Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bill Fowler didn't know the exact nature of the emergency, but in the interests of continued amicable human/Cybertronian relations, he was willing to put forth a little extra effort. None of the substances requested had been in any way dangerous, either singly or combined, but it was an odd request nonetheless.

Especially considering the source.

Megatron.

Regardless of the fact that the eons-long war between the two factions was evidently over, and had been for some time, he still didn't trust that mech as far as he could throw him.

And Fowler was man enough to admit that wasn't very far at all, much to his chagrin.

There. June would be pleased. He was finally learning to admit he had limitations. At least as far as flinging giant alien robots was concerned.

But it had been almost a year since the Autobots and Decepticons had seemingly resolved their differences, and Fowler hadn't laid eyes on Prime since then. In fact, their last conversation had been voice-only, and the Autobot leader had sounded somewhat . . . odd, so this time he'd decided to contact Ratchet instead.

He wanted to make sure Megatron's request was on the up-and-up and not some sort of back-sliding, diabolical attempt to blow up shit. Somewhere. Somehow. With stuff that shouldn't even be capable of blowing up shit.

However, this was Megatron they were talking about, so Fowler was justifiably concerned.

When he'd contacted him, Ratchet had said, "Megatron asked for what?", then his optics had narrowed dangerously, and he'd proceeded to bang his helm against the console . . . twice, before adding, "Of course he did. I told that slagger he shouldn't be giving into his mate's every whim -- not everything Optimus wants right now is a good fragging idea -- but why listen to the lowly medic? What the frag would I know?"

Fowler winced. Not so much at the Cybertronian cursing. He was used to that, especially since this was Ratchet he was speaking to. However, he still cringed at the "mate" term. At least as it applied to Megatron. And Prime.

Megatron and Prime together.

The first time he'd heard the term "mate" bandied about, he'd assumed it meant something like the Australian definition of the word. Ratchet's optics had unfocused briefly as he'd evidently looked it up on the Internet, but then he'd huffed and said, "I wish. But noooo, our Prime has to do things that are guaranteed to stress my processor, and in the most horribly glitched manner possible to boot."

Ratchet had (correctly) interpreted the resultant blank look on Fowler's face as incomprehension, because he'd finished with, "No, unfortunately, not mates as in 'friends'. Those two are fragging like they've suddenly remembered that they had interface equipment after a few million years of blissful ignorance, and then suddenly it's, 'Hey, this is cool. You know what, why don't we do something with it? Together. Wouldn't that be fun?'"

At that point, Fowler had been understandably horrified, but the medic had only gotten started.

"Then, then, mind you, they had to go ahead and actually sparkbond too." Ratchet crossed his arms and scowled. "Regardless, it wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so blasted loud during the whole fragging process, each and every time. Especially Optimus. Huh. I've been his personal medic for eons, and I didn't know his vocal range even extended that high."

Offscreen, he'd heard Ironhide mutter, "You gotta trust us in this, Agent Fowler. Falsetto Optimus is just . . . wrong."

Now that had been a mental image Fowler could have lived without.

But Ratchet had huffed, then stabbed a finger at the screen so violently that Fowler had actually taken a step back. "And you know why they did all this?"

Fowler's eyes had widened, and he'd shaken his head.

"Just to fragging annoy me, that's why!"

Well, even Fowler had to admit the end result of all the fragging and sparkbonding had been the cessation of hostilities between Autobots and Decepticons after millennia of war, but he'd known better than to argue with Ratchet.

Nobody argued with Ratchet. And he didn't plan to argue with him either, 'cause he'd seen the medic swing that wrench. He was even scarier than June when she was on a rampage. And that was actually saying something, especially recently.

However, Ratchet had finally agreed that the stuff Megatron requested wasn't inherently dangerous, especially not to humans, so he had reluctantly agreed to the deal, "Just so I don't have to listen to all the whining, because let me tell you, whining is something they both excel at."

So, this was why Fowler currently found himself back in the decommissioned Jasper base with barrels of . . . stuff . . . and June, who had insisted on coming along.

Fowler really didn't trust Megatron, so he'd tried to convince June to stay behind, especially given her current delicate condition, but all that had gained him was a solid THWACK on his arm.

Which hurt, a lot. Ratchet had evidently been giving June lessons in something other than Cybertronian medicine.

Hell, maybe all that thwacking was Cybertronian medicine. If so, Ratchet was definitely an expert. With June a very close second.

Hearing the groundbridge activate, he turned to watch the imposing form of Megatron emerge with Ratchet close behind.

The bridge closed just as quickly, and he heard June let out a disappointed sigh. She'd clearly hoped to see the Autobot leader again.

But then, it had been entirely too long since either one of them had seen him.

Fowler turned to Ratchet. "Where's Prime?"

Ratchet hesitated slightly. "He is . . . indisposed at the moment."

"Is he okay?" June asked, clearly concerned.

"He's fine. Just restricted from using a bridge. He's still aboard the Nemesis and does send his regards."

Fowler shifted his gaze from Ratchet to the atypically silent, but more than usually smug-looking Megatron. Fowler's job required him to be paranoid, and he still wouldn't put it past Megatron to have some kind of sinister hold on the Autobots that he wasn't aware of. After all, Ratchet did look a tad stressed and uptight.

But then, Ratchet always looked stressed and uptight.

Scrap. He'd just have to take the cybercat by the tail and confront Megatron about it directly.

Huh. He must be spending too much time around Cybertonians, considering how he'd picked up the local lingo. Too bad he still couldn't understand his stepson half the time. Teenager -- now there was an utterly alien lifeform for you.

Fowler glared up at Megatron, crossing his arms across his chest. "Before we turn over the requested supplies, Megatron, I'd like to see Prime first. It's not like him to avoid his human friends for this long."

Ratchet's optics widened, and he said, "I really don't think that's a good idea."

Megatron held up a servo and said, "Now, now, medic. We don't want our human allies to think we are withholding information, do we? That would be dreadfully impolite."

"Since when do you give a frag about politeness?" Ratchet snapped back. "You know darn well Optimus wants to be the one who . . . "

But Megatron was already rooting around in his subspace. "Nonsense. I wouldn't want Agent Fowler here to think I had done anything . . . despicable to our revered Prime." He found what he was looking for with a pleased, "Ahhh, there you are," and held up a large cube that Fowler recognized as a Cybertronian holoprojector.

Megatron set it on a convenient console and activated it. The result was a near life-size image of Prime. At least, Fowler thought it was Prime. He couldn't quite process the peculiarities of the image. In fact, those peculiarities seemed to have caused Fowler's speech processing to shut down completely. Along with most of his higher brain functions.

Perhaps permanently.

Once he could convince himself to remove the hand covering his eyes, Fowler glanced at the image again, but unfortunately, it still looked the same.

It was Prime, and he was standing next to what looked like a berth, leaning backwards while bracing himself against the berth with one servo. And he evidently had to brace himself, because his abdominal plates were bulging almost obscenely far outward. He looked like he'd tip over face-first if he let go, and yes, Fowler knew exactly what that implied about Prime's current condition, he just didn't want to admit it.

He certainly wasn't going to attempt speech at this point, 'cause he was terrified what might come out of his mouth.

June, however, was either quicker at processing that absurd information, or her current condition gave her a more sympathetic connection. "Oh," she murmured, her entire face going soft as she held her own protruding belly with one hand, "Optimus is pregnant."

With that blunt confirmation, Fowler's brain formally requested permission to shut itself down.

However, Megatron chose that moment to stomp closer, and Fowler's innate warrior instincts indicated it might be better to remain conscious, at least for a little while. If only for June's sake. He promised himself a nice quiet breakdown later.

The big mech stopped next to the holoprojection of the heavily pregnant Prime. Smiling broadly, Megatron pointed to the image and said proudly, "I did that."

Ratchet groaned, covering his optics with one servo.

Glancing again at the image, Fowler said, "He's positively huge."

Such was the state of his mental disarray that he barely felt June's resounding thwack against his arm, but Megatron only smiled wider.

"Yes, he is," the warlord agreed, crossing his arms and openly admiring the holo. "Isn't the carrier of my sparkling magnificent?"

"That's one word for it," Fowler said. This time he actually felt the thwack from his wife and turned patiently to face her. "Would you stop doing that? Please?"

"Once you stop acting like an ignoramus." She glared at him for a few moments, then turned to gaze at the holo. "I think he's absolutely beautiful."

Megatron grabbed Ratchet's arm and pointed at June. "See? See?" Megatron said excitedly.

Ratchet roughly disengaged his arm. "Megatron, you glitch. Does Optimus even know you took that holo?"

"Of course!" Megatron replied indignantly, then seemed to think about it. "Well, no. Maybe?"

Ratchet stabbed a finger in the direction of Megatron's chest. "Huh. Since he hasn't off-lined you yet, my best guess would be, 'No.'"

"But why would my mate be angry?"

The weird thing was, Fowler believed that Megatron was actually sincere. At least judging by the expression of utter confusion on his faceplates.

Unfortunately, the big mech hadn't quite finished digging a gigantic hole for himself.

"Our race hasn't had a sparkling in eons." Megatron pointed at the holo again. "This is proof of both Optimus' fertility and my own robust virility. He should be proud that I've managed to spark him. I know I am."

"Oh, for the love of Primus." Ratchet took a threatening step closer to Megatron.

Fowler grabbed June's arm and took a few steps back. Better safe than sorry.

Ratchet poked his finger into Megatron's chest. "There's a reason Optimus is keeping to himself recently -- he's more than a little self-conscious right now. If he knew you were blithely showing that around to everybot you meet, he'd take your virility and stuff it in the nearest trash compacter!"

Megatron looked confused. "But my spike wouldn’t. . . "

"Ack! No. Don't you dare finish that statement, just don't." Fowler could hear the grinding of dentae from here. "Trust me, Megatron. Optimus is a very determined mech. If he wants it bad enough, he'll make it fit."

Megatron's face brightened, and he smiled beatifically. "That's almost exactly what he said the first time we . . . "

Ratchet thwacked him with his wrench. "No, no, no. I said, I don't want to hear it!"

"And here I'd thought Megatron had been overcompensating for something," Fowler muttered.

"No," Megatron said simply. Turning back to Ratchet, he added, "Optimus is quite aware he can't hide in our quarters forever, and it was you who said he had at least half a stellar cycle remaining before emergence."

"Oh, my God," Fowler said, as he automatically converted that into months. "He's going to get bigger?"

June thwacked him again.

Wincing, Fowler said, "Target the other arm for a while, dear," while simultaneously trying to figure out how Prime could possibly get any larger and not explode.

Thankfully, his contemplation of Prime's impending detonation was interrupted by his wife. "What's wrong with his feet?" June said, concern in her voice.

Ratchet took a break from glaring malevolently at Megatron in order to reply. "Nothing," he said, almost kindly for him. "Given his current . . . condition, I thought he might have more stability on his pedes if I removed the outer plating. That way, he could spread the mesh on his pedes and balance a little easier." He sighed. "However, since I've recently put him on berthrest, I can probably reattach the plating. He won't be standing on his pedes again until emergence."

Megatron was shaking his head, however. "Not advisable, medic. In the event of an emergency when I'm not nearby, it would be best if Optimus has the best opportunity for stability he can obtain. Besides, my mate has been enjoying the increased dexterity of his pedes, especially since he is no longer able to bend over and use his servos for some tasks." He smiled fondly. "Not to mention that his bare, sinfully soft mesh feels absolutely wonderful on my spike when he. . ."

This time Fowler thwacked Megatron, and both mechs looked down at him in surprise.

Fowler shook his hand, wincing, but glared up at Megatron. "I agree with Ratchet. There are some things I'd rather not know about Prime. That happens to be one of them."

Ratchet, however, was staring at Megatron suspiciously. "And the fact that Optimus can't transform without the plating and accompanying armature has nothing to do with your decision, does it?"

"Of course, it does," Megatron said. "If he can't transform into his alt mode, it's much harder for him to escape me."

At the resultant stunned silence, Megatron looked around, apparently confused about the glares he was receiving from all comers. "What? I know the medic is boring and uptight, but don't you fleshlings play berth games to spice up your interface life?"

"Oh. My. God," Fowler said, eyes wide. "Why the hell didn't I just stay in bed this morning?"

"Exactly the question I asked you," June said darkly, "but you said you had a headache."

Everyone turned their gazes to Fowler.

Well, this is awkward.

"Hey! If Prime is supposed to be on berthrest, why is he standing in that holo?" Fowler pointed out desperately, hoping for a distraction.

Ratchet's optics narrowed as he turned slowly to Megatron. "If you've been ignoring my instructions because of your infernal 'facing shenanigans . . . just how long ago did you take that holo, Megatron?"

Megatron rolled his optics. "Before you put him on berthrest, medic. He knows he'd best behave himself."

"We're talking about the same mech here, aren't we?" Ratchet shook his head. "I had trouble keeping Optimus in berth when he was a few kliks from off-lining. How do you know he's not out wandering the corridors of the Nemesis while both of us are here on Earth?"

Megatron reached over to flick off the holoprojector, and Fowler breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Smiling broadly, Megatron then leaned back against the console and said, "Two reasons. The first is that there are seekers on the Nemesis. Lots of seekers."

"You have them keeping an eye on Optimus?" June guessed.

Megatron raised an optic ridge at her. "Not by choice. Seekers are insanely curious by spark, and they are utterly fascinated with my mate and his sparkling." He smiled. "Even locking himself in our quarters has only minimally reduced the frequency of their flitting about in an attempt to reach Optimus' belly. Skywarp has made a fortune in shanix, charging an exorbitant fee to warp them into our quarters and catch a glimpse of my mate."

Ratchet rolled his optics again. "Yes, and he was charging extra if he managed to get them close enough to accomplish a fly-by grope of Optimus' belly. It was driving him absolutely insane."

Fowler's eyes widened. "So, that's why Prime requested the giant flypaper strips!"

Megatron actually laughed. "Optimus has always been resourceful, above all else. It only took once with Skywarp dangling helplessly from the ceiling and facing the sheer disappointment on my mate's faceplates up close and personal to resolve that issue permanently." He sounded extremely proud of Prime, and Fowler's opinion of the mech went up a tick, despite his better judgement.

"But then, of course," Ratchet remarked drily, "Optimus felt bad about upsetting the little glitch and allowed Skywarp to burrow against his belly so he could feel the sparkling move. I thought it would require surgical intervention on my part to pry him off again."

"The look on Optimus' face was worth it," Megatron smirked. "He wasn't that leery of seekers when they were doing their best to snuff his spark."

Rachet hmphed loudly. "So, Optimus will stay in your quarters to avoid the clingy seekers, but that won't keep him in the berth," he warned gravely.

"No, but the berth will."

Ratchet looked at him with horror. "You haven't restrained him, have you?"

"What's wrong with that?" Megatron replied innocently. "You can have a lot of fun in berth with restraints. Just ask Optimus, if you don't believe me."

Spluttering, Ratchet finally managed to get out, "Only you would chain a carrying mech to his berth!"

Megatron sighed. "Autobots. You're so impossibly vanilla." He straightened to his full height and glared. "No, as a point of fact, I have not chained my cherished mate to the berth. However, it is currently next to impossible for him to get out of it without assistance. I had Shockwave make some modifications."

"What kind of modifications?" Ratchet asked suspiciously.

With another put-upon sigh, Megatron turned and keyed something into the console. The screens flickered, then dissolved into an interior view of a suite of rooms, one of which showed an oversized berth occupying much of the immense room. The tips of blue audials and a generous mound of belly were barely visible in the middle of the vast expanse of berth.

"You have Prime under constant surveillance?" Fowler asked.

"No, but Soundwave does. I'm just hacking into his feed."

June looked up at him doubtfully. "And why does Soundwave have him under surveillance? Doesn't he trust Optimus? I thought you had gotten past your factions' disagreements."

Megatron said wryly, "Soundwave has everything under surveillance, but in Optimus' case, it's not even remotely about distrust. Soundwave is even more smitten with Optimus and the bitling than the seekers. In fact, he's downright fanatical." Turning to face Ratchet, the warlord added, "Just be glad you don't have to listen to him ramble on about my mate's care and feeding every single cycle. He's about to glitch my processor with his incessant nagging."

"Might be an improvement," Ratchet snapped.

Clearing her throat, June prompted, "When you say 'fanatical' . . ."

Megatron ex-vented sharply. "You mean besides the constant surveillance? I can't seem to convince him to turn off the feed, even when I have Optimus spread out before me, pleading for my spike. . . "

Horrified, Ratchet said sharply, "Argh! Stop. TMI, Megatron!"

Megatron merely stared at Ratchet, obviously confused.

"Too . . . Much . . . Information, you stupid glitch! Please get it through your processor that nobody here wants to know about your thrilling 'facing exploits with Optimus!"

June cleared her throat, raising one hand hesitantly, and both Fowler and Ratchet stared at her, horrified.

"Ignorance isn't always bliss, you know," June said, crossing her arms.

"Well, I agree with Ratchet," Fowler said. "It sure beats the alternative in this particular case!"

"Hmph. Says you." She glared at him. "Remember. You aggravate me too much, and you won't just be sleeping on the couch -- you'll be sleeping six feet under it."

Megatron's optics widened when he looked up the reference and caught onto her implicit threat. "Agent Fowler, where ever did you find this intriguing femme?" He crouched down to examine her more closely. "If you're ever interested in galactic domination, give me a call. Since I plan on being helm-deep in bitlets for the foreseeable future, I'm looking for someone to do a buyout."

"Megatron!" Ratchet yelled.

"What? Optimus is always telling me I have to get out of the tyranny and mayhem business. Besides, we have a duty to produce as many bitlets as possible, and I certainly plan on doing my part to save our species from extinction." He stood, putting his servos on his hips and pushing out his chest plates proudly. "My mate is young and strong, and he shall bear my bitlets for megavorns to come."

"Oh goodie, won't Optimus be thrilled?" Ratchet said sarcastically. "Does he know you plan on keeping him barepede and carrying, indefinitely?"

Megatron's optics narrowed, and he glared at Ratchet. "My mate is loyal, dutiful . . . and practically insatiable. Besides, if I am to give up galactic domination, I must have something productive to do. It might as well be enjoyable, for both of us."

