Archive of Our Own ^beta

Optimus paged through the pad. There were a few pad games, the typical simple things that could be fit onto a pad's memory. He put that directory aside, for now. There was another directory with stories with silly names like Siverlight's Fall or Hidden Spark. He opened one and read a few pages: it was a very trite credit-novel romance, and the grammar was pretty atrocious. He backed back out to another directory, which was full of strategy manuals for something called Tetrarch. Scanning through the file labeled for beginners, it seemed to be a strategy game, not dissimilar to how Sari had described the human board game Risk. A very Decepticon board game, if true, focused on conquest and commandeering resources.

There was also a directory simply labeled Useful Information. When Optimus opened it, it seemed to be full of instructionals about interfacing. He hit the back button quickly, glancing up at Megatron's face. But he was focused on his own pad, frowning in concentration, and hadn't seemed to notice what Optimus was looking at on his own.

Oh, he could read Megatron's pad from his current position! He tried to discreetly read it over his own pad, to make it look he was reading it while actually reading Megatron's.

It was a budget. For the entire Nemesis, it seemed. Decepticons went through a lot of wall panels, for some reason.

The pad was pretty boring, honestly, but Optimus was not going to pass up any chance to gather intel. So he watched Megatron tab through the spreadsheet, occasionally added comments like 'no, we are not paying for that' or 'why is Starscream asking for so much of this chemical?' Megatron's servo was still idly playing with his pede; he did all his typing on the pad with one thumb, picking at glyphs very slowly. He was honestly a surprisingly slow typist.

Optimus suddenly had an absurd thought that Megatron was molding him into a secretarybot that would sit on his spike. Because Optimus was almost tempted to just offer to let him dictate comments while he typed. He shook away the thread.

When Megatron finished the pad he signed it with his signature glyph, put it in the outgoing bin and sighed. He squeezed his arm against Optimus' side and Optimus pretended that he hadn't noticed Megatron finishing, looking up at him startled.

"I think that I would enjoy your tight little valve on my spike, pet," Megatron said. "It has been a while."

It had barely been an orn.

Optimus sighed, and subspaced his new pad reluctantly, like he was loath to put it down because he was so absorbed. Megatron took out the new ring (he had totally prepared for the new size when he had left his quarters that orning) and handed it to Optimus to put on his spike as his spike extended and transformed. Then he held the jar of lubricant for Optimus to use to spread a coating on the spike. They were maybe half way through the jar at this point. Then he lifted Optimus by his aft, turned him to be facing towards Megatron's chest and pulled at the new plug. His valve seemed reluctant to part with it, having finally gotten somewhat used to the weight. But his valve was also still very lubricated from the machine, so after a few tugs to loosen it, the plug started to slide out.

Megatron pushed it back and forth, popping the largest section past his entrance a few times, before finally removing it. Then he lifted Optimus to the peak and slid him down to the ring.

Optimus had to let all the air out of his vents as he sank: the new diameter felt very large. Megatron's digits rested against his entrance for a few klicks, feeling it flex feebly against the spike. Then his servo left, and Megatron leaned forward (pushing Optimus against his chest, and he made a very embarassing squeaking noise at how this shifted the spike in his valve) to grab another pad from the incoming pile. He settled back down against the chair. One of his servos came up to cup the back of Optimus' helm, rubbing at it slightly.

Optimus stayed there, curled up against Megatron's chest, for a long couple of breems. His knees were spread bracketing Megatron's hips, his servos curled up against his own chest, and his valve slowly got used to the presence in it. But after those breems, he felt himself getting bored.

He half expected a single tug to tell him to start bouncing (ugh) but with a start he realized that the chain had been removed at some point. It must have been while he dozed, and he must have fallen deeper into recharge than he realized. But after another half a breem, nothing happened.

Optimus was pretty sure when he had been sat on Megatron's spike before, in---in audiences (the residual embarrassment crawled through his circuits) that he had been tasked with bouncing once every few breems, then forced to rest for another few breems, then the cycle started anew. He couldn't be sure, though: the memory files were a bit poorly documented in the metadata and he did not want to open them to review the time stamps.

It seemed... that Megatron just wanted him to sit on the spike tip. Like when he had just rested Optimus' mouth on the spike tip. Huh. What a weird pervert.

Optimus didn't want to think himself back into another processor loop, particularly one focused on Megatron, so he pulled out the pad. He found that he could hack the credit-novel software to edit them (the security encryption was very poorly designed) and started tearing apart the awful sentence structure.

And that was how it lasted for the rest of the shift. Megatron worked over him curled up on the spike, Optimus worked on editing the very poorly constructed credit-novel, Optimus' valve occasionally pulsed over the thick cone-spike buried within it.

