik were low caste, treated like scum, and many died in droves. Orion and his people were the middle-caste workers, neither loved nor hated, but constrained by social coding and mountains of red tape so high they could make Ultra Magnus cringe. All of it cumulated, anger from every generation previous burning brightly in their sparks. 

Conflicts of ages long gone, embedded in the minds of mecha who were all tired of the meaningless slaughter. Perhaps there was a reason behind the madness in the beginning, but it was so far back in the records that few, save for the most dedicated, remembered the purpose of anything. They were tired, sick, and tired of foolish and wasteful war. It didn’t matter what side of the war a bot was on, almost everyone was exhausted, fed up beyond reason with the whole affair. 

The time for peace had come. If Autobot and Decepticon could not come to an agreement, mecha would begin defecting and the war would turn into a never ending fist fight. Something had to be done while organization remained, and thus, attempts were made to make things right.

Neither Autobots nor Decepticons were initially very keen on attempting to mend the rifts formed by so many vorns slaughtering one another over tainted ideals. However, with Cybertron finally coming back together and its people returning, the call for peace was inevitable. As newsparks came from the Well in greater numbers, efforts to solidify a pact between Autobots and Decepticons increased exponentially. 

What began as tense calls over the console turned into meetings in person where both sides clutched weapons like they were their lifelines. As cities were rebuilt and both factions claimed half the planet as their territory, those in-person meetings evolved into less militaristic diplomatic conversations between leaders and representatives. Optimus was fond of those meetings. When they weren’t trying to murder each other, Optimus was reminded of just why he’d become so involved with Megatron in the first place. They were both young and dumb back before everything fell to pieces, and obviously both had matured. But Megatron retained his poetic and political nature. 

Optimus didn’t know if it was possible, but he wanted to try and repair things between them, if only for the alliance’s sake. He would have to be careful, but that was more than acceptable.

Naturally, Optimus was not going to be the first to break the fragile peace established through careful emissary and diplomatic efforts by being rude to those hosting him during a peace conference. Many of the talks had been held on neutral territory and he had no desire to throw their good reputation amongs the Decepticons to the wind. He couldn't afford to risk war, especially not when the conference was to be held in the Decepticon capital. Ignoring the legitimate concerns that acting in their capital was likely to kill him and his team if he was foolish enough to bring about war, he was being offered increadible trust by being allowed into Decepticon territory at all. The last thing Optimus had on his mind was ruining everything with a poorly timed comment due to lack of social awareness.

For all their semi-amicable conversation over the last few vorns, he and Megatron were not exactly on the best terms, at least since the last time Optimus checked. A few millennia of war were bound to create such an effect, and their interactions were only made more uncomfortable whenever they met on neutral grounds to discuss terms and agreements. They were not friends, but they were certainly no longer outright foes.  Surely there would be no harm in ensuring his natural tendency to stiffen up around his former foe caused no harm?

Optimus was no master in the rituals of warframes, but they were gifted in the art of combat. An offering dedicated to their skills seemed like it would be polite, especially if the gift in question was quite clearly meant as a symbol rather than an actual weapon to be wielded. He did dig through a few ancient records regarding warframes and dead practices just to check and make sure he wasn’t about to frag things up royally. But not seeing anything incriminating about his weapon inspired gift and without any other solid ideas for what to bring to the meeting, Optimus met with a master smith and had a blade forged.

"So... a symbolic blade with both Autobot and Decepticon insignias?" The smith asked as he looked over the design Optimus had sketched out. His design was fairly simple, and while not a great artist, Optimus hoped he’d gotten his point across. He wanted a slim blade, almost like the katannas he’d seen on Earth centuries ago. But knowing Megatron, his former foe would want something with a bit more flare, so Optimus opted to include a few additional glowing metallic implants into his design. If the smith could manage it, the blade would glow faintly after cutting through a foe due to the energon activating the metals within.

He thought it was fitting. Not too glamorous, but also useful. The Autobot and Decepticon logos he wanted embedded into each side of the blade only added to the simplistic beauty of it in his opinion. But then again, he wasn’t exactly a sword master. He generally preferred his axe or blasters.

"That would be correct. I would prefer if it included the sleek design preferred by Autobot troops alongside the flare used in Decepticon weaponry." The smith raised and optical ridge as he met Optimus's gaze, a sort of judgmental undertone to his expression that had the Prime almost wanting to fidget. Was his design that bad?

"Who is the lucky Con then? Must be someone important if you are taking this to that meeting up at the Decepticon capital." Confusion ran rampant in Optimus's processors as he noted the hint of something sly in the smith's voice. It didn’t seem malicious, but rather, intriguing. However, after a moment of consideration, he spoke plainly. After all, there was nothing wrong with giving a gift as a sign of diplomacy.

"I intend to give this to Megatron as thanks for hosting us at the upcoming summit. He has been nothing but courteous since the peace talks began," A snort escaped the smith's vocalizer before he shook his helm and collected the drawing. Optimus could almost feel the question marks floating above his helm as he gawked, watching the smith chuckle to himself like he’d just heard the best joke of the century. 

"Good luck with that, then! If anyone can tame the Lord of the Decepticons, its you." Optimus had no clue what the smith was trying to imply, but the pat the smith gave him on the back before wandering off left the Prime more confused than anything else. However, once the blade was completed, the interaction completely slipped his mind. He had a task in mind and anxiety kept him from thinking too deeply about the details of his gift beyond the fact that it was intended for Megatron.

The gift was placed into a simple purple decorative box and Optimus rode with his entourage to the Decepticon capital, both anxious and excited. Finally, the peace talks were making progress. Soon enough, they might actually be able to form a lasting agreement for the benefit of all Cybertronians. As it stood, the mess that was the trading system and supply line system on Cybertron was abhorrent. Neither faction wanted the other anywhere near their supplies or citizens. Optimus would prefer to change that, if only to help speed up the delivery time of roughly three stellar cycles and lower the time down to hopefully at least a stellar-cycle instead.

None of his fellows thought much of the gift he was baring, too focused on their work and the details of the situation to pay it much mind during travel or when they arrived. Optimus wasn’t even hiding it. He held the long and rather unwieldy box in his arms, not caring for its awkwardness when it came time to exit the transport. Even when they stepped out and were led to the assigned meeting area, not a spark seemed concerned with Optimus's luggage. Evidently, he was well regarded enough to not be seriously suspicious.

It wasn’t expected, but when Megatron came to greet them before the talks began in earnest, the room fell totally silent as Optimus held out the box his gift was within for his former foe to take. Not a spark moved, all optics were glued to the scene as Megatron gave Optimus the greatest look of disbelief the Prime had ever seen before taking the box with great care. The warlord paused halfway through opening the box and Optimus momentarily feared that his efforts to make things better had only created the potential for greater conflict. However, much to his relief, Megatron deliberately drew the sword within and examined it with optics that glowed so bright it was almost concerning.

Hushed gasps came from the resident Decepticons and somewhere distantly, Optimus could hear Starscream muttering something along the lines of "There is no fragging way-" before he was shut up by someone or other. The urge to say something to fill the silence was nearly suffocating as Megatron held the blade and examined every inch of it as if searching for any indicator of a trap or trick. Optimus could not blame his former foe for that reaction, and the blade was of high quality, so the awe, while unusual, was not out of the realms of possibility.

"This is a fine blade." Was all Megatron said, his voice edging into something more... flustered? That couldn't be right.

"I hope it is a sufficient offering," Optimus supplied, the stifling silence and overall stillness of the room leaving him anxious to move things along. Megatron stared at the blade in sheer awe for a moment longer, even performing a swift thrusting maneuver with it to test the blade. Megatron’s optics widened further as the faint whistle that echoed in the room as the blade swept through open air. The gathered Decepticons seemed equally enraptured as both sides of the blade were presented, showing the Autobot and Decepticon sigils forged into the weapon.

Optimus could feel his anxiety getting the better of him as the situation dragged on for about another klik. But thankfully for him, Megatron nodded once after he’d tested the blade and held the weapon carefully before strapping it to his side with a magnetic connector offered to him by one of his attendants. The action earned another round of hasty and poorly hidden gasps and murmurs.

Optimus could feel optics on him as Megatron beckoned him and his entourage further inside wordlessly. The tension that had been building within his spark eased as the summit progressed without issue. A few mecha spoke on various issues that Optimus largely allowed to go in one audial and out the other. It didn’t concern him for the most part. Since the end of the war, he’d been more of a figurehead than an actual political leader. He was there for show, and maybe to add his two shanix if needed.

The only thing of note that caught Optimus's attention throughout the whole event was the manner in which Megatron held himself. His former foe seemed almost uncertain as he looked over in Optimus's direction periodically and fidgeted with the blade he had been gifted. Perhaps he wanted to offer some form of thanks and was struggling to do so? It was a marginally pleasing thought that perhaps Megatron might want to thank Optimus for anything with sincerity, but he did not allow the idea to linger. They had hurt each other so much that he didn’t dare hope for more than a courteous letter of thanks in the mail a few stellar cycles from now. 

Groons passed by in a blur for the most part. The monotony of the peace talks was only broken by the occasional observation Optimus made of his former foe. If felt presumptuous to assume Megatron was nervous, but everything pointed toward it being the most likely answer to the warlord's behavior. Every time he spoke, he was seemingly normal, but the way he held himself, shifting as his optics periodically fell on Optimus was... concerning. Megatron was never one to so openly show his emotional state, at least not during political meetings of this variety. Megatron preferred stoicism since it kept his inner circle from gathering too much information on him.

There were a few reasons Megatron might be on edge, but considering Starscream was being watched like a hawk by Soundwave, he doubted it was the seeker who had Megatron shuffling in his seat. Was he expecting Optimus to attack? That would be foolishness in the extreme, especially so deep into Decepticon territory. But again, Optimus could not blame the Lord of the Decepticons for fearing such a thing if that were the case. They were enemies for millennia, after all.

A part of Optimus wanted to pull Megatron aside and reassure the warlord that he had no intention of doing anything underhanded, but Optimus abstained. He watched on quietly and only spoke when required until it was time for the summit to end. At that point, he was finishing his farewells when Megatron grasped his arm with surprising gentleness, garnering the attention of all those present.

"I accept." Two glyphs were all that were needed to send the gathered Decepticons into a frenzy. Optimus had no time to process what Megatron was even referring to before the Lord of the Decepticons pressed a small dagger into his servos before walking away, his grip on the blade Optimus gifted him plain for all to see. 

Optimus was given perhaps two kliks to stare at the dagger before being dragged away. It was a simple thing, obviously an unplanned gift. But the handle was worn, and a series of Kaoni glyphs were carved into the side of it. He couldn’t read them, but the blade felt personal, important in a sense. Why had he been given it? There was no reason for Megatron to do such a thing in response to a simple diplomatic gift.

He really really hoped he hadn’t just caused a international incident.

There was no time to consider what the situation even meant before Optimus was carted back to Iacon and promptly found himself face down on his berth, exhausted. A few Autobots gave him odd looks on the way in, but now that he was alone, he was just tired. Megatron was acting weird, and his Decepticons even more so. Had he done something wrong? He certainly hoped not.

Peace summits always left him drained beyond words, and it was because of slag like this. First the Council back before the war, now Megatron and his faction. It never ended, did it?

He groaned and only rolled onto his back so that he could look at the dagger Megatron had given to him. It still felt important, even in his exhausted state. Was it perhaps his former foe's method of giving his thanks? Warframes were an interesting collection of mecha with their own unique culture. Optimus only counted as a warframe because of the Matrix. He was not forged that way and so knew very little of the culture of his fellows. Still, it would not surprise him if giving a weapon was considered a polite gesture in return for a gift.

The momentary desire to go research the reason behind the reaction to his gift giving flared as Optimus lay on his berth uselessly. However, he ultimately pushed the wish aside for the comfort of recharge. He could process everything that happened at the summit when he was fully rested…

"The Lord of the Decepticons, Megatron of Kaon has just announced this cycle that-" The holoscreen in Optimus's hab had him waking groons later groggily. He sat up with a groan and reset his optics a few times before he immediately stiffened up at the scene playing out on the screen before him.

"The proposal was made at the peace summit, complete with a blade with obvious care put into its design and forging. I saw no need to refuse such a spark deep expression of passion, and I was in fact inspired by the level of thought that was clearly involved," Optimus could imagine that if it was possible, his jaw would be touching the floor as he continuously reset his audio receptors, trying in vain to process what was playing out before him.

Megatron, his oldest foe, was on live TV... proclaiming that-

"OPTIMUS! WHAT IN PRIMUS'S NAME WHERE YOU THINKING!?" Ratchet's screech of outrage and confusion rang in Optimus's audials as he opened the comm link between himself and the medic. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of missed notifications from all of his inner circle and plenty more from other sources ranging from the media to old associates. Everyone and their turbo-fox were trying to get his attention, and as Optimus watched the holoscreen, he was beginning to see why.

"PROPOSING TO THE SLAG MAKER HIMSELF?! HAVE YOU GONE MAD!?" It hit Optimus like an armored transport as he watched Megatron show the blade Optimus had gifted him not a cycle earlier. He seemed pleased as he presented the weapon to the camera, showing off his gains much to Optimus's growing horror.

He was so slagged .

Chapter Text

Megatron did not consider his relationship with Optimus to be anything more than old rivals turned political allies. Once, they had been friends, but that was so many cycles ago it was practically history as old as the legends of the Primes themselves. Whatever spark had been there all those vorns ago died the moment Orion took the Matrix and their war began in earnest.

But things were different now. The war was over at last, and now their bitter grudges were little more than dust in the wind. Megatron honored that reality and treated Optimus as a diplomat when he came to peace talks. He refused to cling to ancient history when there were more important things to deal with. There was no reason to incite war once more when the Prime and his followers were being just as reasonable as he was. In fact, many of the things the Autobots wanted, Decepticons desired as well.

It was mutually beneficial to create alliances. All that was keeping their people from becoming one again were the cultural differences and grudges formed over the course of the war. Those would take time to handle properly. In the meantime, they could start stepping toward a brighter future. For the first time in what was likely at least a million years, Megatron felt truly impassioned. He wanted this to work and was eager to ensure it did. War was tiring and he had no interest in initiating it again.

This meeting was meant to be like every other, albeit in Decepticon territory rather than neutral land. Everything was polite and courteous, as was only proper. Starscream had his objections, but most of the Decepticons were tired of war. Soundwave kept the seeker from speaking out too much and disrupting more than both sides were willing to tolerate. The time had come for peace, and Megatron would get it for them. Everything was going according to plan.

Then, of course, Optimus Prime, ever the unpredictable mech that he was, came flying out of absolutely nowhere with a gift. That in itself wasn’t… necessarily unusual. Optimus wasn’t really a gift mech, much preferring verbal communication and touch when possible. But then again, they hadn't exactly been on casual speaking terms since they were both young. Megatron had no reason to object, even if it seemed suspicious on paper. 

When the box was offered to him, Megatron was highly uncertain. It did match Optimus’s personality, but it was so random. Why now? Why a gift after so many talks and so much conflict? It didn’t feel like a bomb, so he assumed it was a genuine thing. He had his expectations, however, once he opened it and saw the blade offered, every single thought he had was completely derailed.

"Lord Megatron, what in the Unmaker's name were you thinking?!" Starscream all but screeched from across the table. The seeker’s wings were quivering in pent up emotion that was barely contained, at least if screaming across the hall counted as being ‘contained’. Thinking back on the situation, he really hadn't been working through his decision logically. It had been so very... Optimus in an odd way. It had been natural to accept.

Optimus Prime had followed courting protocol perfectly. Now that he had accepted Optimus's proposal, it was obvious that Optimus had been attempting to court him for far longer than he thought. He felt like an idiot now that he could see it all clearly.

Warframe courting always began with a show of strength, both physical and intellectual. Optimus beat him in battle time and time again, and yet never once did the Prime cut him down. Over and over Optimus matched his intellect with genius plans and strategies, but he never pressed his advantage enough to cripple Megatron and his forces. He had long proven his strength and intelligence. Megatron must have been blind to be unable to see the way Optimus offered mercy and constantly pleaded for peace. It was now quite clearly an attempt to smooth over courting gone wrong.

While yes, Optimus had obviously gotten lost somewhere in the courting procedure, Megatron couldn’t totally blame the Prime. Optimus was not a forged warframe. He was made one after rising to his station. It was only natural he’d have little in the way of finesse in the art of coursing. Megatron was inclined to cut him some slack. 

What a fool he was. For millions of years, Optimus tried to get his attention, and Megatron, in his anger, failed to see it. Their ridiculous war would have had no need to drag on so long if he had simply seen Optimus's intentions for what they were. After all, why would a fellow warframe go so far out of his way to spare Megatron if not because of a desire to court? Optimus had admittedly been rather terrible at communicating clearly through words, but his actions spoke far louder than poetics ever could.

It made his spark flutter in its chamber, oddly enough. That was new, but not unwelcome.

"Starscream: Correct. Megatron: Has a plan?" Soundwave chimed in, his visor glinting in that ever knowing way. Megatron felt his processors kick into overdrive as he considered what to say. He couldn't exactly tell his two genius officers that he had taken one look at the blade and promptly found himself all but certain in his decision to accept because of feelings and aura alone. That would be weakness embodied. They could never know that he had not meticulously thought out his choice. If he played it right, he could possibly convince them that he hadn't spent most of the peace meeting that cycle staring at Optimus and admiring the frame that he had long sought weaknesses in. Optimus's paint was a very flattering color now that he actually looked-

Frag, he was getting off topic.

"I do, Soundwave." Megatron replied with full confidence as he fiddled with the blade he now held in his lap. It was a work of art. The design was simply perfect. A purple handle with lovely metal integrations in the forging made it a fine piece. He didn’t know Optimus would think about his origins as a miner when making the sword. Glow in the dark material just showed how much Optimus cared. It was no wonder that after four million years, Optimus had gotten fed up and moved courting along through the offering of a weapon since Megatron had been unable to see his advances.

The blade was a bold choice, normally reserved for long into the courting after both parties knew each other on a spark deep level. But then again, it had been a very long time. Through the haze of gunpower and smoke, Megatron had gotten to know Optimus well. Optimus had learned just as much over their time trying to disembowel one another.

With his new rose tinted glasses, those times were strangely lovely now that he thought back on them. His and Optimus’s blades clashed in a sea of sparks, Optimus’s blaster pummeling him in the side of the helm while Megatron’s fist collided with Optimus’s face. Long battles where they were both covered in gore, practically rolling in the soot in their attempts to murder each other.

Now that he knew Optimus was just trying to court him, it all seemed like fun taken a bit to far.

Good times indeed.

"Conjunxing the Prime is an excellent way to solidify our peace arrangements. Not to mention, it will give us a greater voice in Autobot social circles." Starscream made a begrudging noise of agreement with his on the spot reasoning. Soundwave was more skeptical, but he nodded, and Megatron internally sighed in relief. Optimus had been courting him for millennia and Megatron failed to notice. He may have been a warframe, but he was a mech of class. There was much to be done now that things were right and proper.

Sure, he was not exactly expecting romantic feelings for his former foe to smack him in the face. But who was he to stop it considering Optimus himself proposed? The Prime obviously held a love deeper than Megatron could even comprehend in order to meet him on the battlefield for so long. Megatron would need to make up for lost time, and he would need to do so as soon as possible. Already, his Conjunx-to-be had gone out of his way with his gift and millennia of graciousness.

"Optimus has followed the proper protocols for courting. I shall need to do the same in order to represent the Decepticons properly." Standing up, Megatron rested his servo on the blade. The dagger he had given Optimus was not at all suitable for one who was to become the Conjunx to the Lord of the Decepticons. It had belonged to Impactor, but the emotional significance was negligible compared to Optimus’s gift. Telling the press about the proposal was basic courtesy. 

No, he would need to do much, much more, to make up for all the effort and devotion Optimus Prime had evidently been offering over the course of the war. How he failed to notice the signs was beyond him, but he would not leave his future Conjunx alone in his passion any longer. Of course it would take time for him to develop real feelings for his former foe, but he would devote himself to the effort.

Optimus deserved that much, at least. His spark also didn’t seem opposed to the concept, considering how much it had been flaring just thinking about Optimus’s powerful limbs and ever present battlemask. 

"Soundwave, prepare a residence for my Conjunx to be. I will not allow my betrothed to have anything but the finest. Our reputation depends on it." He added his last statement as an afterthought, his musings already elsewhere as he left the room, Starscream gaping behind him. The dagger he had given Optimus was a promise, but it was not at all worthy of being held by his future Conjunx. The Prime needed something better, something worthy of his station and their future bond.

"Perfect." Megatron grinned and plans began forming. He was going to make things right and prove that Optimus had not given so much of his time and devotion for nothing. Megatron was many things, but a mech without love for tradition? No, he would cling to the old ways just as mightily as his courting partner had. Optimus had set the bar high and Megatron was going to meet it or die trying.

"Welcome Optimus." Megatron bowed as the Prime stepped out of his transport. It had taken a bit of effort on his end to arrange for more peace conferences, but with his and Optimus's betrothal as a viable reason to meet, it had not been impossible.

Optimus was stunning, especially more so now that Megatron was actively looking for positive traits in his former foe. His paint was scuffed and he looked like he hadn’t recharged properly in weeks—two things that would have to be rectified in good time. But despite all that, his optics glowed a stunning blue and his posture oozed grace and strength in equal measure. It was highly attractive, at least to warframe like Megatron. Who wouldn’t adore a partner capable of both power and tenderness? Optimus had a kind spark but his fists were capable of turning a normal mech into a blue streak on the concrete. 

It was intoxicating to think about.

"Allow me to lead you to your residence." Megatron extended his arm, which the wary and startled Prime hesitantly took as he wrangled with his meager luggage. Megatron internally tisked seeing the measly collection of items Optimus had brought with him. No Conjunx of his would live off war supplies. Why had none of Optimus’s inner circle dealt with this? Wasn’t the station of Prime a highly religious one? Where the frag were his attendents? Megatron was going to get Optimus an actual wardrobe as soon as it was socially acceptable, and preferably a posse of guards. But first, Megatron had to push the courting process along.

He had to earn a bit of trust before pushing his luck and giving Optimus more gifts. Too much at once would overwhelm the mech, that much he knew. Optimus was such a sensitive bot when he wasn’t leading a war effort.

"I hope you will find this acceptable throughout your stay." Gesturing up at the massive structure Soundwave had dutifully selected with Megatron's stamp of approval, he observed Optimus's reaction. The Prime dropped his luggage with a thump and stared up in complete awe at the building. His mask, forever in place, did little to hide the surprise glinting in his optics. 

Megatron all but puffed up with pride as he noted the reaction. Optimus had proven his strength and wit, now Megatron could return the favor by showing that he could provide. A mighty Conjunx deserved only the best, and Megatron was more than willing to give one building to make his point. It was not nearly enough, the residence was not nearly tall or grand enough, but it would do for now. Once they were Conjunxed, he would have Optimus personally assist in designing their future residence. That way everything would be perfect.

"This is... too much-" Optimus began, his grip on Megatron's arm soft and considerate. Oh how that hurt Megatron's spark. The disbelief in his betrothed's optics would not do at all. He had spent so long fighting for Megatron's attention that he must have been struggling to believe it was being returned. Yet another thing to rectify. Time and devotion would wipe that disbelief away.

"Not at all. You are to be my Conjunx. It is only right I grant you privileges and luxuries worthy of such a title." Again, the Prime stared at him as if he had scraplets crawling out of his audials. Megatron wished he could beat his younger self against a wall. It was so obvious now. How foolish he had been for failing to see the signs. Optimus Prime somehow knew warframe courting better than any Iaconian Megatron ever met and he’d still failed to see the dutiful efforts of the one he now called his betrothed. 

"If you would join me for energon this evening, I would be honored." Lifting Optimus's servo, he pressed a soft kiss to the knuckle. He could feel the way the Prime froze up, but he smiled as he stood straight again, pressing a gift into his betrothed's servo. It was such a small thing, but Megatron had thrown all his attention into making it as ornamental as possible during the past few cycles.

"A dagger? You already gave me one..." Optimus trailed off as he noted the inscription on the blade.

'Do not unsheathe me without reason. Do not wield me without honor'

Cross regional warframe courting could be hard, but Megatron felt fairly confident in his choice of Iaconian script. Optimus appeared to agree with him considering how light his touch on the weapon was. Megatron internally cheered as he stepped back. Their courting would need to progress more before he could be much more forward. Tradition had to be upheld. Not to mention, there were likely cameras watching.

"I will see you soon, my Prime." He smiled again before turning to walk away, leaving Optimus to enter the towering residence nervously. Plans formulated in his processors as he sauntered toward his personal transport. He would do things right. And Primus help him, he was going to force feelings to form after all the devotion given to him by the one and only Optimus Prime.

"Soundwave, begin planning social functions here in Kaon. My future Conjunx deserves to see the best of our culture." A ping of acknowledgement returned to him shortly and Megatron grinned with more glee. Optimus was to be in Kaon for at least a few stellar cycles, as per Iaconian courting standards. That gave Megatron plenty of time to make his claim known and begin making up for the courting Optimus had already gone through.

Chapter Text

There was no fragging way.

“This way, please, Sir.” Optimus hardly registered what was being said as he mindlessly followed behind a Vehicon who guided him into the absolutely massive structure that Megatron had proudly proclaimed to be ‘his’. The building was impressive enough from the outside, towering over almost every other skyscraper in the city, shining like it had been cut and molded from real crystal. It was, unsurprisingly, purple all over. Most certainly a symbol of power for any Decepticon capital.

Optimus could only assume he’d been given temporary residence in the signature building as a sort of power move on Megatron’s part. Having the Prime live in a building that screamed Decepticon had to have some sort of impact on the media. There was no other reasonable explanation for all the extravagance.

Of course, he was technically Megatron’s Conjunx-to-be. But that didn’t mean he had to be drowned in luxury. Optimus had taken the time to frantically read through courting rituals during the few cycles he’d had to prepare. According to those pieces of literature, neither party in a courtship was obliged to provide for the other during the early stages of romantic engagement. Therefore, Optimus had more than enough reason to suspect something was up with this little show of power. There was no way it could have been done out of genuine affection or charity.

His thoughts were only further cemented as he made his way into the building and promptly lost his mind over just how fancy everything was. Every single floor was dedicated to a single subject. The bottom floor was devoted to security, with what looked to be an entire battalion’s worth of Vehicons meandering about fully armed and ready to fight. They saluted as he skittishly followed his guide, clutching his bag of personal effects like it might run away from him.

The second floor was some sort of gym, from what he could tell. He didn’t take too long to look, even though his guide seemed quite patient. All he got to see were the rows upon rows of equipment and training tools he hadn’t even heard of prior to that exact moment. He would have asked what everything was, but he had a feeling that the whole place would cost him extra. Surely Megatron hadn’t rented out the whole building, right? Optimus was in no mood to leave in three deca-cycles only to have a bill so long it crossed the room.

The third floor was a pool. An entire slagging pool, just right there like it was part of the environment. Optimus just about passed out on the spot when he noticed a whole entire slide on one end of the facility. The area itself seemed to have a crystal theme as well, so everything was modeled to look like some natural hotspring. How much shanix went into all of this? He almost felt afraid to go anywhere near the glass separating the hall from the pool with how fancy it all was.

The fourth floor was a small but comfortable library, no less decorated with anything that could possibly glitter. The fifth was some variety of bar, but Optimus honestly had no clue with how bright and colorful it all was. He could practically smell the money invested in both, so much so that he felt a bit lightheaded just looking at it all. He didn’t even know what the sixth floor was supposed to be, but it had a lot of empty space and weapons lining the walls. A trophy room perhaps? Why had Megatron given Optimus a trophy room to meander through?

It had to be some kind of plot. He knew him and Megatron weren’t on the best of terms, and suddenly forcing a proposal upon his former foe likely wasn’t the best move. So this was most likely Megatron’s minor payback. He was presenting Optimus with liquid shanix in the form of luxury and just waiting for him to indulge just so that there would be a mountain of bills later.