Deftly avoiding the wildly thrown wrench, Megatron looked down at June and said, "So, what do you say, fleshling? After we have finished revitalizing Cybertron, I can throw in the Nemesis as part of the deal."

June's eyes widened. "Uhm, thank you, Lord Megatron. I'll keep your generous offer in mind, and uh, see about enlarging my garage. But you were telling us about Soundwave. . .?"

"Oh, yes," Megatron said. "Knitting. He's been knitting. Incessantly."

"Knitting?"

Megatron nodded. "He's been attempting to knit a bitling covering for deca-cycles, with a little help from his symbionts of course." He hummed a little then added, "Well, Frenzy has been helping, but the others -- not so much."

"Is a bitling covering a complicated project?" June asked. "Because I'd be happy to give him some tips."

Megatron raised a servo to his chin, then said, "No, I don't suppose it's all that complicated, but by the time Soundwave actually manages to get one finished and holds it up to my mate's abdominal plates, he discovers that it's far too small. Optimus' belly keeps enlarging faster than he can knit."

"Color me surprised," Fowler said, but stepped away before his wife's latest thwack could make contact.

"Soundwave has been getting more and more distressed." Megatron rolled his optics. "My mate is entirely too sweet sparked and keeps apologizing to him, as if it's his fault. However, Optimus carries my progeny, so of course the bitlet is going to be impressively large." He ex-vented deeply, gazing skyward. "Impeccable coding and excessive virility. What's a mech to do?"

"Primus," Ratchet muttered. "I think I preferred it when was trying to off-line us. It was harder to hear him over the sound of blaster shots and screaming." He paused. "At least when Starscream was still around. Huh. Never thought I'd actually miss that pompous twit."

"Uhm," Fowler said, looking up at the screen. "It looks like Prime is on the move. Sort of."

Chapter Text

They all turned to stare at the monitor.

Megatron punched a few more commands into the terminal, and the screens split into a dozen separate views of the berthroom.

Fowler whistled, suitably impressed. "Soundwave has more surveillance devices than the CIA and NSA could manage, combined."

"Oh, he has far more surveillance devices than this," Megatron said darkly, obviously more than a little put out. "In fact, it's hard to arrange any privacy at all, since he installs them faster than we can dismantle them." His servos danced across the console, and the screens zoomed into three close-up views of the berth. "He's getting more inventive, as well. Optimus and I almost missed the one he'd installed in the interface toy. Luckily, we had others he hadn't tampered with yet, so all was not lost."

Fowler groaned aloud, then quickly placed a hand over his wife's mouth when she appeared about to pursue that absolutely forbidden topic.

He let out a manly yelp when she bit him, and he released her quickly, holding the hand to his mouth to stop the bleeding.

Luckily, the view of the struggling Prime seemed to have diverted her attention. "What is Optimus doing?" she asked, walking around the Cybertronians in an attempt to get a better view.

Megatron crossed his arms and smiled broadly, displaying lots of razor sharp dentae. "He's trying to get out of the berth."

Trying being the operative word. At first, Prime rolled onto his knees and servos and attempted to crawl out of the berth, but as soon as he managed any forward momentum, the exceedingly soft berth would ripple in waves, catch onto his protruding belly, and propel him backwards again.

But Prime was nothing if not persistent, and he lifted his lower half a little higher to clear his belly from the rippling berth. This evidently required a great deal of squirming on Prime's part, and Megatron zoomed into a close-up view of that now incessantly wriggling aft.

Fowler heard a cooling fan click on, and he sighed deeply. Then he realized it was more than one set of cooling fans he was hearing, and he looked up at Ratchet in surprise.

Megatron was glaring at Ratchet, optics narrowed, apparently not appreciating the other's carnal interest in his mate.

Ratchet crossed his arms. "What? I may be old, but I'm not off-line. Who wouldn't want some of that?" He jerked his helm in the direction of Prime, who had fallen flat on his faceplates in the traitorous berth, his whole frame writhing now as he struggled to get back up.

Even Fowler had to admit that Prime could make a killing in any Red Light district on the planet with moves like that.

The heavily pregnant mech made no progress in escaping the treacherous berth, but that shapely aft kept wriggling nonetheless.

That was Prime for you. Never give up. Never surrender. And, apparently, never stop wriggling.

Why was it getting so damn hot in here?

"You're supposed to be his medic," Megatron said indignantly, as two sets of cooling fans kicked up several more notches.

Ratchet snapped, "I can't run the medic protocols while my battle protocols are active, and I can't shut those off given the current company."

"Hell, I'm sorry, Ratchet," Fowler interrupted, trying to distract himself from the viewscreen. And the wriggling. "I know I'm pretty damn intimidating, but we've been working together for years now. I thought you'd stopped seeing me as a potential threat long ago."

Megatron and Ratchet stopped glaring at each other to stare down at him, both sets of optics having to cycle several times just to see him.

Neither one of them appeared the least bit intimidated.

Oh. Oh.

"Well, crap, you were referring to Megatron, weren't you?" Fowler waved a hand airily. "Gotcha. Carry on then. My bad."

June had a hand over her face, shaking her head.

On the screen, Prime had adopted a different strategy. Spreading his thighs wide, he sat back on his bare pedes, using his protruding belly to balance himself. Then, pushing straight off the berth with both servos, he started to rise shakily to his pedes.

Megatron struck a pose. "One shall stand," he intoned in his deepest voice.

Prime briefly made it to his pedes before the rolling berth did him in, and his optics widened in dismay as his arms windmilled frantically.

"And . . . one shall fall," Megatron completed smugly.

A strangled, high-pitched "Oh!" came from the direction of the screen. It wasn't quite falsetto, but it was close.

Smirking, Megatron changed the current view so that Prime was now facing the camera.

Having fallen back on his aft, his legs spread almost obscenely, Prime uttered a mild curse, glaring at his troublesome belly as if to seek retribution.

"Did he just say what I thought he said?" Fowler asked. "I've never heard Prime swear."

"Oh, you have no idea," Megatron said smugly, turning to face him. "He's very vocal in berth. You should hear him when he has the proper . . . motivation."

"Speaking of motivation," Fowler said, watching the screen behind Megatron's back. "I think our wily Prime is onto something."

"What?!" Megatron exclaimed, a little higher than his usual baritone, as he spun around to face the screen.

And yes, Prime was definitely onto something. Having realized he'd made some progress, however miniscule, by falling backwards and bouncing, he was now in the process of repeating that maneuver. And sure enough, he was gradually making headway, or rather aftway, toward the side of the berth.

Prime hadn't spent millions of years gaining a wealth of tactical expertise for nothing.

"Well, that little . . ." Megatron cut himself off, then keyed his internal comm. "Soundwave, how long until you can reactivate the groundbridge?" Pause. "Scrap. All right then, it'll have to be you. Optimus requires an intervention." Megatron's optics narrowed, and he tapped his talons on the console impatiently. "Will you calm down please? He is not going through emergence!"

"You'd better tell him to hurry," June said tightly. "Optimus is getting rather good at this. A few more attempts, and he's going to bounce his aft right off the berth."

Megatron nodded to indicate he'd heard. "Soundwave, just be quiet and listen to me. Optimus is trying to escape." He glanced over at Ratchet's crossed arms and glowering optics, and said quickly, "That is, Optimus is countermanding his medic's wishes and attempting to get out of the berth." Another pause. "What do you mean, 'what do I want you to do'? I want you to get over there and stop him!" Rolling his optics, he said, "How the frag should I know? Just sit on him if you have to!"

Another glower from Ratchet.

"Sit on him gently," Megatron growled, as he cut the comm.

Luckily, Prime appeared to be resting at the moment, since all that standing and falling was apparently taking a lot out of him in his condition.

Ratchet grinned. "Well, it's nice to see that nothing has changed, and Optimus can still thwart your plans with no outside assistance whatsoever," he said smugly. "Do you still plan on keeping him barepede and carrying for the next few megavorns?"

Megatron scowled down at him, "Perhaps not, medic." He paused, then made a point of casually studying the talons on one servo. "Unfortunately, the Quints have been prowling around our borders again, and we may be back at war sooner than we'd thought. However, once Optimus has delivered our sparkling, I am quite certain he will see the wisdom in staying behind the lines and allowing others to risk spark and limb on his behalf, even if he is no longer carrying. After all, he is our only known carrying mech."

Fowler snorted. "Fat chance. Prime's definitely not a 'stay behind the lines' kind of mech."

But this was a fact that Ratchet was evidently well aware of from past experience, judging by the scowl on his face. The medic reached inside his subspace. "Here," he said tightly, shoving a cube at Megatron.

Frowning, Megatron asked, "What is this?"

"Cybertronian aphrodisiac."

Megatron reared backward, indignant. "What makes you think I would need . . ."

Rolling his optics, Ratchet said, "Not for you, you half-clocked, overfaced glitch. It's for Optimus."

But Megatron was apparently not appeased. He crossed his arms, scowling. "That is no better, medic. With me as his mate, what makes you think Optimus would require such a crude, artificial intervention?"

Behind them, Prime was preparing to resume his assault on the berth. He rubbed his belly gently, muttering, "As much as I love you, I will be much relieved when you have finally made an appearance." But then the last of the Primes frowned, and his voice deepened to a register that everyone was very familiar with. "And if my mate believes I'll allow his spike anywhere near my valve after that has occurred, he shall answer to me."

Optics widening, Megatron held out a servo to Ratchet and said, "Give me that."

Ratchet handed it to him. "Quints, you say?"

"Thousands of them," Megatron replied, carefully subspacing the cube.

Ratchet turned to watch Optimus stubbornly defy medical orders, and anything remotely resembling common sense, by wobbling unsteadily to his pedes. He sighed. "Let me know when you need a refill. I'll try to increase the potency with the next batch."

"Agreed," Megatron said.

On the monitor, the triumphant Prime had finally reached his goal. With a soft ex-vent, he swung his legs over the side of the berth, his bare pedes dangling some distance from the floor.

Before he could climb down, Soundwave entered the room at a dead sprint.

This caused everyone to blink in an attempt to clear their optics or eyes, depending upon the species. Soundwave rarely moved at anything other than a deliberate walk, and his current rate of speed was odd enough that even Prime paused to stare incredulously.

This was a good thing, because Soundwave still had his precious knitting in both servos, trailing a truly astounding amount of string that culminated in a giant ball of yarn.

And he was not alone.

Ravage bounded into view and pounced on this universal cat toy with unbridled enthusiasm.

And since Soundwave still had a stranglehold on the knitting, this meant he suffered an aft-first landing on the deck as he was yanked backward by the yarn's sudden stop.

Obviously, very strong yarn.

Soundwave being Soundwave, he never uttered a word as he went down, but Fowler could have sworn he saw an exclamation point appear on his visor.

Ratchet laughed. "Now I see why he spent so many orns as your communications officer and not your second in command," he drawled. "Not the sharpest mech in a crisis, is he?"

Megatron snorted. "Well, Optimus is still on the berth, so I'd say he has accomplished his mission. His methods are simply unorthodox."

Ravage let out a joyous, rumbling snarl and thundered across the length of the room, batting and chasing the ball of yarn until he disappeared from their view.

Indeed, Prime was watching the goings-on warily from a place of relative safety on the berth, knowing better than to descend and chance getting knocked off his pedes.

And back across the deck came Ravage, but this time the ball of yarn was chasing him since Soundwave was attempting to curb the mayhem by hauling on the loose ends of the yarn.

Soundwave was only halfway to his pedes when Ravage turned 180 degrees in an impressive display of agility and swatted the ball of yarn hard enough that it went airborne, yanking Soundwave off his pedes again. The yarn bounced off at least two walls, then came flying back into the field of play, causing both Soundwave and Prime to throw themselves flat onto the nearest horizontal surface in self-defense.

Ratchet was now glaring at the screen. "If that idiot cat manages to injure Optimus with this inanity. . . "

Megatron stared at him in disbelief. "Optimus has spent the last four million years bouncing blaster shots off his armor, and you’re worried about a ball of yarn?"

Fowler laughed. "Weirder things have happened. I cut myself on an orange once."

June groaned aloud, but Megatron ignored both of them. "If there were a true danger to my mate, I'd put a stop to this immediately."

"Oh, really? How?"

Ravage flew across the room, pounced on the ball of yarn and then flipped over onto his back, locking all four limbs into what Fowler privately thought of as the 'angry buzzsaw' position. Kicking for all he was worth, he then launched the ball airborne, crouched and leapt halfway to the ceiling so he could swat the ball again.

Soundwave had both arms over his helm, and Prime was still flat on the berth, only his optics peering warily over the edge.

Megatron opened his intake, closed it, then said, "He's bound to get tired eventually."

"Oh, for the love of . . ." June stalked over to the console, opened a direct comm line and yelled, "Ravage! Bad kitty!"

Ravage came to a skittering stop, one paw raised in preparation for swatting, and he stared up at the room's monitor in apparent confusion.

June had her arms crossed over her chest. "If you ever want to see another ball of yarn again, you will cease what you're doing immediately."

Ravage looked from her to a slowly rising Soundwave, then back at the ball of yarn. He raised the paw a little higher.

"Don't you make me come up there," June said, and her tone of voice was evidently serious enough that the cat sank down, crossed his front paws, and rested his helm on them with a put-upon sigh.

Crisis over. For now, at least.

Soundwave stepped in front of Prime while he was still struggling to sit up, holding a misshapen wad of something vaguely yarn-like against Prime's belly. With a despondent slouch of his shoulders, he hung his helm.

"Soundwave?" June said.

Turning, Soundwave looked up at the monitor.

"Why don't you try knitting it in sections? You can graft them together with a kitchener stitch, then you won't have to redo the whole project just to make it larger."

Soundwave cradled the knitting to his chest plates, then nodded vigorously, obviously enthused about the idea.

Megatron, currently out of the view of everyone on the Nemesis, was staring down at June with a contemplative look on his faceplates.

"Megatron?" Prime asked, far more tentative than Fowler was accustomed to hearing from him.

Taking a few steps closer, Megatron said, "I am here, Optimus."

"I came out of recharge, and you were gone."

Fowler squinted. Was Prime actually pouting? It sure looked like a pout.

Megatron smiled at him. "I apologize, my mate. I had hoped to return before you arose."

Fowler walked over to his wife, and Prime's optics cycled down to focus on them. He nodded. "I see congratulations are in order, June, Agent Fowler."

"And you as well, Optimus," June said brightly, then nudged Fowler hard enough with her elbow that he grunted.

"Yes, uh, good to see you're living large there, Prime," he managed to get out, only to earn another sharp, pointy elbow in his side.

But Prime actually smiled. "Yes, Agent Fowler. Although unexpected, I must admit that the reason for 'living large' is indeed a bastion of hope for the continuation of our species."

June was frowning up at him. "But what about you, Optimus? Is this what you want?"

Prime paused, and then looked past them at Megatron, who was listening to their conversation with a wary but hopeful expression. "Yes, it is. I would not change my circumstances in the least." He tilted his head. "Although my mate is in danger of neglecting his duties as Sire."

"Never, Optimus," Megatron said, and he sounded infinitely relieved. "I believe you expressed a desire for some items not available on the Nemesis?"

He stepped to one side, indicating the barrels that Fowler had delivered.

Prime's optics widened. "You obtained them for me?"

"Of course," Megatron said fondly.

But Fowler was busy having another potential breakdown. "Wait a minute. You don't mean Prime's actually going to consume that stuff, do you?"

Megatron nodded. "My mate says his energon has been tasting 'off,' so he hasn't been fueling sufficiently to meet the bitlet's demands on his gestation systems." He scowled. "An intervention was definitely required."

"But he can't drink that stuff!" Fowler exclaimed. He turned to Ratchet in desperation. "Tell them!"

Ratchet crossed his arms. "While I don't approve of adding anything to perfectly good energon, I do agree that Optimus should be fueling more than he has." He shrugged. "It's worth a try, I suppose."

Fowler gaped at him. "Aloe vera, castor oil, and milk of magnesia?"

Ratchet looked up the reference, then chuckled. "Oh, I see. Don't worry, Agent Fowler, they won't have the same effect on a Cybertronian as they would on a human. We don't have digestive systems."

"Well, they sure as hell won't taste very good either!"

June clasped his arm to get his attention. "And you've actually tried mixing energon with all that?"

"Of course not!"

"Then let the poor mech have what he's been craving."

"How does he even know it's that stuff he's craving? I find it hard to believe that Prime has been randomly sucking down shit like castor oil just for kicks -- 'Oh hey, this is yummy. I gotta remember this for the next time I get knocked up.'"

June sighed. "All of that 'stuff' is composed of a strictly defined combination of organic compounds. I'm sure their processors are more than capable of determining what compounds they need and in what formulation." She narrowed her eyes at him. "And you'd best get used to the idea of odd food combinations. They're coming your way sooner than you think."

"Yes, dear."

Behind them, Megatron was gathering the barrels and subspacing them. With a nod to Ratchet, he turned to the screen. "Are you able to open a bridge yet, Soundwave?"

Soundwave was busily retrieving the stray yarn while keeping a close optic on Ravage, but he nodded.

"Good," Megatron said. "I have a mate in dire need of my attention." Turning toward Prime, he said, "Perhaps after you have fueled, I can take you flying, with the medic's permission of course."

Prime straightened excitedly at this news, but Ratchet said, "If that's a Decepticon euphemism for interfacing, I don't want to hear it."

The sound of transforming was preternaturally loud in the enclosed space, but Megatron had only transformed his wings, praise the Lord. Still, they nearly filled the cavernous room with their immense size.

"Flying as in flying," the warlord said testily.

Glancing over at Prime, Fowler decided that today was apparently the day for revelations. He hadn't known that Prime possessed the equivalent of "puppy dog eyes", but he did, and the full force of that irresistible expression was currently focused solely on Ratchet.

The poor medic never stood a chance.

"All right, all right, just don't let him do any wild aerobatics while you're up there," Ratchet said. "Oh, slag it all. What do I care? Megatron will be the one cleaning up the mess if you purge your tanks."

"Thank you, old friend," Prime said, and he looked happy.

Fowler couldn't remember ever seeing the too-serious mech happy. Huh. Perhaps the whole carrying thing wasn't so outrageous after all.