He was contemplating how to edit around an extended sequence that described the placement of security forces in a corridor that lead to absolutely nothing but an interface scene between the two protagonists (no fight, no nothing, the author had set up a bunch of security for the rich character to frag in a hotel, and then they all left) when Megatron stretched underneath him.

Optimus looked up at him. He was watching Optimus with half-lidded optics, a small smirk on his derma. Optimus just looked back at him, suddenly apprehensive. What if there had been something that Megatron had wanted, that Optimus hadn't done? What if that was enough to revoke the team visit for the orn?

Should he had checked in with Megatron occasionally? But he also did not want to draw attention to himself, if he could avoid it. His valve pulsed, seemingly in response to his thoughts, and Megatron hummed.

"Alright, pet," Megatron said. "Shift is over."

Slag, he was going to have to ask. Ask if Megatron needed something, or if he was satisfied, or something.

But while he panicked, Megatron was pulling him off of the spike. He teased Optimus' entrance a bit with the very tip of the spike, revolving him in a circle over the very peak so it tickled at his rim, causing him to gasp. And then pulled out the plug and pushed it back inside in one quick glide.

Megatron's optics took the far off cast of a mech on a comm, resting Optimus' aft on one thigh (his valve pulsing merrily away over the plug again) and retracting the spike behind his panel at the same time. They sat there for half a breem.

Then Megatron sighed, lifted Optimus up as he stood, shifted him into the carrying position, and left the office.

They walked back towards the middle of the ship; not on the same level as Megatron's quarters, but Optimus was pretty sure it was the same level as the medbay, if in different corridors. They stopped in front of a seemingly random door, and Megatron pinged it. Then they stood there, staring at a door, for a few klicks.

Megatron suddenly let out a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his ventilations that sounded suspiciously like 'typical.' He started up another comm.

Optimus contemplated the door. It was currently unadorned, but Optimus could see the residue of old adhesive that had gathered grime over time placed randomly all over it. Some of them had odd shapes. Very odd shapes... like there was one that was shaped a lot like the human heart symbol, or a crude depiction of a spike.

Megatron sighed again, then leaned against the wall opposite the door. They waited there awkwardly for a breem, Optimus desperately avoiding optic contact, Megatron rubbing slowly at his knee and shoulder. Then the sound of a set of pedes started coming down the corridor.

Blitzwing rounded the corner, blue Icy face in front. "Apologies, Lord Megatron," he said as he came up to the door, "I got... distracted."

"I gave you an explicit time, Blitzwing," Megatron said, annoyed, as he straighted out of his slouch. "If we are to do this in the future, you would best be served to keep to schedule."

"Oh~?" Blitzwing's Random face said, drawing out the word. "We could do more playdates?"

"Only if you are prompt," Megatron said, and Blitzwing cackled in response. His Icy faceplate came back, and he turned to the keypad. His body completely blocked the sequence he entered from Optimus' view, which he felt a stab of annoyance over. At least in Megatron's arms it was significantly easier to see whatever sequence he was entering into a pad.

The door opened into a very messy interior. Optimus was suddenly glad for Megatron's fastidiousness; it would make dealing with him just that much more awful if he was also as much as a slob as Blitzwing appeared to be. There were toys and playsets and things everywhere, all over the floor. The walls were lined with shelves, which were lined with knickknacks. Randomly spaced throughout things like little sculptures and balls filled with glitter were things that looked suspiciously like interface toys. There were a lot of things that Optimus was pretty sure were interface toys, actually, and he did not have a lot of experience with interface toys, so that just emphasized how obvious a lot of it was.

Optimus' quick scan of the room ended in one corner, where slumped over like he was another randomly discarded toy, sat Prowl.

Optimus sat up further in Megatron's arms, trying to see more of his friend. His visor was off, and he was completely limp, his helm slumped against the wall. If his colors weren't still there, Optimus would have been sure he had been deactivated.

"Ah, yes," Megatron said, as if he were just recalling Prowl's state. "Well, we shall see how much playing they can do."

"I can help!" Random offered, servos flapping excitedly as he bounced over towards Prowl's limp frame. "He's really very position-able! Full range of motion in the joints!" Blitzwing cackled.

"Actually, Blitzwing, I believe you mentioned a collection of gags, before?" Megatron asked ominously as he set Optimus down just before Prowl's sprawled legs.

"Oh," Blitzwing's face flipped rapidly for a moment, trying to settle on one before finally landing on Icy. "Of course, my lord. Would you like to see my collection?"

Optimus elected to ignore them (he was sure that he'd find out about anything that Megatron took with them soon, anyway) as he leaned over Prowl's limp frame, scanning him the best he could with his limited medical knowledge. Prowl's visor was off, his faceplates blank. There was a little bit of energon at the corner of his mouth, but Optimus was pretty sure it had just dribbled out and it didn't come from an injury---it didn't have the color of energon that had been processed by a tank into a frame. His plating was a bit scuffed, but Optimus couldn't see any major injuries anywhere on his visible plating. Optimus reached out, hesitant, and took one of Prowl's shoulders to turn him, trying to see more of Prowl's frame.