Nope. He wasn’t falling for it. Not this cycle.

Floors blurred together in a mess of luxury, obscene spending, and likely a lifetime’s worth of shanix all pooled into a single space. It was overwhelming in the extreme, especially for Optimus, who hadn’t even gotten a taste of what luxury was supposed to look like considering his rise to the rank of Prime had occurred in such poor circumstances. Thankfully, the torment of glittering things eased when he finally reached the twentieth floor, the last one according to his guide.

“This is your personal quarters, Lord Consort.” The title caught him off guard as his guide pushed open the door, but he didn’t comment. He steeled himself, thinking he couldn’t be surprised after the sheer amount of money he’d seen tossed around in the floors prior.

He was dead wrong.

The entire floor was stunning. He wasn’t even saying that in a Shanix-worth way, although it still looked like literally every surface was made of liquid energex with how expensive it all was. As he stepped inside, he felt almost incompatible with the area. Obviously, thought had been put into the place that was now to be his quarters. Unlike the rest of the building, someone had gone through the effort to try and style it in a more Autobot-esque style.

The walls glittered gold, but not overly so. Biolights ran along them, painting the entire area in a faint but comforting blue. Every fixture seemed to be made of some variety of rare material, but it wasn’t overly intrusive like the rest of the building. It was comforting in a sense, especially the furniture, which had been evidently sized for a warframe and cushioned with red pillows and other soft comforters. The floors were a simple but pristine silver, polished and untarnished with what felt like real stone instead of metal beneath his pedes. A chandelier of raw energon crystals hung over a lounge built into the floor for ease of all frame types. A great window covering the entire front wall showed the city in all its glory, shining purple, black, and blue as the sky began its usual shift to darkness.

As he stepped further in, he could only stare in awe as he noted a sweet scent, something calming and perhaps... herbal? He couldn’t be entirely sure, but the whole area seemed sanitized, albeit in a far less intrusive manner than the sharp crispness of a medical bay. Optimus was very familiar with medical bays.

He hadn’t even been near the kitchen or the rest of the space, but as it was, overall it was... spectacular.

“Allow me to take your belongings to your berth, Lord Consort.” His guide took his bag from him before Optimus could even bother to object. He suddenly felt like a slime ball compared to the rest of the facility. His armor was scuffed and dirty, his pedes trekking in thin lines of black dust and soot. His hydraulics were greasy and his paint was flaking off in places. Compared to his new quarters, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly out of place.

“Are those cordium crystal countertops?” Wandering around his new quarters, Optimus was sure his optics were the size of saucers as he ran his servos daintily along the surface of the kitchen countertops. They were clear, crystalline, and probably tasted like the faint rust on a coin. The rest of the kitchen wasn’t much better, with every single appliance being gilded in, made of, or otherwise embellished with minerals that made Optimus terrified to touch any of it. What if it broke? How in Primus’s name was he supposed to pay for it on his meager salary?

He opened a few of the cupboards, gasping behind his mask as he counted rows upon rows of expensive snacks and other treats. There were star chips, carnicate bars, uranthrite shard bites, and jade-dipping crumble. The list went on, so much so that he couldn’t even identify most of them.

“Sweet Primus, he’s going to make me bankrupt.” Closing the cupboard, Optimus silently resolved to never eat anything already stocked in the kitchen. Megatron’s pettiness was evidently legendary. He wasn’t going to go throwing his hard-earned shanix around so easily. If he had to, Optimus was more than willing to call Jazz to fly him over fuel from his own hab to cut costs. It would probably be cheaper than consuming whatever was in his new kitchen.

“My Lord Consort, I shall return once you have familiarized yourself with your quarters.” The Vehicon, who had been his guide, stepped out of a hallway down by the window, bowing before retreating back out the front door. Optimus stood in the kitchen dumbly before slowly turning the tap on, watching in almost grim fascination as perfectly clean solvent flowed from it and down the drain.

It was like watching actual melted-down shanix vanish into nothing.

“Magnus is going to kill me.” Turning off the tap and kicking himself internally for probably adding a few hundred shanix to his bill, Optimus methodically stepped around the extravagant rugs in the lounge to figure out where his guide had taken his things.

The hallways leading to what he assumed was his berth were long but not uncomfortably so. It was lined with paintings and wide enough for two mechs of warframe size to move with ease without being shoulder to shoulder. Still, Optimus found himself a bit on edge. There was nowhere to hide if things went south. Megatron wasn’t going to have him assassinated, right?

When he reached the end of the hall, he found the door opened to reveal an absolutely massive habsuite. The berth alone took up a ridiculous amount of space and looked stunningly cushioned. A vanity ran along one wall, a whole walk-in closet branched off the leftmost side of the area, and yet another window ran along the rightmost wall. The room was designed in Iaconian style, the space largely being soft gold with faint blue accents. Billowing white curtains hung from the windows, shifting faintly with the breeze from one of the open pieces of paneling.

The sweet scent of what he could only assume was incense greeted him as he delicately made his way around the intricately designed rug at the base of the berth in order to reach his bag. The bag itself sunk into the delightfully puffy blanket, all but demanding Optimus’s attention. Part of him wanted to fall into it and never emerge, but the rest of him just felt out of place. He was disgusting compared to everything around him.

“What’s this?” Murmuring to himself, Optimus picked up a holodisk on the berthside table. He fiddled with it for a moment before turning it on. He didn’t expect anything if he were being honest, but against all odds, an ancient picture projected itself.

Optimus was young then, still masked and fresh into politics. Senator Shockwave had an arm wrapped around his shoulder and a bright smile on his face. On his left, next to the Senator, Soundwave stood with his arms crossed, looking not at all pleased. On his right, Megatron stood stiffly, but not without a hint of a smile as he raised a drink in a quiet cheer. Optimus looked out of place in the image, not holding a drink or being particularly enthusiastic. But it was... wholesome. It showed a better time, a better place before everything fell apart.

Megatron looked so energetic back in those early cycles.

“My Lord Consort, we are ready to prepare you for the evening.” Snapped from his musings, Optimus turned off the holodisk and put it back on the berthside table. He spun around, noting with wide optics that where there had previously only been one Vehicon, there was now a small group of five, his guide at their head.

“What?” He felt like an idiot as he gawked. However, before he could do much of anything, the Vehicons gently guided him into the washrack just off from his habsuit. He had to suppress a squeak as he was pulled inside, the door shut behind him. Thankfully, not a spark touched him as he again found himself reeling at how nice everything was.

He was used to military-grade cleaning facilities. Rusted pipes and grimy floors were commonplace. But this... this was something right out of the ads that used to play whenever his insurance let him visit a medic before he became Prime. The walls were a spotless white, with biolights running along them invitingly. A huge bath-looking situation was in the center of the room, with candles, incense, and countless other bits and bobs he couldn’t identify, all surrounding it. Warm lights beamed down, neither blinding like the military washracks nor dim like the rickety one that had been on the Ark so long ago.

Fluffy-looking towels hung off pristine hangars. Bottles upon bottles of what he could only assume were various cleaning supplies sat comfortably on a shelf along with a mountain of other assorted items. The sheer amount of space in the facility was downright daunting.

“Lord Consort, please don’t leave while we prepare your bath.” His what?

“This way, please.” Optimus reset his optics and audials a few times as three of the five Vehicons began filling the bath with perfectly clean solvent, a gentle scent almost akin to earth-flowers emanating from the area. The other two guided Optimus to a small, slightly raised section in the washracks, where they proceeded to pull off his outer armor without warning.

His horn did end up blaring at their swift actions, but the Vehicons didn’t even stutter as they removed everything that could be removed, promptly dropping all of the dirtied outer armor into a small space along the wall where churning noises could then be heard. Optimus momentarily worried for his armor, but any attempts at concerning himself with the situation were silenced as he was then all but forced into the bath.

“This is not necessary! I do not have the funds to support this kind of-” Optimus was cut off as he eased into the bath, feeling something like jets pushing the solvent in-between gaps in his armor that he’d previously never been able to access. If he were any less respectable, he probably would have made quite an inappropriate noise in response.

What was this bath? What was making the delightful jets of solvent?

“We will make you presentable for this evening, our Lord Consort.” The Vehicons, despite their masks, seemed beyond pleased as Optimus involuntarily found himself sinking further into the bath. The solvent got into seams and pulled out gunk he hadn’t even known was there. The sheer relief was indescribable as grime, random rocks, shards of assorted terrain, and vorns upon vorns worth of dust were cleansed. The closest descriptor he had for it all was perhaps a feeling of divine purification. He could feel the jets shooting solvent into gaps he hadn’t even known were there.

“Our Prime must be perfect for this evening.” One of the Vehicons murmured while they poured some sort of earth-scented soap all over his upper body. Optimus didn’t have the spark to do anything about it, even as he internally screamed about costs. Deft digits of at least two Vehicons worked the soap into every part of his helm and upper body, scrubbing him down in a delightful manner that Optimus hadn’t even considered possible. Was this what the upper castes had on a regular basis? If so, Optimus could suddenly understand a great deal of the appeal.

“We are Lord Megatron’s finest. We cannot allow our Prime to be anything less than stunning.” Optimus groaned in sheer relief as a third set of servos worked along his helm crest and audials, small digits working some type of specialized cleaning cloth between gaps and plating junctures in careful but firm motions.

“Foolish Autobots. How can they let our Prime become this dirty? Do they not care for him?” One of the five gasped as they held one of Optimus’s servos, pulling out a small device to get into his knuckle joints and clean the mess there. It was almost ticklish, and honestly, it probably would have been painful for the average bot. But to Optimus, it was delightful. Every digit the Vehicon cleaned felt more flexible than they had for millennia.

“Look at all this dust! This is at least a century’s worth of buildup! I thought the rank of Prime was higher than all others!” Another of the five seemed absolute distraught as they worked across Optimus’s chassis with far more dexterity than should have been possible. He would have normally been upset or at least uncomfortable, but it was impossible to think about anything when he felt like his entire frame had just been pulled out of a hotspot, fresh and new.

“Our poor Lord Consort. We cannot allow this. A proper cleaning is absolutely required.” The third Vehicon working on him made a soft ‘tisk’ sound as they scrubbed at his back, working along his spine in such a delicate manner that Optimus unintentionally found his blinkers flashing. It didn’t help that the Vehicon also took the time to massage tense cables, popping his struts back into place when he hadn’t even known they were misaligned.

The back pain from the last million years vanished like a billow of smoke in the breeze. Primus, it was no wonder Megatron always seemed to be at the top of his game during the beginning, middle, and even parts of the end of the war. This was paradise.

“ST3V3, you’ve served Megatron as his personal attendant longer than any of us. How far should we go in preparing our Prime?” The fourth Vehicon stood holding some containers filled with… something. The Vehicon in question looked to the last of the Vehicons, a tall and spindly model who Optimus vaguely recognized from pictures. He must have been ST3V3.

“Make him shine, but not overly so. Our Lord Consort is quite a reserved mech, and Lord Megatron admires that trait.” ST3V3 nodded sagely, and before long, Optimus found himself dried and polished with the fluffiest buffers he’d ever had pressed to his base armor. It was blissful to the point of making him sigh in disappointment when his newly cleaned outer layers were reapplied and similarly made to shine.

Time was strange as he was promptly dolled up with some basic accenting paintwork, swirling black lines being drawn onto his shoulders and around the edges of his arm guards. By the time he was guided out of his quarters and loaded up into a transport, he found the will to reset his optics and begin to panic.

“Where exactly are we going? Surely this cannot have all been done out of mere charity.” He hid his concerns with the stoicism he kept up during the war. ST3V3, the Vehicon who joined him in the transport while the others remained behind, didn’t give much away. He sat quietly across from Optimus, his mask revealing nothing as he spoke.

“Our Prime is to be escorted to evening fuel with Lord Megatron. Please do not be concerned.” Evening. Fuel.

Slag, he’d forgotten about that.

Panic set into every fiber of Optimus being as he felt his logical processors kick into overdrive. He wasn’t ready for political interaction yet. After all, that’s what this whole mess was. Political courting for the sake of their people. Megatron hadn’t wanted this and Optimus hadn’t meant to initiate. There hadn’t been any time for him to prepare. What in Primus’s name was he going to give as a gift? All the books he’d read said gifting during early courting was required.

He was so screwed. This courtship was going to fall through and the war would begin anew unless he found a way to fix this and do so fast.

“I… I am feeling unwell. May we stop for a moment at the nearest establishment so I can get some fresh air?” Trying to hide the trembling of his servos, Optimus made his quiet plea as calmly as possible. ST3V3 tilted his helm in confusion but nodded.

Before long, Optimus was pacing around in a convenience store, looking dreadfully out of place as he ran through the million and one ways he might be able to perhaps get out of this situation or fix it. Fleeing wasn’t much of an option unless he wanted to start a war or an international incident. He had to stay strong and lay in the berth he’d made. After all, this was his fault for not researching warframe courting customs.

“A gift. I need a gift.” He paced at the back of the store, his optics darting everywhere as he noted the time. He couldn’t take too long or things would look suspicious. The time to act was now.

What would Megatron accept? What matched the courting literature he’d read?

“Flowers!” He vented in relief as he passed by one section showcasing various flowers. He ran his optics over them, assessing what was within his meager budget and picking out a reasonably sized bundle with flowers he couldn’t identify. They looked lovely, and hopefully, Megatron would at least be willing to humor his rushed gift.

“I would like these, please.” Holding up the flowers, Optimus slid his card over to the stunned cashier. The poor mech took his card, accepting the payment in record time. Without a moment to waste, Optimus got back in the transport and tried to ignore the way ST3V3 seemed to stare into his very spark.

The drive felt disgustingly long as Optimus tapped his pede on the ground anxiously. He held the flowers carefully, doing everything in his power to look like he wasn’t a klik away from internally combusting.

“I see. A gift for Lord Megatron. Good choice.” ST3V3 spoke up after a while, his words vaguely comforting. However, Optimus felt like a wound up spring as the transport rolled to a stop outside of a fancy-looking establishment. Slag, there was no getting out of this now.

“Welcome, Optimus. Thank you for joining me this evening.” The moment the door to the transport opened and Optimus stepped out, he felt like he was going to pass out from the sheer anxiety of it all. Megatron stood a ways off, a polite distance as he bowed his helm ever so slightly in respect.

Despite how terrified he was of the whole interaction, Megatron looked divine. The former warlord was polished and perfectly clean, but he wasn’t overly decorated. The sword Optimus gave him sat comfortably on his hip, and aside from that, all he had on him were a few strokes of swirling paint around his helm and shoulders, not including the ever-present markings on his chassis. It was simple yet refined. An unusual shift from the grandeur Megatron usually presented on the battlefield.

It was… oddly fitting.

“Thank you for having me. I know it is not much, but I hope this is a sufficient gift to show my gratitude for your hospitality.” Approaching cautiously, Optimus held out his bundle of flowers all while feeling like a newbuild fresh out of the academy. Why did he feel like an idiot just for holding out flowers? Slaggit, all he was trying to be polite and his processors were screaming at him.

“These are… wonderful. I appreciate this more than I can properly convey in a public setting.” Megatron accepted the gift with an awed look on his face, a smile spreading across his features. Optimus internally screamed as he tried to read the meaning behind his former foe’s words, but in the end, he found himself drawn to that smile. Normally, Megatron’s smiles were practically snarls somehow mixed up with a distinct variety of scowl he’d personally cultivated over millennia.

This was different. It was genuine and strangely soft.

Optimus enjoyed seeing that smile on Megatron’s face.

“Shall we?” Megatron held the flowers in one arm while holding out the other in a polite but oddly kind manner. Optimus hesitated, looking between Megatron and his extended arm for some kind of trap without meaning to. But after a moment, he managed to work up enough courage to take his former foe’s offer.

He slipped his arm around Megatron’s, not leaning into him but not pulling away either. It was a comfortable middle meant to show his courtesy. This situation had been forced upon Megatron. It would be wrong for Optimus to refuse him when he was trying to make the best of things.

“I would be honored.” Nodding to Megatron in what he hoped was a respectful manner, Optimus followed his Conjunx-to-be into the establishment. Perhaps they could make this work. Political arrangements of this variety were nothing new. And if they got along? Well, it would only benefit their shared goal of unifying Cybertron.

Conjunxing his former foe might not be all that bad after all.

Chapter Text

“Soundwave, is everything prepared?” Megatron assessed the restaurant critically. His arms were crossed over his chassis as he passed by tables and watched for any potential imperfections. 

“Yes, Lord Megatron. All staff: Replaced with agents.” Soundwave stood behind him, walking silently as ever. Megatron hummed in response, pausing in front of the bar at the center of the establishment. Starscream stood there with one of the fakest-looking mustaches to have ever been created plastered on his face. Aside from the flimsy metal attachment, all he’d done was strip down some of his armor in order to not look like a warframe.

Starscream was not his first pick for in-house security, at least when it came to his personality. But his Air Commander couldn’t be disregarded. Starscream was a master at detecting poison in drinks due to his time as Winglord prior to the war. Having him ensure that his and his betrothed’s drinks remained untampered with if they decided to get some high grade was a necessity, unfortunately.

“I expect you will refrain from indigent commentary.” His optics cycled down threateningly as he watched Starscream clean a glass like he was an actual bartender. The seeker merely produced a slag-eating grin and shrugged.

“Why, I am just a bartender, Lord Megatron. I have no interest in engaging with your lovey-dovey affairs.” Starscream, as smug as ever, leaned against the counter as if he belonged there. As much as Megatron hated to admit it, Starscream was quite good at his job. If the worst came to worst, he would be there to jump in at a moment’s notice.

“Everything that goes on tonight, you will keep to yourself. That goes for everyone in the building.” At his side, Soundwave made a swift noise of understanding. Megatron did not doubt that his order was being transmitted to the rest of the agents in the building.

“Are you planning on taking the Prime to berth or something?” Starscream huffed, and Megatron fought the urge to punt the seeker into the nearest star. He only kept his composure due to the delightful thrum of anticipation running through his frame. In less than fifteen kliks, Optimus was set to arrive. ST3V3 had alerted him to a short delay, but it was well within expected parameters. Optimus was known to be a bit flighty at times, and Megatron had long since come to predict his former foe’s moments of wandering.

Everything was going according to plan.

“The cooks, are they trustworthy?” Moving away from the bar, Megatron looked for any weak points in the building. The windows had all been replaced with bulletproof glass. The walls unfortunately were unable to be adjusted in time, but they were thick enough to keep potential explosions from being lethal. The roof was also impossible to reinforce considering the situation, but Megatron had snipers stationed on every nearby rooftop, along with a small group of seekers scouring the area periodically.

There was no room for error, not when this was to be his first official date with his betrothed.

“Affirmative. All units within establishment: Installed by Soundwave.” His spymaster eased Megatron’s fears a great deal as he nodded, anxiety easing in favor of excitement. There was no need to double check. He trusted Soundwave with his life.

“Excellent, Soundwave. I will be out front to greet my future Conjunx. Make yourself scarce.” With his order given, Megatron did not even wait to see if Soundwave had followed through. He moved toward the doors, stepping out to wait. The air was slightly chill, but not so much as to be uncomfortable. If anything, it was a pleasant distraction from the mixed thrill and nervousness fluttering in his spark.

Soon. Very soon.

Exactly fourteen kliks later, the sleek form of Optimus’s transport pulled up to the front of the establishment. The urge to dust off his plating and check for any imperfections was strong, but Megatron abstained as he watched the driver emerge and open the door for his betrothed. His gaze was locked onto the interior of the transport as he watched the powerful form of his future Conjunx emerge from the dimply lit vehicle. 

Optimus was, as always, a work of art.

His armor was pristine, finally cleaned and polished. Red and blue glittered in the evening light as the stars began to show themselves overhead. Shining blue optics met Megatron’s with nervousness that would have normally been exploited in combat, and yet now could only be greeted with comfort. The Prime’s field was held close, almost in fear. However, as he stepped forward, his posture remained perfectly straight, confident, and yet hesitant all at once. What a contradiction this mech was.

Primus, Megatron could feel his spark threatening to burst from its casing in sheer adoration. When was the last time Optimus had looked so grand? Perhaps the cycle he rose to his rank. But that had been so very long ago it felt like dust in the wind compared to the beauty of the mech before him.

“Welcome, Optimus. Thank you for joining me this evening.” Catching himself before Optimus noticed him staring, Megatron bowed his helm curtly, as tradition dictated. The Prime did not return the gesture, a notable but not egregious breach of etiquette. Megatron didn’t feel the slightest hint of offence, and he doubted he could have even if he wanted to as the Prime came closer, his steps strangely soft.

“Thank you for having me. I know it is not much, but I hope this is a sufficient gift to show my gratitude for your hospitality.” Resetting his optics once, Megatron stared at the bundle of flowers Optimus had seen fit to bring. It took him a moment to register just what they were, but once he did, he almost passed out on the spot.

Gloomgrowth flowers, the only crystalline beauty known to grow in the deep and dark places on Cybertron. The flowers were known for their ability to produce light for almost three cycles after being picked, a lifesaver for a lost miner abandoned in the dark. The trace amounts of energon in them gave them their glow, and in a pinch, the flowers could be consumed for a last burst of energy before a miner was doomed to his fate.

The flowers were common. It was not difficult to find them if one knew where to look, and they weren’t particularly hard to grow in the right environment. By all accounts, the bundle was hardly worth more than a few shanix. But for Optimus to have brought him Gloomgrowth instead of any other flower...

He remembered Megatron’s origin, not just his time in the pits. The Prime knew his prior station in the mines, and he honored it.

“These are… wonderful. I appreciate this more than I can properly convey in a public setting.” A smile spread on his face before Megatron could even think to stop it. He didn’t want to. He needed Optimus to know how much this meant and how much the Prime thinking of him affected him. So many millennia lost in warfare. By the Unmaker, Megatron had been such a fool to miss this mech and his adoration for so very long.

“Shall we?” Placing the flowers in one arm, Megatron offered the other to his betrothed. Optimus still seemed cautious, a fair response considering their history. But after a moment, the Prime’s optics flashed in a manner that Megatron had long learned to be a form of acceptance. Before he knew it, Megatron felt the comfortable weight of his former foe against his arm; their limbs linked together temporarily as Megatron led the way inside.

A small possessive part of him wanted to keep their frames bound together forever, no matter how impractical that might have been in practice.

“I would be honored.” Optimus didn’t smile, or if he was, it was hidden behind his mask. Despite that, Megatron could feel the way the Prime’s field slowly eased into a state of relaxation, waves of emotion prodding at Megatron to assess him. Megatron hid nothing from his future Conjunx, letting Optimus feel his excitement, his anticipation, and most importantly, his adoration.

The hint of a blush on the Prime’s face left Megatron practically beaming as he guided them both to a preselected seating arrangement near a window that overlooked a more aesthetically pleasing part of the city. The dining area had been chosen with Optimus in mind. The Prime hated being the center of attention more often than not, although he tolerated it for the sake of governance and war. Ideally, he enjoyed more secluded locations with enough of a view to act if need be.

Megatron took it all into account with his table selection, and from the looks of it, Optimus approved. He didn’t say anything, of course, but Megatron could sense the Prime’s ease through his actions as he settled across from Megatron and didn’t immediately wall himself up like he was preparing to take a missile to the face.

"Please rest easy, Optimus. I’ve taken care to secure this location. We will be uninterrupted for the duration of our interaction.” Megatron attempted to calm his wary partner as he put the flowers aside on the far end of the table, but he knew it was likely in vain. Neither of them would ever be fully comfortable in public, not after their millennia of serving as leaders of their respective factions. Anyone could try to assassinate them at any time. Being on edge was their natural state.

Still, Megatron wanted to at least show he was making attempts to offer a degree of protection. It was only right.

“That puts me at ease. Your consideration is inspiring.” Megatron fought the urge to frown as his attempt at being considerate fell flat. Optimus’s words held none of the emotion Megatron sought. They were simple, a concluding statement to a meeting rather than a sparkfelt remark.

Silence hung between them as Megatron struggled to figure out what to say. As much as he’d come to finally see the positive qualities of his former foe, it was... difficult to speak casually. For so long, their interactions had been filled with violence or begrudging mutual benefit with little else. Now that they had the chance to talk and do so like normal mecha, it was almost unnerving. 

Thankfully, the stifling silence came to an end as the server, specially selected for their ability to keep quiet, came to take their order. Megatron all but sagged in relief, grateful for the distraction. However, Optimus looked downright nervous, his optics flashing white as he stared at the options on the menu before him in an almost frantic manner.

Internally, Megatron kicked himself. Of course, Optimus would be uncertain. He’d likely never eaten in any Decepticon-run establishment, much less in an actual restaurant considering his background. Having a server staring into his spark eagerly waiting for a response probably wasn’t helping. Slag, he had so much to learn about his future Conjunx.

“I take it you are not familiar with warframe or Decepticon fueling culture?” Trying to assist, Megatron gestured toward the menu with a faint smile. Optimus met his gaze, but he looked tense, ready to jump at a moment’s notice. Again, Megatron berated himself. Optimus had never been on the receiving end of any affection from him for millions of years. Of course he was tense.

Patience. Optimus fought for his attention throughout the entire slagging war. Megatron could reflect such qualities and wait until his betrothed opened up to him naturally.

“No, I am not. I apologize; it was not part of my studies with the Primacy, nor was it in the literature I read prior to my arrival.” Optimus laid down his menu, lacing his digits together in what Megatron read as shame. That would not do, not in the slightest. No Conjunx of his was going to feel lesser simply because of a lack of knowledge or experience.

“It is not an issue, Optimus. Allow me to offer a few recommendations.” Trying to soften his smile, Megatron purposefully allowed his shoulders to slump. It felt wrong to mimic Autobot body language, but the effects were instantaneous. Immediately, Optimus looked far more at ease, his finials perking up adorably as Megatron pointed to a few options on the menu.

“High-caliber combat units, such as seekers, tend to prefer this variety of fuel due to the density. Thundercracker swore up and down that it was perfect for those who suffer from any kind of lethargy.” Megatron kept his digit pointed at the option, but his optics were glued to Optimus, scanning his features. His finials, usually kept perfectly straight to hide any emotional indicators, flicked with interest. His optics widened as he read the descriptions, and his digits hovered over the glyphs before him, almost close enough to touch Megatron’s servo. 

It was tense, but not nearly as negatively as it was before. This was a new kind of tension, an exciting one. Finally, Optimus was relaxing a bit.

“This one here is my personal favorite selection. It is packed to the brim with nutrition but has a delicate taste that I have yet to find replicated in any other fuel variety.” Shifting over to another option after receiving no outward sign of interest from the Prime, Megatron carefully observed Optimus’s expression. He didn’t give much away, but the fact that he was giving off an air of anything other than stoic resolve was a win in Megatron’s book.

“Then if it is not too much trouble, I think I would like to go with the second option you described.” Nodding to himself, Optimus’s shoulders relaxed a fraction, easing into an almost comfortable position. The urge to pat himself on the back was strong, but Megatron abstained. Optimus had already done so much to try and win his affections, and finally, Megatron was learning ways to return the favor.

He was unable to stop the way his armor flared a bit in pride as he put in both their orders. The server didn’t comment and merely bowed before heading to the kitchen. Looking back at Optimus, the Prime still seemed on edge, but not nearly as much as he had been earlier. In fact, if Megatron weren’t half certain his rose tinted glasses were practically blinding him, he might have even said Optimus’s optics seemed softer than normal.

Maybe he was right. It was hard to tell when the Prime’s finials kept twitching in a way that made Megatron want to reach out and caress one of the delicate structures. What kind of reaction would it have on his future Conjunx?

“It will be a few kliks before our fuel is prepared. In the meantime, if you feel so inclined, I would like to get to know you again.” Maintaining a smile that would have made Starscream purge, Megatron tried to meet Optimus’s gaze. The Prime fidgeted for a moment before finally looking up at him, his optics wide but not fearful for once.