Cutting the comm connection, Megatron transformed back into root mode just as the bridge opened behind them. Ratchet gave the humans a quick nod before disappearing through the bridge, but Megatron paused to address June.

"Remember what I said, June Fowler. I believe you would make a most worthy successor." With a final nod of his helm, he also disappeared into the bridge.

In the relative quiet of the now deserted base, Fowler turned to his wife.

"You've certainly made an impression on Megatron," he said wryly. "Are you going to take him up on his offer?"

"Hmm," she said, "I'm still considering it."

Fowler raised an eyebrow. "Well, now that the emergency castor oil supply run is complete, I'm considering an offer as well -- as in the one you made this morning."

"And what makes you think you are worthy of my attention, fleshling?"

Actually, not a bad Megatron impression. Maybe the big mech was on to something.

Fowler pulled her close against him. "I'll do my best to convince you. What exactly do I have to do?"

Smirking, June gave him a playful squeeze and said, "Decepticon, rise up."

Chapter Text

"You presume too much, Megatron. This is unnecessary."

"Your medic states otherwise, my mate." Looking down at him innocently, Megatron said, "I wouldn't dare disregard his medical advice."

"Yes, you would, when it suits your purposes. You are enjoying my lack of autonomy immensely and not even bothering to mask it in your field." A sullen hmph from the mech in his arms. "Remember, Ratchet also said you should not distress me."

Megatron assumed his best scandalized expression. "Optimus, I am crushed. Have I not obtained the energon additives you were craving? Have I not offered to take you flying? Frag, I've even spent the last several orns composing love poetry for you."

"Love poetry?" Optimus said, his vocalizer sputtering with indignation. "You mean, 'There once was a mech from Old Iacon'? That love poetry?"

Megatron adored Optimus when he was vexed. Of course, he adored him at all other times as well, but he was utterly irresistible when he was flustered. So much so, it was difficult to resist the temptation to encourage that condition. But then, he rarely bothered to resist temptation of any sort. If he had, he might never have acquired his lovely mate and a sparkling. So why change what works?

Megatron nodded solemnly. "I believe I shall publish it. Since I haven't composed any new poetry since the start of the war, it's certain to acquire an extensive audience."

Optimus glared. "If you dare, I'll off-line you myself, as it is grossly inaccurate. I may not have on-lined as a warbuild, Megatron, but I have never 'swooned.'"

Megatron paused at the corridor intersection, then peered around the corner to insure there were no lurking seekers. He used the opportunity to hide the gleeful smirk that he knew would only serve to infuriate Optimus. Risking a quick ping of radar, he decided the route was clear.

Forcing a neutral expression on his faceplates, he strode down the empty corridor and said, "I'm sorry, Optimus, but good poetry requires a meter that is consistent and rhythmic, so I'm afraid 'having an overload so powerful that he screamed his mate's name at the top of his vocalizer before falling into involuntary stasis lock' simply isn't suitable. Therefore, 'swooned' it must be. Accept an expert's opinion on that."

Optimus scowled at him. "Just because you've been using your interface equipment for the last several millennia does not automatically make you an expert."

"I was referring to the art of poetics, not interfacing, but yes, sweetspark, I'm afraid it does." Megatron grinned. "Since you have yet to acknowledge my mastery of either, I'm obviously not trying hard enough. But then, given your woeful lack of 'facing experience, I have been holding back somewhat."

"You were clearly not holding back enough or I would never have sparked." His rotund mate crossed his arms forbiddingly across his chest plates. The pose might have been intimidating at some point in the past, but since Optimus was currently barepede and being carried through the decks of the Nemesis by his former archenemy, the overall effect was lessened somewhat.

Ratchet had placed severe limitations on the heavily carrying mech, a fact which thrilled Megatron to no end, and he was determined to make the most of it. He hadn't spent a lifetime honing his skills as a military commander just to waste an opportunity when it landed in his lap.

Quite literally, in this case.

His lap had never been happier.

"Regardless, Optimus, you can't deny that your overload sent you into stasis. After you rebooted, the first words out of your vocalizer were, 'What the frag?'"

"I was referring to the audience we had apparently attracted while interfacing, not the act itself."

"And that's my fault?"

Apparently so, since Optimus wore the 'Primal Frown of Immense Disapproval, level III'.

"Optimus, I didn't know we had an audience, and besides, it wasn't even a third of the crew," Megatron said defensively. "I honestly thought the hanger bay was deserted. We only use that landing site for potentially hostile craft, and the observation deck above it has one-way glass for a reason." He paused, considering. "Although the bleachers were a new addition."

Unfortunately, the Primal Frown was still there, and in full force. Think fast, Megatron, or there'll be no 'facing for you today.

"Optimus, dear spark, you heard me yelling at them. I was just as upset as you were."

"You were upset because they were passing around rust sticks, and no one offered you one."

"But I like rust sticks." He was not whining. The Lord of the Decepticons did not whine.

"Stop whining, Megatron. I have never been so mortified in my life. And that includes walking in on Bumblebee in berth with a jackhammer."

Raising an optic ridge, Megatron declined to comment on that, but filed it away in his processor under "potential interface toys." He'd have to ask June about it the next time she commed.

"Well, you were rather loud when you overloaded," Megatron said helpfully, then dodged the swinging fist headed toward his helm. "But that's a good thing! Decepticons heartily approve of a mate who is exceptionally loud in berth. The energon-curdling yell we use to intimidate our enemies is more impressive with a robust vocalizer." He paused, smiling. "Just think, Optimus, our sparkling is sure to inherit this desirable trait as well."

"You are not helping, Megatron."

"All right then, I believe your humans have a saying, 'Look on the bright side.' It wasn't your interface equipment splayed all over the shipwide holo network."

"Megatron, you offered to do a photo shoot!"

Oh. He thought Optimus had missed that. "Yes, but I didn't agree to the contest. I know you disapprove of frivolity, and it doesn't get any more frivolous than a 'Name That Spike' contest." Megatron rolled his optics. "Not to mention the potential for embarrassment given my crew's positively depraved sense of humor."

Optimus didn't reply, looking away guiltily.

Ex-venting heavily, Megatron said, "Optimus, I know you were initially upset about getting sparked, and you had a few choice words to say about my spike, but this is a little extreme. You initiated that contest, didn’t you?"

Optimus' helm snapped back around. "Of course not!" he said indignantly. "I am the Prime. What would your crew think?"

"My crew thinks you're adorable, even before you were carrying." He tilted his helm to one side, considering the other options. "So, you merely voted in the contest then?"

"No, I most certainly did not," Optimus said, but he wouldn’t meet his optics.

He'd known Optimus for millennia, so he easily recognized his evasion tactics. Not to mention his mate was hopelessly honest and couldn't tell a lie to save his spark. Therefore, Megatron merely continued to glare until Optimus finally admitted, "You're not allowed to vote if you participate in the contest, and I may have . . . submitted an entry."

Megatron felt a delighted smirk creep across his faceplates. His little mate was apparently full of surprises. "Oh, you did, did you? And which one of the colorful contributions was yours?" He had to admit, some of the entries were actually very clever, as well as extremely flattering.

"I'm not telling you that!" Optimus snapped, a deep flush crossing his faceplates. "It's supposed to be anonymous."

"If you win, I'll find out anyway," he teased, enjoying his mate's obvious embarrassment. "You can't win a prize anonymously."

"There isn't a prize. Everyone's afraid you might disapprove of their contest entry, and therefore the 'prize' is not getting off-lined in a spectacularly gruesome manner." Optimus huffed. "Your crew has no faith in the Anger Management classes you've been taking."

Megatron looked at him innocently. "I'm a work in progress."

"You might progress faster if you occasionally left the classroom intact."

Hearing pedesteps approaching from a cross corridor, Megatron ducked into a supply closet, locked the door, and put a servo over his mate's intake. Then, deciding it would be a shame to waste a perfectly good supply closet while they waited for the corridor to clear, he leaned down to nuzzle his mate's neck cables.

Optimus bit him. Hard.

"Slag!" Megatron whispered ferociously, "What was that for?"

Megatron could clearly detect the glare of unhappy blue optics despite the nearly pitch-black gloom. "What if someone catches us lurking in a darkened supply closet?" Optimus complained. "They're going to assume we're interfacing."

"They'd be glitched if they didn't assume that, even without the bleachers, but . . . Ow!"

Optimus might have actually drawn energon that time. He glared down at his mate. "Would you stop that? You weren't this vicious while we were still fighting each other!"

"That's different. You weren't trying to interface with me in a supply closet before."

Megatron rolled his optics, even though he knew his Autobot mate was practically blind in the near darkness and it was a wasted effort. His heavy ex-vent, however, evidently spoke for itself.

"Wait, you were trying to interface with me in a supply closet before?"

"Only about a dozen times in the last hundred vorns," Megatron growled back, "but somebot was perpetually clueless and kept trying to off-line me every time I tried!" He paused, pouting. "My spike was beginning to get a complex."

His mate's optics widened. "Oh, that's what the Matrix was trying to tell me -- it was attempting to get us together. I thought it was being annoyingly vague and mysterious again, so I ignored it."

Megatron felt a helmache coming on. "That worthless piece of scrap metal actually contributed something useful for the first time in eons, and you ignored it?"

Optimus frowned. "You try interpreting, 'The delights of the frame shall transmute into the ultimate solace for all Primus' creations' while your archenemy is dragging you by your pedes into a dark closet."

"It sounds perfectly clear to me. Besides, 'dark closet' should have been a big hint. If I'd wanted to off-line you, I'd do it in public."

"I was still sealed, Megatron. The only 'Delights of the Frame' I knew of were those scrumptious energon snacks they sold at Maccadam's." He frowned. "Wait a breem. You've never offered me energon goodies, even after you sparked me."

"Optimus," Megatron said patiently, "when your medic caught me trying to sneak sweets to you, he hit me so hard I forgot what planet I was on. Actually, I forgot the ship wasn't even on a planet." He paused, remembering. "That first step was a doozy."

Optimus was apparently not impressed. "You might have tried wooing me with sweets instead of ambushing me aboard the Nemesis."

"Why?" Megatron said, confused. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Regardless of the fact that it ended our war, I would have preferred that my first interface experience be somewhere other than the bridge of your warship!"

Megatron stared down at him, speechless. "You mean you still haven't realized?" He shook his helm. "I really did blow your processor when we 'faced that day, didn't I?"

"What are you talking about?" His mate had a truly delightful pout.

"Optimus, sweetspark, light of my life. That wasn't the actual bridge. I made a mock-up in one of the supply closets, because I knew I wasn't coaxing you inside one otherwise." He paused. "Actually, I'm surprised you fell for it. It was a rush job, and I had to leave all the mop buckets outside in the corridor."

Off-lining his optics, Optimus said miserably, "It was the Matrix that convinced me."

"The Matrix told you that a dingy, hastily modified supply closet was our ultramodern bridge?" Megatron knew the relic was worthless, but he hadn't known it was stupid.

"No, it told me, 'Get that shapely aft of yours inside that slagging room now, or else.' I was so shocked that I didn't even see the water on the deck until I'd slipped on it."

Megatron smirked. "And the rest, as they say, is history." It had been a cunning plan.

But Optimus wasn't listening to him. He had that look in his optics -- the one that meant life was going to get extremely difficult for his long-suffering mate. And soon.

"Megatron, it is time for me to fulfill my duties as Prime. We must cease hiding from your crew."

"Optimus, I thought you wanted to avoid the seekers." He frowned. "Isn't it a little early for mood swings?"

His mate glared at him, then said, "All this skulking about evokes unpleasant memories of the war. We must go beyond that if we are to have lasting peace between our factions. If I am to be Prime, I must be Prime to all Cybertronians, not just Autobots."

Megatron felt his optics widen. While a commendable goal, he didn't think Optimus quite understood all the intimate details of Decepticon protocol, especially the lesser known Vosian traditions. "Are you certain, Optimus? I don't think you're ready. . ."

"I am quite certain, my mate."

Okaaaay. The Prime Has Spoken.

Megatron hastily transferred this conversation into permanent memory, word for word, just so Optimus couldn't claim that nobody had warned him.

Then, he opened his private comm. ::Soundwave. Deactivate all the Optimus decoys and remove the scrambler on his locater beacon. Yes, I know exactly what's going to happen, and no, you cannot join in. It's going to be a Pit circus as it is, and I don't want to overwhelm him.:: Megatron rolled his optics. ::All right, I'll consider arranging a private audience at some point. For now, just do as I command.::

Megatron closed the comm with a stifled ex-vent. While Soundwave was normally the perfect lieutenant, he was getting entirely too bold, at least as far as his mate and the bitling were concerned. Maybe June would have better luck with the recalcitrant mech when she took command.

For now, he had to placate a stewing Optimus. Or unplacate, actually, if he wanted to prevent his mate from accidentally off-lining an unsuspecting seeker. Talk about a disaster for Autobot/Decepticon relations in the making.

It was a daunting prospect, especially with Optimus in his present state of processor, but at least he could have fun trying.

With that, he hefted his mate a little higher so he could reach his sensitive neck cabling with his intake. He knew this spot right next to one of the primary energon lines where his mate was particularly susceptible to . . . encouragement.

Optimus gasped at his gentle nibbling, unconsciously rolling his helm to one side for easier access, but then said, "What are you doing, Megatron?"

"If you haven't worked that out yet, you're more inexperienced than I'd thought. Ow!"

At this rate, he'd have to reconsider his choice of conjux endura, since he'd evidently managed to sparkmerge with an oversized scraplet. Hmm. Perhaps a muzzle would be in order. He'd have to discuss it with the medic. Unfortunately, with the decoys disabled, he didn't have time for that at the moment. "Slag it all, Optimus. I guarantee you'll have an opportunity to perform your Primal duties, very soon, but we're in a perfectly good supply closet, and I would like to take advantage of that fact. We can postpone our 'flying' until later."

"I heard that emphasis on 'flying'," Optimus chided. "You claimed that it wasn't a euphemism for interfacing."

"No, the medic told me he didn't want to hear it, so I refrained from telling him. I'm not an idiot." He paused. "I assume Autobots don’t engage in that particular method of 'facing bliss?"

"We'd have to get airborne first, and that has occurred exactly once, when Wheeljack was experimenting with Earth fertilizer and proximity bombs." A loud huff from his mate. "Trust me, the 'hang time' wasn't long enough for anything except enthusiastic screaming." He paused. "Even for you."

Megatron didn't know if he should be flattered or insulted, but he grinned at him regardless. "Oh, is that what happened? Soundwave thought it was merely an exuberant display of fleshling fireworks."

"Luckily, that's what the local populace thought, as well. There's a reason I only let Wheeljack experiment with explosives on the Fourth of July."

Megatron was impressed by his forethought. But then, he was the Prime for a reason.

While his mate appeared distracted, he tried to sneak a kiss on his intake and encountered his battlemask instead. He ex-vented loudly. "Optimus, I adore you, I want to 'face with you, and I'm attempting to be more discrete than our last encounter -- at your rather strident request. Do you think you could cooperate, please?"

"I doubt seriously there is a berth in here, unless Decepticons have extremely odd design specifications for their warships, so interfacing appears to be out of the question. I refuse to lie on the floor of a supply closet in my current condition."

Megatron smiled. "Have I told you recently how much I love your 'current condition'?"

"Yes, many times, my mate. Still not interfacing. And with no berth and your servos otherwise occupied in carrying me, you could not coax me into an overload regardless."

Ooooh.

As Megatron considered the multitude of possibilities involving a Decepticon supply closet and his oh-so-innocent mate, all his cooling fans kicked on simultaneously. If they'd had variable speeds, they'd be spinning a chorus of 'Glory, Glory, Hallelujah.'

"That was not a challenge, Megatron," Optimus said desperately, evidently realizing his mistake.

"Too late. You know there are two things I can't resist -- you and a challenge. Put them both together, and it'll be a deca-cycle before we get out of this closet." He grinned down at him. "It's a good thing we've both fueled sufficiently this morning."

"But I have never been a challenge!" Optimus said frantically.

"Oh really," Megatron drawled. "If that were the case, we'd have been interfacing vorns ago."

Optimus didn't have an answer to that.

It was past time to further his mate's sadly deficient education, but Megatron refused to do so while hiding in a locked closet. He did have some standards, and besides, Decepticons weren't near as prudish as Autobots when it came to public interfacing. That was the first lesson if his Prime wanted to officiate over both factions successfully.

Besides, their 'guests' would likely arrive soon, and it didn't pay to be rude. More importantly, they'd be in the immediate blast radius if they had to force their way inside. It was an extremely large room, given the primary alternate usage for a 'supply closet' on a Decepticon warship, but there was at least one item stored in this particular closet that Megatron didn't wish to disturb.

He therefore elbowed the door lock release but left the lights off. He could see perfectly fine with his red optics optimized for low light, even if Optimus could not.

And it was probably best if his mate couldn't see everything that was about to occur. The medic had instructed him not to stress Optimus. Of course, they likely had widely divergent views on the exact definition of 'stress,' but even Ratchet had to admit that interfacing was excellent exercise.

"What are you. . . ?" Optimus' question was choked off when Megatron abruptly spun him in his arms.

Megatron then gripped his mate's aft with both servos as he backed him against the wall of the closet, at a rather steep angle given the amount of belly he had to work around.

Gasping aloud at his seemingly precarious position, Optimus automatically wrapped his legs around Megatron's hips, his servos grasping frantically onto his mate's chest plates.

Perfect. He didn't even have to coax his mate into the proper position.

One of the benefits of Megatron's Cybertronian altmode was his ability to precisely change the output of his flight engines, which correspondingly changed the frequency of their vibration. And it's possible Megatron may have noted the exact frequency that caused the most resonance with his mate's interface array -- specifically his anterior node -- just to avoid any potentially embarrassing consequences while carrying Optimus in altmode, of course.

And it was purely coincidence that in their current position, the panel of Optimus' interface array was pressed tightly against Megatron's chassis in the general vicinity of said flight engines.

He knew better than to ask Optimus to open the panel.

Yet.

Optimus was currently glaring at him forbiddingly, but as Megatron slowly spun up his engines, his optics widened.

Now that Optimus had his legs wrapped around him, Megatron was able to free a servo for other, more pleasurable things.