Prowl's legs fell open at the motion, and Optimus recoiled. His panel was gone, and his array was a mess. It didn't look like it had been very stretched, at least not like Optimus' was, but it did look like it had been abused quite a bit. There was lubricant and other fluids splattered over his thighs, potentially multiple layers of it, all layered over each other. His spike was capped with something, some small extra panel that had prongs that dug into the plating around it.

Optimus felt sick. He swallowed around the urge to purge.

"We could do a tea party!" Blitzwing exclaimed suddenly. Megatron sighed.

"Only if you clean off the chairs," Megatron said, resigned. Blitzwing bounced over to a low table set, with small chairs arrayed around it.

They were still ignoring Optimus in turn, so he returned to his examination of Prowl's frame. There didn't seem to be anything else wrong with him, but Optimus wasn't sure what could be keeping him offline. It didn't seem to be normal recharge: Prowl's ventilations were too soft, his systems shut down as low as they could go without deactivating.

Megatron's presence crept up behind his backplates. He glared up at the Slagmaker, who just tilted his helm, amused.

"What did you do to him?" Optimus demanded.

Megatron just chuckled. "Be glad that Blitzwing wanted a toy, pet. I would have thrown him out an airlock, otherwise."

Optimus' spark fell to his pedes. Megatron leaned over and slid his servos under Optimus' arms, lifting him by his armpits. Optimus had to fight the urge to kick at him as he walked towards the little table set, to vent the frustrated, angry, dreadful emotions in his spark. He still needed to know what had happened to Bulkhead and Bumblebee. Primus, if this was what they were doing to Prowl, what were they doing with his two youngest teammates?

Megatron levered him up over a forearm, so that he was leaning against it, and then removed the plug with one easy glide from all the stretching his valve had gotten on the spike earlier. Blitzwing cooed.

"Oh, that is a good one, my lord," his Icy face said. "Very nice, very big." his face flipped to Random, "Can I have it?"

"No," Megatron said, subspacing it, and rearranging Optimus back so he was dangling between Megatron's massive servos. Megatron started to lower him down until his pedes touched the floor in front of one of the small chairs. Optimus glanced down at it, and blanched.

Haphazardly stuck to the seat was a small (well, these things were very relative, at this point) false spike, pointed up. Megatron's servos shifted up over his shoulders, and started pushing him down towards the seat.

He slid over the false spike: his valve found it unsatisfying, and he could shift around on the spike quite a bit without it touching his mesh. Optimus tried to sit straight with it in the center of his valve; he was fine without his touching his mesh, to be honest.

Megatron smirked at him and said sarcastically, "Enjoy the tea." Then he went over to one wall, leaned against it, and pulled out a datapad.

Blitzwing was rearranging Prowl on another seat. Prowl was slumped over, limbs flopping but lower body firmly propped up on the seat. Optimus had a sick realization about why there might be a false spike on his chair. Blitzwing managed to prop Prowl's form somewhat upright, and folded Prowl's limp servos around a plastic tea cup. He handed Optimus a tea cup and saucer, mimed pouring something into it (Tea, maybe? Whatever that was?) and then started a conversation about the Queen and Duchess Marblehead with no other context. Optimus was quickly lost, and decided that Blitzwing seemed to be able to hold up (what could only be charitably called) the conversation on his own.

Optimus watched Prowl while Blitzwing talked to himself. A small part of him had been hoping that he could have a conversation with the cyber-ninja, at least via the tracing glyphs method he'd developed with Ratchet. Optimus desperately missed Prowl's quiet grace, his honest and genuine appreciation of Earth's life, his subtle humor.

And the strategic part of his processor wanted him for his fantastically useful set of skills. It was going to be a lot harder to escape with Prowl down for the count.

Much later, after Megatron had lifted him off the chair back into his arms, after they had returned to Megatron's quarters, after they had washed, and fueled, and Megatron had replace the chain (and wrapped the end around his servo) and they were settling down for recharge in Megatron's massive berth, Optimus finally had worked down the nausea enough to ask Megatron the question that had been bothering him.

"Why?"

Megatron hummed questioningly.

"Why do that to him at all?"

Megatron paused, obviously trying to work out what he meant, but he wasn't feeling up to explaining any more.

Finally, he asked, "You mean the cyber-ninja?" Optimus nodded. "Optimus, I am not going to let a conscious enemy cyber-ninja onto my ship. And Blitzwing wanted a new toy."

He shrugged a massive shoulder, and Optimus felt it as the arm wrapped over his waist shifted. As if that was a completely justified answer. As if that wasn't also, almost, the question and answer for Optimus' own situation.

Optimus had a hard time falling into recharge.