“Again?” The question hung in the air, adorable in its innocence. Logically, Megatron knew neither of them came anywhere near being pure after the lives of millions had been crushed beneath their pedes. But somehow, Optimus still managed to look like a newbuild with how he reset his optics periodically.

“It has been four million years, Optimus. While I do not doubt that we both know much about the other, I wish to hear of you, from you.” The Prime’s optics widened in pleased surprise, a fact that Megatron promptly squirreled away into his long-term memory banks as a sign of victory. The urge to scream at the sheer adorableness of Optimus’s disposition was near overwhelming. For such a stoic warrior, powerful tactician, and brilliant orator, he was cute when he found himself surprised.

"I suppose that is understandable. What would you like to know?” Optimus, ever friendly, sat up straighter. He looked a bit more in his element, at least to a degree. Megatron fought back a grin as he reveled in his victory in getting Optimus to open up somewhat. He had honestly expected a bit more of a fight considering their history.

“Whatever you are willing to tell me. Your history, your friendships, your trials and struggles. I want to understand the mech I am going to be bound to.” Victory bells rang out in the back of Megatron’s mind as Optimus blushed, a faint blue tint settling on his features as energon rushed to his helm to fuel his overactive mind. Many had admired him in the past, but having Optimus express interest was akin to being handed all of Cybertron on a plater.

Sweet Solus, how far had he fallen for this mech?

“I was not always an enforcer in Iacon. That was when we met, but I had another function prior to that role.” Optimus’s voice was unusually soft, and it quickly caught Megatron’s attention like a bullet aimed straight for his helm. He leaned forward, his processor running at a rate that would have made his younger self stare in confusion.

He’d always known Optimus to be middle-caste when he was still Orion Pax. It was common knowledge and earned him much love amongst his Autobots due to his origin matching many of theirs. To hear that he’d once come from a lower station? It was both saddening and offered explanations for many of Optimus’s habits. The reserved nature, the care for those around him, the sheer level of devotion to his creed.

In a way, it was as if Megatron were looking at another version of himself. Someone who had not given in to violence as easily. A small part of him recoiled at the comparison, but he was quick to smother it. Four million years of devotion. He wasn’t going to throw Optimus’s mythical determination to the wind because of an unwanted thought.

“I was a dock worker, and I saw many injustices while I served there. It was not a happy existence, but we made it work... I only wanted to change my position in life after a dear friend of mine was murdered.” Optimus sighed as he continued with his tale, his field momentarily creeping out in age-old grief. The Prime laced his digits together, and as he did so, Megatron watched like a hawk. This was brand new information, and the more he learned, the more he found himself adoring the mech before him.

They were similar. They’d both been low caste. Yet another thing to bond over.

“His name was Dion. No one else remembered him. No one else knows who he was. He was one cog in the machine. Considering your background, I think you understand me when I say I have been unable to let his name fade from my memory.” Optimus looked up from the surface of the table where his gaze had previously been glued. Megatron quickly smoothed his expression, hiding the intensity of his interest behind a veil of composed sympathy and a nod. It felt a little slimy, but he didn’t want to alarm his betrothed. Poor Optimus was fidgety enough as it was.

“It was because of him that I willingly went in for reformatting, returning to society as an enforcer.” Optimus seemed solemn, and yet there was a hint of relief in his field that made Megatron proud to be able to listen. Evidently, this had been weighing on his former foe for far longer than Megatron could likely comprehend.

“I wanted to make sure that no one else suffered like him, although we both know how that worked out.” The Prime chuckled grimly, his voice soft and without a hint of the authority it normally carried. Seeing him so open left Megatron’s spark throbbing in its chamber, sympathy and adoration all combined into one. This mech was positively divine.

“I do understand, Optimus. I lost many during my youth—countless miners who had no real names or identities. For me, the most brutal loss was of my dearest companion, Terminus.” Megatron smiled again, trying to pour all of his understanding into the motion. Optimus looked up from his digits, his optics wide and surprised. He leaned forward, his finials perked up in fascination that left Megatron proud to be the one on the receiving end of his attention as he continued.

“He was my friend, and it was he who helped me spread my first ever editions of Toward Peace. But after receiving an injury that took his legs, he vanished during a collapse. I never recovered his body.” The memory was an old one, and it no longer ached as much as it had when the war still raged. Terminus was special, but he was long dead. Both he and the Prime had lost people they cared about.

They shared a companionable moment of silence as Megatron gathered his thoughts. How much did he really want to share? Optimus had withheld nothing from him. It was only right he return the favor, even if his spark ached at the notion of digging up such old memories.

“His death inspired me, and I took his teachings to spark. It is why I removed his name from Decepticon records. And it is also why I fought so hard to never get attached.” The implications of Terminus’s teachings hung in the air. There was no need to explain. Optimus knew him well enough to nod in understanding, his field extending in sympathy that would have once left Megatron enraged.

Now he welcomed it.

“Terminus taught me that such things would only get me killed.” Optimus hummed, his motions hesitant as he reached across the table. Megatron’s venting involuntarily hitched as Optimus’s servo hovered above his own, almost teasingly. Then, after an agonizing moment, the Prime’s digits caressed the surface of Megatron’s servo, soft and tender.

“It seems that while we have walked different paths, we have shared a few similar losses.” Megatron was unable to keep his smile small and polite as he shifted to hold Optimus’s servo properly. For all the pain of old memories, this moment, this small touch, made it worth it.

“So it seems.” His spark all but sang within him, and Megatron couldn’t help but admire the feel of Optimus’s servo against his own. The Prime’s digits were scarred, the paint chipped and damaged. But his grip was strong, speaking greatly of barely controlled strength. Every moment of every day, they both had to choose to control the strength they exerted. And yet, together in one delicate moment, they could release just a bit of the tension that came from such efforts.

It was intoxicating.

“I apologize for dampening the atmosphere. “ Optimus’s murmured apology broke the atmosphere, startling Megatron from his merry musings. He was unable to stop the way his grip on Optimus’s servo increased as a result.

“No, please don’t apologize, Optimus. I am glad to have heard part of your story and to have shared pieces of my own in turn.” He tried to stress his glyphs, hoping beyond hope that Optimus would see how much he genuinely meant what he said. After so long, he couldn’t bear to watch Optimus close himself off like he had been during the beginning of their date.

“I want to understand you. And if that means dredging up old memories from time to time, then so be it.” Red optics met blue, and for a moment, Megatron could have sworn he saw Optimus’s optics flash white emotionally. 

Again, they sat in silence. But it was comfortable, filled with understanding. There was no rush to speak, and Megatron felt no need to shatter their little bubble. So long as he had Optimus with him, their servos locked together... he could wait for millennia. 

“Then perhaps you would be willing to hear of a few of my more lighthearted memories? I see no reason to drown in sorrow when we are meant to move past our grim history.” To his delight, it was Optimus who decided to speak up. Even better was the sheer amount of relaxation Megatron gathered from his betrothed. He couldn’t help but be beyond pleased to see Optimus not only willing to talk but wanting to talk.

“I would love to hear about whatever story you have to tell.” Smiling wide enough that his fangs were on full display, Megatron rested his chin on his free servo as he watched his betrothed begin to tell his tale. Optimus was absolutely stunning. Even when he started to ramble on about bar fights and a misplaced badge during his training, Megatron found all of it enthralling, if only because it was Optimus telling him about it. He laughed when Optimus described being hit with a stray crate. He frowned in sympathy when the Prime retold his experiences with his first attempt at arresting a criminal. He patted his betrothed servo comfortably as Optimus trailed off into times long gone by with mecha who had been dead for ages.

He was so invested he had to reset his optics when the fuel arrived.

“Thank you.” Optimus thanked the server and pulled away from Megatron’s grasp, a fact that he lamented with internal screaming. He already missed the touch of his Conjunx to be, and it hadn’t even been a full klik.

However, his personal concerns went flying out the window when he saw just how unsettled Optimus looked. The Prime glanced at his fuel, concern written all over his mostly hidden face. His finials were pinned back and he appeared genuinely nervous as he looked between the meal and Megatron. Was he worried about somehow offending him? 

“Please, enjoy your meal without worry for formality. I’ve lived amongst soldiers for millennia. Using the wrong spoon won’t offend me.” Sensing the potential for Optimus to shut himself off again, Megatron promptly shot down a potential concern. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to do much as Optimus gestured toward his cube of solidified high-grade energon. It was presented elegantly, and its shape was perfectly maintained. But looking at Optimus and having known him for so long, Megatron didn’t think that was the problem.

“Much appreciated… however, there may be an issue-” Optimus cut himself off, almost as if ashamed. Instantly, Megatron was on high alert and scanned both their meals for potential tampering. Optimus was too polite for his own good at times and probably would have consumed broken glass without uttering a word if he thought it would offend someone with good intentions if he didn’t do so.

“Is there something wrong with your fuel? I can speak to the chef if it is not to your liking.” Fully prepared to go beat a chef to death for making his betrothed uncomfortable, Megatron began to stand. 

“No! No, that will not be required. I am simply unused to such high-quality fuel. I normally consume civilian rations with the rest of my Autobots.” Optimus, with his warrior reflexes, shot up and gently eased Megatron back down. Despite the situation, Megatron internally cheered at the reaction. Optimus’s touch was doing things to him.

Then the implications of Optimus’s words hit him, and all his satisfaction was doused in freezing cold solvent. What did he mean he was eating civilian rations? Were the Autobots not fueling him properly? 

“You are a warframe, Optimus. You should be naturally inclined toward eating higher-quality fuels. Unless you happen to be an outlier of some variety, the fuel in front of you is going to be better than anything you’ve consumed since you became Prime.” Megatron sat down, but he wasn’t pleased about it. His field radiated discontentment that he was incapable of fully disguising as he gestured toward Optimus’s fuel. This poor Prime was starving and living off of civilian fuel of all things. How was he even functioning?

The urge to press the issue if only for the sake of Optimus’s health was strong, but Megatron abstained as he watched the Prime poke and prod at his meal like it might bite him. Hoping to ease the unsettled Prime, Megatron cut a piece of his cube and brought it to his mouth, making only a bit of a show of doing so. 

Distantly, he could hear Starscream gagging. Internally, he made a note to throw the fragger off a roof later.

Finally, after a painstaking klik or so, Optimus retracted his mask to attempt to fuel. Megatron all but threw his helm to the side to keep from looking. He was not going to risk losing the trust of his future Conjunx so soon. Optimus kept his face covered for a reason, and regardless of what that reason was, Megatron would honor it. As such, he kept his entire frame turned away as he consumed his meal, ensuring that his optics never once strayed. At least, that was until Optimus spoke up almost timidly.

“Have I offended you in some way?” Megatron reset his optics as he had for what felt like the thousandth time that evening. However, he kept his gaze firmly fixed on his fuel so as to not accidentally offend his betrothed.

“Of course not. I am simply honoring your preferences.” He could hear Optimus make a sound of interest, or perhaps confusion. It was hard to tell without being able to see those oh-so expressive optics.

“What might those be?” The Prime asked softly, almost in a mocking tone. If Megatron didn’t know that Optimus was simply prone to becoming flustered when it came to personal questions, he might have read the query wrong. As it was, he was just a bit nervous. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t making any serious assumptions.

“You are always masked. I can only imagine it is because you do not wish to have your face visible. If that is so, I wish to adhere to your wishes and keep my optics elsewhere until you have finished fueling.” There was silence for a moment, and in that klik, Megatron felt his entire life flash before his optics as he waited for his doom. It was worse than dealing with Tarn and Starscream at once.

“Ah, yes… I often forget about my mask.” Blessedly, Optimus made a soft noise that didn’t seem to be in the realms of agitation. Megatron still kept his optics looking anywhere except at Optimus as he fiddled with his cube. His tanks churned uncomfortably as he waited to see if he’d fragged everything up.

What if he made Optimus mad? What if he’d made a poor decision-

“You may look. If anyone is to see my face, it is to be my future Conjunx.” Megatron startled, his armor flaring on instinct as he slowly repositioned himself. He pushed his plate around for a moment, and then very cautiously, he looked up.

His vents stalled the instant he beheld his former foe’s face.

Optimus was... plain. His face was shared by millions of other low-caste workers, all of them copied and pasted into existence to save on costs. His face was rounded, a traditional Iaconian look only contrasted by a sharp jaw line. His nose was firmly set, with no uniqueness or damage. His optics, when combined with his face, created the image of a poster mech for the docks. Pure blue optical glass, a plain white steel face, simple but polite features. He was unremarkable... save for a single scar that ran from his jaw, through his derma, and all the way up to the base of his right optic.

It was a nasty scar, one that had evidently never healed properly. It ran deep and left the scuffed and dirtied metal of his facial plating cut and ragged. The scarring looked painful, especially in the places where Megatron could see the Prime’s denta peeking through torn plating. The ancient wound was nothing like the delicately placed scars often depicted in media. It was grim, it was deep, and it was painful.

And it was most certainly the very first scar Megatron ever gave him.

“You are stunning.” He uttered the glyphs without thinking about it. He didn’t even feel the need to be flustered, for he meant every single word. For all his forged plainness, Optimus’s face shone with uniqueness that made him practically glow. He radiated personality like a newborn star, and his scarring only served to promote his features. How could Megatron not love him?

“You can’t mean that. I have the face of a standard dock worker. It is nothing out of the ordinary.” For once, Megatron could see the full extent of his betrothed’s blushing as the Prime reached to touch his scar. Megatron’s processor and spark screamed in denial as one. Optimus was stunning and he would die on that hill. 

“I would beg to differ.” Seizing the opportunity to make his point, Megatron reached across the table to wipe a bit of energon from the corner of Optimus’s mouth. The Prime stiffened, his blush deepening. Seeing as he wasn’t moving away, Megatron allowed his touch to linger, slowly swiping across Optimus’s plush derma. Plain as some might have called them, Megatron wanted nothing more than to kiss him and feel Optimus’s features pressed against his own. 

A hint of nervousness fluttered in his very core as he felt Optimus’s scarred derma with tender care. He was especially gentle around the deepest part of the old wound, never letting his touch become too much for fear of the lovely trance they found themselves in breaking under the strain.

“Your face may be shared by many, but it is your spark that makes it your own. These scars, these markings—all of them are unique to you.” Megatron smiled, turning his attention away from Optimus’s derma to his optics. Such lovely optics... even if he had a million more years, Megatron doubted he could ever tire of their beauty. 

“Even amongst thousands, the brightness of your spark would draw me to you.” Against his every fear, Optimus smiled against his digits. And before he could even contemplate pulling away, the unthinkable happened.

Optimus grasped his servo, and in an act of boldness no tactic could have ever conceived of, the Prime kissed Megatron’s digits. He could feel the warmth of Optimus’s oral fluids tantalizingly close to his thumb as the Prime let his derma linger there. He was sure he was blushing just as hard as Optimus was, but every single part of his being demanded the moment continue, that Optimus’s touch linger.

Most unfortunately, Optimus, polite as ever, was quick to pull away with a cough.

“My apologies. That was-”

“Perfectly acceptable.” Megatron cut him off before he could go anywhere with his concerns. He reached out to hold Optimus’s servo again, smiling as tired to pour all of his affection into his field. He didn’t think words could fully encompass all that he wanted, no, needed to say. 

“Please, never feel ashamed when we are together.” Optimus’s unmasked face was a delight to behold, but never before in his life did Megatron feel as much pride as he did when his betrothed finally smiled truly and unabashedly. The blush remained, but at last, he had earned what he sought.

He got to see his betrothed smile, and that was the greatest reward for his efforts preparing their date.

Optimus maintained his smile for a bit before they both returned to their meals; their servos devastatingly parted in order to facilitate the act. They did not exchange any further conversation, but Megatron was more than happy with their progress. He spent far more time observing Optimus than actually fueling, but he was unconcerned—at least until he noticed Optimus’s digits began to shake as he struggled to hold his utensils. 

“Is something wrong?” He questioned worriedly, his field reaching out to brush against Optimus’s in sheer concern. The Prime seemed to be getting worse by the moment, especially as his armor flared in an attempt to let out non-existent heat.

"I'm perfectly fine.” Optimus attempted to smile, but it was painful. Then, as if to prove he was exactly the opposite of fine, he clutched at his armor as full-body tremors rattled his frame. That was more than enough for Megatron to get up and hurriedly begin trying to move to assist, assessing for injuries as he did so.

Was Optimus suffering emotionally? If so, Megatron had to get him somewhere quiet where he could decompress away from prying optics. If it was physical, he had Knockout on standby.

“Optimus, are you feeling unwell?” He tried to stay polite, if only to maintain some semblance of traditional formality. But as Optimus attempted to respond, Megatron found his spark sinking in its chassis.

“It’s… It’s just the fuel. My systems are unused to such nutrient dense… compounds.” Optimus’s words were strained and grating, almost as if his vocalizer were failing. Then, in an instant, the Prime seized up, toppling toward the ground as his frame shook. 

Megatron dove, skidding on his knees to catch Optimus and pull him from the seat before he could hit the ground. Before a nano-klik had passed, agents flew into action.

“Optimus!” He called out the Prime’s name, but all he got in return was the terrifying spasming of his betrothed’s limbs. Optimus’s face was contorted in agony, his limbs shaking so much they had to ache. Megatron could only hold him tightly, trying to keep him from accidentally hurting himself as Starscream leapt over the bar and Soundwave came flying out of his hiding place.

“Poison!” That was the only possible reason. Optimus was a warframe. He had no genetic issues, no serious nerve damage, and his records showed no disabilities. For him to suffer like this after millions of years of war, it had to be due to tampering.

“Soundwave, call Knockout and get security to grab those chefs! No one is going anywhere until I find out who did this!” Turning Optimus on his side to try and keep him from possibly snuffing his spark in his own fluids, Megatron held the Prime against his chassis protectively as his spasms continued. Starscream sat on the table like a rabid animal, prodding at Optimus’s fuel critically. Meanwhile, Soundwave performed as ordered and was quick to order a few other agents around.

It was all a bit of a blur as Megatron caressed his betrothed’s helm, fear rattling his very core. This couldn’t be the end. He’d only just found out about Optimus’s affections. He refused to let it all come to a close here, in a restaurant of all places.

“Don’t worry, Optimus. I’m getting you help. Everything will be fine.” He could feel Optimus starting to gag, his frame shaking but no longer spasming. He couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or not. But he kept up his reassurances all the same.

“Knockout: En-route. Estimation, two kliks.” Soundwave spoke up, and his words offered Megatron a faint comfort as he fought back a bitter whine. Optimus had to be fine. He had to be. If he had to, he’d carry him all the way to the nearest hospital. He wouldn’t let him die here. Not now. Not ever.

“He may not have that long! I’m taking him to Kaon central!” Fear took hold of his very being before too long. Optimus might have been dying for all he knew. As such, he was quick to begin hoisting the Prime into his arms properly. 

Before he could complete his task, Optimus started clutching at his mouth, frantically arching and squirming as if he wanted to stay on the ground. Megatron looked to Soundwave for aid, but his Soundwave had nothing to give as he turned his attention back to Optimus. 

"Optimus, I am trying to help you! Please let me-” Megatron found his words cut off as Optimus promptly purged, bright blue and barely processed energon splattering against Megatron’s chassis and a good portion of his abdomen. Then, without a word, Optimus groaned in what could have been relief before going limp.

The room was dead silent. Megatron stared at the mess on his frame. Soundwave joined him. The agents were frozen in place. Not a spark moved until Starscream piped up.

“There isn’t any poison in the fuel, Megatron.” That was a minor comfort. But looking at Optimus, the ailing Prime still seemed quite ill, as evidenced by his dim optics. Megatron wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. Purging was generally a good sign. It meant the frame was clearing out contaminants. But Optimus still appeared ill. Was he just meant to... wait?

“Out of the way!” Knockout came flying in before anyone could get a word in edgewise. Next Megatron knew, Optimus was snatched from his arms and laid flat on his back on the ground for Knockout to asses. Distantly, Megatron felt an agent wiping his frame down as he stared in shock, fear, and anticipation. Knockout was an efficient doctor, not wasting a moment as he prodded at every part of the Prime that might have caused the issue.

Eventually, Knockout hummed and sat back on his knees with a knowing look.

“He’s fine. This was a natural reaction.” Natural reaction? When did purging a perfectly good meal become a natural reaction?

“What in the Unmaker’s name do you mean? He was perfectly fine until a few kliks ago!” Anger fueled by fear for his future Conjunx bubbled in every part of his being, emerging in a hiss that Knockout promptly ignored.

“Exactly.” Not missing a beat, Knockout grabbed a civilian ration from his medical kit and poured it down Optimus’s throat. The urge to object was strong, but as Optimus’s optics lit up just a bit brighter in response, Megatron bit his glossa.

“You gave him fuel meant for a warframe.” Obviously. 

“He is a warframe.” Megatron’s tone was deadpan, his expression murderous. Even Soundwave gave Knockout a disbelieving look. The offered information wasn’t anything new.

“He was made a warframe. He’s got big guns and an extra few heads on him, but it doesn’t change his internals.” A pin could have dropped with how quiet the room became again as Knockout patted Optimus’s side. The Prime just groaned in pain.

He’d fragged up. Oh, sweet Primus, he’d fragged up.

“He’s got civilian tanks. His consuming high-density fuels would be the same as shooting him up with an entire box of engex.” The entire universe could have collapsed for all Megatron cared. His focus was solely on Optimus and the royal frag-up that had just occurred as he processed the information. It was no wonder Optimus purged. He had the fueling abilities of a civilian. 

Slag it all, how did Megatron now know this? Now he’d harmed his Conjunx all while smiling pleasantly. It would be a miracle if Optimus didn’t end up holding this against him in some fashion.

“So he had a seizure and purged all over Megatron because his tanks disagreed with his fuel?” Starscream’s snarky voice broken the oppressive atmosphere. But it did little to remove the expressions of shock written on every mech in the room, save for Knockout, who seemed more smug than anything else.

“Why would he accept such fuel if he knew it was going to do this to him?” Megatron dropped to his knees as he reached out to caress Optimus’s helm, guilt already gnawing at him as he took in his betrothed’s state. Why? Why would Optimus willingly do this to himself if he knew this would happen? Was it to impress him? If that was the case, Megatron wanted to go and punch something. Optimus had no need to prove himself, not after four million years of devotion. If it were true that he wanted to try and eat warframe fuel to make a point, then Megatron was going to have to kiss him senseless and remind him of just how perfect he was-

Wait. When did making out become part of the equation for the near future?

“Probably to be polite. In Autobot society, it’s a cardinal sin to refuse gifts and not accept offered fuel.” Knockout answered like it was the simplest thing in the world. All his answer served to do was drive a desire to strangle the nearest Autobot, aside from Optimus, to death into his very spark. 

Why were the Autobots so foolish? Fuel was fuel. There was no need for such a ridiculous social stigma, especially if it caused harm to a mech.

“What a bolt helm.” Starscream’s mockery ran out like a freshly fired missile. Megatron turned to look at his Air Commander, glaring with the hatred of a thousand stars as he lifted Optimus’s helm onto his lap, caressing the Prime’s helm with all the tenderness he could muster.

He thought about blasting Starscream since it wouldn’t require him to move, but that thought died as Optimus coughed weakly, the remnants of his purging dirtying his derma. Megatron was quick to wipe away what he could, guilt growing even greater as he watched Optimus lean into his touch.

Weather or not he’d intended it, he had done this. Optimus was suffering because of him and his lack of knowledge.

It would have to be rectified. 

“Soundwave, call for a transport to take him home. Knockout, go with him to ensure he recovers. And Starscream-” Megatron glared at Starscream once more, a snarl building in his throat as plans formulated in his mind. Was it a good idea? Possibly. Would it teach Starscream to shut his trap? Primus, Megatron certainly hoped so.

“To ensure this never happens again, I am assigning you to be his guide and advisor during his stay in Kaon.” As if a button were pressed, Starscream paused and then wailed in outrage. He slammed his fist into the nearest table, lamenting life.

“Oh, COME ON!”

Megatron ignored Starscream’s bemoaning and instead gathered Optimus into his arms, careful to support the Prime’s helm against his chassis as he carried him out. He was more than thankful he’d ensured there were no press to observe as he loaded Optimus up into a gurney in the back of a transport that would take him back to his residence. Knockout hopped into the back, his medical kit still by his side, just in case something happened during the trip. 

Megatron hesitated a moment as he laid Optimus helm down, ensuring nothing would jostle him. He frowned as he ran his digits along Optimus’s cheek, looking at his sickly optics with despair. He had done this. But he would never allow such a thing to happen again. 

“I promise you, beloved. This will never happen again. I will make sure of it.” In an act of boldness he hoped to one day perform while Optimus was aware, Megatron pressed the crest of his helm to the Prime’s as he uttered his oath. He lingered a moment, but then stepped out of the transport to stand by Soundwave’s side. 

They watched the transport leave together. After which, Megatron sighed.

“My ignorance caused him unneeded pain. It cannot be allowed to happen again.” He rubbed his face, fighting back the urge to pray to a god he didn’t believe in for forgiveness. Now he not only had four million years to make up for, but also this grand frag up. 

“Prepare a communicator. I need to speak with one of Optimus’s Autobots.” He wouldn’t be ignorant again. He didn’t care if he had to fly to Iacon himself and shake down one of Optimus’s inner circle. He was going to learn everything he had to in order to ensure Optimus knew nothing but joy while in Kaon.

He deserved it after all his sufferings. 

“Confirmed, Lord Megatron.” Soundwave’s clipped glyphs eased Megatron’s spark a degree, but it did nothing to dampen the determination that took root in his very being. 

Never again. Never again would Optimus Prime be harmed under his watch.

Chapter Text

Megatron sat patiently, his gaze steely as he watched the door. He quickly assessed the room, finding no fault in it for the time being. A simple interrogation room with nothing out of the ordinary. A cube of energon on the table for politeness’s sake, cuffs ready to be used, blazing lights above that left any mech agitated after a while. And of course, a datapad for him to jot down anything of note as needed.

It was perfect for his purposes.

“Let me go, you absolute SLAGGERS-!” There it was. Megatron grinned internally as he settled in his chair, mentally preparing himself for the struggle ahead as his prize was dragged kicking and screaming into the room.

“This is a violation of the peace treaty, you absolute morons!” Red and white armor shone in the hard yellow lights, almost blindingly. But before Megatron found himself having to squint to look at his captive, the Autobot CMO was dropped into the chair across from him. Megatron wasted no time in linking the cuffs on the table to the medic’s right and his left wrist. The moment the metal clicked into place, Ratchet froze, and the bag covering his helm was removed.

Ratchet winced as the lights bore down on him from above, his field held tight around him like a second set of armor. Megatron didn’t even bother to prod , that was reserved for his Conjunx-to-be. Besides, if he were honest, he wasn’t a huge fan of Ratchet anyway, considering the state Optimus was in when he arrived in Kaon.

“What the frag is all this about!?” Ratchet glared as he finally adjusted to the light. Megatron didn’t reply at first, ensuring that the guards left the room and that Soundwave was listening from behind the one-way window before answering.

“I need information, and my polite requests for an audience have gone unanswered for far too long.” Ratchet glared at him, to which Megatron raised an optical ridge in return. After sending Optimus back to his quarters, Megatron had sent out quite a few messages to the Doctor. But after waiting four whole cycles with no response, he’d gotten impatient. While kidnapping had not been the ideal choice, it worked well enough and got the job done quickly .

“I had every reason not to answer, Megatron. Just because we are no longer firing at each other does not make our relationship anything close to cordial.” The Doctor attempted to cross his arms but aborted the action halfway as the chains keeping their cuffs linked went taut. The urge to smirk was almost overpowering, but Megatron fought down the eager response as Ratchet scowled.