Apparently focused on the gentle, teasing vibration against his intimate panel, Optimus didn't even realize this fact until Megatron began lightly stroking his aft. Optimus tried to squirm away, but unfortunately, avoiding the caressing servo only pressed his panel more firmly against Megatron's idling flight engines.

Gasping aloud, Optimus attempted to push him away with his servos and get to his pedes, but Megatron would have none of that. If he hoped to stay in the medic's good graces and insure a constant supply of aphrodisiacs, he intended to insure his mate's compliance.

Besides, this whole interlude was turning out to be most arousing.

Therefore, Megatron pressed him harder against the wall, then grabbed both his mate's servos and held them firmly above his helm before returning the other servo to Optimus' aft. His grip combined with his superior weight kept his mate securely pinned to the wall.

When he'd bragged about their previous use of restraints, he'd done so simply to irritate the medic, because restraints were something he'd studiously avoided with Optimus. Given their past history, he'd assumed his mate wouldn't appreciate their use in berth.

However, given Optimus' widened optics and the sudden, unmistakable sound of his cooling fans kicking into high gear, he might have to re-evaluate that assumption.

He felt a slow smile spread across his faceplates as Optimus continued to gaze at him with wide optics but made no indication that he wished him to stop. In fact, as Megatron reached that precise frequency of his engines and steadily maintained it, Optimus began to wriggle helplessly, evidently unable to remain still with its teasing vibration against his most sensitive components, but he still made no attempt to break free of Megatron's possessive hold.

"Hmm, like being restrained, do we?" Megatron purred.

Optimus didn't reply, but his battlemask retracted with a sharp click as his core temperature continued to rise. His interface cover remained tightly in place, however. Megatron wasn't overly concerned, and he'd start to worry if Optimus made things too easy for him. That's not how their relationship had worked, ever. Besides, he could easily detect the distinct, pleasantly piquant scent of his mate's lubricant even without the evidence of the cooling fans.

His mate had to be practically dripping for the scent to be that noticeable, and his own arousal soared.

Megatron was just lowering his intake to Optimus' when he received several pings across his internal comms.

Slag and blast. He'd been hoping for a little more one-on-one time, but his mate had indicated his desire to become Prime for all Cybertronians.

Too bad Optimus was likely to blow a few fuses when he discovered exactly what that entailed. Unfortunately, this was a case of 'What the Prime doesn't know will likely come back and bite Megatron in the aft,' but as long as Optimus didn't permanently kick him out of the berthroom, he'd be happy.

If the crew discovered he'd been exiled to the couch, he'd never hear the end of it.

Gah. And the medic would be insufferable.

TBC

Chapter Text

While Megatron had to give the Matrix credit for its stellar matchmaking skills, he had a feeling it hadn't supplied Optimus with all the pertinent information regarding certain Vosian seeker traditions. But then, given Optimus' sheer stubbornness and relative naivete, he likely wouldn't have comprehended the significance of this knowledge if it had.

Since the Matrix had known Optimus for a very long time, Megatron guessed it hadn’t bothered to try. There's only so much frustration that even a holy relic can take before it says, "Frag it all!" and keeps its opinions to itself. Besides, it's likely been eons since it's had a good chuckle.

In Megatron's opinion, this was perfectly fine. He was looking forward to his guileless mate's reaction when the light eventually dawned.

Had he mentioned how much he adored a flustered Optimus?

Regardless, the only immediate complication to this happy scenario was his own rather compelling urge to not share his mate at all. It was conceivably just a product of his Sire coding, but he was feeling a tad bit possessive of Optimus.

Perhaps . . . more than a tad.

All right, so he'd have to make a determined effort not to summarily off-line anybot who got too close to his conjux endura. And wouldn't that be a total mood breaker as far as Optimus and his soft spark were concerned -- his mate got upset over the most trivial things.

Well, he'd just have to endure. He needed to work on his patience protocols anyway, especially with a newspark on the way. Soundwave may have scheduled himself as bitlet sitter for huge blocks of time, but he and Optimus should get at least some time alone with their progeny. Soundwave had to recharge eventually.

With this tentative plan in processor, Megatron released Optimus' servos and lifted him away from the wall. Optimus looked up at him questioningly, but Megatron knew actions would speak louder than words at this point. He carried Optimus over to a cleared area against the far wall where a single armless chair was situated.

With a heavy ex-vent, he sat down on the chair, turning Optimus so that he was facing outward with his backstrut against Megatron's chest plates. He placed Optimus' legs on the outside of his own than spread them apart. Once he had Optimus positioned to his satisfaction, he sent a single ping to the petitioners.

Optimus tilted his helm to look up at him, optics half-closed and still hazy with arousal, clearly confused at this interruption of their 'facing session. And apparently more than a little disappointed, given the insistent nudges he was receiving from Optimus' field.

"Patience, my mate," Megatron said with an indulgent grin.

The door to the supply closet opened, letting in enough light to temporarily blind both of them.

Optimus in-vented sharply, attempting to close his legs so that his intimate panel was not so blatantly on display, but Megatron placed both servos on his thighs, preventing the motion.

"Megatron!" Optimus hissed, as a trio of eager seekers entered the room, closing the door behind them.

Having instructed the seekers earlier via comm to leave the lights off, Megatron now signaled to them that they may approach. They were understandably wary. The Prime's wildly fluctuating field was sending mixed signals of arousal and mortification, but even as Megatron tried to modulate his own field, he knew he was still solidly transmitting "Mine!" so emphatically that any sane mech would stay well away. Seekers might be impetuous, but they weren't stupid.

Well, most of them.

Skywarp was the first to approach, but then his motto of "Don't think, just do it," was so firmly entrenched in his coding that it tended to override basic survival programming.

Optimus straightened his backstrut as far as he could while still in Megatron's lap, but Megatron interrupted him before he could open his intake and put his pede in it. Figuratively of course. His mate was flexible but not quite that flexible, more's the pity.

::Optimus,:: he sent over their private comm. ::You wanted to be Prime for all Cybertronians, and this is your best opportunity to solidify that position, at least with the seekers.::

::What are you talking about, Megatron?:: Optimus sent, as he tried unsuccessfully to press himself further back into Megatron's sheltering frame.

Megatron rested his chin on the top of Optimus' helm, as he tried to soothe his distressed mate by rubbing small circles on his thighs. ::Just allow them to approach for now. They're following an old Vosian tradition to demonstrate their allegiance to the Prime.::

::And this must occur in a slagging closet?:: Optimus said, clearly unnerved. He tended to get a bit snappish when stressed. ::What is it with Decepticons and supply closets anyway?::

Megatron chuckled aloud, which clearly disturbed the seekers, as their tentative approach slowed even more. ::Traditionally, it's done in a public venue, but I'm trying to work around your delicate sensibilities here.::

::My sensibilities would be less delicate if I were not in a closet!::

Privately, Megatron strongly disagreed, but he'd allow Optimus to arrive at that conclusion on his own. He'd discovered long ago it worked better that way, and it usually involved fewer dents to Megatron's frame. That medic of Optimus' enjoyed the process of removing them entirely too much. In fact, if he heard Ratchet's gleeful, “Looks like I'll need a bigger hammer!” one more time, he’d off-line the fragger.

Optimus' helm swiveled back and forth, but all he could perceive with his limited Autobot vision was the red glow from the seekers' optics.

Skywarp finally approached close enough, and since he had the patience of a nuclear reactor in meltdown, he wasted absolutely no time commencing the ritual.

Optimus was accustomed to other mecha keeping a respectful distance from him, given his own dignified demeanor and the presence of that sanctimonious scrapheap in his chest. He therefore was not expecting the small servo that began sensually stroking the plating of his upper arm. In fact, he was so focused on Skywarp's attentions that the proximity of the other seekers didn't register until two more sets of servos attached themselves to various parts of his frame.

Optimus jerked violently, obviously disconcerted, even though the seekers had confined themselves to Optimus' arms and upper frame.

For now.

In an attempt to distract his mate, Megatron said, ::The Vosians have a strict hierarchy, but in ages past when a Prime came to ascension, three representatives not of the ruling class were selected to officially bind their city-state to the Prime via a specific ritual.::

One set of the roving servos moved from Optimus' arm to his protruding belly, and he practically levitated out of Megatron's grip. He stilled almost immediately, however, his optics widening. ::Oh, frag,:: Optimus said, sounding slightly panicked. ::So that is why Skywarp kept trying to break into our berthroom. I probably ruined everything when I shoved his faceplates into the flypaper, didn't I?::

::No, Optimus, Skywarp wasn't evoking the ritual then,:: Megatron reassured him. ::That was just a lecherous seeker copping a feel.:: He paused, grinning. ::Besides, flypaper was a good look on him.::

Optimus grunted as the seekers used their smaller servos to work their way inside seams to stroke sensitive cabling and exposed wiring. ::I see,:: Optimus sent back shakily. ::So, in order to satisfy the ritual, I simply allow the seekers to use their servos to get very familiar with my chassis for a few breems, and that is it?::

::Well, it traditionally involves more than servos,:: Megatron said, right before Optimus let out an undignified yelp. Megatron looked down to find Thundercracker using his glossa to stroke inside a transformation seam at Optimus' hip joint, and by the look of rapture on the seeker's faceplates, he intended to stay for a while.

Megatron was reluctantly impressed. His own glossa was much larger and not nearly as dexterous, so Thundercracker and the other seekers were able to reach seams and cables that Megatron couldn’t access. There were distinct drawbacks to being imposing and physically impressive, but it was a burden he'd be eternally forced to bear.

Optimus groaned as the other two mecha decided to follow Thundercracker's lead. Optimus now had all three glossa as well as three sets of roving servos exploring his chassis, and since he'd started this ordeal already aroused from Megatron's attentions, he was quickly becoming overwhelmed.

::I thought you said this was a ritual?:: Optimus gasped.

::It is.::

::Like Pit, it is!:: Optimus sent back. "No, stay away from that!" he said aloud, wriggling. Of course, the seeker in question ignored him completely. As far as they were concerned, forbidden zones were fun zones.

However, Megatron made a mental note to remember that particular spot since Optimus seemed especially sensitive there.

Optimus huffed, slapping at a servo attempting to go where no seeker has gone before. ::Normal mecha would call this an orgy, not a ritual.:: He squirmed helplessly again. "Would you please stop . . . Ah!"

Megatron shrugged. ::Religious ceremonies have many names, Optimus.::

::Interfacing is not considered a religious ceremony, Megatron!:: Optimus said, then yelped aloud when Skywarp found another vulnerable area.

Megatron had to admit the seeker was rather good at locating them. He'd have to send him a 'thank you' basket of energon goodies. Getting Optimus to hold still long enough to find the truly arousing spots was a challenge. He was such a wriggler.

Megatron sighed. ::Optimus, even the fleshings would disagree with you. I overheard Agent Fowler mention that interfacing with June has become 'quite the religious experience' since she became pregnant.::

::Oh, for the love of . . .:: Optimus groaned aloud as somebot's glossa found an exposed actuator cable with lots of sensors. ::Blast it, Megatron. That was not a reference to a ritual -- he is pleased that June's mammary structures have significantly enlarged.::

"Ahh," Megatron said aloud, then moved a servo to caress Optimus' chest. ::I definitely concur. That is an attribute I'm looking forward to exploring once your own energon sacs have fully expanded.::

Optimus testily removed Megatron's servo from his chest. ::Megatron! Have you been spying on my private medical exams again?::

::What? I wasn't supposed to?:: Megatron sent back, confused.

He didn't receive a reply from Optimus, but then his mate's sensor net was probably overwhelmed by the sheer volume of tactile input. In fact, Optimus likely wasn't aware that his valve cover had slid open in response to his ever-increasing charge.

Of course, the seekers noticed that intriguing development immediately, and after the third time Megatron had to divert a probing glossa away from forbidden territory, he revved his flight engines threateningly, scattering seekers in every direction.

He then lifted a very compliant Optimus and pressurized his spike directly into that extremely well lubricated valve.

Optimus moaned, resting his helm on Megatron's chest and arching his backstrut, swiveling his hips sensuously as he rode Megatron's spike. His movements were slow and languorous, and he was too far gone to realize he'd just become every Decepticon's berthroom fantasy, at least judging by the rapturous "Ooh's" and "Ah's" emanating from the seekers.

They were clearly disappointed at Megatron's intervention, but Optimus' valve was his and his alone, and if the pushy seekers wanted to contest that little fact, they were welcome to try and dislodge him. Now that the war was over, it had been awhile since he'd had the opportunity to dismember anybot. It was a useful skill, and he didn't want to lose it.

The seekers crept back, only briefly deterred. Megatron knew his field was pulsing annoyance and possessiveness at a forbidding level, but the Prime's EM field was extremely strong, probably with the assistance of that interfering hunk of metal in his chest, and Optimus was currently broadcasting lust at an amplitude potent enough to inspire the vacuum cleaners to procreate.

At this rate, they'd be up to their audials in dustbusters.

Regretfully, he needed to rein in his mate's enthusiasm.

Megatron gently pushed Optimus down in his lap, holding him in place with a servo and ignoring the pitiful whine this produced. Since it was accompanied by a sharp surge in Optimus' lust-laden field, it was very difficult to ignore.

Frag, he hadn't practiced this much self-control in eons. If ever. He deserved a fragging medal.

Optimus attempted to impale himself deeper on Megatron's spike when his repeated appeals were ignored. However, with no leverage and held firmly in place by confining servos, he wasn't able to accomplish much besides squirming in Megatron's lap.

And Megatron knew from previous experience that Optimus was quite proficient at squirming. In fact, he was a galactic level contender and could out-squirm anybot in his weight class. Megatron had to stifle a moan as his mate continued to shift on his lap while looking up at him with those pleading optics.

It was amazing how pitiful the formidable Prime could look when he wanted a spike badly enough.

The roving servos and glossa of the seekers returned, and Optimus jerked and cried out, his valve cycling around Megatron's spike as he reacted to both its familiar presence and the still unfamiliar sensation of multiple sets of glossa and servos stroking every bit of sensitive frame they could find.

In fact, Optimus was distracted enough that Skywarp managed to tease Optimus' spike panel open without this registering with his beleaguered mate either.

Megatron ex-vented loudly. If he expected Optimus to make it through the entire ritual without slagging it up, he'd best intervene.

::Optimus.::

::Hmmm?:: his mate sent back, blearily.

::I forgot to mention one minor detail of the ritual.::

Skywarp rubbed his servos together and hummed happily, admiring Optimus' lovely spike, its tip glistening with a tiny drop of transfluid as it lay nestled in its sheath.

::Whazzat, Megatron?::

::If they manage to bring you to overload, the ritual is considered a failure, and the three chosen Vosians are exiled eternally in disgrace.::

::What!?:: Optimus said, just as Skywarp reached down with an agile glossa and stroked the tip of Optimus' spike.

Optimus didn't scream, which actually surprised Megatron somewhat. But when he looked closer, he could see that Optimus’ vocalizer had apparently locked up with his intake wide open, and his field was practically reverberating with intense arousal.

Skywarp went back for seconds, extremely pleased with the initial results, and Optimus nearly jackknifed himself off of Megatron's spike.

Megatron hmphed aloud. That was totally unacceptable. He’d spent vorns getting the contrary mech on his spike, and he didn’t appreciate any attempts at premature evacuation.

He therefore wrapped a servo more firmly around Optimus' waist while Skywarp cooed at the partially emerged spike, as if he could convince it to pressurize fully just by asking nicely.

Knowing the soft-sparked Optimus, that might actually work.

Optimus was shaking in his arms, likely a combination of desire and his distress at learning the specifics of the ritual, so Megatron attempted to reassure him. ::If it's any consolation, Optimus, at least the seekers won't be summarily off-lined if you fail. They dispensed with that aspect of the ritual some time back.::

Optimus twitched, and Skywarp snagged his spike with one servo, holding it in place while he continued to stroke the exposed tip with his glossa.

His mate moaned loudly.

Well, this is going just fine and dandy.

Hoping his mate was still capable of processing the information, Megatron added, ::Regardless, Optimus, it's still considered a bad thing if you overload during the ritual.::

Optimus squirmed again, trying to fend off the frisky seeker from his very interested spike. ::Then why the frag are they trying so hard?:: he shot back desperately.

Megatron shrugged a response, which only shifted Optimus on his spike and instigated another shocked gasp from the besieged mech.

::I have no idea,:: Megatron admitted. ::They're seekers, so they exist to be difficult. I can guarantee they'll try their hardest to succeed, regardless of the consequences to themselves.::

::But that makes no slagging sense!:: Optimus exclaimed.

Megatron smiled and said, ::Congratulations, Optimus! Your comprehension of seekers is now equal to the rest of us.:: He patted his mate on the shoulder. ::See, that didn't take you long at all.::

Glaring, Optimus tried to punch him in the faceplates, but by this point Ramjet discovered the soft mesh on the bottom of Optimus' bare pede.

The seeker shrugged and gave it an exploratory lick with his glossa.

Optimus' optics went wide, and he actually squealed, a sound Megatron had never heard from the somber mech in all their eons of association. Optimus ex-vented frantically as he attempted, unsuccessfully, to shake the seeker loose from his pede.

Ramjet, realizing he was onto something good, held the pede firmly and gave it another sensuous lick with his glossa.

Optimus writhed, his EM field a mixture of helpless mirth and intense arousal. Pulling his leg back, he kicked the seeker hard in the faceplates.

Ramjet apparently couldn't fly backwards very well and landed with a clatter amidst the barrels of supplies, scattering them in all directions as he flailed back to his pedes.

Megatron shuddered. ::I would advise against repeating that, Optimus.::

The hazardous barrels remained intact, but Megatron couldn't risk getting splattered with their contents, not after his last experience with the noxious stuff.

Huffing, Megatron added, ::Besides, Ramjet was abiding by the rules of the ritual, so why did you kick him?::

"Why? Why?" Optimus said out loud, forgetting to converse over the comm in his near panic. "Because I am unbearably ticklish there, that is why!"

The three seekers looked at each other, evidently conversing over their own private comms, and then two of them dove for Optimus' pedes while the other continued his assault on the eager spike.

