Chapter Text
“Megatron?”
“Yes?”
They were now curled up together, wrapped in the steelcloth sheets with the Prime’s helm nestled comfortably against his neck cables. Optimus tilted his face up to give Megatron a quizzical look. “How often do you do this?”
“What, take someone to my berth?” Megatron lifted one massive shoulder in an effortless shrug. “Not often, actually. I only choose the exceptional.”
“How do you determine that?”
“Skill, mostly.” Megatron idly ran his fingers down the length of Optimus’s back, enjoying the pleased shiver he received in response. “And how long I know I want them around.”
That earned him a wary expression. “What does that mean?”
“How often I want to frag them, of course,” Megatron said airily. “It’s usually not too frequent. A few times a chord, perhaps.”
He chose that moment to shoot a lascivious grin Optimus’s way, then dipped his helm forward. “But you, on the other servo…”
Optimus gave a sharp, shaky in-vent at the sudden swipe of Megatron’s glossa, right across his neck cables. Megatron allowed himself a restrained laugh, low and quiet. “You’re too irresistible for only the occasional interface.”
He rubbed a thumb against the very edge of a throat cable, then took it with his forefinger and tweaked it. Optimus twitched against him, then let out a shuddering sigh and rolled away onto his back.
Megatron was quick to follow, hands finding the Autobot’s sides and tugging him back towards him. He put on a tone of mock chastisement. “Don’t go in the wrong direction, my Prime. You should stay close to me.”
“How close?” Optimus was good at feigning puzzlement. The only thing that gave it away was the amused quirk of his lips, as though he were barely holding back a snicker.
It gave Megatron the urge to kiss him more than anything else could have. Those lines of laughter on his faceplate, of cheerfulness and just sheer enjoyment, would have once been unthinkable to imagine on the grim, resigned mech he’d marched to what they’d both thought would have been his death within these walls. But the lessons Optimus had taught him, their long and thoughtful conversations, the time they’d spent in each other’s company—all of it had left its mark on them both.
And Megatron knew he couldn’t be more grateful for that.
“Very close, preferably.” Megatron leaned in, unable to help himself, and lowered his voice to a provocative whisper. “What do you think of me staying here all night?”
He traced a fingertip around the outline of Optimus’s valve, gently prodding at the node. Optimus actually keened, quiet yet strained, and jerked his hips up against the touch.
Still, Prime’s voice was surprisingly clear. “You—wouldn’t be able to.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Megatron raised a brow ridge in challenge.
The responding smile from Optimus was borderline impish. “Your spike can’t last the entire night.”
“Can’t it?” Megatron rumbled, tugging his spike forward. It was still hard in his hand, wet and covered all over in transfluids and lubricant as it was. He held it by the base, sliding his length excruciatingly slowly up against Optimus. It brushed his wet folds oh so lightly, and the responding whine of delight from Optimus’s well-worn vocalizer was something to relish. Sweetly, Megatron went on. “For a pretty thing like you, it just might.”
He punctuated the words with another smack of his spikehead against Optimus’s valve, this time directly onto his node. Optimus arched up sharply with a grunt, fingers digging back into the berth. Another spurt of transfluid trickled from his array.
It was an incomparable sight, but Megatron knew better than to be predictable. He’d already had his fill of it three times, now, and other parts of Optimus demanded his attention just as much.
He slid his palm up the length of Optimus’s thigh, then skated his fingers across the middle of his array and right to the panel on top. Impatiently, he tapped on it. “Open this.”
Optimus blinked in befuddlement. “Huh?”
“Get your spike out, Prime.” Megatron grinned at him with all his denta showing. “Let’s see how well you use it, shall we?”
For a nanoklik, Optimus merely stared at him, and Megatron wondered fleetingly if the Prime preferred his valve for interfacing. Not that Megatron would mind that, obviously, but he didn’t plan to leave any part of Prime’s frame unexplored, and that meant putting his spike to use at some point.
Then Optimus smiled, very softly. “Well, if you insist.”
He retracted his spike panel, freeing himself with a groan. Megatron greedily drank in the vision before him, watching the pale length drip even more newly unrestrained transfluid than it had in the wash racks. With how wet it already was, it was a miracle the fluids hadn’t seeped right out of Optimus’s panel seams.