“And I was recharging half the time.” As if it would help make his point, Ratchet tugged until Megatron was forced to use his strength to keep from being pulled too far forward. He sighed, trying to keep things at least somewhat cordial. He would have much preferred to grab someone more reasonable, but Jazz was slippery, and even when asked, Soundwave refused to give up the location of his very poorly hidden romantic interest. Prowl and other high-ranking Autobots were possibilities, but they were either not as close to Optimus as the medic , or they would cause too much of a fuss.

So Ratchet the eternal pain in the aft it was.

“Regardless, I have you here now, and I need your insight.” Megatron rubbed the bridge of his olfactory sensor in an attempt to keep himself composed. He just had to get a bit of information and then he could be done. Just stay calm, get the answers, and get out.

“Into what? Ruling all of Cybertron? Or perhaps you want to ask about how best to murder Optimus while he recharges?” Ratchet’s harsh words seemed to dig directly into Megatron’s armor as he fought to try and remain professional. It was no wonder the Autobots were universally scared of the mech when he was such a piece of work. Slag it , Megatron would have backflipped off a cliff vorns ago if he’d had Ratchet as his medical officer.

“No, nothing of the sort. I want to know more about my future Conjunx.” Ratchet didn’t look particularly convinced. The Doctor seemed more inclined to try and nap in his chair as he glared.

“Doesn’t that happen during this whole courting nonsense? I’m not a guru. Go figure it out yourself.” The medic waved him off with his free servo as if Megatron were an obnoxious insect on the wall. The urge to smack him for it was strong, but if he squinted and tried not to think too hard about it, Megatron could keep himself in check by imagining it was Starscream he was dealing with. He had questions to be answered and he could not afford to let his anger get the better of him.

He had to do this . For Optimus. 

“I would do just that if I could. Unfortunately, I have not studied Autobot polite society or courting customs to the extent needed to understand Optimus fully.” Ratchet scoffed. Megatron had to physically keep himself from pummeling the mech by holding the edge of the table . He was trying to be open and honest and this glitch was mocking him.

“That sounds like a you problem.” If his combat protocols were any less controlled, Megatron might have just activated his blaster and blown the medic to bits. Instead of giving in to the deep desire to do just that, Megatron allowed himself a moment to cool his frame, and then speak with all the honesty he could muster.

“I hurt him, Ratchet.” That gave the Doctor pause.

“What?” He looked positively shocked, and Megatron couldn’t even blame him. He knew his field, even when tucked close, flared with sorrow every single time he thought about just how ill Optimus had been because of social customs Megatron had been too out of touch to learn. If he’d just understood Autobot culture and Optimus’s condition he never would have let things go the way they had.

“I thought the gap between our cultures was small enough that things could progress just as well without intensive study, but I was wrong.” He remembered how Optimus smiled, those scarred lips quirked up in a manner not meant for the media, but to instead convey love and appreciation. He also recalled just how dim his betrothed’s optics had been as he lay with his helm on Megatron’s lap, sick and in pain.

“Optimus is too kind. Too polite and reasonable.” Megatron vented deeply, his free servo clenched into a fist on the table as he contemplated the events of that botched date for the thousandth time. It was his fault. 

“He ate fuel he knew would make him dreadfully unwell, specifically to appease me.” Looking back up, Ratchet seemed to have let go of a bit of bitterness as he nodded knowingly.

“That sounds like something he would do.” The Doctor affirmed gently, a surprise to Megatron who fully expected further spite. Nonetheless, he took the opportunity to capitalize on the opening presented, continuing with ensuring Ratchet knew he had pure intentions.

“I never want to see him in pain like that again.” He threw all of his conviction into his tone , his field purposefully flared as he did so. Ratchet watched his every move cautiously, but he was listening. And that in of itself, was a small victory.

“I know he won’t tell me about the nuances of his culture or much about himself unless threatened or properly prompted, and I simply cannot risk more harm coming to him as I learn his ways.” Megatron briefly sighed, thinking over how often Optimus tended to quiet himself. It wasn’t particularly noticeable at the moment, but looking back, it was obvious . Optimus tried to go with the flow for Megatron’s comfort, rather than his own. It could not be allowed to continue . Not after millions of years of his betrothed fighting so hard for his attention.

“So you kidnapped me a groon before my morning shift to ask me about Optimus’s habits and mindset.” Ratchet rubbed his face, but it seemed to be more out of lethargy than actual agitation. Megatron noted the fact critically, running an assessment of how far he could push as he nodded in affirmation.

“Why me specifically?” Well, that was easy enough to answer.

“You are reportedly Optimus Prime’s closest confidant, before, during, and after the war. I would assume such a title would come with insider knowledge.” Megatron raised an optical ridge, challenging Ratchet to contradict him. The Doctor stared for a long moment, his field flaring periodically in uncertainty. It took him a while, but eventually, Ratchet leaned back in his chair, his free arm crossed over his chassis as he spat back a response.

“Sure. Knowledge that you are going to use to manipulate the big oaf. I’m not talking.” Oh, slag it all.

Megatron scowled as they fell into an angry silence, the air filled with war old bitterness that oozed pride from both sides. Neither moved for a long while, but Megatron was a patient mech. He knew how to make an enemy squirm without actively damaging them. And so after a few kliks, he pulled Ratchet’s cuffed servo into his own, lacing their digits together in the most uncomfortable manner possible.

Ratchet made a face worthy of being mocked on the datanet before steeling himself and squeezing for all he was worth. It made a few things pop, but the pain was manageable as Megatron returned the gesture. He made sure to not squeeze too hard, for fear of actually crushing the Doctor’s servo. But the moment Ratchet’s pede collided with his shin under the table, all bets were off.

He wasn’t entirely sure how long they kicked at each other’s legs, Ratchet going full throttle and Megatron having to physically fight the urge to break the other’s entire lower body with one well-aimed jab. But after what was likely a groon or so, Megatron, much to his despair, decided to allow his pride to languish in favor of actually making use of the situation.

“Just answer a few questions and I will send you home with a seeker escort and Decepticon medical texts as payment for your services.” Megatron sighed, slumping a bit in his seat as he accepted, what his protocols dictated, was defeat. It certainly didn’t help when Ratchet gave him the most slag-eating grin ever conjured up by Cybertronian kind, accented by a middle digit raised in his direction.

“I would prefer to watch you backflip off the nearest cliff.” How in Primus’s name did Optimus deal with this prick?

“Doctor, I am not a mech to beg. But I am asking politely. Please, answer a few innocent questions regarding Optimus Prime so I might better tend to his needs in Kaon.” He nearly growled as he leaned forward, his fist colliding with the table against his will. Ratchet seemed momentarily put off, but Megatron was far more focused on controlling his venting, getting himself back under control as he hissed.

Vent. In and out. He had to stay calm for his betrothed. All of this was for him. 

“You are a medical professional and Optimus’s oldest friend. Help me to take care of him while he is under my care.” With all the pleading he could muster without fully crushing his pride, Megatron steeled himself, bowing his helm ever so slightly as he spoke. He maintained the position, giving Ratchet a good long while to absorb what he was seeing . Only then did he look up to… an expression of vague sympathy.

The Doctor sat still, not attacking or jabbing verbally. He looked Megatron up and down, scanning him for something of note that the former warlord could never hope to place. But blessedly, after a klik, Ratchet nodded to himself.

“I reserve the right to refuse to answer any question that I feel isn’t innocent.” Finally, they were getting somewhere.

“That is an acceptable term.” Megatron did not smile, but he did push over the energon cube that had been languishing on the corner of the table since the start of their encounter. Ratchet starved at it skeptically but gratefully fueled once he deemed it secure. Once he’d had a few sips, Megatron began his questioning.

“What fuel does Optimus normally consume?” He tried to keep it simple, but Ratchet didn’t seem all that impressed with his query. The Doctor took another sip of his fuel, not looking all that happy about it as he replied.

“Whatever the rest of us have. He made it a point to not set himself higher than his soldiers the cycle he became Prime.” Megatron could feel his optic twitch at the statement. It was so very Optimus, and yet agitating in the extreme. Optimus deserved better than whatever Autobot code dictated be thrown at their ground soldiers. He was a Prime for Cybertron’s sake. Even if he could only have civilian-grade fuel, Megatron refused to let his future Conjunx live off war rations of all things.

“What about his recharging arrangements? Does he have a preference or aid to deal with old wounds? How large and what brand of  berth does he have?” Picking up the previously discarded datapad, Megatron began taking notes as he threw out another set of questions. Ratchet didn’t miss a beat in his reply.

“He uses the same wartime model as the rest of us. A single ground unit cot.” What. The. Frag.

Megatron could feel every part of his processor screaming at him as he paused in his notes, looking up at Ratchet like the Doctor had scraplets crawling out of his audials. Optimus Prime, one of the most imposing Autobots to have ever been forged and still fall within the grounder warframe subclass, was recharging on single-unit cots? Megatron could feel his joints ache at the very prospect. It had to be so small and uncomfortable. Even with Optimus’s boxy frame, contorting couldn’t have been easy.

Slag it. He was going to get Optimus a specially made berth the moment they were formally Conjunxed. This was outrageous. 

“Does he have any hobbies?” He threw out another vague question, hoping beyond hope that somehow Optimus’s lifestyle wasn’t nearly as depressing as it seemed to be . His hopes were promptly shut down as Ratchet finished his cube and shrugged as if it meant nothing.

“No, not really. Few of us do. Optimus tends to do his work and then takes walks and reads if there is time .” Megatron’s expression fell as he listened. He could understand Optimus being absorbed in his work. It seemed to be on point for him. But for no other Autobot to have hobbies? It seemed downright outlandish. There was no way it was entirely true . Right?

“Is there that much to do in Autobot territory?” His confusion must have rang out in his tone, considering Ratchet gave him a withering glare reserved for fools who failed to read the mission report after a battle.

“Rebuilding a planet and establishing strong industries and well-planned cities is difficult and time-consuming work.” The Doctor rolled his optics, tugging on his cuff again. Although hidden behind the agitation, Megatron picked up the faintest hint of discontentment. There was more to this. He could feel it.

“Has Optimus expressed any interest in specific locations or activities?” He knew Optimus owned little, but he’d always assumed that was part of his personality. This was… not right. For Optimus and his Autobots to have little to no pastimes? It indicated there was a systemic issue. But he had to be sure. For all he knew, Ratchet was simply ignorant and assumed everyone was a workaholic like him and Optimus.

“Not particularly. He does have cities he prefers inspecting over others, but I haven’t seen him explicitly state that he wants to go anywhere except back home after long trips.” Nevermind. That confirmed it. There was a problem here that went beyond Optimus being humble in every conceivable sense.

“Slag it all. Does he at least have a favorite animal or color?” He sighed deeply, scribbling down his findings on the datapad in front of him as he tried once more to see if there was anything he could glean from this conversation that would actually aid him. As of the present moment , all he was getting was the resounding confirmation that the Autobots were absolutely fragged, if only in domestic affairs.

“So we’ve fallen to questions meant for newbuilds. To answer, no.  Optimus has expressed no preference toward anything outside of his morals and political stances.” Unable to stay composed, Megatron facepalmed. He could sense Ratchet’s field flare in indignation, but he paid it no mind as he contemplated. This was no longer just an Optimus problem, and he was starting to regret having asked about it.

“Your Prime hasn’t shown any personality outside of his work. Is that what I am gathering from this conversation?” Ratchet’s features scrunched up into a displeased scowl as he fiddled with his empty cube, looking more than a little scandalized at the accusation. Megatron watched critically, searching for further intel as the Doctor replied.

“Optimus has plenty of personality, Megatron. I would think you of all mecha would know that.” The Doctor raised his free servo, waving it flippantly as if to dismiss Megatron. It was pathetic and only confirmed what he now knew to be true.

Something was deeply wrong with the way the Autobots were running things.

“And yet he has nothing that he would consider his favorite? He has no known preferences or opinions on trivial affairs?” Megatron leaned forward, his gaze piercing. Ratchet didn’t back down, instead leaning forward as well , scowling as if all of Cybertron were hung in the balance of their quips.

“Chit-chat wasn’t on the agenda while the war was raging.” Ratchet hissed through gritted denta. Megatron fought the urge to flare his armor in agitation, instead tapping the table methodically as he forced himself to remain composed.

“The war is over, Doctor. He shouldn’t still be living this way, and neither should you.” As if a switch had been flipped, Ratchet settled back in his chair, more gloomy than angry. He must have known deep down in his spark that the situation was less than ideal , to say the least .

“Are the Autobots struggling financially? Why are you still living by wartime standards?” Megatron’s processor locked onto the data he was being given as he adjusted his line of questioning. He was no data caste bot, but he could see where the clues were leading .

“I don’t think that question is relevant.” Ratchet shrank in on himself as if struck. Megatron’s optics cycled down as he contemplated what he was seeing. Now he was getting to the bottom of the whole affair.

“Oh, I think it is. Optimus came to Kaon dirty, obviously unkempt, and without a single escort. Your Prime came to Decepticon territory looking as though his frame had not been tended to with anything more than a welder in millennia.” Ratchet fell silent, as was only proper when all things were considered. How bad off were the Autobots for their god chosen to wander around like a low-rank soldier? Megatron had thought it odd at the time when Optimus first arrived. But knowing his former foe, he’d simply thought it a matter of personal preference.

Now he knew that was not the case. He could see it as he looked at the Doctor in front of him. Ratchet’s armor was dented and covered in small smudges that seemed to have been scrubbed with a cleaning cloth and nothing else. His optics were dimmer than they should have been for a healthy mech. His digits were abnormally twitchy, especially for one in his field of work . And most notably, while he was clean enough to appear posh in public, Ratchet looked thin. His armor was thinned in places and he seemed constantly on edge.

He wasn’t getting enough energon.

“All of High Command operate this way.” Ratchet’s mumbled admission hurt more than Megatron thought it would. Why did he give a frag about the Autobots? Well, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t. He didn’t care about Ratchet or the rest personally. But seeing their state told him a great deal about Optimus, and just what the poor Prime was dealing with. This was not a matter of Optimus being singled out and abused. This was systemic.

He couldn’t, in good conscience, let that stand.

“Why? The Autobots have more than half the planet and millions of citizens. To my knowledge, your cities are growing quickly and industry has never been better since the war ended.” Picking up his datapad, Megatron exited the note-taking application and pulled up old files to hold up. According to all the stats the Decepticons had gathered, the Autobots' side of the planet was meant to be flourishing.

“We don’t have anything to spare for luxury, Megatron.” Ratchet just scowled further, a fact that left Megatron mimicking him. This wasn’t adding up.

“I doubt that. I’ve seen the statistics for Autobots' economic values. Even if eighty percent of your gross income were devoured by post-war repairs and social welfare programs for displaced civilians, there would still be at least five percent after reinvestment for personal use and salaries.” Memory guided him as he flipped through reports, pulling up revenue statistics Soundwave put together a  few stellar cycles ago. It hadn’t been important at the time, but Primus, Megatron was glad he’d endured the boredom of reading them now.

“Where is that shanix going? Why do you, and the rest of Autobot high command, live like low rank soldiers when I know for a fact that there are plenty of wealthy merchants, entrepreneurs, elected councilors, and various organizational leaders who live like kings?” He leaned further forward as Ratchet shrank in on himself in what was likely an instinctual response to the accusations thrown around in question form. It was so strange. Megatron had seen countless wealthy Autobot merchants and affiliated parties wandering around in his territory. He hadn’t expected that wealth to not extend to the government.

Perhaps he should have.

“They are not directly affiliated with the inner government. Their affairs are their own.” Ratchet bitterly spat out a reply, to which Megatron sighed.

“Are they? It seems to me as though you and other civil servants who should be highly respected and well-paid are being treated as less than slag while representatives of the people drag you through the mud.” Gesturing to Ratchet’s armor, Megatron could almost pinpoint the exact nano-klik the Doctor registered the deeper meaning behind his glyphs. He scowled further if that were possible.

“Your Prime, chosen of Primus , doesn’t have a single personal item that isn’t military issued or predates the war.” Ratchet looked down at his free servo, a hint of guilt now etched into his features and field. Megatron observed the change quietly, letting Ratchet respond with a weak retort that even he didn’t appear to believe.

“Optimus doesn’t like to spend when he doesn’t need to.”

“That is the weakest excuse I have ever heard. My Vehicons tell me that Optimus arrived at his quarters and promptly began calculating costs. That is not just behavior associated with former low-caste mecha. That is trained into a bot from vorns upon vorns of limited resources.” Megatron remembered reading that report after Optimus had been sent back to his quarters following their disaster of a date. He’d had half the mind to go cry or to crush something. His Conjunx shouldn’t have had to feel as though costs were anything to worry about. He’d thought that it was his fault for failing to court correctly, but it seemed that it was for once , in fact , not because of him.

“We were at war-”

“And that war has been over for vorns.” Megatron snapped back the moment Ratchet tried to speak up, silencing the medic’s foolish retort. The Doctor didn’t even fight back as Megatron continued.

“Both of our factions fought for freedom and the abolishment of the old corrupt council. But there is a limit to how much power the people can feasibly hold without the roles seen on Old Cybertron simply being reversed.” At his words, Ratchet reached up to touch his Autobot insignia, almost defensively. Megatron did not begrudge him that, especially as Ratchet shot back with a harsh, but passionate reply.

“We will not allow a caste system to form. Myself and the rest of high command have been ensuring that-” Megatron cut him off with a simple raise of his servo. He understood the talking points. By the Primes, he’d been on the receiving end of Optimus’s morality speeches so many times he had them memorized. He knew what the Autobots wanted, and reports indicated they were trying to make things better. Their citizens were thriving.

But it did not negate the fact that clearly, Optimus and his inner circle were suffering.

“Then why do you live in squalor? From what I’ve seen and heard, you work in shining offices and return to your habs with only subspace change to last the next deca-cycle and an MRE to fill your tanks.” Megatron had no real proof that things were quite that dire, but seeing Ratchet wince had him doubling down on his new beliefs. These poor slaggers were giving their sparks to their cause and it was killing them. No wonder Optimus was awed with almost everything he saw in Kaon. The mech had likely never even seen a tub, much less a clean shower.

“You, Optimus, and the rest of Autobot high command have my utmost respect for doing everything in your power to ensure a High Council and a caste system does not form. But your efforts are turning leaders and civil servants into slaves to be voted in and out as their efficiency fades.” Ratchet winced. Megatron simply sighed. For all their failings, the Autobots truly did have decent morals, especially Optimus and his inner circle. They deserved better than being used as political slaves, servants to their people, and left without honor or grace. He didn’t have to like any of Optimus’s associates to think they had long since earned a higher standard of living.

“Letting the people have full control and remaining beneath their pedes is its own form of caste. One that you have inadvertently created while trying to remain humble.” Again, the Doctor winced, this time his shoulders slumping as well. Megatron watched for a moment, letting everything sink in. This was bad. Not just for his future Conjunx, but for dozens of mechs who were quite literally grinding their gears to dust to keep half the planet moving.

“Humility is a virtue, but those in power have not only a right, but a duty to express their authority from time to time. That is how you inspire and guide the population. Failure to do this will result in mob rule, and that is just as bad as the rule of a few.” As much as he despised supreme rulership for any extended period of time, Megatron had to admit that power had its uses. Without some form of authority, there was no society. The Autobots were learning that the hard way.

“Considering you have not objected to anything I’ve said with any real venom, I will assume I’m correct in my assessments.” Megatron tilted his helm, watching Ratchet’s servos clench and unclench as if he were preparing to try and throw a punch. When the Doctor didn’t move, Megatron was half tempted to try and speak again.

However, he was silenced by Ratchet’s grim murmur.

“Are you done lecturing me?” The question hung in the air, and it was only then that Megatron sensed true remorse. Slag, he didn’t like Ratchet. But he couldn’t help but feel somewhat bad for him. 

“For now.” Megatron leaned back in his chair, his processor whirling with possibilities and plans as he watched Ratchet fumble for a moment before uttering another question.

“What do you want, Megatron?” That was a good question. What did he want? The original reason he stole Ratchet to begin with was to learn about Optimus. But he’d just opened quite the time capsule. It took him a moment to get his thoughts in order.

“I want my Conjunx to be treated well… and I want all my people to be treated fairly and with respect.” That seemed about right, although looking at Ratchet, he seemed more confused than skeptical.

“We aren’t your people. Why not focus on your whirlwind romance and whisk Optimus away once you have him in your clutches?” That was also a good point. If he had his way, Megatron would want nothing more than to bask in Optimus’s presence and kiss him senseless But unfortunately, reality was often disappointing and living required finances and stability. And Optimus would be quite upset if the planet weren’t cared for.

“Because Optimus cares about the Autobots and has poured so much of his spark into his cause that I doubt he would survive watching everything he fought so hard to preserve become the very thing he despises.” It made him sick to think about just how distraught Optimus would be if his Autobots were to fall . For all his strength, Optimus was a sensitive mech and loved deeply. Megatron would have to guard the Autobots, at least the important ones, whether he liked it or not. If only for Optimus’s sake.

“And… I wish to see the divide between our people closed. No longer should one Cybertronian raise arms against another without just cause.” The addition was more of an afterthought, but Ratchet accepted it with a hum, his optics glowing with newfound understanding.

“You are… not the mech I remember from the war.” Megatron reset his optics once at the statement. He thought about it, then decided he agreed with the sentiment. He wasn’t exactly a murderous warlord anymore, not when he had far more important things to do than conquer the planet.

Like, make up for millions of years of missed courting. That was first on the agenda.

“We’ve all changed, Doctor.” He replied simply , opting to keep his real feelings hidden. He laced his digits together, careful to not tug on the cuffs too much as he put on a smile that was, surprisingly, genuine.

“I want to fix things and make Optimus happy. But I am lacking in many areas.” Ratchet scoffed in response, a hint of his usual bitterness sneaking through.

“You can say that again.” Ignoring the comment, Megatron pushed on with his concluding statement. He was itching to get this done and over with now that he had what he needed.

“Which is why I am asking you with all the conviction in my spark to please help me. Help me to understand my betrothed so that I can understand the Autobots. Help me bridge the gap between our splintered race.” Looking at the Doctor, it was obvious Ratchet was still hesitant. But sure enough, he nodded after a klik or so of thoughtful musing.

“I don’t like you, and I doubt I ever will. But… I’m tired of seeing Optimus and the rest suffer needlessly.” Finally, victory.

“I’ll help you however I can, so long as it does not harm the Autobots or Optimus.” Megatron internally screamed in excitement as Ratchet confirmed his willingness to offer his aid. After groons of dealing with the insufferable glitch, he finally had what he needed and could be free of it all for a while.

“That is more than acceptable.” Without hesitation, he uncuffed both of them, much to Ratchet’s begrudging thanks. The moment he did so, Soundwave entered with a small pile of datapads. They met optics and nodded, already having an idea of what to do without exchanging words.

“Soundwave, get some soaps, polish, high-quality civilian grade fuel, and other associated commodities and send them back with the Doctor during his return trip.” Ratchet just about fell out of his chair, but Megatron paid him no mind as Soundwave nodded sagely. This was the correct choice. By caring for the Autobots, Megatron could in turn care for Optimus. After all, his beloved would have to return to Iacon eventually in order to complete their courting.

He refused to see his courting partner return to him dirty and starved.

“As you command, Lord Megatron.” Perfect. Despite the disgusting reveal of the Autobots situation, things were back on track.

He couldn’t wait to pamper Optimus with all the things he’d missed out on.

Optimus stood in his living room, staring at a box with wide optics . He had been quite ill for several cycles, largely unable to move other than to purge. Fueling had been a nightmare, but with the help of his new Vehicon aids and surprisingly , Starscream of all mecha, he was back on his pedes. He knew he shouldn’t have eaten that fuel, but Megatron looked so happy to see him fueling that he simply couldn’t resist. And it would have been impolite.

But with all that said, there was exactly no reason for him to have a package. Starscream had been sent to him as a guide during his stay in Kaon and had thus far proven an amusing companion. But Starscream wasn’t the gift-giving type of mech, and the box was obviously Iaconian in style. It had to be from an Autobot.

“What is this?” He mused aloud, his finials twitching as he read the label. There were quite a few names on the package, most of which he did not know.

“Could be your processor. Heard you lost that somewhere over the last few million years.” Starscream, sprawled out on a couch touching up his digit finish, looked up in sheer boredom. Seeing him, Optimus snorted. He was so dramatic, and quite frankly, it was amusing more than anything else. Not a spark would dare be this openly vain in Iacon.

“Perhaps. However, according to the shipping address, it appears this package came from Autobot territory.” Starscream audibly groaned as Optimus carefully began undoing the locks on the package. It was a high-quality container, obviously from someone with shanix. That instantly removed the possibility of it having come from any of his close friends. They were all far too conservative with their money for that.

“If they sent you paperwork, I’m going to gag.” Starscream sauntered over , his wings held high despite his outward expression of discontentment. Optimus chuckled and fiddled with the last lock.

“As much as they love to work me to the spark, I doubt my fellows would permit such sensitive things being sent across the border.” With a final remark, Optimus removed the lid and promptly stared in shock.

Inside were three outfits, all of obviously high quality. The first appeared to be some form of cape and chain attachment, clearly intended for formal events. The second seemed to be meant for meetings, considering it was a set of armor attachments intended to accentuate his more war-related augments. But the third one… it almost made him blush. It was traditional, certainly. But he’d never been one for such revealing attire-

“Optimus, you have to wear that to Megatron’s big anniversary party.” Starscream, for the first time since his arrival, grinned widely as he gestured to the third outfit. Optimus stared at him for a long klik and then back at the outfit. Starscream was meant to be his guide and ensure he knew Kaoni customs. If he thought it would be a good idea to wear this one to the next event on the schedule , then Optimus was inclined to believe in him .

“Don’t worry, he’ll find you stunning.” Starscream continued to smile, a fact Optimus would have once found unsettling. But considering the circumstances, he nodded in understanding. He was willing to trust Starscream in this matter.

“Very well. I trust your judgment. Although I might have to get this fitted…” His voice trailed off as he held up the third garment. It was going to be tight, that was for sure. He was likely going to have to shed some armor as well, a dangerous choice considering he was so deep in enemy territory.

But they weren’t enemies anymore… and Megatron could keep him safe.

If Megatron was going to find him anything close to appealing if he wore the presented outfit, then he was willing to take the risk. For social reasons of course. Certainly not because he wanted Megatron to admire his frame.

No. That wasn’t it. Of course not.

Chapter Text

“Starscream, are you sure this is acceptable attire?” Optimus fidgeted as his Vehicon attendants delicately removed his armor. They worked with something akin to reverence, tenderly placing each removed piece in a basket to be guarded until he returned from Megatron’s party. He wasn’t exactly squeamish, but being so exposed was… new for him to say the least. Back during his dock worker vorns, he’d been perfectly fine relaxing in his bare protoform when time allowed. His fellows often joined him, none of them at all concerned with close contact due to their caste. But after millions of years of war and countless vorns serving as an enforcer before that? Well, he wasn’t as comfortable as he used to be.

“Oh absolutely. Megatron is going to adore you.” Starscream leaned against the wall with a smirk, watching as Optimus tried hard to not flinch as he was left in his secondary armor. Looking at the outfit gifted to him by his Autobot affiliates, Optimus came to the realization that he was going to have to strip a lot more than he anticipated.

“Are you positive there will be no issues with my traditional choice of adornment?” Optimus stressed his glyphs, hoping Starscream would give him an honest response as the sash around his waist was tightened, accentuating his figure. 

“Stop worrying your shiny helm about it. You’ll blend right in.” Starscream grinned in a manner that was reminiscent of the evil smirk he gave during battle. Thankfully for Optimus’s anxiety though, his gaze was not predatory, merely thoughtful. 

“I don’t believe you.” Optimus grumbled, looking into the full body mirror in front of him as the Vehicons worked. His chassis plating was still too thick for the attire. With a sigh, Optimus leaned down to whisper to one of the Vehicons, a little nervous as he started shedding even more armor.