Megatron ex-vented loudly. Well, frag, that was likely the death knell for this ritual. Sometimes he couldn't comprehend how Optimus had defeated him so often over the millennia while displaying that degree of operational awareness. The seekers were already well on their way to bringing Optimus to overload without that additional helpful input from their Prime.

::Really, Optimus,:: Megatron said. ::You might as well have provided them a map indicating, 'Apply glossa here.'::

"You are not helping, you slag-sucking son of a scrapheap!"

It was amazing how colorful Optimus' language got when he was all charged up and bothered. He ought to record this, just to prove it to the skeptical medic.

On second thought, making Ratchet aware of Optimus’ current condition was probably ill-advised. The medic already had an airlock with Megatron’s name on it.

Actually, the last time he’d checked, there was at least one on every deck.

Ramjet and Thundercracker each straddled one of his mate's legs, snagged a bare pede, and then leaned over to apply silky glossa to equally silky mesh. Optimus thrashed, his backstrut arching so hard he nearly came off Megatron's spike again before he careened back down, his calipers grasping at the spike in apparent self-defense. Megatron couldn’t blame them -- they’d been getting quite the workout recently.

His mate had always been deliciously tight, but those overworked calipers were clamping down hard. In addition, Optimus was in near constant motion, even restrained as he was, and his clenching valve was sensitizing every one of the receptors on Megatron's spike.

Gasping, Megatron struggled to hold himself still, but the temptation to thrust into his wildly aroused mate was almost impossible to avoid at his point.

Skywarp had his intake wrapped around Optimus' spike, sucking and licking with wild abandon, and his mate was well and truly fragged. With Megatron's spike sheathed in his valve, his pedes held captive and relentlessly tickled, and his spike nearly fully pressurized from the seeker's enthusiastic attention, it was only a matter of time.

Megatron sighed. Time to be the responsible adult, I suppose.

::Optimus, if you let Skywarp pressurize your spike fully, you're going to have a seeker's tight little valve over your spike until one of them brings you to overload. They're insatiable.::

Writhing, his cooling fans at maximum, Optimus sent back desperately, ::What do you want me to do about it?::

Megatron rolled his optics. ::Just send the emergency override code to your spike and retract it, for Primus' sake.::

::What emergency override code?:: Optimus said. He was trying to kick the seekers off his pedes, but they had an iron grip while straddling him, and Optimus was still pinned quite solidly on Megatron's spike.

Even the sound of those caressing glossa on Optimus' oversensitive mesh was evocative, and Megatron could only imagine what his mate was feeling as he gasped and writhed. Evidently, Optimus found the sensation extremely arousing as well, judging by the condition of his field.

Hmm. Perhaps he should investigate that further when he had his mate alone. Just in case he was mistaken.

Optimus' backstrut arched again, the charge in his valve fluctuating wildly with the erratic firing of his neural nets, likely exacerbated by the seekers' continued stimulation of his pedes. Those random fluctuations were doing marvelous things to the sensors on Megatron's spike.

Marvelous, marvelous things.

Oh, yes. He was definitely going to explore this further. Extensively.

But then Optimus' question belatedly registered with his processor. ::Wait a breem. You don't know about the override code? Optimus! Does that mean you haven't used your spike before either?::

While the Prime was distracted by the two seekers latched onto his pedes, Skywarp was having a blast with the spike in question. It was almost fully pressurized now, and it was indeed a pretty thing -- pale blue and white with sparkling biolights and dripping with a combination of Skywarp's oral fluids and his own leaking transfluid.

And yes, it was positively pristine with no indication of wear at all.

::No, I have not!:: Optimus shouted back over the comm. ::We can discuss my woeful lack of 'facing experience later. Just send me the fragging code!::

Oh, my.

He’d love to oblige his mate, really he would, but Megatron had a reputation to uphold. He'd never make the cover of Better Thugs and Tyrants again if he passed up an opportunity like this one.

::Hmmm. I guess I could,:: Megatron drawled. ::However, just to keep things equitable, I believe an exchange is in order.:: He paused to shove Skywarp's aft out of his faceplates when the seeker shifted for a better angle on Optimus' spike. ::How about this? I'll send you the code if you tell me your 'Name That Spike' contest entry.::

Somebot evidently got a good lick in somewhere, because the Prime's EM field surged violently again, and his distorted, ::What?:: over the comm was barely intelligible.

Megatron ex-vented again. If his stubborn mate didn't give in shortly, Megatron would have to rescue him regardless. They were likely extending dangerously far into Ratchet's 'Don’t stress the Prime' zone, and besides, his own coding was having an issue with Optimus overloading for anyone besides him. And not a minor issue either -- more like 'warming up the fusion cannon and locating the closest smelter'. And since he'd promised Optimus he wouldn't off-line anybot unless it was an emergency, he’d have to end this fiasco before that happened.

But frag it all, he was incredibly curious about Optimus' contest entry. . .

Perhaps just a little more persuasion was in order. Megatron pulled back slightly and shoved his spike hard into his mate, and the resultant blissful groan was followed closely by the sound of Optimus' spike extending into full pressurization.

Skywarp let out a victory whoop, already shifting around to get his valve into Prime wallowing position.

::All right, all right!:: Optimus sent desperately. ::My entry was 'The Torrid Tadger of Tarn'. Now send me the fragging code!::

Oooh. He'd actually liked that one. It would have been a fabulous designation for the gladiatorial arena. In fact, he was so pleased at his mate's delightful contribution that he almost forgot to send him the promised code.

A frantically swung fist to the side of his helm did wonders for his short-term memory chips, however.

Upon receiving the code, Optimus immediately activated it, retracting his spike so fast that it nearly rebounded again after entering its sheath, and a thoroughly disappointed Skywarp sagged in defeat.

With his battle now on only two fronts, Optimus was able to kick loose first one seeker, then the other, again sending Ramjet spiraling back into the loose barrels.

::Optimus, if one of those paint barrels ruptures, we're all going to regret it.:: Megatron said.

But Optimus was evidently so close to overload that he ignored this crucial issue, and he was once again frantically attempting to impale himself onto Megatron's spike.

::Paint?:: Optimus gasped, as his valve calipers tightened on Megatron's spike, attempting to coerce him into motion. ::You are worried about paint at a time like this?::

Megatron grunted, then said, ::Pink paint, my mate. Incredibly bright, florescent pink paint. Once your color nanites get a whiff of the stuff, it's almost impossible to convince them to change back.:: He paused. ::I may speak from experience.::

Skywarp chose that moment to return and make a grab for Optimus' spike panel, but at this point, the Prime had apparently had enough. He backhanded the seeker and sent him flying across the room to land with his cohorts amongst the barrels.

This time, the barrels did not remain intact, and a resounding crack heralded their impending doom.

Megatron did not flinch. He most certainly did not flinch, regardless of how it might appear to an outside observer. However, he was immensely relieved when the paint splatter didn't extend as far as their corner. Even without Starscream to mock him, ‘Lord Precious in Pink’ was not an experience he wished to repeat.

However, three ludicrously pink seekers sat staring at each other in abject horror, and just glancing at them was enough to glitch Megatron's memory circuits.

Even Optimus had paused his frantic assault on Megatron's interface equipment to stare at the seekers in shock. "They glow in the dark," he said slowly, awestruck. "And they are so . . . pink."

"Tell me about it," Megatron muttered, as he made a mental note to take the seekers off the stealth reconnaissance roster for the immediate future.

But Optimus had used Megatron's distraction and the convenient glow of florescent seekers to squirm his way off Megatron's spike just long enough to spin himself around. He then impaled himself again until his valve bottomed out. Pressing his bare pedes against the wall, he now had the leverage he needed to ride the spike himself, and he was making good use of that opportunity.

Oh, Primus, was he making good use of it. If they were ever low on shanix, they could make a slagging fortune employing Optimus as a pole dancer.

But at this point, the very talented bot in question was focused on attaining his much-delayed overload, and Megatron was fully on board with that concept.

Unfortunately, Optimus' powerful, lust-ridden field had apparently attracted a multitude of intrigued mecha, who were now peering hopefully inside the closet.

Megatron was close to overload himself, thanks to his mate's exemplary spike-riding abilities, and at this point he had no interest in sharing Optimus with anybot.

Grimacing, he firmly instructed his reluctant spike to retract and stood up, holding onto his equally disappointed mate with one servo. Megatron carefully avoided the dripping, bright pink seekers and strode into the corridor, only to find his path blocked by what appeared to be at least half his crew.

He stopped short, stymied, but his mate had taken the opportunity to turn himself completely upside down in his arms, and was now in the process of coaxing Megatron's interface panel to reopen.

With his intake.

Megatron was stunned, as he couldn't quite grasp how his heavily carrying mate had even managed such an athletic feat. But he had a gloriously lubricated valve staring him in the faceplates, and when Optimus graced Megatron's intimate panel with another long, wet swipe of his glossa, Megatron decided he didn't give a frag how he'd done it.

Because Megatron did have a gloriously lubricated valve in his faceplates, and his heavily carrying mate smelled absolutely divine. He knew that the hardwired Sire’s programming was at least partially responsible, but he’d always lusted after that delectable valve.

And he knew how to make Optimus wet for him, oh so wet, and he lightly glazed his mate’s anterior node with his glossa, just once, and when his mate tried to shove his array into his faceplates and moaned so dark and deep, Megatron licked the node again, then darted into the soft, dripping folds of his valve with his glossa and retreated, over and over until Optimus practically gushed lubrication as he squirmed, desperately trying to get a firmer touch against his overcharged array, which Megatron absolutely refused to allow. No, not this soon. Not nearly this soon. Because Megatron knew how to tease his mate -- how to lick and lap and taste until he writhed and actually begged for his spike, and then Optimus groaned and said, "Please, Megatron, I need it," in that sinfully sonorous voice of his, and . . .

And suddenly there were at least a dozen EM fields crowding around them, all clamoring with some version of "My spike! Mine! Pick my spike!" and when Optimus lifted his helm from Megatron‘s intimate panel and probed the beckoning fields in helpless confusion . . .

Megatron lost it.

He wanted Optimus, he wanted him now, and if the steadily advancing line of lust-stricken mecha were any indication, he wasn't going to have him alone, frag it all.

Orgies could be a wonderful thing, but not in Megatron's current frame of processor. Frag, no. His processor was locked firmly into 'maniacally possessive,' and it wasn't likely to budge, especially considering his eons of experience with the 'maniac' part.

Well, he was Lord Megatron, the Slagmaker, and he knew exactly how to thwart an unsolicited orgy.

He charged up his fusion cannon.

The cautious mecha took a few steps back. The smart mecha took a few steps back, then shoved one of their crewmates in front as a shield.

With one servo otherwise occupied, Megatron struggled to restrain his enthusiastic mate, who was indeed a talented military commander and actually had managed to coax his panel open while Megatron was distracted, yet again.

Oh, Primus. They had to get somewhere private. And fast.

"If anymech even attempts to follow us," Megatron intoned, "I will blast you into so many pieces that the humans will be using your remains for party favors."

The effect of this threat was mitigated somewhat when his mate's glossa brushed against the tip of his spike, and Megatron let out a high-pitched, but still very mechly yelp.

Optimus purred at his prize, and his overcharged field again broadcasted uninhibited lust at a positively obscene level. The crew’s optics widened and they took another step forward as if irresistibly drawn by a magnet.

Frag. There was no time to lose. Megatron turned, aimed his fusion cannon . . . and blasted a hole through the side of the ship.

While Megatron was waiting for the smoke and falling debris to subside, Optimus had nearly succeeded in luring his spike out of its sheath. Huffing, Megatron pulled his mate upright and out of harm's way. "Leave it where it is for now, sweetspark," he chided. "I didn’t make that big a hole."

He consolidated his grip on his still squirming mate, activated his heel thrusters, and launched them both out of the ship.

When they were safely away, he glanced behind them, wincing slightly at the amount of damage he'd caused.

June was going to be miffed, but he'd make it up to her somehow. Maybe he could manage to sneak the tofu into Optimus' energon without him noticing. It was certainly worth a try.

Regardless, damage control could wait for later. Much later.

For now, he had a desperately aroused mate to take 'flying'.

And there'd be no fragging orgies here. Out in the open, no one could possibly sneak up on them.

Especially not the seekers.

Heh. He knew there was a reason he’d kept that slagging paint.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Megatron strode into his berthchamber and froze.

He'd asked Soundwave to watch over his increasingly rebellious mate so he'd stay the frag put, and he'd expected to see his TIC sitting in the chair with his infernal knitting.

The knitting was indeed in the chair, but Soundwave was not. Instead, the mech was on the berth with his backstrut to Megatron, straddling his mate.

His mate! How dare he?

Megatron's battle protocols initialized immediately, his fusion cannon powering up, and Soundwave turned to stare at him in alarm. He dropped the tape measure onto the berth and raised both servos above his helm.

Wait a breem -- tape measure?

Megatron thought he was familiar with all the kinky interface toys. What the frag were they doing in berth together with a tape measure?

Soundwave's interface panels were tightly closed, but that didn't mean he was innocent, especially when Megatron glanced at his mate and saw that Optimus had his chest plates retracted and his energon sacs in plain view. His fully expanded, superbly rounded energon sacs.

Megatron's energon sacs.

Well, they were actually the bitlet's energon sacs, but the bitlet hadn't arrived yet, so they were definitely Megatron's until then. He fumed. He hadn't even had the opportunity to play with them yet, frag it all!

"What the fragging slag is going on in here?" Megatron demanded loudly.

Soundwave played back a soundbite of some fleshling saying, "It's not what it looks like."

Megatron aimed his fusion cannon. "It looks like a lot of things, and none of them good."

"Megatron . . ."

Megatron didn't spare his mate a glance. "Not now, dear. I have an interloper to off-line."

Then he heard Optimus' ion blaster power up.

Frag. He'd forgotten that his mate could still transform that. But then, Optimus wouldn't actually shoot his conjunx endura, would he?

"Megatron. If you do not lower that ridiculous overcompensation for interface equipment this instant, I will not only shoot you myself, but it will be orns before you get your spike anywhere near my frame."

Scrap. Even worse than getting shot. Optimus was threatening to cut him off from interfacing.

He then heard the distinct sound of Optimus transforming his sword and risked a glance at his mate.

Megatron winced. Actually, more like cut him off . . . literally.

And since Megatron was rather attached to his spike -- also literally (and preferring to remain that way) -- he hurriedly powered down his cannon and lowered his arm.

However, he continued to glare at Soundwave as the mech slowly lowered his servos and climbed down from the berth, edging carefully around his superior.

"Now, perhaps we can discuss this like reasonable mechs," Optimus said, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'd be more reasonable if you didn't block the view of my energon sacs," Megatron said, pouting.

"Your energon sacs?" Optimus said forbiddingly.

Megatron held up both servos. "Trial basis only. Just to make sure they're suitable for our bitlet." When Optimus continued to glare at him, Megatron said, "Uhm. I have to check for leaks?"

"Try again, my mate."

Megatron rolled his optics. "Well, what was Soundwave doing with them? I figure I should have first dibs, considering I'm the one who sparked you in the first place."

Optimus glared at him again. Evidently, his mate was still a little miffed about the whole sparking business.

Frag, but that mech could hold a grudge.

"Ratchet was concerned that my energon sacs were not achieving the proper proportions to support a bitlet created by a warframe of your size," Optimus said, giving Soundwave a reassuring glance. "Soundwave merely volunteered to take the necessary measurements and forward the data to Ratchet."

Megatron grunted. "Of course, he volunteered." He strode over to the berth and snatched up the tape measure, stashing it into his subspace. "From now on, Soundwave, I shall collect the appropriate data on Optimus for the medic. You are dismissed."

Soundwave glanced over at Optimus, who merely ex-vented loudly and nodded. Soundwave hung his helm, but then shuffled over to the chair to retrieve his knitting and left the room, dejection clear in his posture.

"You did not have to be so harsh with him, Megatron. He was only attempting to help."

"Trying to help himself to my mate," Megatron said.

"You are entirely too possessive, Megatron." Optimus hmphed loudly. "I am still upset over your last transgression in that regard."

"I told you I was sorry, Optimus." Megatron stifled the urge to roll his optics, knowing that it likely wouldn't go over very well. "I know you dislike the shortened version of my name, but I ran out of room, so I had to go with 'Property of Megs.'"

"Megatron!"

Oh-oh. His mate hadn't actually said it, but Megatron got the impression that 'you glitch' was implied.

"Do you have any idea how long it takes to get spray paint off a windshield?" Optimus said.

Megatron stared at him, tilting his helm quizzically. Was that a trick question? It was hard to tell with Optimus sometimes. "Uhm, no?" Megatron replied, going for honesty.

Optimus threw a berth pillow at him, hitting him square over his spark chamber.

So much for taking the high road. Apparently, honesty and Decepticons didn't mix. Who would've guessed?

Megatron pried the pillow off his frame and tossed it a safe distance away. It was a good thing Optimus wasn't this accurate with his ion blaster or he'd have off-lined Megatron eons ago.

Hmm. He filed the information in his processor's memory banks. If they ever did get into another war with the Quints, he'd arm Optimus with berth pillows stuffed with fragmentation grenades. He'd be utterly devastating.

Megatron turned beseeching optics onto his mate. "Optimus, sweetspark, you can't fault me for the parameters of the Sire coding. It forces me to be possessive." He noted his mate's raised optic ridge and continued, "Although I will admit to being a tad possessive even before you sparked." The optic ridge crept a little higher. "All right, long before you sparked." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Regardless, was it absolutely necessary for Soundwave to straddle your frame to take those slagging measurements?"

Optimus flushed, glancing away, his field radiating faint embarrassment. "The energon sacs are rather . . . sensitive, and that was the only way I could hold still for him long enough."

Megatron sat down on the berth next to his mate, his own optics centered on the distended sacs. "How sensitive?" he asked, intrigued.

"Too sensitive," Optimus snapped, crossing his arms over his chest again. "Do not think to try anything, my mate. I am still vexed with you."

Smiling gently, Megatron slowly crawled onto the berth, straddling the smaller frame beneath him but carefully avoiding the bulging abdominal plates. "Optimus, you have been vexed with me to some degree for the last four million years. If I'd waited until you weren't vexed, we'd have never become conjunx, nor made a sparkling together." He paused, reaching out a servo to cup his mate's faceplates. "Am I to believe that you now regret either of those outcomes?"