He briefly cocked his helm, studying it. A deep-seated, petty part of him was glad that it wasn’t anywhere near as big as his own equipment. Lovely though he was, Prime was still an Autobot, and one-upping the Autobots’ leader in this department did wonders for Megatron’s already monstrous ego.
Unable to help himself, Megatron wrapped his fingers around the shaft and squeezed. Optimus’s reaction was instant, leaving him bucking into his grasp with an outright cry. “Hhhfff—!”
“So sensitive,” Megatron purred, his servo moving up and down in harsh, quick strokes. Optimus was shaking and gasping, hip joints trembling and pedes digging into steelcloth as he watched Megatron’s movements with increasingly pleasure-glazed optics. It was a look on him that Megatron longed to kiss away from his faceplate. “Are you always this desperate when someone plays with you?”
“N-no…” Optimus’s voice broke on a sharp in-vent when Megatron applied a firmer squeeze to the base of his shaft. “Just— mmmn…”
Megatron gave him a few more steady strokes, then let go. No matter how much he wanted to watch the Prime come undone in his hand, the slickness in his valve was a reminder of what he really needed. He moved carefully, folding his panel back, and shifted his grip to Optimus’s forearms. Optimus looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, watching his now bared valve with interest.
Without warning, Megatron drove his hips down and plunged himself onto the waiting spike. The gasp from Prime that got him was one for the ages.
“Haahh…” Optimus’s groan was low, his vents shaky, and he rocked his hips up in an effort to grind his array over Megatron’s. Megatron let the sound wash over him, barely hearing his own moan of delight at the drag of Optimus’s length against his calipers. There was no better word to describe Prime’s spike than sleek. Sleek, smooth, and perfectly shaped. It was gentle enough to slide easily against his nodes, filling him completely without stretching him. He touched his lips briefly to Optimus’s forehelm, then began to move in earnest.
When he rolled himself forward, taking Optimus’s length to the hilt and then just as quickly drawing back, Optimus gave a loud venting noise and actually squirmed under him. “Megatron— ah— do that again!”
“What, this?” Megatron bucked forward, hard, and bit back a moan at the spasm from the spike buried deep in him. “I might keep it up, if you keep begging me like that…”
Optimus made a funny sound then, almost a laugh. He was surprisingly coherent, even with how bright his optics were with pleasure. “There are only so many times I can say ‘please’ and ‘more’.”
“Point taken.” Megatron stroked a finger down the thin seam in the middle of Optimus's chassis, right between the windows of his alt mode. “But I’ll find other ways to make you say it. It makes me wonder—what does your spark look like?”
His voice dropped to a husky growl. “And how, exactly, would it taste if I put my mouth to it?”
Optimus gave a low noise in his vocalizer, his brow ridges furrowing in concern. His optics seemed clearer now, focused, and his voice was steadier. “Megatron, I would—I would prefer not to use my spark for this.”
“Whyever not?” Megatron traced a pattern across the glass of Optimus's left window, and Optimus's voice hitched in response. It pleased Megatron deeply to hear even the smallest of reactions from him. “It would certainly add something else…”
“I hold the Matrix in my spark,” Optimus said quietly. “It could be dangerous.”
He was probably right, but danger had never put off Megatron in the least when it came to getting what he wanted. Everything had been a challenge for him for as long as he could remember; everything had always had to be earned, or he would have been left out in the cold to die.
But Optimus looked much too serious now, with an expression that verged too close on battle-ready grimness for Megatron’s liking. He had to find a way to wipe that expression off his faceplate before it ruined the mood.
Megatron complied by leaning in and kissing him on the nasal ridge. Optimus gave a start, and Megatron smiled teasingly. “Very well, Prime. Sparkplay isn't really all that, anyhow. Let’s get back to business, shall we?”
Without further ado, he lowered his mouth to the Prime’s neck cables and flicked out his glossa. Optimus gave a satisfied sigh as he arched upward into the touch, and Megatron smirked against his throat, driving himself deeper down on the Prime’s spike.