“Is there any warrior glass I can use? If I am going to fit, I’ll need to show off my more… delicate assets, and I would rather not be assassinated.” The Vehicon, perhaps V-28, nodded slowly. While Optimus could not read his face or field, he was fairly certain the Vehicon was grinning behind his mask. The others seemed equally giddy as they registered what was being said.

“Of course, Lord Prime. A moment please.” With that, the Vehicon bounded off and Optimus reluctantly allowed the rest to remove his secondary armor plates. Outer armor was one thing. He shed that on a regular basis in order to undergo medical procedures or checkups. Secondary armor plates were… a bit more sensitive. Certainly not as delicate as protoform, but for a warframe like himself, it felt as though he were walking around with a blaring target on the back of his helm.

Looking down at his frame, he had a feeling he was likely going to have to shed most of his secondary plates as well just to fit into his little outfit. He hated showing so much bare protoform, especially now that he wasn’t shiny and new. Would Megatron even find it appealing?

Wait. Why did he want Megatron to like it?

“Sounds like a you problem.” Starscream snickered as he watched the scene unfold. Optimus found himself both amused by the mockery and somewhat annoyed, although it was mild. He couldn’t afford to mess up. Not like he did during his last date with Megatron.

“What exactly is this event anyway?” Optimus opted to ask questions as his secondary plates were largely removed except for around his arms and legs. The extra bulk on his limbs gave him a fuller figure to contrast just how dainty his torso had quickly become. The removal of armor he rarely, if ever considered revealed that, apparently, he had quite the waist.

At least, that was based on the muttering of his Vehicon attendants who quickly made it clear that they would like to pick him up or otherwise manhandle him because of it.

“It’s a celebration of the formation of the Decepticon movement. It’s the something something anniversary. I stopped keeping track forever ago.” Starscream waved a servo flippantly, but unlike his uncaring posture, his optics remained fixed on Optimus’s frame. Once that would have sent him hurtling into alt-mode to escape missile fire. Now he accepted it with only mild discomfort as he parted his chassis plating and allowed ST3V3 to reverently lock the warrior glass in place so that the rest of his secondary armor could be removed without potential harm coming to his delicate internals.

“It seems rather convenient for it to occur during my three stellar cycle long visit.” Optimus noted with only vague suspicion. Internally, he recognized that it made sense to have a celebration of such magnitude occur when it was politically beneficial, and yet he still couldn’t help but question.

“Megatron is the Lord of the Decepticons. He can decide when to have an event and if he wants to reschedule.” Well that confirmed it. Megatron wanted to use their engagement for his benefit. A simple enough answer, really. Still, Optimus found himself mildly proud of the fact that he was deemed important enough for a whole event to be scheduled to allow him to attend. He’d only ever heard of the Decepticon anniversary party, never personally attending. Honestly, he was more likely to be shot than welcomed if he’d so much as vented in the event’s direction before he ended up betrothed to the Lord of the Decepticons. 

“Right… is there anything I should know to be properly prepared for something of such significance?” Taking a deep vent to soothe his anxious spark, Optimus lifted his arms for the Vehicons to begin dressing him. The sash around his waist was tightened further as sheer cloth was carefully draped over his shoulders and around the edges of the warrior glass guarding the Matrix and his spark within.

“Nope. Just turn up and be pretty and you’ll be just fine.” As if inspired by the Unmaker himself, Starscream cackled and turned to order their transportation for the evening. Optimus, not at all comforted,  simply sighed and looked into the mirror as he was dressed. He could have done it himself, but his companions seemed so very excited. He didn’t have the spark to stop them.

The sash on his waist was snug, meant to show off his figure and colored a stunning silver. It tied off in a thin bow in the back, hanging down his sides in an appealing manner. Layers of similarly colored cloth were draped around his upper arms, collecting and being tied in with the sash to create something akin to a loincloth and loose fitting dress all in one. Large slits were left in the wake of the silver fabric, leaving his legs almost entirely exposed and drawing attention to his thighs. As if that weren’t enough, the faint white mesh strips around his warrior glass barely hid anything and only served to show off his assets. 

It felt a bit much in Optimus’s opinion, and his thoughts were only cemented as he turned to view his back in the mirror, quickly noting the mesh tied around his neck in a delightful manner that even he could admit was quite dashing. But what really caught his attention was the way the excess mesh flowed down his shoulders, a scarf and a cape all mixed into one. He sparkled like some sort of model in the light, the fabric and mesh evidently having been woven from expensive spools of carefully cultivated Iaconian wyrm silk if he had to guess.

“You look like a true gem, Lord Prime.” ST3V3, the only Vehicon Optimus could feasibly recognize, gently adjusted the things he saw fit before nodding. Then, before Optimus could step down and foolishly think they were done, the Vehicons came forward with even more adornments. Jewelry he couldn’t even place was held up, items that most certainly had not come with the package. Next he knew, Optimus found shining crystal audial attachments carefully fitted on his helm, designed to not clink against his face when he turned. An elegant diadem of shining sapphire was placed on his helm, resting perfectly against his cap and below his helm crest. Strings of beaded coils woven with pearls and other precious gems were looped around his waist, resting against the silver like they were meant to be there.

Then, as if to tie the whole piece together, Starscream stepped back in with a container of paint, grinning like a madmech. Optimus had half the mind to stop him, but faltered in his will to do so as a brush ran along his frame and face. Swirling glyphs in the faintest hue of blue imaginable made strokes along his base armor and exposed protoform. When he looked in the mirror, he found faint but perfectly painted marks all along his body. With them, not even his facial scar looked out of place.

Two swooping lines coming down across his optics and down his cheeks caught his attention the most. They were familiar. They reminded him of…

Megatron.

“I think you are going to be the star of the evening, Optimus.” Starscream cackled and ordered something or other, but Optimus was paying him no mind. He couldn’t help but stop and stare at himself in the mirror. Was that… really him? There was no way he was so elegant. He looked almost like the nobles from before the war. Even the scars he once found so shameful now seemed to enhance his features. A pale slash mark along his back now joined the shining silver of the mesh along his chest, drawing attention to his warrior glass and the Matrix that shone behind it.

He hesitated to make any claims. But he couldn’t help but find himself-

“Beautiful.” He hardly realized he’d spoken aloud until the Vehicon muttered their agreement.

“Of course you are, our Lord Consort.”

“You shine like Cybertron’s brightest constellation.”

“A gift to our world.”

Optimus had no response to the words of his aids. He simply nodded as he was guided out, a white cloak placed on his shoulders and held in place by a shining brooch as he joined Starscream and began the trip out of his gaudy residence to the transport outside. The wind howled and whipped through the air viciously, so much so that Optimus could feel the chill settle into his protoform without his armor. But before he could so much as think about complaining, guards with tower shields came in and lined the way to his waiting transport, the door already held open by ST3V3.

It felt… wrong. And yet at the same time, Optimus was strangely flattered. No one ever considered his personal feelings on minor matters such as his comfort. To have mecha go out of their way for his sake was touching in the extreme.

“Come on, Prime.  Can’t keep the people waiting, can we?” Starscream’s voice had its usual mocking undertone, but Optimus smiled all the same as he accepted the arm offered to him. It seemed only polite as he found himself escorted into his transport. Starscream joined him quietly and without fanfare, a smirk on his face. Looking out the window as his transport rolled forward, Optimus watched the guards who’d kept him from the vicious wind saluting as he left.

He waved back with a faint smile, hoping that they understood how grateful he was.

The ride to the anniversary event was uneventful. Optimus had nothing to say and Starscream seemed content to quietly grin across from him. Surprisingly, Optimus wasn’t particularly anxious. With Starscream by his side, he felt secure. At least enough to not frag things up like he did at his and Megatron’s last date.

Rain pattered outside, momentarily drawing Optimus’s concern as he recalled just how exposed he was. The acid was bound to ruin his attire, if not damage his protoform at the very least. He really didn’t want more scars…

“Don’t cover your face, Optimus. It’s one of your greatest assets.” Starscream, in an act of boldness that would have normally sent Optimus scrambling for weaponry, reached out and touched his wrist. He hadn’t realized he’d been moving to activate his battlemask.

“My apologies. I am unused to having my face so exposed… will my scarring not be an issue? The Primes of old-” Optimus began to voice his worries, but Starscream rolled his optics and leaned back in his seat with a flippant motion of agitation.

“Enough about the Primes of old. You are a living Prime. One who has been through more slag than all of them since the Thirteen. I think having a few scars will endear you more than anything else.” Starscream’s statement struck Optimus like a whole magazine of ammunition. He leaned back in his chair, unable to really argue against the air commander’s retort. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about all of it, but he opted to let it be as they drove on.

Every now and then, he touched his scar nervously. But beyond that, he watched the city out the window, observing the rain pattering down with a strange sense of peace he never found in Iacon. Thanks to the cloak, he was not overly uncomfortable as they drove, and soon enough, the transport rolled to a stop, shaking Optimus from his absentminded viewing.

He reached for his cloak, worried about the rain. However, as Starscream stepped out with complete and total confidence in himself, Optimus’s tension faded a degree. The air commander held out an arm, and as he did so, Optimus found no falling rain. As he stepped out cautiously, he looked around and saw that great covers had been raised and were being held in place by various mecha, each bowing their helms as Optimus put his pedes down on perfectly smoothed stonework.

“This way, my Lord Prime.” Starscream grinned, guiding Optimus to loop their arms together. Before he could get a word in edgewise, a few Vehicons took up places behind him, following along and ensuring not a drop reached him. The rain poured hard and fear crept at the edge of his consciousness because of his exposed protoform. But as the walkway continued to remain dry, Optimus calmed.

He didn’t see any other guests following, but for all he knew, he could be late, early, or simply misunderstanding things. He was not given much information before being dolled up and hauled to the location of the anniversary party. He assumed everything was going according to plan because of Starscream’s ease, but that was a wild guess more than anything else. 

“Where are we, Starcream?” He found himself asking as he looked past the mecha holding up the covers. They seemed to be approaching a towering structure of simple but elegant nature, but it was impossible for him to tell due to the rain.

“This would be the Stronghold of Kaon. The first base of operations the Decepticons ever raised, and the first structure to be rebuilt upon our return to Cybertron.” Starscream gleefully informed, a hint of pride lacing his every glyph. Optimus hummed in understanding, stalling only for a moment to look up between the cover gaps to see the towering Decepticon insignia placed high on the building’s walls. However he swiftly continued on his way as the wind ruffled through his cloak, a chill settling into his core.

“Come, Lord Consort. Let us get you out of the rain.” One of the Vehicons gently urged him on. Optimus was quick to obey as he lengthened his stride, forcing Starscream to inadvertently begin speed walking just to keep pace.

“I’m sure Megatron will show off the Stronghold later.” Starscream grumbled as they finally got through the doors leading into the building. The air commander had to huff and regain his composure while Optimus looked around in confusion. This didn’t look like the main entrance. It was small, lacking the decorum he expected from a huge event with important attendees. Additionally, while it was clean, he noted poorly thrown aside supplies meant for housekeeping.

“Starscream, is there a reason we are taking a back entrance?” A hint of warborn suspicion prodded at the back of Optimus’s mind, his expression shifting into a slight frown as he started to remove his arm from Starscream’s grip.

“Of course! Don’t worry, Optimus! We just couldn’t have others getting distracted by your presence by the entrance and backing things up.” Starscream grabbed his arm tight, keeping Optimus from removing himself from the situation. The seeker’s smile was strained somewhat, but Optimus sensed no maliciousness. Was there something going on here? He couldn’t tell.

Whatever the case, Starscream’s logic did make sense. He was probably the first Autobot to attend such a prestigious Decepticon event. His arrival with the rest of the guests was probably bound to cause problems.

Alright, he could admit Starscream had a point. Probably.

“I see. Thank you for clarifying.” Optimus’s expression smoothed into something more neutral and he let his arm again be taken as Starscream guided him through the passages of the Stronghold. A few Vehicons followed quietly, but few words were exchanged, and most were in a dialect Optimus did not know. 

He made a mental note to look into it later.

“Alright, we’re coming up on the party. Just keep hold of my arm, Prime. I’ll make sure everything turns out perfectly.” Starscream, again grinning like he’d won some sort of prize, paused before a small set of doors Optimus thankfully could fit through. He’d momentarily been worried he might have to squeeze through the space like he usually did back in Iacon. But looking at his companions eased those concerns a great deal.

He was in Decepticon territory. Of course they had doors fit for warframes.

“I understand. Are there any customs I should be aware of-?” His question was cut off as the Vehicons removed his cloak without warning. Optimus made an undignified sound, instinctually trying to flare the armor he no longer had before the doors opened and his optics widened in awe.

The inside of the Stronghold, at least what he assumed to be the ballroom, was stunning. Iacon had a streamlined and yet overly intricate methodology to its designs. But Deception territory aimed for something almost brutalist and yet ancient all at once. The outside of most buildings were simple metal or stonework with only signature spikes to set the cities apart from Autobot territory. But the insides? They were meant to embody an older time.

An ancient age Optimus could see clear as the light of Luna-1 as he awed.

Towering pillars ran up to the roof, each carefully carved with images of great Decepticons warriors, some of which Optimus recognized. The roof was painted with a mural depicting the rise of the movement, starting from the leftmost section which showed Megatron’s origin and rise to power. The mural continued, showcasing various high ranking generals and their origins along with the suffering of the masses, the horrors of the war, until on the rightmost side, the peace treaty was shown. There was a small section just beyond that, a piece yet unpainted. But looking closely, Optimus saw sketches from the artist.

In those sketches, he saw Megatron holding the servo of a figure that was not fully defined, his old foe’s helm pressed against the figure’s in an intimate touch meant only for those with a great connection. He didn’t want to get his hopes up about anything, but a small part of Optimus clung to the idea that maybe he would end up being painted on the mural.

But of course, that was just wishful thinking.

The ballroom itself was an expansive space, the coloration of the entire room being primarily a light steel color, accented by traditional Decepticon purple and gold along with a few complimentary hues in the various crystal light fixtures along the walls. A great gold chandelier hung from the center of the room’s ceiling, casting a brilliant glow over the entire space and making the polished almost white floors shine. Flags hung from every clear wall, each a variation on the Decepticon insignia over the eons. Tables dotted the area, fuels Optimus had never even seen glittering like gems under the stars.

Mecha entered on the far left side by coming down a towering set of stairs. Each mech was announced by a series of servants, and every last one appeared powerful. But most notably, on the far right side of the room was a raised section of stonework, upon which a great set of thrones sat. Their designs were intricate, and strangely clashing all while remaining harmonious. Red and purple, blue and grey, all meshing into flowering shapes that were meant to likely symbolize chaos and order in equal measure. 

Optimus had a moment of contemplation when it came to them, but he shut down any wandering thoughts as soon as they presented themselves. He couldn’t assume anything. It was ridiculous to think Megatron might be considering him somehow. 

Why was he like this?

Optimus could only shake his helm and refocus on observation, hoping to distract himself as he noted the sea of mecha wandering around, almost every single one of them towering warframes who only found themselves a helm or two shorter than Optimus himself. Seeing them come from the stairs and mingle was a bit awe inspiring. Optimus was always the tallest mech in the room back in Iacon.  To see so many others who he would not have to arch to look at was… strangely relieving.

“Stay close, Optimus. Let me introduce you to Megatron’s, and eventually your most loyal followers.” Starscream kept up his worrying smile, his optics glinting in what could have been a thousand different emotions that Optimus had absolutely no hope of deciphering without access to the other mech’s field. Regardless, he soon had his attention drawn elsewhere as Starscream guided him forward, instantly earning a wave of awed gasps and murmurs from the gathered Decepticons.

It was a struggle to keep from reacting as he felt optics wandering over his form. But vorns serving as Prime helped him keep a stoic expression, although he doubted it was very welcoming. Normally his mask would allow him the benefit of vague social ambiguity, but with his face fully exposed, he was easy to read. His processor screamed at him as various battle hardened Decepticons, all dressed in layers upon layers of armor, muttered their praise.

He couldn’t help but wonder why they were so guarded as he walked. In Iacon it was customary for high ranking individuals at social events to shed armor to show their confidence in their allies and defenses. But here it seemed things were quite the opposite. Rather than boasting through a show of delicate protoform, the Decepticons appeared to operate on a more primal set of rules. 

It seemed they preferred shows of wealth and status over confidence. Most of the gathered Decepticons wore copious amounts of armor, backed with capes and weapons meant for war. They looked like some grand legion, albeit with completely out of sync colorations between them all. Yet, Optimus couldn’t find fault in their methods. To an Autobot, revealing more protoform spoke of power, an ability to bring death upon those who dared so much as cut their delicate living metal.

In Kaon the opposite seemed to be true. The armor was a statement and a challenge.

Then again, he was likely entirely wrong. It could very well be that these mechs were all simply showing their deference to Megatron by wearing more armor. It was an ancient custom in Iacon, but it would not surprise him if it still had use in Kaon.

“General Strika, at your service, Lord Consort.” Optimus was broken from his thoughts as Starscream brought him to a stop in front of a burly purple and orange bot. Her form was hulking, impressive to almost any warframe save for the largest and most heavily armed. She did not have a moving mouth, but that was to be expected from most highly specialized frame types. General Strika, a name he’d heard only a few times before, rang out for a moment in his mind before the Matrix supplied him with old memories.

“Go on. Make a good impression. This is your chance to earn their loyalty once you and Megatron are Conjunxed.” Starscream nudged him, although he kept their arms together. Optimus reset his optics, letting memory settle before he nodded, smiling as he did his best to disguise the faint twitching of his finials which might have given away his slight unease.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard much of your exploits, General Strika. Especially during the exodus. You guarded New Kaon, did you not?” Optimus performed a quick partial bow, a nod of the helm combined with a faint buckle of the knees as she spoke. Starscream did not copy him, but he didn’t say anything against the motion either, so Optimus took that as a win as he straightened again.

“That I did. I’m surprised you know of me.” Strika’s helm tilted, creating something that was not quite a smile based on her open field, but showed interest at the very least. She was garbed in a rather reserved manner compared to many at the event, including onlookers. Only a simple cape and brooch hung from her right shoulder, accented by an additional accessory shoulder plate covered in engravings. She wore audial attachments as well, but that was all. She was a simple femme, and Optimus could respect that.

Honestly, he would have liked to mimic her considering how many optics he had on him, especially his bared Matrix.

“It is impossible for me to not know of the brilliant minds on both sides of the war.” Wracking his mind for what he knew about Strika, Optimus produced a faint smile as he tried to frantically recall anything else he could As much as it pained him to try and emulate Senator Shockwave in his presentation, it was his only real salvation as he floundered for a way to preserve the conversation. 

He could see onlookers observing. He had to make a good impression. There was no room for failure. Otherwise everything might fall through like a lead bar in the ocean. 

“Pardon my asking, but was Commander Lugnut truly the mech who led the charge against my Helexian forces shortly after the forty fifth truce failure?” Strika went from largely neutral to intrigued in an instant as Optimus dug up the only real piece of information that had an emotional connection attached to it. The Matrix pulsed in what could have been pride as Strika proceeded to produce something akin to a grin based on her posture.

“He was, and he planned the whole assault himself. My consort is by far the greatest warrior aside from our Lord. I am beyond delighted he chose me all those vorns ago.” Strika touched her chassis fondly, likely thinking of the bond she shared with her Conjunx. Optimus politely kept his smile, praying desperately that he looked as serene as Shockwave did back before he lost himself. But considering Starscream kept looking out at the crowd and then at him in an almost malicious manner, Optimus had his doubts regarding the success of his effort.

“I’m afraid I do not know much of your Conjunx aside from the few records depicting his various attacks against Autobot forces to the south, but I can admit that the strategy of his assaults were well formulated.” Optimus performed a quick nod, a subtle assurance that he respected Strika’s relationship. It was customary, but based on how proud Strika seemed, Optimus imagined it might have meant more to her than he thought.

“I would have expected the Prime of all bots to be more malicious when it came to things that happened during the war. Yet, here you are, praising enemy soldiers.” Optimus froze for a moment, scrambling for an answer before he halted in his rapid train of thought. This was what he was good at. Diplomacy and conversation. Just because he was speaking to a Decepticon did not mean he had to lose his helm.

Calm. He reminded himself. Calm.

“We are no longer enemies, General. I desire peace between our peoples, and harboring old grudges would do nothing to facilitate the future diplomatic progression of our burgeoning alliance.” The words felt right as Optimus uttered them. Starscream’s grip on his arm increased ever so slightly, but it seemed to be in encouragement considering the lack of hostility. Soon these would be his people too. At least, if his unintentional Conjunxing went through.

At this point he was so invested he would be more than a little put off if things flatlined, and not just because there would likely be another war because of it. The Decepticons were quite personable when they weren’t trying to blast his helm off.

“A very fair assessment.” Strika nodded in what could have been a sagely manner if she were a smaller bot. In her bulky frame though, it came off as resolute. Optimus smiled in return, again bowing his helm in a show of respect before Starscream kicked him in the shin just hard enough for him to get the picture. He was not amongst Autobots, and from what he gathered, strength meant more here than pleasantries.

“If you are not opposed, I would be honored to speak with you at a further date to discuss the strategies you used during the thirty second failed truce. I have always been in awe of yours and Megatron’s other allies' work.” Again, Optimus straightened and tried to keep his expression press worthy. This was a time to make allies, not enemies. The formula was fairly simple. Flattery, information probing, and arranging further communication. Jazz tended to use it for less than polite means, but Optimus meant what he said.

He was unsure what exactly an interaction with General Strika would look like, but if nothing else it would be insightful. Hopefully.

“That is more than agreeable, Lord Prime.” Strika’s plating clamped down before flaring in places. Optimus wasn’t sure if it was meant as a threat or merely an instinctual thing. Megatron only flared his armor to look larger before they brawled. But Strika didn’t seem aggressive…

“I worried when Megatron declared his intention to accept your courting, Lord Consort. But having spoken to you, I no longer doubt Lord Megatron’s decision. You are not as the war depicted you.” There it was. Optimus felt his energon freeze in his fuel lines before it promptly eased again with Strika’s swift turn around. It appeared his stance with the Decepticons was dubious at best. He would have to change that going forward if this whole arrangement was to succeed.

“However, with that said, I would suggest not being so close to this-” Strika continued, lifting one massive servo in Starscream’s general direction. But before she could finish her statement, Starscream tugged on Optimus’s arm sharply, forcing him to quickly readjust in order to follow the eager seeker.

“Oh would you look at that! Our CMO, Doctor Flatline! You should greet him, Optimus!” Starscream grinned, but his wings were held high in anxiety that Optimus noted with a slight frown. Aside from the fact that he had not given a proper farewell to Strika, this was simply suspicious.

“Wait, Starscream-” Optimus’s tone was low, not quite threatening considering Starscream had been nothing but friendly thus far, but certainly demanding. Unfortunately for him, Starscream was quite dead set on his goal and before Optimus could get an another out of him or address the various compliments thrown his way, specifically in regards to his outfit, he found himself before yet another mech.

“Hail, Prime.” Flatline, as Starscream called him, was primarily dark gray and orange. His helm structure matched Optimus’s in many regards, but lacked the finials. Additionally, he had prominent headlights much like Prowl. Both were tell-tale signs that this mech likely hailed from Iacon, Praxis, or one of their sister cities. Barring that though, the shapely frame and lack of serious mutilation indicated that he clearly sat comfortably in the middle caste before the war. There was nothing wrong with any of that, it was simply noticeable and gave Optimus a faint reassurance that his actions were going to be read correctly.

“Greetings, Doctor. I was unaware the Decepticons had a Chief Medical Officer at this point in time.” Smiling with a bit more comfort than before, Optimus bowed his helm respectfully for a moment. The gesture was returned, much to Optimus’s relief. 

“Technically, we don’t. The Decepticon medical field does not rank medics as you Autobots do. Rather, we are given titles to match our skill and specialization.” Flatline’s explanation was simple, but matched the Decepticon ideology perfectly. He wasn’t entirely sure if he agreed with the concept, but Optimus could see the appeal.

“A unique methodology. “ He commented politely as his optics instinctually scanned the crowd. His every movement was being watched, his words likely recorded for later review. Every last Decepticon in the room was of notable rank. It felt like a battlefield in its own right, one Optimus was unfortunately not particularly well versed in after millennia of conflict. Maybe Orion Pax would have flourished in such a state, but not Optimus Prime. At least, not like this.

“It keeps things equal amongst the ranks.” Flatline remarked with a faint shrug as he fiddled with a drink he was holding. Unlike every other mech in the room, he bore only a single adornment. An unremarkable gold badge right below his Decepticon insignia, one with glyphs written in whatever the common Decepticon dialect was.

Again, Optimus made a note to figure out the local language. He was already running into far too many potential situations where his ignorance could be lethal.

“Is that not dangerous? If one cannot determine the rank of a medic, how can a mech be certain they are to receive the best care for their particular issue?” Curiosity urged him to continue speaking, despite the fact that Flatline didn’t seem particularly invested in their conversation. Still, the Doctor replied with all the patience of a mentor with their newbuild.

“An excellent question, Prime. To answer, it is simply far more difficult to be given the title of Doctor in our territory. Until a student proves themselves, they remain a nurse and under the direct supervision of an already named Doctor.” Flatline nursed his drink, his optics scanning Optimus for a moment before settling on Starscream for a worryingly long moment. He passed off his drink to a passing Vehicon, his expression unreadable.

“Fascinating. Then why is it that you are operating as CMO?” As he questioned, Starscream became noticeably more nervous. His wings twitched and his digits tapped rhythmically against Optimus’s arm. It was… concerning. Instinctually, Optimus observed their audience again, searching for a threat. Several Decepticons shrank under his gaze, but most met his optics firmly, some with respect, others with lingering bitterness. None with any outward aggression. What was making Starscream so unsettled? 

“It is a diplomatic position rather than a functional one, Prime. Normally, Doctor Knockout or Doctor Hook would take up the mantle, but both are otherwise occupied and I happen to be the most familiar with the customs of our sister faction.” Flatline’s explanation almost fell on deaf audials as Optimus drew Starscream closer out of concern. The crowd murmured at his gesture, muttering amongst themselves.

“So it is a temporary title?” Optimus continued his line of questioning, hoping to buy himself more time in case there was something he was simply unable to see. 

“In essence. But I do not mind carrying it for the duration of events such as these.” Flatline stepped closer, his armor flaring and resetting in a manner Optimus recognized. It was defensive, but not overly so. Meant to warn that there was a social cue happening that he was meant to pay attention to. Optimus scrambled to try and find it, but came up flat.

“I’ve heard much about the wonders of Decepticon medicine. Specifically the CR Chamber.” He tried to speak and look casual to not alert a potential threat that he was no longer at ease, but his words still came out strained.

“If it would not be too out of line for me to request an audience, I would greatly appreciate the chance to see how Decepticons tend to their wounded.” Bowing his helm politely as he had before, Optimus struggled to not fiddle or reach for a weapon he no longer had. Confidence. He had to have confidence.

“I do not mind showing you my workplace when time permits, however I do believe I should offer a warning, as is only polite.” Flatline came even closer, pausing only a few inches away from their armor coming into contact. Starscream was too preoccupied to really notice. Whatever was bothering him had Optimus more on edge than he cared to admit.

“I would advise you to be careful with who you allow near you, Prime. Our customs do not match those of the Autobots, and your every action speaks a far different tale than you likely believe it does.” Flatline gestured to Starscream, scrutiny in his gaze. As he did so, Optimus found his optics flickering to the air commander. Evidently, Starscream was not above getting into trouble just because the war was over. Just what had he done now?

“Enough, Flatline! You worry our Prime over nothing.” Starscream snarled with bitterness Optimus only ever witnessed on the battlefield. Then, as quick as it came, it vanished. Starscream huffed, tugging Optimus along as if he owned him.