Optimus lowered his optics, shaking his helm, his field pulsing faintly with chagrin.

Megatron pushed back love and reassurance, and then he reached down and took his mate's servos in his, stroking his mate's digits.

Optimus looked up at him, his field in flux, and a puzzled expression appeared on those beloved faceplates.

Tugging gently, Megatron pulled Optimus' servos away from his chest and over his helm, holding them there. Then, he merely waited patiently. When his mate didn’t immediately protest his blatant mech-handling, Megatron took this as tacit permission. He released the servos. "Keep them there," he growled softly, lowering the pitch of his vocalizer significantly.

Optimus' optics widened, but he obeyed the implicit command. This was rather surprising, considering his iron-willed mate had gone from peeved to compliant in only a few astroseconds.

Megatron shook his helm in mild disbelief. Twice in a deca-cycle? Definitely not a coincidence then. If he'd known about this intriguing glitch in Optimus' programming, he'd have won the war -- and a mate -- eons ago.

Not that Megatron wasn't pleased with the outcome they had achieved.

Now that his mate had calmed somewhat, and didn't appear quite as ready to toss him out the nearest airlock, Megatron smiled encouragingly and took the opportunity to examine the energon sacs more thoroughly. Since there had not been a sparkling created in eons, this particular frame adaptation for bitlet care was entirely unfamiliar to him. There had been neither provision nor time for sparklings in the Pits of Kaon.

The sacs were surprisingly compelling, perfectly rounded with proud little nubs in their center that practically begged for his attention. The sacs quivered slightly with his mate's almost imperceptible movements beneath his more substantial frame.

Reaching out with one servo, Megatron cupped one of the sacs, enjoying the odd combination of soft and firm, so atypical of their species' outer frames. He tentatively rolled the intriguing mound in his servo. This simple action was somehow addictive -- not only the sensation of pleasing fullness beneath his digits, but exactly what that fullness implied. Together, he and Optimus had created something marvelous, but these lovely sacs were tangible proof of his mate's ability to provide for their creation.

It was enough to make him fall in love with his conjunx all over again.

One of Megatron's digits accidentally brushed over the nub, and Optimus in-vented sharply, his entire frame jolting beneath him despite Megatron's far greater weight.

Megatron froze, not knowing whether he'd caused pleasure or pain, especially when Optimus continued to stare up at him, his optics wide and unfocused. Swearing softly to himself, Megatron prepared to open a comm line to Ratchet.

The medic was going to off-line him, unpleasantly, if he'd somehow managed to injure Optimus.

"Do that . . . do that again," Optimus said softly.

Megatron raised an optic ridge. Pleasure then, since as far as he knew, his conjunx wasn't a masochist. Well, other than having willingly spent the last several millennia in the company of that obnoxious medic of his.

Keeping his optics locked with his mate's, Megatron stroked the nub again, more firmly this time.

Optimus moaned, his cooling fans clicking on, and Megatron smiled down at him in burgeoning delight. What a marvelous discovery! Now he had a valid excuse for playing with the sacs, and absolutely no tape measure required.

Hah! Take that, Soundwave!

He alternated rolling the sac in his servo with both firm and light brushes against the nub until his mate was squirming beneath him. Megatron could feel his mate's interface panel heating up, although his own had been primed and ready for quite some time. The sight of his mate this desperate for his touch was unbearably arousing to him, but Megatron's own enjoyment paled in significance to the waves of intense pleasure he could sense in his mate's wildly fluctuating field. Optimus kept himself so tightly constrained, and experiencing that iron control shattering under his teasing servos had become almost an obsession.

Evidently distracted by the novel sensations coming from his chest, Optimus attempted to move his servos, but Megatron grabbed them and held them firmly onto the berth.

"But I only want to touch you," Optimus said with an endearing pout.

"If you want me to continue, sweetspark, you must keep them here," Megatron said sweetly.

Optimus finally capitulated, relenting with a soft in-vent into his hold, but he did keep his servos in place when Megatron released him.

Humming approvingly, his own fans now in high gear, Megatron returned to cupping and rolling the sacs, both of them this time, loving the helpless sounds coming from Optimus' vocalizer as he randomly brushed against the apparently very sensitive nubs. A tiny drop of liquid appeared in the aperture of one nub. Curious, Megatron bent down and licked the nub with his glossa.

Optimus in-vented again, his backstrut attempting to arch beneath the heavy frame restraining him to the berth. Megatron licked the nub again, enjoying the taste of the processed energon almost as much as he thrilled in the intense pleasure the act was apparently delivering to his mate.

Disappointed when the drop of energon didn't immediately reappear, Megatron latched onto the nub with his intake and sucked hard while rubbing the other nub with his servo. He was rewarded with another burst of purified energon and a loud, continuous moan from his mate.

"Megatron, please!"

He heard the distinctive sound of Optimus' valve panel retracting, so rapidly that Megatron feared he'd damaged an actuator in the process.

Megatron pulled back slightly, but Optimus attempted to thrust the little nub up toward his retreating intake, arching his backstrut as far as he could.

Smirking, Megatron said, "Very sensitive indeed, my mate. I don't believe I have ever seen you quite this . . . eager." He retracted his own interface panel but overrode his spike's request to extend, merely positioning himself over his mate's already well lubricated valve. He rolled each nub between two of his digits, then abruptly released them.

Optimus moaned again, his sacs swaying gently as he writhed, lacking both the tantalizing contact to his nubs and a spike in his equally needy valve. "Megatron! Touch me, please!"

"Hmm," Megatron said, lowering his intake to hover over a glistening nub. "I'm afraid I don't have permission to do so," he said, pulling back again, licking his lip plates with his glossa, but lingering ever so close to the little nub. "I believe you said they were not mine?"

"What?" Optimus said, optics wide but following the sensual glide of his glossa that hovered so close to where he needed it to be.

Megatron cupped the other sac with a servo, digits close but not touching the nub. He partially extended his spike, its already charged tip brushing against the plush folds of Optimus' valve, and then he nudged up slightly, rubbing against the pulsing anterior node in a teasing circular motion. He retracted his spike and looked down at his mate innocently. "Whose energon sacs are they again?"

Optimus closed his optics briefly, his frame still moving restlessly as he attempted and failed to get the friction he so desperately needed, and then said faintly, "Yours."

Moving his torso backward until he was again situated directly over the outermost folds of the dripping valve, Megatron said, "I'm not sure I heard you, my mate." He extended his spike partially into the valve and then retreated, nudging the hypersensitive anterior node until Optimus was once more writhing helplessly beneath him. "I seem to be having trouble with my audials," Megatron added. "Perhaps you've clanged me upside the helm one too many times?"

"They're yours, Megatron," Optimus said, huffing with indignation, but his optics were wide and completely unfocused with arousal. "Stop being a slagging tease and frag me already!"

It likely meant he was glitched, but Megatron thought his mate was absolutely adorable when he was angry.

"See what you get when you ask nicely?" Megatron said smugly, before fully extending his spike into its favorite place in the whole wide universe. If it could, his spike would be sending out postcards to all his rivals, 'Having a delightful time, glad you're not here . . . not that I'd ever allow you here in the first place.'

With the substantial mound of belly in the way, Megatron couldn't quite reach Optimus' nubs with his intakes while he was spiking him, but he made good use of his servos, rolling and pinching and squeezing the energon sacs while Optimus moaned decadently.

He took his time, purposely making his strokes slow and shallow, wanting to make this encounter last as long as possible. Again, the Sire coding was probably partially to blame, but he needed to stake a claim to his mate, make him feel so fragging good that he'd never look to another mech for release.

He'd been Optimus' first interface partner, and he sure as frag intended to be his only one.

Optimus tried to force the pace, but with his servos still over his helm and pinned beneath Megatron's warframe bulk, he could do little but take whatever Megatron would allow.

He'd feel guilty about this, if it weren't so blatantly obvious how much Optimus was enjoying his attentions.

However, once Megatron felt his mate's frame start to heat beyond his ability to cool with vents alone, he quickened his pace, rotating the shaft to strike as many nodes as he could simultaneously while randomly nudging upward with his spike to strike the ceiling node. He rolled both nubs firmly between his servos, feeling his mate's charge increase exponentially with the contact.

Optimus gasped, his optics cycling wide as he overloaded once, then again as Megatron chased his own release, stroking as hard as he dared into his heavily carrying mate.

Groaning, Megatron finally peaked himself, but not before coaxing yet a third overload from Optimus.

Stroking gently through the aftershocks, he finally retracted his depleted spike, rolling off his mate so he wouldn't crush him and venting hard to cool himself down.

Optimus was spread-eagled across the berth, his own vents straining, and his lovely mounds were quivering appealingly with his exertions.

He looked over at Megatron, his optics cycling dangerously when he noted the incredibly smug expression on his mate's faceplates.

Megatron smiled, giving him a little wave. "Have a good time, did we?"

Optimus continued to glare, but then suddenly dropped his helm onto the berth as if it were too heavy to hold up. "It was . . . adequate, my mate," he said, just before his optics off-lined and he fell abruptly into recharge.

Megatron laughed out loud.

He then placed a possessive servo over one of those alluring energon sacs. His energon sacs.

It seemed he'd obtained yet another weapon in his arsenal of 'reluctant mate interface inducements', and one he'd personally enjoy utilizing to the utmost.

Perhaps he was taking unfair advantage of his mate's oversensitivity, but he had let Optimus have the last word, hadn't he?

That ought to count for something.

****************************************

"Do not drop me, Megatron."

Megatron paused outside the entrance to the newly remodeled sparkling room, frowning down at his mate.

"I've been hauling you around for half a stellar cycle without dropping you, Optimus. Why would I start now?" He noted his mate's pointed glare and added quickly, "Yes, I know I drop you onto the berth, but I do that on purpose." He shrugged. "I like watching your sacs jiggle. They're inspiring. I could write epic poetry about your energon sacs."

Optimus was still glaring. No wonder the mech had a helmache all the time.

"Optimus. You enjoy watching the rolling waves at the seashore because you think it's aesthetically pleasing. Think of it like that . . . only without the moonlight." He paused. "And all that nasty sand getting into your unmentionables."

Off-lining his optics, Optimus ex-vented and said, "Do not worry. I shall never take you on a romantic excursion again."

"Was that what it was supposed to be?" Megatron stared at him, his optics widening. "Oh, now I understand. Well, you did get rather turned on when I had to suck the sand out of your valve with a vacuum cleaner."

Optimus didn't respond, but he seemed to be grinding his dentae again. Megatron made a mental note to talk to the medic about it. If he wanted to sharpen his dentae, there were easier ways to go about it.

"It might be worthwhile to go back, just for an excuse to use it again," Megatron mused, remembering that night vividly. "I've never heard you squeal so loud. Actually, neither had most of the crew. Not that anybot was complaining, mind you."

Optimus had an odd expression on his faceplates. Sort of like when he'd thought he'd consumed a cube of energon, only to discover it had been one of Shockwave's failed experiments with Terran pond scum.

Megatron still felt bad about mixing up those cubes.

Ahhhh.

Perhaps Optimus felt guilty because he was the only one who'd enjoyed the seashore excursion? That he could easily fix.

Never let it be said that Lord Megatron wasn't a perceptive and considerate mate.

He smiled down at Optimus. "Don't worry, sweetspark. The trip wasn't a total waste. The vacuum cleaner was obviously having a good time, too. In fact, you should be proud. Ever since you've come aboard, we've had the happiest vacuum cleaners in the sector."

"Meg. A. Tron."

"Yes, Optimus?" Puzzled by the continued 'I'm not happy' expression on his mate's faceplates, Megatron took the last few steps into the nursery without looking up.

However, Optimus seemed to be focused on something else entirely, staring straight ahead. "At the risk of repeating myself," he said, "please do not drop the carrying mech."

"Yes, yes, I heard you the first time, but . . ."

Megatron got his first glimpse of a new holo displayed prominently on the back wall. Furious and indignant, he adopted his usual pose when exceedingly angry -- straightening his backstrut and placing both servos on his hips.

And totally forgetting about the mech he was supposed to be holding in his arms.

Optimus squawked, but he'd apparently been prepared for the worst and grabbed a pauldron with one servo while twisting around and wrapping his legs around Megatron's hips, ex-venting frantically.

"Soundwave," Megatron snarled, so irate he was oblivious to anything else. "I'm going to rip that mech into tiny, bite-size pieces, and you are not going to stop me this time, Optimus."

His mate had snagged Megatron's shoulder armor with his other servo and was holding on for dear life. However, he evidently still felt secure enough to punch Megatron in the faceplates. Hard.

Frag, but that mech had a mean right cross.

"I told you not to drop me, but you never listen to me," Optimus said crossly. "I do not know why you are so upset. June told us that the young ones love bright, vibrant colors." He jerked his helm toward the holo. "They do not get any brighter or more vibrant than that, and besides, June also stated it was traditional to display family photos in the sparkling's room."

"Not that one," Megatron snarled.

"Well, get used to it, because it is staying," Optimus said firmly.

Scowling, Megatron glared at the holo in question, hoping he could incinerate it with his optics alone.

Soundwave had taken the holo in a corridor of the Nemesis while Megatron had been walking away from him. Hearing something suspicious, Megatron had turned his upper torso partway around, and therefore his surprise and horror were clearly displayed on his faceplates for all to see.

Along with his incredible pink-ness.

That was bad enough, but he was only partially pink, because some of his color nanites had retained the purple hue from his protoform, so that he was pink . . . with interspersed purple splotches.

"The humans call them 'polka dots'," Optimus stated helpfully. "And I like them. They complement your optics."

Megatron looked down at him, aghast. "I'd say you have horrendous taste, but you did eventually choose me as your conjunx," he said.

"Always so modest, Megatron."

"It's a gift," Megatron said. He glared again at the holo. "You can't possibly intend to keep that thing."

He belatedly realized that Optimus was still clinging desperately to his frame and wrapped his servos around his mate's aft, supporting the majority of his weight.

"Yes, I do," Optimus said, relaxing only slightly into Megatron's hold. "And do not attempt to destroy it when I am not looking. I would merely get another copy from Soundwave."

"Not if I off-line him first."

"Megatron!" Optimus chided. "We have been over this. No off-lining except in an emergency."

"This is an emergency," Megatron said, huffing loudly. "I have a reputation to maintain."

Some of the fire abruptly disappeared from Optimus' optics, and he rested his helm on Megatron's shoulder. "Just put me down on the chair, please. I think I pulled a cable or something." He ex-vented softly. "Primus, I ache."

Immediately concerned, Megatron hurried to comply, easing his mate as carefully as he could onto the chair. He then knelt down to examine him more closely, just to prove he was a thoughtful and caring Sire.

Besides, in this position that horrid holo was no longer in his direct line of sight.

Win-win.

Optimus placed a servo across his abdominal plates, rubbing them, and a muffled clang came from within. Megatron smiled helplessly at the sound, delighted. "Our sparkling is being rambunctious again, my mate?"

Rolling his optics, Optimus said, "You could say that. He has a kick worse than Shockwave's high grade."

"I find that hard to believe," Megatron said doubtfully. "Or don't you remember the last time we visited the crew lounge before Ratchet put you on berth rest?" When Optimus merely looked at him blankly, he continued, "You weren't even drinking, but the fumes from Shockwave's brew had you so overcharged you were dancing on top of a table."

"No, I most assuredly do not remember that," Optimus said, glaring at him as if he'd glitched his processer.

Megatron smirked. "You were gyrating your hips and singing, 'Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?' at the top of your vocalizer. You made quite the impression on the crew. I haven't heard that much clapping and cheering since the day Starscream left."

Optimus ex-vented. "I do not believe you, Megatron. You must have asked Bumblebee for suitable lyrics, because you despise human popular culture and would never remember such a thing."

"Oh, I don't have to remember the lyrics -- I recorded your delightful performance, just like every other mech in the room. Well, those who weren't otherwise occupied stuffing shanix behind your windshield, that is." He grinned at him. "You were quite alluring actually, especially when you put your servos on your hips, thrust your pelvis out and proclaimed, 'I am Prime, and I shall serve all Cybertronians!'"

"Unfortunately," Optimus said, putting a servo over his optics, "that does sound vaguely familiar."

Megatron shook his helm. "The crew were behaving themselves until then -- hmm, for the most part -- but I'm afraid they took that declaration entirely the wrong way. I had to yank you off the table before you instigated an orgy." He paused. "Well, that and the table was creaking rather ominously."

Optimus was silent for a full klik, lowering his servo and staring at him doubtfully. "You are trying to tell me I am fat."

Megatron's optics widened. "Not if it's going to exile me to the couch, I'm not."

Optimus lowered his helm with a soft ex-vent, then stretched his backstrut. "You are in luck then, because I will definitely require a backrub tonight." He moved his servo to his chest plates, "Frag, but everything hurts."

"That's because you're not listening to your medic, Optimus. He said you'd irritate your energon sacs if you kept your chest plates closed all the time."

Optimus hmphed loudly. "The last time I left them uncovered, the ship suffered severe structural damage because your mechs kept walking into the walls when we passed."

Megatron snorted. "Not just my mechs. Jazz did it too. He was merely sharp-witted enough to blame it on a search for hidden passageways." He paused, winking an optic at him. "But we're not walking around the ship now," he purred suggestively.

Narrowing his optics, Optimus said, "Do you promise to behave if I do?"

"You're always doubting me, my mate," Megatron complained, affronted. "Of course, I'm not going to behave. You can't expect me to have those luscious orbs staring me right in the optics and not do something with them." He hmphed loudly. "Really, Optimus! I'm strong, but I'm not that strong."

"I suppose you deserve some credit for honesty, at least." Optimus opened his chest plates, his optics off-lining in relief as his sacs were finally released from their cruel confinement.

Megatron was tempted to take a nub in his intakes immediately, but he knew his mate was far too sensitive. He therefore cupped a sac in each servo, kneading them slowly, and Optimus ex-vented softly at his gentle massage.

Now, if he could just get Optimus in the right frame of processor, perhaps he could convince him to scrap the holo while his frame was occupied with . . . more pleasurable things.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get that opportunity, because he heard the approach of heavy pede steps that stopped just inside the door.