Prime might not have been willing now, but Megatron knew he could bide his time. The longer Optimus stayed with him in the citadel, the more inhibitions he’d forget from the continued pleasure of being filled with Megatron’s transfluid, begging for more overloads and crying his name. All thoughts of escaping back to the Autobots would become a distant memory to him, and he'd find another, better purpose in being Megatron's lover.
But that was only if he figured out what to do about Megazarak and his insistence on having Optimus killed. Once Megazarak was indisposed, there would be nothing to worry about—dissatisfied courtiers and generals with a grudge would be easy enough to handle, especially with Soundwave's aid. Megatron would be free to make Prime his consort, and their sparks would be bound together forever.
Imagining how it would feel to merge his spark with Optimus's brought a warm swell of self-satisfaction, heavy enough to stir the electric charge of his arousal into a sharper, sweeter burn. He would have Optimus Prime all to himself, claiming him utterly in every way possible—mind, frame, and spark. This beautiful being would always be his alone to touch, to taste, to fondle and frag senseless into the berth.
Perhaps, if he let his thoughts wander further down that road, the Prime would even bear his sparklings. But Megatron was getting ahead of himself.
He worked himself into a faster rhythm, picking up the pace until he was slamming himself downwards on Prime’s spike again and again. Optimus’s vocalizer trailed off into a staccato of helpless grunts and groans, his hips jerking up over and over to meet him, his frame twisting and trembling under his. He arched as if to sit up, but Megatron tightened his grip on his forearms with a snarl to keep him on his back.
“I’ll take you the way I want to,” Megatron rumbled, slowing down to squeeze Optimus’s arms for emphasis. “Just lie back and enjoy.”
“The least you can— hahh— do is let me…” Optimus, clearly not one to be denied, furrowed his brow ridges and bucked against him. His array ground against Megatron’s, angling to rub at the base of Megatron’s currently ignored and aching spike. It took far too much restraint for him not to groan in response. “Let me move—”
“How about I let you come instead?” Megatron sank further forward, clenching down as tightly as he could, and Optimus’s vocalizer broke into an actual whimper. It made Megatron internally preen, far too proud of all the ways he’d already bent the Prime to his desires. “Don’t be shy…”
He resumed his frenzied pace, going up and down over and over, savoring the constant push and pull of the Prime’s spike until he finally dropped down for good. He met his overload with his glossa on Optimus’s throat and a satisfied purr in his engine, reverberating all throughout his frame as his calipers unclenched. Optimus gave a start, shuddered, and threw his helm back on a shout of the prince’s name as he spilled himself deep into Megatron.
For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet sputtering of their engines and their soft, venting breaths. Megatron withdrew carefully, pulling away until his valve was left hollow and dripping. It was slightly sore, but not painful—the way he preferred it, if he were honest with himself. He liked stretching out his partners with his girth well enough, but he had different tastes the other way around.
He smiled down at Optimus. “Ready to keep going?”
Optimus blinked wearily up at him. “Maybe. Give me a klik and I’ll start thinking again.”
“Not too hard, I hope.” Megatron ran his fingers down Optimus’s abdomen, remembering how gorgeous it had been with solvent streaming on it in the wash racks. “You always get that expression when you overthink things.”
Confusion passed over the Prime’s face. “What expression?”
Megatron shrugged. “Thoughtful, I suppose. Pensive. Perhaps ‘sorrowful’ is the right word. You look much too tragic.”
The confusion vanished, and Optimus’s brow ridges drew together in vague irritation. He sat up, then turned his helm away to stare at the curtains on the side of the berth. “I’m sorry I don’t look like a happy prisoner, then.”
And there went the mood again. Megatron huffed and reached for his face, tilting his helm back to look at him. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I’m sure.” It was impressive how quickly Optimus’s voice could recover from his moans and cries to sound so aloof. “Just because we do this doesn’t mean…”
He trailed off. He squeezed his optics shut, then exhaled. The Prime’s voice was quiet. “It doesn’t mean you own me, Megatron.”
“Of course it doesn’t.” As Megatron spoke the words aloud, however, he knew he only half-believed them. Prime wasn’t his slave by any means, but that didn’t mean Megatron was going to let him leave the citadel. Or his berth.