“As you say, Commander.” Flatline’s reply came calmly, completely unbothered even. Optimus gave Starscream a look he hoped emphasized his distrust. The entire situation was off, ever since entering the building for that matter.

“Is something the matter, Starscream? Both General Strika and CMO Flatline seemed to be of the opinion that something I am doing is… unconventional.” He tried to keep his voice light and without accusation. He couldn’t be certain, but if Starscream was scheming again, they were going to have problems.

“Don’t worry about them, Optimus. All they are concerned about is your attire. It’s very Autobot of you.” Starscream waved his free servo as if the entire situation meant nothing. But Optimus was no fool. He certainly was not as educated as he’d like to be on matters of Decepticon culture, but even he could pick up that something was wrong about this situation.

“Is that an issue?” He pressed the issue, grabbing on just a bit tighter to the air commander’s arm. Starscream flinched, a fact Optimus momentarily lamented.

“Not at all. In fact, your presentation makes you all the more appealing to us.” A faint tremor could be heard in his voice, but Starscream was quick to grab Optimus just as tight and continue to tug him along. Optimus opted to remain silent and let the conversation die for the time being.

Instead, he busied himself greeting the gathered officers who seemed willing to speak to him. He returned compliments given with only faint embarrassment. He was unused to being praised for anything appearance based, but he found he enjoyed it once the initial shock wore off. His concerns lingered as mecha kept their optics on Starscream like he was the next Tarn in the making, but otherwise, there seemed to be no danger.

Perhaps he was overthinking it-

“Starscream!” Optimus threw out his left arm, the one not entangled with Starscream’s. Combat coding roared online, his in-built weaponry begging to be activated. But before he could make a decision he would regret, he watched as a bot he did not recognize marched over, rage plastered all over her features.

“Just what in the Unmaker’s name do you think you are doing!?” It took a moment to recognize her, but when Optimus did, he lowered his arm instantly. Slipstream, one of Starscream’s many clone units, be it by genetic override or disposition. She was a formidable fighter, but why was she here?

“Escorting our Prime, obviously.” Starscream checked his digits as if there was nothing to be concerned about. Optimus felt the urge to remove himself as Slipstream seethed, pointing at Starscream and gesturing to the crows at the same time.

“You idiot! Megatron has been looking for him for almost forty kliks and you are parading the Prime around like a trophy!”

Oh slag. 

This was bad. Enormously bad. Catastrophically bad. What in Primus’s name was this going to do diplomatically?

“Megatron is looking for me? I apologize. I was unaware-” Pulling his arm away hastily, Optimus raised his servos in a placating manner, his expression likely far more panicked than he would have otherwise liked. However, before he could get a word in edgewise, Slipstream raised a digit in a silencing gesture, her optics never leaving Starscream as the seeker attempted to shuffle away.

“If you don’t want your helm rolling, get the frag out of here while I alert Megatron to the Prime’s whereabouts.” Slipstream all but hissed, and Starscream took that as his cue. He chuckled nervously as Optimus laced his digits together in an anxious manner. This was bad. Whatever was going on couldn’t be good for his arrangement with Megatron. 

Slagging Starscream. He sincerely hoped this was a miscommunication. 

“This was fun, Optimus. But it looks like I’m needed elsewhere.” With a quick but polite bow, Starscream all but scrambled to leave. However, seeing his expression of panic, Optimus couldn’t help but wonder if he’d perhaps had a part to play in whatever was happening. Starscream had done his duty and guided Optimus through the social event. And yet evidently, there was something wrong with the situation. As much as he wanted to be upset at the potential ramifications, he could not find it in his spark to do so. For all he knew, this could be a status issue.

“Are you going to be punished for aiding me this evening? If that is the case, I will speak to Megatron myself. You’ve done nothing, to my knowledge, worthy of reprimand.” Gently touching Starscream’s shoulder, Optimus shifted his weight to lean down and meet the seeker’s gaze. Starscream blushed, his optics flashing a brilliant red before Slipstream snagged Optimus’s servo and pulled him back.

“Don’t do that! You have no idea how that looks to us!” Slipstream glared before her expression softened. Optimus was unable to stop himself from flinching, horror quickly settling on his face as he looked around, assessing the emotions of the crowd. There were awes and gasps. Most devastatingly, he could see mecha murmuring.

Starscream vanished into the crowd, a fact Optimus lamented despite the situation. It felt as if the entire world were closing in around him. He had no idea what he’d done wrong, but something deep in his core screamed at him that this was it. This was the end of everything he’d done so far and he was a fool for having thought that peace was an option. 

“What is going on? I’m afraid I am quite confused. I’ve meant no offence.” A thousand thoughts whirled in his mind as he desperately attempted to salvage the situation. He wasn’t sure how to go about it, but fear moved him along. Slipstream looked as though she wanted to offer some comfort as she took up a place at his side, but she shook her helm instead.

“I know. Slag, we all know that.” Her tone was almost sad, perhaps pitying. It made Optimus feel all the smaller. If his spark could have gotten up and flown away, it probably would have.

“What have I done wrong?” Optimus tried not to sound like he was whining, but he was desperate and it showed in his nervous shifting. He felt so very exposed now. All prior confidence was gone with the wind and he couldn’t help but raise a servo to cover his scar. He didn’t want to be seen.

“Nothing. You are the Prime and can do as you wish. It is Starscream who is to blame for the rumors that are bound to come from this.” Slipstream’s words eased Optimus a degree, but it did nothing to stop the million plans and memories the Matrix provided from assaulting his processor. Escape plans, battle strategies. Everything.

Not once had the Matrix activated during his stay in Kaon, not until General Strika and the blasted event in general. Another negative to add to the counter.

“Lord Prime, it seems you are without an escort.” From amidst the crowd who maintained a respective distance away, a mech strode forward. Purple and gray, Optimus recognized him instantly. He was Megatron’s most avid aggressor aside from Starscream himself. The fact that he was grinning as he came to stand before him was concerning to say the least. It reeked of political intrigue.

“Galvatron! Don’t you dare!” Motormaster, another mech Optimus thankfully knew, bolted out with his weapons raised. Galvatron adjusted his caplet and the chains adoring his frame with a smirk, not even giving the Commander a hint of attention. Optimus was unsure if he was meant to be aggressive or not, but considering both Slipstream and Motormaster seemed enraged, he wasn’t so dense as to think this was a casual offer of comradery. 

“The choice is yours, Prime. But it would be an honor to escort you this evening.” Galvatron held out a servo, bowing just enough to meet the standards of high society, but not nearly enough to match the decorum generally required to greet a Prime. Not that Optimus was normally nitpicky about such things, but the entire situation rubbed him the wrong way. Slipstream thankfully put herself between him and Galvatron, but it was disgustingly awkward.

“Absolutely not! The Prime is already promised to-!” Slipstream reached for a weapon holstered on her hip. Motormaster followed her lead. But both were silenced and booming pedesteps echoed in the hall and the gathered Decepticons fell silent.

“Enough.” A firm and familiar servo came to rest on Optimus’s waist, and soon enough he found himself pressed up against his Conjunx-to-be. A faint blush formed on his features before Optimus had any hope of stopping it, not that he intended to. Megatron’s presence was beyond comforting and made the sinking feeling in his tanks vanish like smoke. The world was no longer crashing down, the situation no longer seemed quite so dire.

Everything was alright now.

“Forgive me for not noticing your arrival earlier, Optimus. I had expected you to arrive through the main gate, not through the servant passages.” Megatron’s tone was tender, filled with affection despite the usual gruffness it held. While their height difference was by no means extreme, Megatron leaned down just enough for their optics to meet anyway. And by Primus, it made Optimus’s spark flutter before he reminded himself that this whole arrangement was purely political. It had to be.

“Please don’t apologize. I should have known to come find you as soon as I got here. The blame is mine.” Optimus bowed his helm respectfully, but Megatron halted the motion halfway with a digit under his chin, keeping their gazes locked. Their audience didn’t matter, the whole event seemed irrelevant. Somehow, being so close to Megatron felt right. It felt safe. 

“Nonsense. This is my Stronghold and you are my betrothed. It is my duty to care for you, regardless of the situation.” Megatron gave him a serene smile, one Optimus could tell was filled with more than a little relief based on the bursts of emotion he was getting through stifled EM field flares. Then, after Megatron looked him up and down to assess him, taking a longer than needed to look at Optimus’s chassis as well, he turned to glare at Galvatron.

“Galvatron. It would do you well to know your place.” The turnaround was so sharp it almost gave Optimus whiplash. Watching Megatron go from adoring to downright wrathful in less than a klik was beyond startling, and yet strangely, it did something to Optimus’s processor that had him pressing up closer, comforted in the protection Megatron’s rage now offered.

There had to be something wrong with him.

“I was merely attempting to bring him to you, Megatron.” Galvatron sneered, something between a snarl and a smirk. Optimus normally wasn’t one to judge too harshly, but every fiber of his being recoiled at the sight. He was fairly certain he was making an expression of disgust, one that he couldn’t be bothered to hide. He felt no need to when he knew he was well guarded.

“No you weren’t. Don’t toy with me.” Megatron, protective as ever, pulled Optimus even closer, if that were possible. The raging flame of his spark burned every brighter at the proximity and it took all of Optimus’s strength to keep himself in check with continual reminders that this. Was. for. diplomacy.

“If you or anyone else ever tries to touch him again, I will personally see to it that not even a pact with Unicron can restore the perpetrator.” Sweet Primus, that did something to Optimus’s processing he couldn’t even fathom.

“As you command, Lord Megatron.” Slipstream, Motormaster, and Galvatron spoke mostly in sync, each backing off with a few glares shared between them. The gathered Decepticons performed quick half bows, showing their deference. Optimus’s attention however was entirely on the way Megatron’s digits rubbed small circled onto his sides, fiddling with the cloth of his attire as if entranced as he turned them both, guiding Optimus through the crowd.

“You look stunning, Optimus.” Megatron’s compliment nearly had Optimus’s steps faltering. When did he turn into a nervous newbuild? It had to be the outfit and lack of armor doing this to him. He would never react this way otherwise.

“Thank you.” Optimus mumbled his thanks, instinctually trying to cover his facial scar for a moment as he felt Megatron’s gaze upon him. It was strangely intoxicating. Why did he enjoy being viewed by his former foe so much?

“I worried this outfit would be too much, but Starscream reassured me that you would find it appealing… I am glad he was right.” Optimus briefly bit his lower derma, trying to fight the energon that flooded his processor as he struggled to deal with his emotional state. Instinctually, he fiddled with the edges of his sash ties, a small sinful part of the echoes of Orion Pax providing him with a few intimate situations where it would be feasible to have Megatron undo them.

Those thoughts only grew more prominent as Megatron’s servo wandered up from his waist to instead cup the edge of his chassis, just barely keeping away from his warrior glass. Scarred digits toyed with the thin cloth there, feeling the delicate strands and running along his bared plating in far too intimate a manner to be a mere accident.

If he could have exploded on the spot, Optimus likely would have.

“For once, I am prone to agree with Starscream’s assessment. Not even the constellations can match your grandeur.” Oh by the Forge of Solus Prime, Optimus was not surviving this event.

“Warrior glass… it suits you. Although I would prefer if such a sight were reserved for me alone.” Megatron, as if he couldn’t get even more seductive, ran his digits along the very edges of Optimus’s warrior glass, teasingly perhaps. There was not an ounce of fear to be found in his system, merely a newfound and increasingly loud voice screaming for Megatron to keep going. Optimus made attempts to snuff those disgraceful thoughts with a nervous chuckle as Megatron led him, but it was an uphill battle.

“The dances will begin soon. Rest a while with me. You’ve been on your pedes for Primus knows how long already.” Megatron’s voice was so soothing. Whatever terror had been present during their first date seemed to have vanished to purchase energon with no signs of returning anytime soon. Even with the knowledge that he’d embarrassed the both of them with his whole purging incident, Optimus still found his spark bursting with emotion he had to actively try and snuff to keep from reacting too openly.

“I have spent far longer in combat before. I believe a little socializing won’t be the end of me.” Those digits on his warrior glass… Primus, they were distracting. Maybe he did need to rest with how unsteady he felt on his pedes.

“Perhaps. But I would prefer to keep you for myself after such a bold display from my subordinates.” Optimus’s mind, seemingly unable to keep up with the compliments, went blissfully blank as they walked. He was distantly aware that he was probably blushing as the crowd parted for them, but the murmurs going on around him simply were not registering. In fact, next to nothing mattered except the comforting arm wrapped around him until Megatron guided him to the set of stairs on the rightmost side of the hall.

They weren’t too terribly steep, but as Optimus looked at his outfit, he sensed a struggle. The sash was snug and kept him from properly lifting his legs without getting them all caught up in the delicate spools of cloth which draped down them. Not to mention the mesh scarf situation that draped down his back. What if he stepped on it by accident? He’d humiliate them both.

“Would you allow me to carry you?” The offer snapped Optimus from his frantic musings. It took him a moment to register it. Not a spark had been able to lift him since he still worked at the docks, and even then only Jazz made the attempt. Well, Dion had as well, but he’d come away with aching back struts that lasted for deca-cycles. Now Megatron was offering to lift him? Up the stairs? Was he planning on throwing Optimus over his shoulder like a bag of bolts? That seemed to be the only reasonable way to go about it.

“There is no need. I simply require a moment to adjust all of this…” Deciding against the potential press coverage that could come from him being in such revealing clothing and being manhandled like scrap metal, Optimus shook his helm. But as he looked up at Megatron and saw his expression fall ever so slightly, he reconsidered.

It couldn’t be… that bad, right? I mean if Megatron was quick about it…

“However, if you insist, it would be much appreciated.” Adjusting his statement, Optimus nodded and gave a slight smile he hoped conveyed trust, not nervousness. Megatron took it in stride, his field flaring in momentary glee that left Optimus stunned. Then, in a careful series of motions that could have had any romance novel buff squealing, Megatron ever so gently lifted Optimus up, an arm under his legs and another supporting his shoulders.

There was a grand series of gasps and awed sounds from the crowd. Optimus was inclined to join them in their surprise as Megatron methodically carried them both up the stairs. His spark flared so much it almost hurt. The whole thing was so impossible to handle that Optimus was unable to keep his battlemask from sliding into place, if only to give him some measure of security and familiarity. 

“Don’t be ashamed, Optimus. Let them watch and know that you are cared for.” Megatron’s steps slowed as he looked down, shifting Optimus’s weight so that he could lean close, his words meant to only be shared between them.

“Please, don’t hide from me.” The sheer amount of pleading in Megatron’s tone hit something vital in Optimus’s very core. His derma parted, various protests gathering and ready to be uttered. But as Megatron gazed into his optics, the battlemask slid away without complaint, again revealing the blush that now seemed as permanent a fixture as his horrific scarring.

“How you find my face appealing is beyond my understanding. But I am not one to refuse my host.” Trying to look away to preserve even a shred of his remaining dignity, Optimus did his best to lock his optics onto anything else. Unfortunately, that just meant he got a fantastic view of Megatron’s chassis, at least until he felt Megatron’s helm touch his own, freezing him in place.

“One cycle I shall help you to see your own beauty. Then you shall see what I see.” Optimus could have sworn he stopped venting as he felt so many emotions wash over him he could hardly sift through them. Adoration, determination, understanding, lingering anger, and so much more. Then, just as quickly as it came, it passed and Megatron continued taking them up. Optimus was too stunned to complain.

It felt like it broke rules, but for the moment, he had no concerns he could properly formulate… at least until he was gingerly let down and presented before the thrones he’d briefly looked over earlier.

“This… you cannot mean…” Optimus sputtered, looking around as if to see if there was some kitchen chair he could use instead just to avoid the situation. Logically he knew that would look far worse, but he couldn’t help it.

“Optimus, we are to be Conjunxed. It is only natural that I make you a place at my side.” Megatron took his servo, gently pulling him along. Optimus kept his pedes firmly in place, briefly glancing over his shoulder at the ever watchful crowd. This was almost the same as screaming from the rooftops that they were to be Conjunxed.

“I do not even have a throne in Iacon. I couldn’t possibly-” Optimus tried to take a step back, moreso out of shock than genuine distaste. It was so sudden-

“This is not Iacon, and the fact that your people have not given you the proper respect you deserve is beyond outrageous and will be addressed at a later date.” There was a hint of disgust in Megatron’s tone that momentarily had Optimus raising an optical ridge. However, the sheer tenderness with which Megatron again tugged on his servo had him calming. It seemed so genuine…

“For now, please, join me and show our people what they are to expect in the future.” Megatron gave him a slight, almost pleading smile, and it was there Optimus’s will broke. This was diplomatic. He had to be calm. Even if Megatron was being nice, this was still required of him. Although the kindness certainly helped.

He waited until Megatron took a seat on the rightmost throne before Optimus followed his lead, settling on the one beside it. Both were relatively simple structures, but now looking closer, Optimus noted that Megatron had obviously put some thought into them. Megatron’s throne was hard and sharp, meant for viciousness and yet covered with glyphs that Optimus could not read but was certain held meaning. 

Optimus’s, on the other servo, was more elegant in design, covered in geometric patterns and designs rather than words. There was a slight curve he noted when sitting back that supported his ever aching struts. Additionally, he noted a faint softness as he settled. Feeling the material beneath him, there was a thin but comfortable layer of cushioning that blended right in with the throne itself.

Awe bled into his field as it flared without his consent. He shut it down quickly but soon found Megatron smiling at him adoringly.

“Be at ease. You are to be my Conjunx, and so long as that is so, what is mine is yours.” Those red optics that once held so much hate now gazed upon Optimus with so much emotion he hesitated to call it all an act. Could one really fake so many emotions? This… had to not be true.

It had to be false.

“When you come to Iacon, I shall extend the same courtesy.” Returning the gesture as much as he could, Optimus busied himself with watching the crowd. Neither he nor Megatron said anything as the kliks ticked by. The gathered Decepticons eventually got bored of watching him and soon scattered throughout the hall, chattering and enjoying the fuel. It must have been at least a half joor before songs started to be played by a collection of musicians down on the ground below. Only then did a Vehicon come up with a tray of high grade, bowing politely before Optimus and his Conjunx-to-be.

“My Lords, would you care for some high grade?” Optimus’s mind was instantly flooded with memories of his and Megatron’s earlier date. Anxiety pooled in his tanks, anticipation for the pain to come making him frown. His venting halted as he considered. It was going to hurt, most likely a lot more than the first time due to his still recovering systems. But he couldn’t make a scene…

“That would be delightful. The high grade I ordered is on the table to the far right, section 34-A. Please collect that and bring it here.” Megatron, with a swiftness Optimus could have never expected, grasped his servo and laced their digits together before nodding to the Vehicon. There was no time to refute him, but Optimus felt no need to as sheer relief flooded his very fuel lines.

“As you command.” The Vehicon bowed before calmly going to retrieve the drinks. Optimus gawked, but Megatron said nothing. He simply squeezed Optimus’s servo and nursed his drink when it came. Optimus fiddled with his for a while, contemplating just how much effort Megatron likely had to go through to get energon he could actually consume. How did he know? Probably through whichever Doctor tended to him the first time. But why go so far? It seemed so very…

Loving.

As the event wore on, Optimus found himself smiling into his drink. There was no tremor in his movements, nor did he find himself flinching whenever Megatron smiled at him or squeezed his servo again. This felt right. Proper even. Sure, it was for diplomacy and their upcoming union, but it was nice to simply bask in it all for a while.

“I must give a speech, but I shall return to you shortly.” Eventually, Megatron stood. Optimus momentarily considered following but quickly assumed this was Megatron’s way of politely telling him to not muck the whole thing up. He could take a social cue when he knew what to look for, and so nodded understandingly. His seating arrangement was more than comfortable anyway.

“I trust you shall.” Optimus settled back, perfectly content to not be the center of attention as Megatron made his way over to the edge of the platform housing their little throne arrangement. It was as he did so that Optimus finally managed to appreciate just how lovely Megatron looked since he couldn’t understand a word of the speech being given.

His former rival opted to keep most of his base colors in place, primarily adorning himself in engraved silver accenting armor pieces that each depicted various arts of war. One on his right shoulder stood out taller than the rest. But instead of making him look lopsided, it added to the essence of his attire due to the red cape that hung from it, looping around to be held in place by a brooch on his left shoulder. Swirling lines of paint matching Optimus’s own ran all over Megatron’s frame, accenting the few pieces of armor he’d chosen to wear.

His outfit was simple, yet it showed so much power Optimus could find no fault in it. The whole thing was perfect. So very Megatron.

“Would you grant me the pleasure of having this dance?” Optimus reset his optics once before he registered Megatron’s speech had ended and the former scourge of Cybertron held out a servo to him, a smile on his face. 

For once, Optimus did not hesitate.

“I would have no other.” Taking another mech’s servo had never felt so right. Not even the whispers of the crows as Megatron led him down to a cleared area on the floor below bothered him. Perhaps he’d grown apathetic.

Once they’d taken their place, other couples filed onto the dance floor and music began to play. It was a relatively calm song, and soon every couple fell into a simple square dance. There was no real flourish, but each seemed content. Megatron waited patiently for a moment before easing them into the same dance.

Megatron seemed perfectly happy to have a servo on Optimus’s waist as they performed their quiet and repetitive motions. But as the music grew slightly more energetic, the echoes of Orion offered an idea. It had been millions of years since he’d engaged in it. Quite frankly, if he were in all his armor acting as he planned would be an exercise in futility. But with his newfound flexibility?

It was workable.

Optimus grinned, and then in a swift motion, activated ancient transformation protocols. Less than a nano-klik later, his tires moved down from the sides of his legs ever so slightly until they lifted his pedes from the ground, letting him roll instead of walk. Megatron’s optics widened in confusion and a bit of shock as Optimus broke away, pushing off and creating a wide circle which he lazily rolled around his dance partner.

“Dance with me.” Optimus called out as he held his arms behind his back, focusing all his effort on gently skirting over the smooth tile of the dance floor. Other couples made room as Optimus eased into the motions. It’d been a long time, but he knew this dance from the docks like the back of his servo. Jazz had been sure to bash it into his helm until he got it down so as to not humiliate them both during street raves back during that ancient age.

Megatron watched him for a long moment, unable to respond as Optimus performed the opening series of spins on one pedes before easing back into his lazy roll. He was unsure if his rival knew this dance, but Optimus waited nonetheless, eager to see if there was any recognition. 

On and on he went. He heard a few murmurs, several of the older bots in the crowd murmuring names that Optimus recognized as being notable dancers from his youth. But Megatron stayed still.

Until he suddenly moved.

Having had two alt-modes without the wheels needed for this dance made things difficult, but somehow, Megatron still managed to sway in tight circles, following Optimus as he rolled. The motion lit a fire in Optimus’s spark, a bright smile spreading on his face as he took that as his cue to continue. 

It was bold of him to act out as he was, but Optimus found himself falling into the motions easily. His skating grew more ambitious, including a few jumps, various twists that had him contorting and rolling low enough to almost perform the splits before snapping back up, spinning in fast spurts with his arms clasped against his back at all times. Balance was everything, and this dance was a show of mobile grace, one which Megatron mimicked as well as he could.

As Optimus sped up and increased the complexity of his dance, Megatron tried to follow. Each spin Optimus performed was accompanied by Megatron shifting, turning with the viciousness of a warrior in the ring aiming to spear an opponent. Optimus’s shows of flexibility were mirrored in Megatron’s lightning fast combat maneuvers, made elegant only through the purposeful sway of hips and fluid shifting of pedes. Optimus’s leaps through the air and extra flourishes were met with leg sweeps and masterful mid air twists of Megatron’s own. 

It was not right by the standards of the dance. They were meant to weave together, faster and faster, skidding on their wheels until one of them burned out. Yet, this was somehow so much better. Optimus used his grace to create a ring, and within it, Megatron showcased everything Optimus adored about him. Strength, power, skill, all of it. They were a harmonious unit.

It was intoxicating.

Optimus made his circle tighter, skidding closer and closer with every loop and he spun with such fierceness that his attire was surely creating a loose whirlwind around him, probably tearing in places too. He abandoned leaping in favor of contorting, bending and twisting, using his legs to show his gifts as he grew ever nearer. Megatron matched the shift in pace, and so did the music. The song grew more energetic and Megatron threw himself into more contained motions, short twists and more contained sweeps. His optics blazed, but it was not with the wrath of the battlefield. Rather, the thrill of a friend… or perhaps something more.

Closer and closer he came, almost touching the ground with some of the tight motions he tried to perform and barely managed. Still, Optimus smiled brighter than he had in vorns, his glee evident as he twirled close enough to almost brush Megatron’s shoulders. His Conjunx-to-be grinned like a newbuild as he slowed his pace, turning in place with a simple sway of his hips until he finally had the chance to reach out, and draw Optimus into his arms.

It was not jarring in the slightest, instead a natural transition.

“You are quite the dancer.” Optimus praised, his words very nearly emerging as a coo. Megatron preened with pride, as evidenced by his field as Optimus remained rolling, letting Megatron guide him.

“As are you, Optimus.” Megatron leaned closer, his optics glinting with emotion Optimus could not place. As he did so, the crowd cheered them on. The dance floor had been left entirely to them, and Optimus would have it no other way.

“You would look great on wheels.” Optimus chuckled before revving his engine, a challenge in his tone. Megatron’s frame rumbled in response, digits tightening around his waist.

“And you, my dear, would be quite dashing with wings.” Without warning, Megatron gathered him up, and threw Optimus into the air. There was a moment of fear, but it faded as instinct took over and Optimus twisted midair, landing on his wheels and rolling out to release the force of the landing. Thrill shot through his frame even as the hems of his attire tore.

In an instant he rolled right back up to Megatron’s side, taking his turn to spin his partner around and guiding him into a series of twirls. It took some time, but they soon found their rhythm. Megatron lifted him, sometimes giving him air to flip or twist in. And on the ground, Optimus kept their dance fast and intimate. They brushed, they touched, and as the music reached its peak, Optimus’s optics flew upward as he heard a snap.

“Assassin!” Someone screamed and suddenly the chandelier above was falling directly toward where Optimus and his partner were dancing. 

There was no time for communication. No room to debate. Without thinking, Optimus poured all of his strength into his engine, forcing himself to go faster. He spun, throwing his entire body weight into the motion as he grabbed his partner’s servos and, with all the power he had, threw Megatron as far as he could.

Megatron’s optics widened, his mouth opening in a silent scream. Optimus paid it no mind as he ensured his Conjunx was out of harm’s way. Only once Megatron skidded across the floor did Optimus throw himself in the opposite direction just in time for the sound of shattering glass and breaking metal to deafen him.

His vision was filled with white and grey as dust shot up around him. He curled up, guarding his all but exposed spark chamber and rolled. He felt glass cut him up a bit as he lay on the ground somewhere on the dance floor, surrounded by shards. His hearing was totally shot as he checked his systems, thankfully finding no real damage. Some cuts, some dents, and a few fried circuits from his last minute rescue effort, but nothing substantial. 

He heard muffled noises around him, probably screaming if he had to guess. He sat up slowly, noting his ruined outfit with a sigh. But as he looked around, worry settled back into his core. Did anyone else get hurt? Where was the assassin? Was Megatron alright?

“-GET A SLAGGIN MEDIC! FLATLINE! KNOCKOUT! ANYONE-!” A faint voice broke through his still recovering audio reception systems. Optimus coughed weakly, getting to his pedes somewhat shakily as a figure just outside the mess of dust. Instinctually, Optimus moved to follow.

What greeted him was a beyond frantic Megatron screeching at everyone and anyone. Various Decepticons were hastily digging through the wreckage and the rest had their weapons out. A broken window indicated that at least a few flight frames had taken off after the assassin. But before Optimus could observe much else, someone pointed him out.

“Lord Prime!” The moment he was noticed, Megatron was flying at him. The next thing Optimus knew, he was wrapped up in a tight hug, his face held against Megatron’s shoulder protectively. Waves upon waves of terror, relief, anger, love, and anguish rolled over him, so much so Optimus almost felt ill. 