"Frag and slag! Can't you two keep your servos off each other for one fragging breem?"

Optimus looked over Megatron's helm toward the door, in-venting sharply. He appeared to be mortified, staring with wide optics, and Megatron couldn't quite figure out why. Primus knew Ratchet had barged in on them enough times that it had ceased to bother either one of them.

Well, not that it had ever bothered Megatron. Ratchet was a medic, for Primus' sake -- it wasn't like he'd never seen interface equipment before.

But then Megatron heard a familiar fleshling voice say, "Holy shit! Will you look at the size of those boobs!"

Megatron hung his helm and ex-vented loudly. One of these days he'd remember to lock the door.

Or at the very least, close the slagging thing.

tbc

Chapter Text

Megatron could feel the heat rolling off his mate, but it wasn't because he was receptive to Megatron's advances. In fact, once Optimus became aware of their human visitors, he snapped his chest plates closed so fast that the metal clanged.

Gritting his dentae, Megatron said, "I needed those."

His face still flushed with embarrassment, Optimus hissed, "I am not leaving my chest plates open now, just so you can continue fondling!"

"I was not referring to your energon sacs," Megatron said tersely, while attempting to ignore the helpful information on his HUD that said, 'Hey, did ya know your digits are wedged between two metal plates?' He angrily banished the message only to have another pop up that said, 'Oooh, bet that's really painful, innit?'

Swearing that he'd never let Jazz update his autonomic processor coding ever again, Megatron snarled and forwarded both error messages to his mate over their private comm.

"Oh," Optimus said contritely, opening his chest plates just enough for Megatron to retrieve his digits, which amazingly seemed relatively intact. He was sure the ends of his talons had gotten clipped.

He put the affected talons in his intakes, since that was the quickest way to check for energon leaks, then turned to find Ratchet had placed June and Agent Fowler on a nearby table. The medic glanced over at Megatron and immediately doubled over in laughter. "Got your servos stuck in the cookie jar, did you, Megatron?"

Megatron didn't need to actually understand the reference for it to infuriate him.

Before he could throw back a rejoinder, or a suitably heavy object, Agent Fowler put his hands on his hips and said, "Well, shit, Prime, you put 'em away. No wonder Megatron's crazy about you -- where the hell you been hiding those babies . . . OW!"

"I am right here," June said crossly.

Fowler looked over at her, rubbing his lower leg. "Yes, I know, and I've got the bruises to prove it." He paused, grimacing. "Aw c'mon, dear, you can't fault a guy for just looking."

"William T. Fowler!"

Fowler pointed desperately at Optimus. "But, sweetheart . . ." he said, cupping both his servos in a gesture that was now very recognizable to Megatron, ". . . they're huge."

Ratchet cleared his vocalizer. "Well, as much as I'd love to hear the outcome of this delightful conversation," he said, "I have to go. It seems one of the Decepticons has had an accident."

Fowler glared up at him. "Accident? They weren't Earth-side terrorizing the locals, were they?"

"Nooo. Bulkhead introduced Megatron's crew to American football, and this particular mech was apparently going for something called a 'hail Mary pass'?" Ratchet shrugged. "Regardless, he appears to have 'hail Mary'd' right off the side of the ship, and since we're several kliks in the air . . . "

"Why didn't he just transform?" Fowler asked.

"''Cause it wasn't a flyer -- Vehicon."

Fowler winced. "Well, shit, that had to hurt."

"Most likely, although he's in too many pieces to confirm that theory at the moment," Ratchet replied. "I'll be occupied for a while, so have Megatron ping one of the Autobots when you're ready for a ride back to your helicopter. Did your bitlet handle the trip all right?"

June looked up at him, smiling, and said, "Yes, she did. Thank you, Ratchet."

Ratchet gave her a distracted nod, already hurrying out the door.

"Bitlet?" Optimus said hopefully, attempting to peer over Megatron's shoulder. "You brought the baby with you?"

"Yes, we did," June said, turning toward him. "She's six months old now, and we thought you'd like to meet her."

"Yes, I would," Optimus said, his voice rumbling with pleasure.

Curious himself, Megatron got to his pedes and strode over to the two fleshlings. Well, supposedly three. June did have a small object bundled in cloth over one of her shoulders, and he bent down to peer at it closer, cycling his optics to focus on the miniscule thing. "Are you certain you shouldn't put it back?" he said doubtfully. "It doesn't appear to be completely formed yet."

June smiled up at him. "Oh no, Lord Megatron. She's within . . . normal parameters for a human baby." She shifted the bundle around, peeling back its cloth shell, and held it out toward him. "This is Amelia."

Megatron stared at it, watching as it scrunched up its faceplates, but then he pulled back out of range of the potentially dangerous effluvia. "It appears to be leaking some sort of lubricant."

"Oh," June said, turning the bitlet around in her arms. Fowler wordlessly handed her a cloth from a large bag he was carrying. "Sorry, I just fed her. She's spitting up a bit."

"And it's supposed to do that?" Megatron said.

June wiped the bitlet's faceplates with the cloth, then said, "Oh, yes. What goes in, must come out, in some manner or the other."

Megatron raised an optic ridge and looked over at his mate, appalled. However, Optimus only had optics for the bitlet. Evidently his carrier protocols were now seriously in overdrive. His mate looked pleadingly at Megatron and said, "Please, my mate, I want to meet her."

Ex-venting, Megatron held out a servo to June and said, "Be careful of the talon tips. They're a little sensitive for some reason."

June nodded and carefully walked onto Megatron's servo, silencing her own mate with a glare when he started to protest. "Amelia and I will be perfectly fine, Bill," she said, sitting down in his servo with no hesitation whatsoever.

Once Megatron was confident that June and the bitlet were secure, he walked over to Optimus, kneeling so he could get a closer view.

Optimus ex-vented gently as June held the bitlet toward him, an odd cooing sound coming from his vocalizer as he examined it closely. "She is beautiful, Nurse Fowler," he said softly. The bitlet's covering dropped off, and Optimus carefully reached out with a digit to touch the bitlet's pedes, which were kicking with wild abandon at their sudden freedom.

"Congratulations, Nurse Fowler, Agent Fowler," Optimus said. "You should be proud to have created such a perfect offspring."

June beamed at him. "Oh, we're both delighted, Optimus. However, every parent believes their child to be perfect." June pulled the bitlet back to her chest when it began to make odd noises. She made soothing sounds until it quieted, then smiled at Optimus again. "You'll see, when your own child is born."

Optimus sat back against the chair, rubbing his abdominal plates, but keeping his optics firmly on the bitlet as if he were trying to impress its image upon his processor. "I find . . ." he began to say, then looked down.

Concerned at Optimus' uncharacteristic hesitation, Megatron stood and took June and the bitlet back to the table. When he returned, he placed a servo on his mate's shoulder, and said simply, "Optimus?"

Optimus looked up at him, seeming to pull himself out of a reverie, and said, "It is nothing, my mate. I find that I am both eagerly awaiting the arrival of our sparkling, yet dreading it as well."

Megatron tightened his servo reassuringly. "Fearing something because it is merely unknown doesn't make the fear any less real." He paused. "Besides, I'm sure it'll get easier with the next one."

"What next one?" Optimus said suspiciously, narrowing his optics.

Megatron turned to June desperately, hoping she'd recognize his need for immediate assistance in distracting the carrier. He relaxed slightly when she winked at him.

"You're concerned about the delivery, Optimus?" June said. "But surely, Ratchet is more than capable of handling something like this."

"Ratchet is indeed a capable medic," Optimus said, "but it has been so long since a sparkling has been engendered in this manner that even he has no practical experience."

"Hmm," June said. "If your species is anything like ours, you'll find it all comes pretty naturally. You're probably worrying about nothing, Optimus." She smiled. "You'll do just fine."

"Yep," Fowler said confidently, "other than it being more painful than a point-blank gunshot to the abdomen." He put a hand on June's shoulder and smiled broadly.

"How would you know?" June said, her voice lowering dangerously.

"Well, you're pretty tough. You wouldn't hit me nearly that hard if you weren't in significant pain."

June glared at him. "Again, how would you know? You spent most of the delivery hiding behind one of the nurses!"

Fowler stared at his mate. "Uhm, you were eyeing the scalpel a little more intently than I'd liked?" he said tentatively. "I felt discretion was the better part of valor, especially after you pointed at me and yelled, 'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut it off!'"

Megatron snorted. "What did I tell you, Optimus? June definitely has the instincts of a proper Decepticon."

When Optimus didn't reply, he looked down to find his mate staring at the fleshlings with wide optics.

"Optimus? Are you all right?"

"I am . . . fine, my mate," he said, sounding anything but.

Megatron smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Optimus. I'll be there to help you through emergence."

Optimus looked up at him, optics narrowing. "Based upon what I have just heard, that will not necessarily prove a comfort to me." He paused. "Especially if you choose not to remain by my side through my entire ordeal."

"I would never desert you during your time of need." Megatron straightened to his full height, indignant. "I have been a warrior for eons. As such, I am accustomed to copious amounts of gore and the agonized screaming that goes with it."

Optimus covered his optics with a servo. "Like I said . . ."

"What in the name of Paul Revere's horse is that?"

Spinning on his heel strut, Megatron saw Fowler peering around the sparkling's berth, having apparently discovered the accursed holo. June walked over to join him and then stopped abruptly, gasping.

Megatron rolled his optics heavenward. Of course. It had been that kind of day -- like the time early in the war when he'd meant to respond to an emergency communique and accidentally dialed an interface porn line instead.

It had been unexpectedly entertaining. They'd ended up losing the battle, of course, but still the call had been very stimulating, especially since the mech on the other end had sounded amazingly like Optimus. Of course, it couldn't have been him. If he'd had talent like that, Optimus would have given up his day job eons ago.

"The color scheme is an . . . interesting look for you, Lord Megatron," June said slowly. "The polka dots, uhm, complement your optics."

"That monstrosity," Megatron said tightly, "is merely Soundwave's idea of a joke. It's not staying."

"Huh. I didn't think Soundwave even knew what a joke was," Fowler said, crossing his arms. "But I gotta admit, he sure hit paydirt with that thing. He oughta consider selling copies. He'd make a killing."

"It is not a joke," Optimus said firmly. "It is the first of our treasured family photos."

Megatron glared down at him. "The first, eh? Well, I happen to possess a lovely holo of you on a tabletop."

"You would not dare."

"Try me."

"Lord Megatron," June said reprovingly. "Must I remind you it's never a good idea to upset a carrier?"

"But he started it!" Megatron said, throwing his arms in the air.

June glared at him. "Really? You sound like my son . . . when he was eight years old!"

"Megatron . . ." Optimus said.

"I have no idea why everyone always blames me . . . " Megatron fumed.

"Megatron . . ."

"You off-line a few million mechs and suddenly you're always the one at fault. Does it matter if you've donated all your spare shanix to the 'Pulverized Victims of Megatron' fund? -- frag, no . . ."

"Megatron!" Optimus bellowed.

Megatron spun around, servos on his hips. "What? Can't you see I'm trying to monologue here?"

Optimus stared at him with wide optics. "I believe the bitlet is coming."

Megatron froze, intakes open, his processor threatening to reboot.

In fact, that sounds like a splendid idea.

"Lord Megatron," June said, looking Optimus over carefully. "I think you should comm Ratchet."

"Huh?" Megatron said eloquently, staring at his now frantically in-venting mate, who was partially doubled over in the chair. Try as he might, Megatron couldn't seem to initialize any of his motivator circuits, much less his higher processor subroutines.

Yep, rebooting was sounding really good right about now.

*************************************

June watched the developing situation and frowned. Well, damn. She couldn't believe it. Megatron was the veteran of countless scores of battles, had conquered nearly half the galaxy, but as soon as his mate goes into labor, he falls apart like a twinkie in a tornado.

Typical male. Regardless of the species.

June straightened in determination. Luckily, she still had the diaper bag.

"Quick, Bill, hand me the duck," she said.

"But what good is that . . .?"

"Just give me the God-damn duck!"

"Hey, I thought you told me never to swear around . . . Ow! Okaaay. One duck, coming right up."

*************************************

Megatron jolted when something bounced off an optic ridge with a squeaky quacking sound. He shook his helm, looking around the room frantically. "What . . ?"

"Lord Megatron," June said slowly and distinctly, "you need to contact Ratchet."

"Huh?" Megatron said again, just as eloquently, and he glanced over at Optimus, who was now moaning steadily and looking at him with pleading optics. Megatron felt his own optics begin to glaze over as the panic subroutines gleefully settled in for the long haul.

"Megatron!" June shouted. "I am fresh out of fucking rubber ducks, so get on the comm with Ratchet, NOW!"

"Yes, dear," Megatron said, shakily keying the comm sequence.

"Ratchet . . . " Megatron said.

::I'm rather busy right now. What the frag do you want?::

"Uh." Megatron looked over at June in desperation, who was making a frantic 'go ahead' motion with her hand. "I think, uh . . ."

"Optimus. His name is 'Optimus'!" June yelled helpfully.

"Oh, yes," Megatron said. "I think . . . Optimus might . . ."

::Megatron,:: Ratchet sent testily. ::If you've lost another interface toy in Optimus' valve, it's gonna have to wait until I finish putting this jigsaw puzzle of a Vehicon back together. Or get Knockout to deal with it. Frag, on second thought, better not. He'll try to extract it with his glossa again, and that didn't go over well with Optimus the last time.::

"What?" Megatron said. Something the medic had said was vaguely infuriating. Well, more than vaguely, since he detected the mounting rage spooling through his circuits even with the firewall-shattering panic temporarily rerouting his processor.

::Well, slag,:: Ratchet said. ::I suppose I shouldn't have mentioned that. Right, then. I'm on my way back to the ship. Be a good mech and don't off-line our only other surviving medic in the meantime, yeah?::

Megatron ignored him as he gazed at his arm, confused. Why is my cannon powering up?

*************************************

"Well, shit," Bill said over the deafening sound of a charging fusion cannon. "I think we might have a problem." He glanced over at Megatron and then back to her. "Bet you're glad I didn't panic like that."

June glared at him. "Bill, when I told you my water broke, you backed into the garage three times before we made it down the driveway."

There was dead silence from her spouse.

Great, not only do I get the 'deer in the headlights' look -- I get the whole fucking herd.

"Uhm," he finally said, "but you'd planned to enlarge the garage anyway, hadn't you, dear?"

"Not from scratch, I didn’t!"

His shoulders slumped in relief. "Well, we're cool then. There was still one wall standing."

She debated punching him, but the hum of Megatron's cannon was getting louder. She looked at the warlord and noted he was still in 'totally freaked out spouse' mode. Even if he didn't manage to blow another hole in the side of the ship, he was the only mech around who could get help. At this rate, Optimus was going to deliver his bitlet without any medical care whatsoever.

And since he was a first-time carrier, the poor dear was probably terrified.

June took a deep breath and placed the baby into her husband's arms. "Here, take Amelia." She rummaged in the bag until she found the diaper pins and a pair of needlenose pliers. She removed the pink caps on the diaper pins, straightened the wires and then twisted them together with the pliers until she had one long segment. She looked it over doubtfully, but then her eyes narrowed with resolve. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. "Take care of the baby, Bill. I'll be right back."

"But . . . "

Ignoring her spouse (as she normally did anyway), June slid down the conveniently curved leg of the table and stalked over to the Decepticon warlord. She climbed partway up his pede and then stabbed the wire as hard as she could into a sensitive sensor nexus, shorting out two of the power flow capacitors. She immediately jumped off, tucked into a perfect parachute landing fall and rolled until she was well out of stomping radius.

Megatron howled, picking up his pede and shaking it. He was distracted enough that his fusion cannon started to power down, but more importantly, his optics cycled and he looked around with slightly more clarity.

Which wasn't saying a whole lot, unfortunately.

"What the frag?" he bellowed, then finally spotted her. "What did you do?"

"I've got a diaper bag, and I'm not afraid to use it," June replied, crossing her arms and refusing to be intimidated. "Lord Megatron, you must get Optimus to the medbay immediately."

Megatron spun his torso around to stare at an obviously uncomfortable Optimus. "But," the warlord said desperately, "what if I drop him?"

Optimus looked up at him with pain-filled optics. "Now you are concerned about dropping me?"

"Uh, maybe?"

June didn't know where Optimus had gotten the berth pillow, but it hit Megatron square in the chest plate. The big mech actually staggered back a few paces from the blow. It had been a spectacular shot, but then, she wasn't too surprised. Even barepede and carrying, Optimus was still a mech to be reckoned with.

In fact, Megatron had barely managed to peel the pillow off his chest before Rodney the Rubber Duck made his triumphant return, bouncing once more off the warlord's helm with a resounding quack. Evidently Optimus had run out of pillows.

Megatron took another hesitant step backward, which definitely wasn't the direction he needed to go. "Megatron!" June yelled again.

The big mech turned toward her, servos held protectively in front of his faceplates. He peered at her through his digits, optics wide and definitely stressed.

"I may not be a medic, but even from down here, I can tell Optimus is dilating," she said urgently. "Unless you plan on delivering that bitlet yourself, you'd best pick up your mate and get your sorry aft to the medbay. Now."

Megatron's optics widened even further, and he pointed at his own chest in a universal, 'Who, me?' gesture.

June nodded firmly, hands on her hips.

"I'd suggest you get a move on, Megatron," her husband drawled. "You really don't want to piss her off. Gotta trust me on that."

With a shaky ex-vent, Megatron walked over to Optimus and carefully gathered him in his arms. He started out the door, his strides confident and sure, but then he stopped abruptly and said, "Uh, where was I going again?"

June sighed deeply and resisted the urge to grab the smelling salts out of the diaper bag. But then, smelling salts probably wouldn't even work on a Cybertronian. The tazer would be a better choice, but not while Megatron was actually carrying Optimus -- assuming the big glitch didn't manage to drop him regardless.

Scrap. Maybe she should take over as the Decepticon leader, if for no other reason than protect what little remained of her sanity. This ship was a flipping zoo.

tbc

Chapter Text

As it turned out, getting Optimus to the medbay was surprisingly easy. June simply had her husband jog ahead of Megatron so that the overwrought mech wouldn't get lost.