However, before he could react or even return the hug, Megatron pulled back and breathlessly looked him over. His optics were wild, frantic even. Why was he so very upset? They were enemies less than a vorn ago-

“Optimus, don’t you ever scare me like that again. I cannot bear to lose you. Not now.” Shaky digits caressed his cheek, running over a cut Optimus had no clue was there. He had no words, no comfort to offer. His frame was still tense with the thrill of the dance and subsequent quick reaction scenario. 

“I don’t think I could-” Megatron cut himself off, his venting hitching. Then, as Optimus moved to try and say something, he found warm derma insistently pressed against his own and a servo against the back of his neck, keeping them locked together.

The entire world faded away as Optimus’s optics widened, and promptly closed in sheer bliss.

Megatron’s derma were firm, but comfortable as they moved against his own. Heat seemed to be shared between their frames as Megatron towered over him, his free arm moving to support Optimus’s back. Optimus made a soft noise that he could find no words to properly describe as he found himself kissing back. 

His arms wound around Megatron’s shoulders, his frame starting to tremble as shock from the attack wore off and instead found itself replaced by sheer emotion. Nothing else mattered except for them, the way their frames seemed to meld and their dermas worked as if in a dance of their own. It was deep, intimate, and Optimus gasped as Megatron’s glossa prodded, running along his lower derma questioningly. He would have obliged if not for the very firm cough that echoed less than a foot away, snapping Optimus’s optics wide open again.

Soundwave stood right in front of them, his visor giving nothing away but his crossed arms saying everything. 

“Soundwave-!” Optimus pulled away first, blushing furiously as he looked around and noted more than a few Decepticons obviously recording. His battlemask fell into place instantly, his arms crossing over his now cracked warrior glass defensively. Megatron took the chance to again draw Optimus to his side, his arm now tighter around his waist than before.

“Find that would be assassin and take care of the glitch. This is high treason against two nations!” Megatron’s order came harsh and without remorse. Optimus was too busy replaying the last ten nano-kliks in his mind to care.

He touched his battlemask faintly as the world continued on around him. He knew there was work to be done, but he couldn’t help but wonder…

Would he get to kiss Megatron again?

Chapter Text

“Soundwave, is everything prepared?” Moving swiftly, Megatron’s optics scoured the area, checking every wall and panel for potential problems. He did not actually anticipate anything going wrong in the halls of all places, but one could never be too safe. Especially not when Optimus was going to be in attendance. 

“Affirmative.” Soundwave replied with a curt nod and his usual static response. Megatron merely hummed, his thoughts abuzz with the never ending series of potential issues that plagued his processor.

“Do we have proper fuel this time?” That was, quite frankly, one of his greatest concerns after the scare that was his and Optimus’s last date. He refused to repeat that incident, especially in front of the entirety of Decepticon high command. His future Conjunx did not deserve such pain or humiliation.

“Affirmative.” Again, Soundwave confirmed that all was as it should be. The relief that flooded Megatron’s frame likely showed in his eased shoulders, but he kept marching, constantly thinking up potential issues to address.

“Exits and entrances?” Looking at the nearest window, Megatron glared at it as if it had personally attacked him. There were so many things that could go wrong.

“Secured.” Soundwave touched his arm, drawing Megatron out of his doomed internal spiraling. He allowed his field to flare in appreciation before he continued to walk, heading toward the hall where, if all went according to plan, the event would flow smoothly.

“Has my warning been issued?” Internally, he went down the list of attendees. Most were trustworthy, but after several million years of war, there were a few suspicious characters.

“Affirmative. Attendees: Aware that Prime will be present. Reminded to treat with respect.” Megatron nodded, but internally he prayed to every higher power that his Decepticons knew enough about Autobot custom to not say something that Optimus might take as a threat. Decepticon compliments were, at least compared to Autobot tradition, often seen as overly poetic or ominous.

“Excellent. Do we have word from Starscream?” As much as he distrusted Starscream, he knew the mech would never pass up the chance for power. So long as Optimus had something to offer, Starscream would probably take a bullet for him. That alone made him reliable enough, at least for the time being.

“Starscream: Reports that Prime will be leaving shortly.” Soundwave touched his arm again, almost instantly soothing the series of devastating predictions that screamed at Megatron to go get Optimus himself before promptly wrapping the Prime in Decepticon armor.

“Very good.” Pausing by a window to compose himself, Megatron rubbed his face. Did he have everything? He was dressed appropriately, not overly armored and largely culturally neutral leaning. Would that keep Optimus from being nervous? Slag, did Optimus even get nervous at these events? He was always brutally stoic, so much so that it was nearly impossible to tell.

“Megatron: Uneasy.” Soundwave tapped his shoulder, again prompting Megatron to refocus, albeit with less composure than he would have liked.

“Of course I am. My future Conjunx is coming to the biggest Decepticon event outside of The Cycle of Mourning after our last meeting, a small and controlled one mind you, failed spectacularly!” His tone came across as panicked, and honestly, he found himself more nervous than he previously anticipated being. His and Optimus’s courting had gone from zero to one hundred in less than a few deca-cycles and he was unsure how to handle it despite putting things together himself.

“Megatron: Desires controlled meetings. Assessment: Poor planning on Megatron’s part.” Soundwave, the fragger.

“I am aware, Soundwave. But if I had not invited Optimus to the Decepticon anniversary it would have looked beyond horrific in the press! We are to be bound within less than a vorn!” Megatron could already picture it. If Optimus failed to turn up, he was going to look terrible for abandoning his mate-to-be and Optimus would appear to be a careless fool, only furthering the divide between their peoples. Quite literally everything and anything could go wrong.

“Suggestion: Megatron should cease complaints.” Ever snarky in his quiet way, Soundwave shrugged. Megatron took the chance to glare in his general direction before rubbing his face again. He was careful to avoid the painted marker under his optics. It wouldn’t do to smudge them and look as though he’d been weeping by the time Optimus arrived.

“Soundwave, for as much as I care about you, I am again reminded just how much of an aft you can be when you feel like it.” A faint series of static recordings met his words, Soundwave’s version of laughter.

“Soundwave: Gives logical assessments. Soundwave: Has no use for pointless commentary.” The spymaster sauntered forward, his visor glinting in a manner Megatron could have sworn indicated a smirk despite nothing being present.

“With all the love in my spark, frag you, Soundwave.” With a reluctant smile, Megatron threw Soundwave a rude gesture and joined him, matching their steps.

“Affections: Returned.” Somehow, the interaction eased Megatron’s ever burdened spark. Where would he be without Soundwave?

“I will be waiting by the main entrance to greet the attendees until Optimus arrives. Alert me as soon as his presence is confirmed.” Running through his plans again, Megatron adjusted his cape. He had already done so a thousand times before, but checking never hurt anyone.

“Affirmative. Megatron: Has other orders?” Knowing Megatron like the back of his servo, Soundwave held a servo up to his audial, waiting to receive a transmission or send an order out. Once, Megatron found Soundwave’s ability to read him like an online datapad to be a little unnerving. But after so many millennia at war, he’d come to appreciate it.

“Keep the press in line. There are exactly five permitted photographers and journalists for this event and I want each of them accounted for. If one goes missing, find them. We cannot risk a public scandal.” The names of the media representatives that he’d sanctioned for the event fluttered through his consciousness before being swiftly ignored. They were irrelevant. Tonight was about presenting Optimus and making it clear that the Prime was his. 

“Confirmed. Possibility of slow communication: High.” That caught Megatron’s attention. He halted in his steps, thinking for a moment before continuing on. Issues were to be expected considering Soundwave was bound to have to chase at least one of the journalists out.

“If it means keeping Optimus from looking terrible in front of our citizens, that is an acceptable loss.” Nodding to himself, Megatron mentally readied himself for the inevitable. His dear future Conjunx was still learning. It would take him time to adapt to Decepticon culture. As he did so, Megatron would have to be vigilant and keep those who would exploit him as far away as possible.

Once he reached the doors into the hall, Megatron bid Soundwave goodbye and adjusted his cape a final time. After taking a calming vent, he entered and began running an assessment of the situation.

The hall was clean, the pillars were shining and polished. The flags hung at equal length, save for the half burned one representing the banner of the Decepticon’s original attempt at making a statement. Fuel lined the walls on perfectly placed and colored tables, every variety available for his more fine tuned warriors. Nothing seemed out of place except for the half completed mural above.

Gazing at it, Megatron found a smile gracing his features. Soon. Soon he would be able to have Optimus painted up there alongside his image. Then every generation to come would know of their long and turbulent love.

His focus was only broken when he saw a Vehicon placing high grade on all the tables bordering the thrones. That was a risk just asking to become a major problem if Optimus found himself running low and wanting a little top up. He would either starve out of fear for his tanks or end up sick all over again. Both options were unacceptable.

“That high grade will not do. Bring out the special fuel I ordered for this event and put it on 34-A, closest to the thrones. And for Primus’s sake do not let any of the commanders consume it all.” The Vehicon startled, nearly dropping the bottle they were holding. But soon enough they jumped into a frantic salute.

“As you command!” Just like that, the Vehicon scurried away and Megatron nodded in satisfaction. Another potential threat eliminated. He was going to have to remain vigilant. 

“My Lord, we have completed the thrones. Would you care to inspect them?” Another Vehicon called out, waving from the platform where the newly constructed thrones were sat. Megatron brightened considerably at the prospect of viewing the gift he’d prepared for his soon-to-be-Conjunx.

“Of course.” He bounded up the stairs a little more energetically than he would have liked, but it didn’t stop him from instantly rushing to awe and inspect in equal measure.

His throne had not been changed much from its original design, merely being shifted over and remodeled to merge delightfully with the sprawling construct that was Optimus’s. Megatron had gone through great pains to ensure his betrothed’s throne was perfect. Ratchet made it clear that Optimus had back problems due to constantly having to put excess strain on his frame. Although personally, Megatron blamed the fragging civilian grade berths they were forcing his Prime to recharge on.

With that in mind, Optimus’s throne was golden and matched Iaconian standard with its geometrical and elegant design. But beyond that, the seating was adjusted with the Prime’s comfort in mind. Touching the seating revealed a thin layer of cushioning and a slight curve of the back meant to support Optimus’s spinal struts perfectly. 

Yes, all was as it should be. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Optimus’s face when he settled beside him, an equal in front of all of Decepticon high command.

Content, Megatron meandered toward the entrance his guests would be using and proceeded to wait, greeting the arriving mecha politely but with no small amount of familiarity. Once there were around a dozen early arrivals wandering the hall and taste testing the fuel before it was technically socially acceptable to do so, Megatron made himself scarce, hiding in the shadow of a servant passageway to observe. Only when the hall filled out more did he emerge again, putting on his usual leader persona.

It was time to get serious.

“Lord Megatron.” Shadow Striker was one of the first to approach Megatron, rather than it being the other way around. She bowed partially, her sleek form a stark contrast to the amalgamation of pieces he’d known her to be composed of for the past few millennia. At last, she was restored to her purple plating and slim, battle ready frame.

“Shadow Striker. I am relieved to see you have found proper replacement parts.” Reaching out to shake her servo, Megatron could not help but smile at the strength in her grip. She was always one of his finest, although rarely directly under his command as of late.

“I am just as relieved to have them. My combat proficiency has improved by over seventy three percent.” Shadow Striker rarely smiled, a quirk of her personality. She did not deviate from her general tendencies even now. But there was a slight flare of her field that told Megatron she was indeed pleased with her current situation.

“Impressive.” Looking her up and down, Megatron nodded in appreciation as he released her servo. She had chosen to adorn herself only with a sash, allowing her restored frame to shine without being impeded. The lethality of her craft emanated from her once more, a fact Megatron filed away for later use.

“I may call upon you later. Please keep your communicator online for the foreseeable future.” Already brewing up potential uses for Shadow Striker, Megatron stepped back.

“As you command.” With a bow, Shadow Striker continued on her way. As she walked, Megatron contemplated how to put her to use later. Optimus could always use a shadow to watch over him while in Kaon.

Sighing softly, he returned his attention to the matter before him and greeted more of his guests. He kept a constant watch over the entrance, but he was not too nervous just yet. Starscream would likely make Optimus arrive barely on time for the sake of being dramatic. This was fine, no matter what his paranoid mind said.

“Megatron.” A familiar voice shook Megatron from the monotony. Turning to face the newcomer, his optics cycled down in slight surprise. To think one of his fiercest had changed so much… 

“Deadlock. I did not anticipate your presence considering your recent choice of company.” Deadlock, far slimmer and brighter than Megatron remembered, merely shrugged. A part of Megatron wanted to be annoyed. His soldier had been living in Autobot territory and associating with their former foes since long before the war’s temporary ceasefire. At the time, Megatron had shrugged it off for the most part. Soundwave was just as guilty of indulging from time to time, and he couldn’t exactly go throwing Deadlock in the brig for the same offence without losing Soundwave as well.

“I am capable of living in Autobot territory and still maintaining my allegiance.” Deadlock crossed his arms, his newly smoothed features making the situation feel more akin to a sparkling glowering than anything else. Deadlock wasn’t any shorter, but the lack of bulk was making it impossible for Megatron to view him as the same vicious killer he was used to.

“Did you receive a reformat?” He already knew the answer, but why did Deadlock have to go get a reformat that made him so curved? He looked like an Autobot produced a sparkling with a flight framed Decepticon before dunking the poor thing in white and red paint.

“A partial one, yes.” Deadlock, clearly unimpressed with the question, made a face that was familiar. It was slightly relieving in all honesty.

“You’ve lost much of your…” Gesturing vaguely in Deadlock’s direction, Megatron tried to be as polite as possible. He wouldn’t say he was in any way friends with his warrior, but he had no reason to be too forward.

“Mass? Yes, I had a lot of it removed.” Now that caught Megatron’s attention. He was sure it showed on his face, but he couldn’t help but wonder… normally those who went for a reformat simply had mass reallocated, not totally removed. He almost wanted to flick Deadlock to see if he’d fall over.

“Your paint is also notably brighter.”

“Anyone with optics can see that, Megatron.” Clearly fed up with the questions, Deadlock adjusted his attire. It was disgustingly Autobot in design, so much so that Megatron knew exactly who’d dressed him up.

“Such disrespect. I recall you being more devoted to Decepticon standards when we last spoke.” Pointing out the almost dress-like garment adoring Deadlock’s frame, Megatron couldn’t help but smile wryly. It was a pretty thing, sure. The swooping sash over his shoulder swept back around Deadlock’s waist and tied in place with a well placed brooch. The accenting paint was also a nice touch. But he lacked the armor additions Decepticon tradition demanded.

“With the war stuck in an indefinite ceasefire, I’ve had time to do some spark searching.” Deadlock’s expression softened a degree, his optics flicking to his outfit as if he were fondly remembering something, which he likely was. Megatron, now very familiar with yearning, hummed in partial understanding.

“With every vorn you sound more like an Autobot.” Chuckling, Megatron placed a servo on Deadlock’s shoulder in a show of trust. It should have been something gratefully accepted considering Decepticon culture was not nearly as touchy as that of the Autobots, but Deadlock brushed him off with a frown.

“Is that truly a bad thing? Aren’t you to be Conjunxing the Autobot Prime of all mecha?” The statement came out pointed, clearly aggressive. All attempts at being amicable went up in smoke as it registered. For a moment, Megatron felt old wartime mania start to bubble up inside him. The desire to have Deadlock punished for his tone was strong, but Megatron silenced it with a reminder that tonight his future Conjunx needed him at his best.

“Optimus is unlike his brainwashed comrades.” Well, that might be a bit of a stretch. Optimus was the embodiment of the Autobots and their beliefs, but unlike the rest, he knew how to consider new ideas and actually implement anything that didn’t go against his moral code. As convoluted as it could be, Optimus still had free will.

“I’m not so sure about that. From what I gather, he’s just as overworked as the rest of them.” Megatron scowled at the accusation. Deadlock, unfortunately, wasn’t wrong. His dear Prime was practically a dead mech walking when he arrived. Only now was he finally starting to rise to the luster Megatron knew he had hidden beneath all the grime. It was frankly unsat.

“You are aware of the Autobots' internal situation?” He knew Deadlock was involved with a particular Autobot, but he’d never taken that mech to be chatty about the internal issues of the Autobot government.

“My friend never ceases to complain about it and, up until a visit with a certain someone, shut me down every time I suggest he speak to his Commander about it.” Never mind, that added up. Ratchet was a force of nature once he was backed far enough into a corner to snap or otherwise somehow wrangled into being comfortable enough to talk. Yet for all his information and issues with society, the medic kept many of his concerns to himself, be it out of misplaced loyalty or out of a desire to not create more chaos than there already was.

“A friend indeed…” Looking over Deadlock again, Megatron did have to wonder just how his warrior managed to bag the CMO of all bots. It didn’t appear to be a recent development, but their personalities were wildly different. Perhaps Ratchet was softer underneath all the bitter refusal to keel over and die. Either that or Deadlock had a hidden kink Megatron had exactly no interest in knowing.

“Got a problem with it?” Not in the slightest. If anything, the development could one cycle prove useful for later alliance forging.

“No. Not when our peoples are to be united. However, I would appreciate it if you filed your union properly. It will make getting you and this ‘friend’ dual citizenship a far easier affair.” Deadlock stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted finials on par with Optimus’s. They shared a moment of silence. Then, Deadlock murmured a faint response.

“You’ve changed.” Megatron’s processing stalled for a moment, his spark flaring in a strange set of emotions he could not directly parse at first. However, after a moment, he considered.

Would he really have been so willing to accept interfactional bonds being made public if he had not accepted Optimus’s proposal? Was he going soft?

And if he was… did it have to be a bad thing?

“I’ve simply met my other half.” Unconsciously touching his chassis, Megatron watched Deadlock wander off. His spark spun anxiously, eagerly awaiting the one who it was to bond to. It was hard to not fidget when his entire being thrummed with nerves he’d not dealt with since the great Exodus. 

He tried not to think too hard on it, easing the desperation to see his betrothed by focusing on his guests. More and more of his lieutenants and generals entered, most bringing a cohort of assistants, high ranking warriors, or in the cases of a few, their Conjunxes. It soothed some of his anxiety to see so many familiar faces, but his nerves only became more oppressive as he looked up to the stairs periodically and failed to see the red and blue he desired more than anything else.

“Soundwave, have you confirmed Optimus’s arrival?” The hall was filled with chatter as his guests murmured amongst themselves. It gave Megatron the cover he needed to frantically try and call Soundwave for information. But upon getting nothing, he cursed internally and assessed the situation one more time before making the decision to step out.

As he fled through a servant passage, he heard his Decepticons aweing over something or other, but he paid it no mind. For all he knew, it could have been Thundercracker arriving with yet another scandalous novel to proudly advertise. It was none of his concern.

“Soundwave.” He called out a little harsher than he would have liked the moment Megatron stepped outside and approached his spymaster. The rain was brutal, so much so that Megatron could not help but worry for his betrothed. Optimus was a warframe, yes. But could he handle such weather? Logically, he knew the Prime was one of the toughest Cybertronians out there, but it didn’t stop the fear that built in his core. If the acid got on Optimus’s stunning face…

“What is the situation?” Taking his place beside Soundwave, he watched guards gather up the pathway lights leading to the entrance. That meant all guests were confirmed to be present. But if that was the case, where in Primus’s name was Optimus?

“Communication lines: Down. Severe interference.” Slag it all.

“Do we know why?” The additional armor that hung off his right shoulder felt like lead as he waited. This was bad. It had to be. 

“Possible source: Ongoing storm. Potential for foul play: 34%. Soundwave: Will monitor situation.” That wasn’t good. By the stars, how had things fallen apart so quickly? Where was Optimus? Was he hurt? Were the guards merely packing up due to the rain and not because everyone was accounted for?

“Good. I will do a quick patrol of the nearby area to ensure everything is secure.” Trying his very best to disguise the tremor in his voice, Megatron touched his chassis in a weak attempt to calm his spark. It felt like he was about to collapse in on himself. He’d only felt so fearful during his first few vorns in the mines.

“Megatron: Worried for Optimus Prime?” If Megatron’s shaky ex-vent didn’t answer the question, he didn’t know what would. But still, he replied.

“Very much so, Soundwave. I… can’t lose him now.” How could merely not knowing the location of his former rival cause his very core to lurch in such agony? Sweet Solus, Optimus had done something to his processing.

He needed to find him. If Optimus wasn’t present, something had to have gone wrong.

“Suggestion: Be quick.” Soundwave, with far more compassion than Megatron would have expected given his near frantic state of mind since Optimus’s arrival, turned to face him with a faint nod. It was a small thing, but Megatron knew the significance. Soundwave understood.

He wasted no time in pulling off his attire and passing it to a nearby Vehicon with an order to return it after his patrol. Once it was safely off, he transformed and took to the skies to search the nearby area for potential accidents or traffic. The rain pelted his armor, sizzling in places where his protective outer layer was weaker. But he kept flying, unable to stop until he received a ping from Soundwave alerting him to Optimus’s presence.

He nearly tripped in his haste once he was back on the ground. Normally one to take his time preparing for big events, all Megatron had the patience to do was wipe down and polish before throwing on his accessories and rushing off.

Finally, his betrothed was here.

“The choice is yours, Prime. But it would be an honor to escort you this evening.” If Megatron had less restraint, he would have blasted Galvatron to pieces the moment the crowd parted for him and he witnessed the slagger offering his Conjunx a servo. Poor Optimus looked beyond confused, and rightfully disgusted. It gave Megatron enough reason to take a more aggressive approach. 

As much as he would have liked to greet Optimus properly, he had a statement to make.

“Absolutely not! The Prime is already promised to-!” Slipstream, ever loyal, put herself between Optimus and the bag of bolts who dared to try and worm his way into the Prime’s life. Megatron saw a chance and took it, moving swiftly and firmly wrapping an arm around Optimus’s waist.

“Enough.” Cold and firm, he made his declaration. Internally, Megatron preened at the way Optimus visibly relaxed at his side, allowing the intimate touch to linger. He’d never held Optimus this way, but he’d like to do so far more often if it made the Prime blush as he was at present.

“Forgive me for not noticing your arrival earlier, Optimus. I had expected you to arrive through the main gate, not through the servant passages.” Lowering himself just enough for their optics to meet, Megatron softened his tone considerably as he caught Optimus’s gaze. His Prime’s expression was priceless, a mix of awe and adoration that left Megatron screaming in glee internally. Even after their disastrous first date, Optimus was clearly interested.

“Please don’t apologize. I should have known to come find you as soon as I got here. The blame is mine.” Optimus’s field flared briefly, a faint brush that conveyed just how confused, ashamed, flustered, and anxious he was. But hidden beneath that veil was safety. Security in Megatron’s grasp.

He was perfect.

“Nonsense. This is my Stronghold and you are my betrothed. It is my duty to care for you, regardless of the situation.” Lifting Optimus’s chin with a digit, Megatron reveled in the boldness Optimus was accepting from him. He was unable to stop himself from smiling as everything else became less important. He was still very much aware and delighting in the way Galvatron squirmed in agitation. But beyond that, beyond all the possessive glee, Megatron felt nothing short of spark saving relief.

His Prime was with him now. No one could steal him away, not while Megatron yet vented.

“Galvatron. It would do you well to know your place.” Once sure that Optimus was secure, Megatron turned his attention back to the mech who’d attempted to snatch his future Conjunx from him. The ice in his tone was undeniable, and while he did try to suppress it for Optimus’s sake, he was sure his field radiated bursts of anger.

“I was merely attempting to bring him to you, Megatron.” The sneer on Galvatron’s face only made Megatron’s warlord tendencies flare up with newfound fury. He briefly considered ignoring Galvatron and taking Optimus with him, but a momentary look at his betrothed showed that the Prime was just as disgusted. That was enough to tell Megatron he was allowed to act out just a bit.

“No you weren’t. Don’t toy with me.” Feeling Optimus press up closer against his side did something to Megatron’s spark. He couldn’t help but tighten his grip, keeping the Prime firmly against himself as if it would merge them into one being. The bursts of mixed awe and adoration from Optimus were plenty of motivation to keep setting things straight.

“If you or anyone else ever tries to touch him again, I will personally see to it that not even a pact with Unicron can restore the perpetrator.” Baring his fangs, Megatron snarled with as much venom as he could muster. Optimus shuddered slightly at his side, very nearly sending Megatron into a frenzy that he barely contained. Stars above, his future mate was perfect.

“As you command, Lord Megatron.” Finally backing off, Galvatron and the rest bowed and retreated into the crowd. Megatron huffed before turning away, guiding Optimus along with him. At last, all was as it was meant to be. He had to wonder what held Optimus up for so long, but he was sure Starscream had something to do with it.

He’d get a report eventually. But as Optimus was unhurt and the situation rectified, Megatron was sated for the time being, especially with his lovely betrothed so comfortably pressed against his side.

“You look stunning, Optimus.” Finally taking the chance to behold the mech he was to Conjunx, Megatron could not help but awe. All he’d ever known of Optimus was the powerful warframe beating him half to death on the battlefield every other cycle. Only recently had he seen the softer, more vulnerable aspects of the Prime. But this? This was something else.

A sash hung on his waist, hugging delightful curves that Megatron wanted to one cycle get the chance to feel properly. The ties on his sides all but demanded to be undone, begging Megatron to take his betrothed early, even though that was against the customs of both their cultures. The cloth draped from Optimus’s arms only accentuated his delightful hourglass figure, emphasizing his powerful arms and drawing attention to the sway of his hips as jewelry hung there, glittering as if the Prime had been forged to wear them.

Megatron almost found himself reeling at the gorgeous silver thighs displayed to him through the gaps in Optimus’s garb. He’d seen those thighs many times before, but somehow, being wrapped up in cloth made his spark spin all the faster, demanding he unwrap the gift before him. The flowing veil like cloth that draped down Optimus’s back made Megatron have to physically fight the urge to fondle them. He saw the way it tied around his betrothed’s neck, a tempting thing to use in berth-

No. No, he had to keep himself composed.

“Thank you.” Optimus, seemingly not seeing just how enraptured Megatron was, lifted a servo to cover the scar across his face, but halted halfway.

“I worried this outfit would be too much, but Starscream reassured me that you would find it appealing… I am glad he was right.” The Prime worried on his lower derma, clearly flustered. His EM field was held tight, as was Iaconian custom. Still, Megatron felt more than a little pride bubble up in his spark as he watched Optimus fiddle with the ties of his scandalous outfit. He knew he was likely imagining things, but the eager parts of his processor screamed at him that his betrothed wanted him.

“For once, I am prone to agree with Starscream’s assessment. Not even the constellations can match your grandeur.” Indeed, whatever Starscream had done to make Optimus late could easily be forgiven in light of the beauty of his Prime. Primus could frown upon him all he wanted, but Megatron’s gaze drifted to Optimus’s chassis anyway. Thin strips of cloth accented the opening where the Matrix shone, proud and possessive.

Distantly, Megatron had a feeling he would have to fight the relic at some point or another. But if he worked hard enough, he was beyond certain he could win Optimus’s spark from the cursed thing.

“Warrior glass… it suits you. Although I would prefer if such a sight were reserved for me alone.” Possessiveness curled hotly in Megatron’s combat protocols. Such a sight was a feast for his optics, and he could not help but raise his servo from Optimus’s waist to touch the barest edges of his chassis.

Such glory… he wanted it for himself. Yes, he would ensure Optimus’s spark remained his and his alone. The rest of him? Well, he was not opposed to letting the masses awe if his betrothed desired to let them witness his glory. That was the right he had as Primus’s chosen, and Megatron would not stop him if he wished to show off. Although, knowing Optimus, he was likely to be content to remain conservative. Not that Megatron minded.

“The dances will begin soon. Rest a while with me. You’ve been on your pedes for Primus knows how long already.” Secretly, he just wanted to get his Prime away from the dirty gazes of his underlings. But there was also genuine concern lacing his glyphs as he watched Optimus’s steps grow a little shorter, more of a shuffle really. He must have been quite overwhelmed.