On his own ship.

Yes, it's hard to believe, but for once it was actually William Fowler to the rescue! Frankly, she was amazed by how fast her husband could run, but then, the possibility of getting squashed underpede by a befuddled warbuild was an excellent motivator. The trip was nerve-wracking for everyone involved, but thankfully Bill was too short of breath to scream continuously.

On the plus side, they made it to the medbay well before Optimus delivered, and Bill got some desperately needed exercise.

Win-win.

Once they'd arrived, Ratchet had immediately yanked a still glassy-opticked Megatron inside the medbay but requested that she and Bill wait in the anteroom. They were eventually joined there by a substantial portion of the crew, who wandered in and out to check on the progress of the bitlet. Most of them seemed rather anxious about the emergence process, which wasn't surprising considering the length of time since there had been a sparkling in their race. However, a few of them were passing around cubes of high grade in optimistic expectation.

June hoped none of those mechs were supposed to be on duty . . . and more importantly, that it wasn't Shockwave's high grade. She'd heard rumors about that stuff, and when she'd commed Megatron earlier in the week to make sure it was safe to keep a volatile concoction like that onboard, he'd merely laughed and told her, "As long as we keep it away from Optimus, it's fine. Trust me, this ship has seen a lot worse than a tipsy, uninhibited Prime."

She'd taken his word about Optimus, but she had her doubts regarding his assessment on the high grade itself. The Nemesis had seen its better days, and it probably wouldn't take much for it to become a permanent part of some unsuspecting mountain range. The structural repairs from their countless battles were already substandard, but to make things worse, the Cybertronians had recently been introduced to the questionable utility of . . . duct tape. She was still furious with Bill about that.

No wonder Megatron wanted to give the damn ship away.

However, she had to assume that the 'bot currently piloting the ship was sober. With Optimus so close to delivery, she couldn't just abandon him and inspect the bridge. Besides, she'd have to leave the relative safety of the tabletop to do so, and she still considered that an unnecessary risk while carrying Amelia, regardless of Ratchet's assurances.

He'd informed her once that humans were perfectly safe on the floor, because stepping on any species of organics was severely frowned upon by the medical staff. Apparently, it clogged up the hydraulics in their pedes and was "a ghastly mess to clean out. The vacuum cleaners refuse to go anywhere near it." Of course, that only left he and Knockout to handle the situation, and no sane mech wanted to risk the wrath of Ratchet.

She'd hadn't asked how he'd discovered it was an issue in the first place.

However, the Vehicons and Eradicons were indeed very cautious around humans and seemed quite friendly. She'd had to turn down offers of high grade from four different individuals already. Well, she assumed they were four different individuals.

The sheer number of mechs in the room made it extremely noisy, but as it turned out, the medbay itself was anything but soundproofed. Optimus' low moans in that deep baritone of his passed through the walls rather easily, as did most of Megatron's comments, even if they were . . . slightly higher pitched than usual.

Some time passed, June wasn't sure how long, but if the bitlet didn't arrive soon, she'd have to leave to feed Amelia. She'd heard about the uproar that Optimus' bared energon sacs had caused in the ship, and she really didn't want to find out if she'd cause a similar reaction.

Not to mention getting Bill all riled up again.

However, this was apparently not going to be an issue, because the volume of Optimus' discomfort suddenly increased.

"I know it's painful, Optimus, but you're almost done," she heard Ratchet say. "Hang in there, kid. Your conjunx is right here."

June breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Megatron had managed to be a supportive spouse? If so, she'd have to believe in miracles, after all.

"See, this hasn't been so bad, sweetspark," Megatron said glibly. "Pfft. You've probably endured more pain stubbing a pede."

Or not.

Optimus howled in a likely combination of agony and outrage, and every mech in the anteroom took at least two steps back. "Megatron!" Optimus roared. "Give me . . . argh! . . . one good reason . . . oh, frag! . . . I should not just . . . ahhh! . . . cut it off!"

"Ratchet!" Megatron said, suddenly sounding panicked. "You didn’t lock out his weaponry protocols? What the frag were you thinking?"

Ratchet snarled. "I was thinking his mate would keep him calm him enough that it wouldn't be necessary, but I keep forgetting what a worthless pile of slag you are!"

June heard the distinctive sound of a sword whistling through the air, followed by Megatron's frantic, "Frag!"

The crew were staring with wide optics at the door of the medbay, then at each other. They were apparently very familiar with the sound of Optimus' weaponry.

"The bitlet's almost out," she heard Ratchet say. "Scrap, but Optimus is a wriggler. Could you hold him still so he doesn't fall off the berth, you useless glitch!"

"I am trying . . ." Megatron said, but this was followed by another whistling sound, the din of metal clanging and then something splintering into pieces. "Slag, that was close. Optimus, I'm going to need my spike, so would you please save the amateur attempts at circumcision for the bitlet?"

Optimus snarled, doing a very good imitation of Ravage in a snit.

"Megatron," Ratchet said in exasperation. "Just hold his servo, try to avoid the sharp, pointy bits and . . . stop right there! Don't even think about using that duct tape on him!"

"Scrap," Megatron said, clearly disappointed, but then his voice got low and sultry. "Come now, sweetspark, don't be that way. You know you'd miss my spike, too . . . Ow!"

"And watch his dentae," Ratchet said, sounding distracted. "They're rather sharp for some reason."

"Tell me something I don't know, medic!"

"Early in the war, Optimus pretended to be an interface porn line operator in order to distract you," Ratchet said.

"What!?"

"He was surprisingly good at it, too," Ratchet added, then chuckled wryly. "Oh sorry, apparently that's something you did know."

Another long groan from Optimus, and Ratchet said, "Almost there. C'mon, kid, you can do it . . ."

It was preternaturally quiet for a few seconds except for Optimus' near continuous moans, and the mechs surrounding her continued to stare fixedly at the medbay door, standing as still as statues. Then a high-pitched screeching noise erupted from within the medbay. It sounded something like their Alexa unit after Bill had spilled a fifth of vodka onto her speaker, but without the subsequent vile cursing.

The mechs around them broke into excited cheers, with Bulkhead and Bumblebee giving each other high-fives, so evidently the hideous noise was a good thing.

Bill turned to her and said incredulously, "Was that the bitlet?"

June looked around at the celebrating Cybertronians. "Your guess is as good as mine, Bill. No one's running for the escape pods though, so it's probably not the ship breaking apart, regardless of what it sounded like."

Ratchet stuck his helm out the door long enough to say, "It's a mech!" with a huge smile on his faceplates before he retreated back into the room.

Another round of raucous cheering erupted from the mechs around them, and June sighed deeply in relief. Thank the All-Spark, Optimus' ordeal was finally over.

She only hoped poor Soundwave had managed to get his bitlet covering done in time, since Optimus had delivered substantially earlier than Ratchet had predicted. She looked around the room, trying to locate the communications specialist in the milling crowd of exuberant 'bots.

Huh. That was odd.

Where was Soundwave? She'd assumed he'd have camped outside the medbay, as excited as he'd been about the bitlet's imminent arrival. Shrugging, June turned to give her best wishes to the approaching Autobots.

She figured someone had to run the ship in Megatron's absence. She wouldn't put it past Soundwave to have Laserbeak sending live video from the medbay, however.

He was sneaky that way.

*****************************

Megatron heaved an ex-vent of relief. After checking to insure Optimus had recovered from the emergence process, Ratchet had allowed a brief visit from June and Agent Fowler before finally departing the medbay himself.

Now, it was just the two of them . . . and their bitlet.

Their creation lay cradled in his exhausted carrier's arms, and Megatron was staring so intensely that he thought his optics would lock in their current setting. The bitlet was obviously a warbuild, although impossibly tiny, and his protocolor nanites were a mixture of his and Optimus' -- blue and silver.

Megatron was absolutely convinced that a more perfect sparkling had never existed.

Even better, Optimus seemed a lot less murderous after completing emergence, and in fact, he gazed up at Megatron with a soft smile on his faceplates. "Look what we have created, my mate," he said, rocking the little bitlet gently in his arms.

The bitlet opened his optics, kicking his miniscule pedes, and Megatron thought he might melt into a big silver puddle onto the floor. Smiling broadly, he leaned in closer until he was ex-venting softly onto his sparkling's delicate chassis, allowing his offspring to re-familiarize himself with his EM field.

Optimus cooed at the bitlet, stroking his frame tenderly, and then he said, "Zenith, my precious one, this is your Sire."

The bitlet's optics cycled, focusing on Megatron, and then he chirped brightly in obvious recognition. Megatron's smile got even broader.

"Your Sire is our species' greatest warrior, and he is most famous for . . ."

Zenith giggled, kicking out with a pede and striking his Sire directly on the faceplates. Startled, Megatron jerked backward, lost his balance and fell flat onto his backstrut with a thunderous crash.

". . . getting knocked flat on his aft by a five-breem-old sparkling," Optimus concluded wryly.

However, Megatron was beyond delighted, and he punched a fist into the air. "That's my bitlet!"

He heard an exasperated ex-vent from Optimus. "I told you he had a kick worse than Shockwave's high grade, but you did not believe me." He paused. "I only wish I had a holo of this for the next time you choose to doubt me."

From his vantage spot on the floor, Megatron said, "It appears your wish has been granted, my mate." His engines revved angrily. "What the frag are you doing under the berth, Soundwave?"

"Megatron!" Optimus chided. "You will watch your language around the sparkling!"

Still glaring at Soundwave, Megatron said, "Zenith is only five breems old, Optimus. It will be orns before he develops any language skills at all, at which point I will be happy to comply with your wishes and watch my fragging language." Megatron rose slowly to his pedes and placed his servos on his hips. "I await an answer, Soundwave."

Soundwave unfolded himself from under the berth, and Megatron shook his helm in amazement. He had no idea how the mech had managed to fit under there in the first place. When he finally received Soundwave's explanation over their private comm, however, he rolled his optics in disgust. "And you expect me to believe you accidentally recharged under a berth, and this one in particular? Really, Soundwave, you must be drawing from Starscream's book of farcically lame excuses."

Then Megatron noted something even more disturbing. "And what the frag is the vacuum cleaner doing under there? . . . Oh, really? It's a close friend of Optimus'? Well, slag that! I happen to know the only part of Optimus it's ever gotten close to was his valve."

Optimus put a servo over his optics.

Megatron snarled, "I don't care how much Optimus enjoyed it. He's practically a virgin. If you even mention 'interface array', he lubricates like the heroine in a trashy romance vid." He glanced down at his mate and then pointed with his servo. "See?"

"Primus, take me now," Optimus groaned.

"Absolutely not," Megatron said fiercely. "Primus can keep his grubby servos to himself. I am not sharing."

Soundwave spouted more gibberish over the comm, and Megatron shifted his attention back to his obviously glitching TIC. Perhaps excessive knitting was hazardous to a mech's health? "No," Megatron replied snidely, "I don't think 'Till all are one' applies to a lecherous vacuum cleaner and my mate's valve, and it never will!"

Soundwave wisely remained silent after that, but the vacuum cleaner replied with an obscene noise that wasn't at all respectful to the Lord of the Decepticons.

Megatron fumed silently. All right, that's it. That ungrateful glitch isn't getting any more of my rust stick crumbs.

"Soundwave," Megatron said firmly, wishing he could just toss them both out the door, or better yet off the ship, without upsetting his mate. Sometimes he really missed the good old days. "Optimus and I require time to bond with our sparkling. Alone."

A peculiar noise from the direction of the berth prompted Megatron to look toward Optimus.

His mate was attempting to soothe Zenith, who was apparently sensitive to the antagonistic fields around him and was chirping loudly with distress. Optimus held him close to his spark, rocking him gently, and the bitlet finally calmed somewhat. Ex-venting softly, his mate looked up and said, "Soundwave, while I realize you wish to assist with our sparkling's care, I am afraid Megatron is correct." He paused. "For once."

Megatron snorted, crossing his arms across his chest, but since it appeared he'd get what he wanted, he decided to be magnanimous and let that pass without comment.

"However," Optimus continued, "you may greet our sparkling properly before you depart."

"Sap," Megatron muttered.

Optimus glared at him. "I heard that."

Soundwave approached almost reverently, and he knelt down so he would not loom over the agitated bitlet. He must have scrolled something across his visor, because Zenith stopped his unhappy chirping and slowly reached out a grasping servo toward the blue mech's helm. Soundwave looked up at Optimus, his field practically pulsating with delight, and Optimus smiled at him fondly.

Grunting, but not in the least bit jealous, Megatron said, "Any breem now, Soundwave."

Soundwave stood, reluctantly, and then he pulled some items from his subspace. He laid them on the berth next to Optimus, and his mate smiled at him again. "Thank you, Soundwave." Optimus picked up one of the items with his free servo. It was the promised bitlet covering, knitted in discrete bands of alternating red, blue, and purple. "It is lovely and appears to be the perfect size, as well." He chuckled. "June's tutelage appears to have proven quite beneficial."

Nodding enthusiastically, Soundwave then held up a tiny stuffed plushie that looked suspiciously like Ravage as well as several blankets done in various color combinations, but all of them had the same tight, neat stitches as the bitlet covering.

Megatron was reluctantly impressed, but he narrowed his optics when he noted Optimus' delighted expression. He was Zenith's Sire, and his mate should be looking at him that way.

Soundwave gazed at the bitlet longingly, then tentatively held out the Ravage plushie to him. Zenith squealed in delight, holding it close to his frame, and then he proudly held it out for his carrier to admire.

Optimus cycled his optics comically wide to demonstrate approval of his child's first toy, making the sparkling giggle, then his mate turned his helm and gave Soundwave another fond smile.

Megatron's flight engines revved angrily, and both mechs looked up at him, startled. "All right, Soundwave. Thank you for the thoughtful gifts. However, since there probably isn't anybot steering the fragging ship at the moment, you will leave now and report to the bridge." He glared in the direction of the berth. "And take that frisky vacuum cleaner with you."

Soundwave hung his helm briefly, then reached under the berth to retrieve the vacuum cleaner. He inclined his helm respectfully to Megatron, but the vacuum cleaner flipped up its crevice tool attachment in a rude gesture as they passed.

Megatron snarled, but since he didn’t want to upset Optimus (who probably did have an attachment to the fragging thing), he decided he'd merely keep an optic on the uppity contraption for now. Primus knows, it was already a mini-Starscream in the making. Just like the seeker, it excelled at only one thing -- sucking up.

Once they were finally alone, Megatron stalked over to the door and locked it securely. Then he took a moment to insure that nobot else was lurking underneath the berth before he settled in next to Optimus with a frustrated ex-vent.

Optimus was holding the bitlet in both servos, raising him up and down in front of his helm as Zenith squealed in delight, still gripping his Ravage plushie.

As Megatron gazed at Zenith and his beloved mate, he realized he couldn’t stay angry for long -- not with treasures like these right before his optics. He smiled, watching as his son held tiny arms straight out from his chassis, still chirping happily as he was again lifted aloft by his carrier's gentle servos.

"He's going to be a flight frame," Megatron said with sudden certainty.

Nodding his helm, Optimus said, "I concur." He looked over at Megatron, paused, and then held the bitlet out to him.

Megatron was momentarily taken aback, afraid the bitlet would refuse to leave the comforting vicinity of his carrier's field, but Zenith stretched his free servo toward his Sire and then hummed contentedly when Megatron cradled him tenderly against his chassis.

"See," Optimus said softly. "You are jealous for no reason, my mate. Zenith knows his Sire, and he will always love his Sire. As will I." He paused, rolling his optics. "That is, when you are not being an aft."

Megatron chuckled, relishing those times when his mate relaxed enough to tease. "So, only on rare occasions, then."

"Exceedingly rare."

Well, he hoped Optimus was teasing.

Megatron cradled Zenith for quite some time, noting he could lull the restless bitlet by modulating the lower harmonics of his flight engines. He filed the information away in his processor for those times when Zenith's behavior was . . . somewhat less than adorable.

Smiling down at his creation, Megatron said, "He may know his Sire, but I believe he has yet to learn where his energon will be coming from." Zenith was nuzzling at Megatron's chest, his faceplates scrunching up in displeasure when he couldn't find what he was searching for.

Optimus chuckled, then opened his chestplates and held out his servos. Megatron gave the hungry bitlet to his carrier, who guided Zenith to a bulging energon sac. The bitlet made a surprised cheeping noise and settled in to nurse with a vengeance, so engrossed that he temporarily ignored his plushie.

"Hmm," Optimus said, staring down at his contented sparkling. "So, he does take after his Sire." He raised a playful optic ridge at his mate.

Megatron leered. "Well, he's only using one of them at the moment, Optimus," he said in a low, flirtatious tone.

Optimus smacked him lightly on a shoulder pauldron. "Do not even think about it, Megatron," but his mate was smiling, and there was nothing but fond exasperation in his optics.

Megatron laughed, completely relaxed for the first time in what felt like eons. He usually detested being idle, but he could spend the next dozen orns watching his beloved conjunx and their sparkling and never be bored.

After a few breems, Optimus attempted to shift the bitlet to the other side, but Zenith wasn't pleased with this at all. Optimus was finally able to extract his nub from the greedy bitlet's intake, but he was rewarded with a tiny flailing servo to his energon sac, a loud string of nonsense binary, and then a thoroughly garbled but still intelligible, "Frag!"

Megatron couldn't help it -- he laughed out loud, even knowing that Optimus would be peeved at him. "Yes," Megatron agreed solemnly, "apparently he does take after his Sire."

Optimus smacked him again, but Megatron was so pleased with life in general that he didn’t even complain. In fact, once the bitlet had finally latched onto the other nub, Megatron leaned over to give Optimus a thoroughly ravishing kiss, expanding his field to envelop his mate with warmth and affection.

When they eventually pulled apart, Optimus smiled at him. He then lowered his optics demurely, but his own field nudged Megatron's, shyly, but with obvious amorous intent.

Excellent.

He'd have to ask the medic when Optimus could resume 'normal activities,' but if Megatron timed it right, he could have Optimus carrying again just as Zenith was ready to be weaned. That way, he'd have yet another adorable bitlet to shower with affection . . . and Optimus would keep those luscious energon sacs for the duration.

Megatron smirked.

Win-win.

END