Internally, Megatron beat himself for failing to get to Optimus before anyone else. If he had been there, he could have eased Optimus into Decepticon high society. As it was, he was playing damage control. At least he had his chance to prove the Prime was his.

“I have spent far longer in combat before. I believe a little socializing won’t be the end of me.” Optimus made an adorable face, his optics looking up to Megatron and then down at the ground as if he wanted it to swallow him up. A faint blue dusting covered his facial plates, and only then did Megatron see the paint under his optics.

Stars above, those were his gladiatorial marks. Optimus had already marked himself as belonging to Megatron. 

“Perhaps. But I would prefer to keep you for myself after such a bold display from my subordinates.” With a bit more pep in his step than before, Megatron led the way toward the stairway leading up to where their thrones sat. The crowd parted without complaint, and Megatron could not help but smile as they reached the foot of the stairs and Optimus paused, glancing at his outfit and the stairs cautiously.

An opportunity to show he could provide. A chance to prove to Optimus that his many vorns of devotion were not in vain.

“Would you allow me to carry you?” Optimus’s helm snapped up, his optics wide in shock. He was so easy to read without his battle mask. Truly, Megatron was blessed to have such unfettered access to his emotions.

“There is no need. I simply require a moment to adjust all of this…” After a moment of hesitation, Optimus mumbled his response. Megatron could feel disappointment settle in his spark, but he had to remember, this was new. They were only courting and had barely met outside of official settings. Of course Optimus was refusing such intimacy-

“However, if you insist, it would be much appreciated.” It was Megatron’s turn to be surprised, but it did not last long as his field flared in glee. At last, he would get to feel Optimus even closer than before.

Careful and slow, he scooped Optimus into his arms, supporting his legs and his back with an arm each. The Prime blushed harder, curling up against Megatron’s chassis in such a manner that he found himself cheering internally. His betrothed wasn’t shying away. He was leaning in.

He made his way up the stairs merrily, only slowing when he heard the distinct sound of a battlemask clicking into place. That prompted him to stall. He would never wish his other half to feel any sort of discomfort in his presence.

“Don’t be ashamed, Optimus. Let them watch and know that you are cared for.” He murmured quietly, doing his best to make it clear that Optimus could escape if he wanted to. Clearly, his betrothed had not received this kind of treatment before, a shame really. He deserved it.

“Please, don’t hide from me.” Optimus’s optics widened a fraction, the blissful blue of them glowing even brighter in a manner Megatron had only witnessed when the Prime was filled with emotion. His betrothed’s field brushed up against his own, flattered and even more adoring than before. Then, at last, the Primus forsaken mask slid away and he could again see the stunning features of his Conjunx to be.

“How you find my face appealing is beyond my understanding. But I am not one to refuse my host.” Optimus tried to look away, shame coiling in his field like poison. Megatron’s entire being lurched with a desire to beat that expression off Optimus’s face somehow. And the method he chose followed the route of tenderness.

“One cycle I shall help you to see your own beauty. Then you shall see what I see.” Pressing the crests of their helms together in a bold attempt at showcasing his feelings on the matter, Megatron allowed his field to mingle with Optimus’s. He was blessed to watch the emotions wash over the Prime’s features, his processor clearly running through a thousand predictions and calculations.

Megatron smiled, but soon pulled back. It would not do to make too much of a scene. He simply basked in the flickers of shock and awe that he picked up from his betrothed before he placed him down on the ground, letting him see the throne constructed for his use.

“This… you cannot mean…” Optimus floundered, blushing and frantically looking around for some means of escape. Megatron could almost see the desire for a lesser seat blazing in Optimus’s mind, but he simply could not allow it. After all the suffering he endured, Optimus deserved the best.

“Optimus, we are to be Conjunxed. It is only natural that I make you a place at my side.” Gently tugging on his servo, Megatron guided him closer. The Prime, however, dug his pedes in, looking over his shoulder in fear. That prompted Megatron to frown. His Prime was such a humble mech, too humble, really.

“I do not even have a throne in Iacon. I couldn’t possibly-” What a bunch of slag. Yet another thing to fix once they were one.

“This is not Iacon, and the fact that your people have not given you the proper respect you deserve is beyond outrageous and will be addressed at a later date.” He was unable to hide the disgust in his tone, but Megatron tried to cover it as he pulled Optimus’s servo again, gentle, but firm at the same time.

“For now, please, join me and show our people what they are to expect in the future.” He smiled, hoping that it might ease his Prime’s spark. Thankfully, it seemed to do the trick. Optimus, ever the cautious creature, waited until Megatron was seated to follow suit, but Megatron could not find it in himself to complain.

He was actually using the throne. That was a win in his book, especially as he watched Optimus settle. He wriggled in his seat, a slight motion that showed his comfort. The cushioning had been the right choice, as evidenced by the flare of emotion that his future Conjunx expressed before shutting it down suddenly.

“Be at ease. You are to be my Conjunx, and so long as that is so, what is mine is yours.” Oh how he loved watching Optimus. Maybe Deadlock was right. This mech had clearly rewritten something deep in his code to make something so simple so very appealing.

“When you come to Iacon, I shall extend the same courtesy.” Optimus, with that shy smile Megatron was quickly coming to adore, quickly looked away to watch the Decepticons below. Megatron allowed it, knowing his betrothed needed a moment to unwind. It was peaceful, watching things unfold in relative silence so far up above the masses.

“My Lords, would you care for some high grade?” Megatron perked up at the offer, his optics cycling in on the high grade being offered. He saw a flicker of fear on Optimus’s face and quickly stepped in, grasping Optimus’s servo in what he hoped was a comforting gesture as he nodded to the Vehicon.

“That would be delightful. The high grade I ordered is on the table to the far right, section 34-A. Please collect that and bring it here.” Gesturing to the table, Megatron laced his and Optimus’s digits together. He sensed the relief emanating from Optimus and took it to be a positive sign. It seemed even the fumble that was their last date could be used to improve things between them.

“As you command.” With that, the Vehicon hurried off. Once their drinks were delivered, Megatron squeezed Optimus’s servo periodically, adoring the connection between them and the trust he was being offered. But beyond that, he loved watching Optimus nurse his drink and even smile into it. He wasn’t as slick as he probably thought he was.

Cute.

“I must give a speech, but I shall return to you shortly.” Eventually, his cue came. Reluctantly, Megatron pulled away, standing to approach the end of the dias so that he might address his people. He expected something, but not what came next.

“I trust you shall.” Such trust… it almost had Megatron fighting to keep back tears. This is what he’d been missing throughout their foolish war. This love. This adoration.

What a fool he’d been.

With a smile, he settled into position, raising his voice above the crowd and gathering their immediate attention.

“Brothers and sisters, today we are gathered to commemorate yet another millennia wherein our cause, our ideals, and our conviction, have remained stalwart.” A hundred sets of optics gazed up at him, a familiar motion, and yet different all at once due to the gaze of the Prime he felt boring into his back.

“A thousand vorns we have spent in similar celebration, marking great cycles of victory against our foes and the corruption we have always sought to destroy.” Kaoni flowed from his derma freely, and while he lamented the fact that Optimus could not understand him, he kept talking. Once there was time, he would share his culture in all its glory. He wanted Optimus to feel loved and welcomed, and that began with the little things.

“We have lost countless good mecha in our noble struggle. A great many of these commemorations of ours have been spent in deep grief and sorrow. Yet, those of you who stand before me have rarely, if ever wavered.” A new beginning. That’s what this was. A chance to make everything right.

“For all we have suffered, at last, we have finally begun to gain all that we sought.” Raising his arms, Megatron looked to each of the flags on the walls. Eons of change and countless lives lost. Now, it would all have meaning.

“We are a powerful nation, growing stronger every vorn. We have cities which proudly bear our banner. We have enterprise and a growing cultural sway.” The Stronghold was a testament to the glory of his growing empire. And soon, everything would change. Primus, he couldn’t wait.

“Yet, we have lacked unity.” He almost looked back at Optimus, but that would have been too obvious. 

“That is, until now.” The meaning behind his words was left unsaid, but there were some shifts among the crowd, understanding clear in their knowing optics.

“Our sacrifices have not been in vain, my loyal Decepticons. Today, after a seemingly endless wave of uncertain peace, I am able to proudly announce that the Prime stands on our side.” It was only then that Megatron briefly looked over his shoulder, not enough to turn his whole frame, but enough to make his gaze evident to his audience. Optimus had a smile on his face, his optics fixed on Megatron’s frame. He was blissfully unaware, and so very beautiful despite it.

“At last, peace is within our grasp. And I have every last one of you to thank for it.” Returning his focus to his Decepticons, he conveyed as much honesty as he could. Truly, if not for his people, his and Optimus’s paths would have never crossed. And despite all the energon shed, they would have never begun to court.

“It will not be easy integrating with our sister nation, but with Cybertron’s Prime once again for all the people, we shall soon embody the words of the warriors of old.” There were a few impassive faces amidst the crowd, but above all, Megatron saw their hope. At last, there was a future for them that was not dampened by war.

“Soon we will be united as one nation, one people, and one budding empire!” Raising a fist to the sky, his Decepticons cheered.

“Soon, the Decepticons shall rise once more!” Another approving roar. It felt like his rise in the pits all over again.

“This time, we rise not in spilt energon, but in the strength of our voices and our ambition!” Even the previously uncaring amidst his audience showed passion. Unity spread through their ranks, his Decepticons showing energy he had not seen in vorns. Just how long had it been since they had real hope?

“With this I proclaim to you, that from this cycle onward, Optimus Prime shall be as much of a Lord of this nation as I am. He shall be treated as such, and in doing this, we shall at last heal our broken world!” A final cheer rose from the crowd, a hundred fields flaring in an amalgamation of emotion that left Megatron near speechless.

“ALL HAIL MEGATRON! GLORY TO THE DECEPTICONS!” Pride, indescribable pride grew in Megatron’s spark. This was how things were meant to be. Just him, his Decepticons, and his Conjunx by his side. Maybe one vorn, they would have little ones to share this glory with.

But that was for the future. For now, he had to finish wooing his dear Prime.

“Would you grant me the pleasure of having this dance?” Music began to play as Megatron held out a servo to his betrothed. Optimus, to his surprise, did not so much as hesitate before taking his servo firmly.

“I would have no other.” The glyphs set a flame alight in Megatron’s frame, a burning desire to love and to protect. This, all of this, was as close to the Allspark as Megatron could imagine.

Guiding Optimus to the dance floor, he swiftly led them both into a simple waltz. He was perfectly content to have a servo on Optimus’s waist, easing them into the music. He had no idea how Autobots danced, but to him, this was excellent. Just a simple dance between the two of them, intimate and personal.

At least, those were his thoughts until Optimus pulled away, a grin playing on his features as he rolled on his tires of all things. He created a wide circle, skating lazily. Megatron reeled in confusion, wondering what in Primus’s name was going on. What strange custom was this? He had absolutely no clue until his betrothed tucked his arms behind his back and called out.

“Dance with me.” Megatron stopped, watching as Optimus rolled around him in a circle, performing elegant spins that left his garments fluttering and his legs exposed. But aside from that, Megatron searched for patterns.

A spin, a skate, then a series of stretches and shows of flexibility. Others murmured, muttering names Megatron did not know. But he remained focused, watching until at last, he had an idea of what he was to do.

He had no wheels, and this was clearly an Autobot custom, an old one too based on the commentary around him. But this? This he could do.

Swaying to the music and matching the tempo Optimus set, Megatron repeated a few battle formations and motions. He flowed with the music, letting his motions grow loose and yet tight all at once. He was sure he looked a fool, but the bright smile on Optimus’s face had him continuing, striking at imaginary foes, sweeping their legs and twisting to parry a strike. It was clearly not the dance Optimus wanted, but as he followed, he could not help but awe.

Optimus leapt, dropping into splits before shooting up into a spin that left Megatron almost wishing he was a smaller frame simply to perform similarly.

Tighter and tighter Optimus’s circle grew. He became bolder, twisting and turning like a fairy from myth. He was truly god touched, and even in the midst of his brute force attempts at mimicry, Megatron’s optics rarely left his partner and the glory he left in his wake. 

The Prime rolled closer and closer, their shoulder nearly touching. His smile was beaming, a delightful show of affection Megatron was unable to ignore as he drew his partner into his arms, a fluid shift in their dance.

“You are quite the dancer.” Optimus praised him, and by the stars it felt like god given energon straight to his fuel lines.

“As are you, Optimus.” The crowd cheered, the dance floor for them and them alone. Even though he’d thought things couldn't get better many times that night, he could not help but think that this was as it was meant to be.

“You would look great on wheels.” Optimus chuckled, his engines revving in excitement. It was intoxicating.

“And you, my dear, would be quite dashing with wings.” Sensing an opportunity, Megatron used his strength to throw Optimus into the air. It was bold, but he found it worth it as Optimus twisted mid air, his gown fluttering around him like a blooming flower before he hit the ground and rolled right back into their dance.

Again and again they moved together. Sometimes Megatron would give Optimus some air, and when not engaged, Optimus kept their dance quick paced and personal, always brushing up against him, but never too close so as to break their symphony.

Unicron could kiss his aft. This mech was all he needed-

“Assassin!” There was a scream, and before Megatron could act, he looked up to see the chandelier falling. His first instinct was to shove Optimus out of the way, but instead, he found servos clasping his own.

All he saw was sheer determination etched on Optimus’s features before the Prime threw him with all his might, sending Megatron tumbling out of the blast radius just before the crash occurred. He lay on the ground for a moment, shocked and terrified. But in an instant, he was on his pedes, screaming.

Dust filled the air, screams echoed. But all Megatron cared about was Optimus.

“FRAG IT ALL! GET A SLAGGIN MEDIC! FLATLINE! KNOCKOUT! ANYONE-!” Throwing himself into the wreckage, Megatron scanned frantically. Optimus couldn’t be gone, not from something like this. The fear that clutched his spark like a savage spark eater did little to help him search. He could hardly see. The world was spinning-

“Lord Prime!” The moment the call rang out, Megatron’s primed combat protocols picked up on the indicated area. He flew forward, straining his legs with the sheer effort of pushing himself to move so swiftly. As soon as he saw Optimus standing on shaky pedes, he pulled him into a hug.

“Optimus, don’t you ever scare me like that again. I cannot bear to lose you. Not now.” His servos shook as he touched Optimus face, scanning him, checking and ensuring he lived. Despite their war, he could not help but reel in terror. Was he hurt? He didn't seem to be horribly damaged, thank Primus.

What would he have done if Optimus hadn’t gotten up?

His spark lurched at the very prospect.

“I don’t think I could-” Slag it all, what was life without this mech?

Without hesitation, emotion surged forward and Megatron slotted their derma together, his servo cupping the back of Optimus’s helm to make sure he didn’t disappear. For all the fear in his spark, he found himself soothed by the comforting firmness of Optimus’s derma against his own. He was warm, he was alive. 

Optimus trembled against him, his arms coming to wrap around Megatron’s shoulders. He held his precious Prime even closer in response, refusing to part as he confirmed again and again that his other half was alive. That he was functioning and loving him back.

He wanted more. He wanted everything.

He probed, his gloss running across Optimus’s lower derma questioningly before he had the presence of mind to contemplate doing otherwise. He wanted to meld their frames together, to keep Optimus safe against his side, no matter the cost. The precious movement of their derma only made him think it was all the more possible.

At least until a firm cough broke him from his spiraling thoughts.

“Soundwave-!” Optimus pulled away in sheer shame, his battlemask regretfully clicking into place. Megatron despised the thing, but he allowed the shift as he brought Optimus against his side, too shaken to let him go anytime soon.

“Find that would be assassin and take care of the glitch. This is high treason against two nations!” With his order given, Megatron quickly rushed Optimus to a transport outside. He could not risk further incident, not when the Stronghold had already been compromised. He saw seekers soaring through the skies, likely chasing whoever had done this. It gave him momentary satisfaction before he ushered Optimus into his transport, Starscream already waiting.

“Return home, beloved. It is not safe for you while you are so exposed.” Pressing a kiss to Optimus’s helm, Megatron held his gaze, touching the crack on the Prime’s warrior glass. There would be time to think on the deeper meaning of what they’d done later. For now, he had work to do.

“But Megatron-” Optimus tried to object, but Megatron silenced him firmly by wrapping his cape around Optimus’s shoulders. He knew it was a poor replacement for himself, but he hoped somehow that his garb would give Optimus comfort.

“No. Leave this to me. Go and rest. I will send Knockout to tend to you as soon as I am able.” Optimus blushed faintly, but blessedly, he obeyed. As the transport pulled out, Megatron watched to ensure it set off safely. He did not spare the rain a second thought as his armor sizzled, only turning away when Soundwave joined him.

“That attempt on Optimus’s life was pathetic. A feint most likely.” Soundwave nodded in agreement with his assessment.

“Soundwave: Agrees. Probability of attack being political stunt: High.” The fact that someone likely assumed murdering him and his future Conjunx would somehow benefit society sickened Megatron on a fundamental level. What fools.

“Get me the culprit and find the real mastermind. This cannot occur again.” Not even waiting to hear Soundwave’s confirmation, Megatron marched back inside absolutely seething as he stood before his people once more, all pretense of joy nowhere to be seen.

“Listen and hear me well!” Every mech snapped to attention, hearing a level of rage in his voice none had witnessed since the war.

“Today you have witnessed the greatest act of treason this empire has seen since the height of the war! One of our number has attempted to take the life of MY consort and OUR Prime!” Murmurs of outrage flooded the room, as they ought to.

“Whoever did this will be brought to justice, and I can promise each and every one of you that if something of this magnitude occurs ever again, there will be no mercy.” Trying to meet their gazes, Megatron spread his field as far as it would go, his rage burning like an inferno. 

“Even if I stand alone, I will wage war a second time if it means defending my Conjunx.” There were no cheers this time, but silence said everything.

Megatron of Kaon would suffer no further slights against that which he called his. 

Within a cycle, Soundwave returned with much needed data. Megatron was still absolutely seething, but listened intently.

“Assassin: Captured and questioned.”

“What information did you glean?” There was enough sharpness to his tone to cut the very air, but Soundwave didn’t even flinch.

“Assassin: Contracted. Part of organization - Designation: Ceasefire Ordinance.” What a ridiculous name. This was going to be a dumpster fire. He could feel it.

“Do we know their goals? Who’s running it? Do we know anything at all?” From the corner of his optic, he watched the beaten and battered assassin be carted out by medics. But he could care less. The slagger deserved it.

“Tarn - Contracted assassin on orders from organization.” Oh he should have known. Tarn, the absolute glitch.

“We’re going to pay him a visit now.” If Unicron could see him now, he might actually be somewhat proud.

With enough evidence and considering his status as Lord of the Decepticons, it took all of half a joor to get a warrant to raid Tarn’s hab. The moment he had it, Megatron, Shadow Striker, and a dozen armed guards stormed the residence ready for war. If Tarn had really gone rogue, he was ready and had a team of seekers ready to blast the place to ash.

But against his expectations, as he kicked down the door to Tarn’s office, the former DJD leader was seated quite comfortably, seemingly pleased.

“Lord Megatron. It is an honor to have you visit me.” The fragger. He should have torn Tarn to pieces eons ago.

“Cut the slag, Tarn! You sent an assassin after my future Conjunx! Why!?” Slamming his fist on the desk, Megatron glared with the fury of a thousand stars. Tarn, the sick creature that he was, didn’t so much as twitch.

“The war may be over, my Lord. But that does not mean there are no other battles to win, or more glory to bring to your name.” Tarn fiddled with his stylus playfully, almost as if this raid were a casual mid-cycle fueling at a café. It bothered Megatron more than he cared to admit.

“That answers nothing.”

“I am your most faithful servant, my Lord. This was done for your benefit.” Megatron could feel his armor flaring and clamping down in threatening waves. He felt like a newbuild all over again, but he was unable to stop it. Such insolence.

“Explain, or I will tear you limb from limb and present your corpse to all of Cybertron as my final spoil of war.” Shoving his blaster in Tarn’s face to make his point did slag all, but it did make Megatron feel a little better at the very least.

“Of course, Lord Megatron.” Tarn chuckled, clearly not at all concerned.

“Your choice to allow a ceasefire… distressed me greatly at first. But I have seen the wisdom of your plan, my Lord.” Tarn pointed to the framed ceasefire agreement on his wall, his mask hiding any true emotion. Still, he seemed thoughtful.

“The Autobots are largely comprised of civilians, and while very industrious and quick to create infrastructure, gather wealth, and innovate, their ability to control their operations is pathetic at best.” He spun his stylus, performing  a series of movements with it that Megatron found just interesting enough that he wanted to smack the Primus forsaken thing just so the situation felt more serious.

“Their leaders are working themselves to death and the civilian population is quickly starting to spiral out of control with how quickly the Autobots have implemented their ‘free’ government.” He wasn’t entirely wrong, but coming from Tarn, Megatron felt that it should be.

“But us Decepticons? We are superior in every sense of the word.” Ugh. As much as Megatron agreed with the sentiment and praised the patriotism, Tarn was in such hot oil that Megatron found nothing to empathize with him over.

“While slower to expand and lacking in diversity with our exports and business operations, we are ordered because of your leadership, my Lord.” If Tarn was trying to be flattering, he was failing miserably. Shadow Striker raised her weapon, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. It did nothing for the former DJD leader.

“We are a smaller nation and do not have the plethora of resources the Autobots possess. But we are stronger,  and we have enough fire power and governmental stability to withstand the inevitable collapse of Autobot society when their high command crumbles under the stress of their stations.” Clearly, he’d been thinking this out. But it had nothing to do with the situation.

“Get to the point, Tarn.” Hitting the desk again, Megatron could feel his self control slipping. He wanted to go to Optimus, cuddle up to him in berth, and shield him from all of creation until the end of time. 

“My point, Lord Megatron , is that based on my calculations, the Decepticons were going to gain control of Cybertron within the next millennia once the Autobots collapsed in on themselves.” That gave Megatron a momentary pause, but he did see the reasoning.

“But then you accepted the Prime’s proposal, and I was again left to wonder why. Why would you align our nation with the eroding machine that is the Autobots and their crumbling society?” Tarn tilted his helm, still calm as ever, but obviously enjoying his long game of monologuing. This was getting infuriating.

“There was no reason for you to accept him. His proposal was clearly a desperate bid to save his failing nation by leaching our resources through his connection to you.” Looking Megatron up and down, Tarn’s field flared in temporary awe before falling silent.

“But as I considered, I saw the wisdom in this as well.” With a wolfish look in his optics, Tarn leaned forward, his optics glinting like a hunter finally catching its prey. 

“You want him, not his people.”

“You-” How dare he.

“I understand, my Lord. The Prime is one of the few possible suitors who could be considered even somewhat worthy of your magnificence. And even I can admit that beneath all the Autobot nonsense, he is an appealing mech.” Hearing Tarn say anything was rough on a good cycle, but hearing him actively praise Optimus somehow made the compliment feel like acid on Megatron’s plating. It was wrong.

“He is a symbol, and by taking him and treating him better than his own people, you prove our superiority and draw more Autobots into our ranks, increasing the rate of our growth and allowing our influence to spread.” Of course Tarn thought it was about politics.

“A brilliant tactic. You get to have Cybertron’s last religious symbol at your side and let us grow in power. Not to mention, the heirs born of your union are bound to be forces of nature worthy of the Decepticons due to the mixing of yours and the Prime’s CNA.” Megatron made a face, his expression contorting into disgust. He’d contemplated sparklings with Optimus before, but never as some sort of tool.  Sparklings were a gift, an expression of love. Not some strange attempt at preserving a legacy. 

“I can see it in your optics, my Lord. You want him, and I respect that.” Gross. He didn’t want to hear that from Tarn of all bots. Especially when nothing was explained.

“From what you are telling me, you should have no issue with my future Conjunx. Why is it then that you sent an assassin to kill him?” His armor still flared in waves, but agitation was also met with confusion. What was the scheme here?

“To test him, of course.”

“What?” Megatron’s optics widened, his blaster stalling in its attempts to prepare for combat. Tarn simply shifted in his seat, twisting that Primus forsaken stylus.

“Your motives are pure and founded, but the Prime’s character is debatable. Myself and many others cannot bear to see you bind yourself to a mech who will dishonor you. So we have taken it upon ourselves to ensure that Optimus Prime proves himself worthy of your affections.” If Megatron could have beat anyone’s helm into the desk at that point, he honestly wished he could have grabbed Tarn and broken that ridiculous mask of his.

“And you do this by trying to murder him?” His voice came out strained, barely reasonable amidst the shaking of his frame as his blaster demanded activation.

“We put him in a situation where he was forced to choose between you, his former foe, and himself. Based on reports, he chose to save you over himself.” No slag. Optimus was always a self sacrificial fool. That much should have been obvious without dropping a chandelier on his helm.

“And he was injured because of it! You had no right!” Megatron remembered the cuts, the crack on that precious glass guarding Optimus’s very spark. So much could have gone wrong. His beloved could have been killed.

“If he cannot handle this much, then he is undeserving to bear your heirs and carry the title of consort.” Disgusting. This entire discussion was foul.

“You do not decide if he is worthy! That is my right!” Sweet smiles, tender touches. That adoring look on Optimus’s expression… there was no one who would ever match him. Even if the whole world thought Optimus was unworthy, Megatron would have no other.

“And we are simply proving your assessment of his character correct. Imagine how it will look to the public if Optimus Prime proves himself again and again.” As much as Megatron wanted to rage, he had to admit, Tarn had a point. It was going to look amazing in the news, and that’s exactly why he hated it. He wanted to give Optimus affection, not torment.

“There will be no dissent once you are Conjunxed if he does well. And if he fails, then it was an unfortunate accident, the war will reignite and we shall win. Or, barring that, all will return to how it was before and we will continue our conquest unimpeded.” Tarn chuckled, his mask lifting just enough to show a smirk on his scarred derma. Megatron has to clench his fist to remind himself to not murder the mech. He still needed information.

“How many others are involved in this?”

“I can’t say, my Lord. We made it a point to never know who we were working with so that the tests may continue even if one is caught.” Oh of course it was a nomadic organization. Frag him sideways, this was going to be a nightmare.

“Are there Autobots in on this scheme?” He doubted it, but there was always a chance.

“Most certainly. They wish to try and test you as well when you go to Iacon. But I have no doubt that you will easily bypass their pathetic attempts at testing your character.” Well… slag. That made things even more complicated.

“You seem awfully calm for having just been charged with attempted murder of the Prime.” Shadow Striker finally chimed in, her rifle raised and poised to fire. Tarn merely laced his digits together with all the scummy contentment of a politician.

“I have done my duty. I feel no guilt or shame.” What a fragging non-answer. 

“Tarn, you are to be put under supervised house arrest until Optimus Prime leaves Kaon. You will be charged when I find the rest of your compatriots.” Fighting to spit his verdict out, Megatron hit the desk one more time before turning to leave. He couldn’t stay here.

“As you wish, my Lord.” The confirmation felt more mocking than relieving.

“Shadow Striker, Soundwave, I have a new task for you both.” Speaking to both over his internal commlink, Megatron set out toward his training ground. He needed to beat something and he needed to do so as soon as possible.

“You will observe Optimus and keep him safe. Starscream will continue to operate as his guide, but you two are to step in as needed. You may continue your prior functions when Optimus is securely at his residence, but when is wandering, he is your top priority.” Pings of acknowledgement met his order, and while marginally relieved, Megatron could do nothing but think of his beloved, cut and shaken. He had to make this up to him. 

He had to do things right next time.

“Good. You will be compensated appropriately once Optimus is safely back in Autobot territory.” With that, he stormed his way to his personal training ground. The few Vehicons fled the moment he began obliterating training dummies.

Politics and conspiracies. What a bunch of slag.

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.