Why would he, when Optimus Prime was all of his spark’s desires made manifest?
Optimus only stared at him, still skeptical, and Megatron put on the most innocuous grin he could. “Let me help you forget that while the night’s still young. You should be enjoying yourself.”
“I don’t suppose your definition of helping me enjoy myself would include letting me leave the berth and read something, would it?” was Optimus’s dry rejoinder.
Megatron smirked. “I’m afraid not. But this is just as entertaining, isn’t it?”
He chose that moment to palm his spike, then lightly tweaked the leaking tip. Just as he expected, Optimus’s eyes dropped down to it. His features slackened slightly, his pretty mouth parting, and Megatron’s spark jumped with glee at the unmistakable lust in Prime’s expression.
As if moving of its own volition, Optimus’s hand crept forward. Without a word, he took hold of Megatron’s spike and curled his fingers around it. Megatron watched him patiently, waiting.
“It’s so big,” Optimus murmured. He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Megatron, staring with fascination. It was the same look he’d had when he’d seen it for the first time in the wash rack. “It’s the largest spike I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s not a surprise, is it?” Megatron was used enough to hearing partners compliment his size for it to no longer be a novelty; it was rare for any of them to express fear or reluctance. Still, hearing the Prime say it was a new kind of thrill, as heady and exhilarating as rushing into battle.
Optimus shook his head. “No, I guess not…”
He began to move his hand up and down, fingers barely wrapping around Megatron’s shaft. Megatron could hear himself starting to pant, and he willed himself to be still, watching as Optimus gently stroked his spike back into full hardness. The blue of the Prime’s digits were a striking sight against the red biolights dotting the dark underside of his shaft, working steadily under their soft glow.
It didn’t take long for Megatron to notice the way Optimus’s breaths were deepening, his optics brighter, his grip less steady. With his panels still open, his arousal couldn’t be more evident. Pre-fluid was leaking from his spike, while lubricant dripped from his array. Megatron could still see some of his leftover transfluid welling up inside the Prime’s thoroughly used valve, not yet spilling out.
Megatron’s spike throbbed at the sight. He jerked back, sliding out of Optimus’s grasp, and just as quickly surged forward, servos finding a new part of the Prime to grip. Optimus gave a startled vent as Megatron pushed him over onto his side, pinning him back down to the berth, and wrapped his arms tightly around his waist.
Megatron slid his spike up, rubbing against wet folds, and that got him a choked whine. Softly, Megatron pressed his lips to Optimus’s audial. “Ready?”
Optimus only nodded.
Megatron snapped his hips up, plunging deep, and sheathed his spike to the base in one go. Optimus whimpered loudly over the loud smack of their arrays, helplessly wriggling a pede held up in the air. His spike swayed, dribbling more pre-fluids. His calipers fluttered a little less erratically against Megatron’s spike; they now felt smoother, easier to slide through, all lubricated from his earlier transfluid.
They were getting used to him. The thought inflamed Megatron’s arousal terribly.
“Please, Megatron…” Optimus’s voice was quieter now. “Not too rough.”
In response, Megatron pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I can be gentle again, Optimus. Never fear.”
He gave one short thrust, nestling his spike deeper, and Optimus shivered. Then Megatron set a careful pace of steady, languid strokes, rocking back and forth against the Prime’s spinal struts. He pistoned his spike slowly, in and out, spreading the Prime apart a little wider each time. Optimus kept panting harder and heavier against him, kicking a pede in the air, digging his fingers into the berth as Megatron pressed his weight down against him. The sounds their arrays made together were sloppier now, messier; every time Megatron slid home, more traces of excess transfluid spilled free from the Prime as he slid out. The sight made him unreasonably proud, as though every drop and stain of his fluid was a mark that claimed the Autobot as his.
And, in a way, it was. Megatron mouthed the tip of Optimus’s finial, then bit down just as he gave one final, hard thrust that kissed the innermost node inside Prime’s valve. Optimus stiffened in his embrace, then sank further back against him and let out a soft sigh. Calipers squeezed down, mesh tightened up, and Megatron closed his optics on a contented groan as the overload washed over him. There was a little less transfluid from him this time, but it spurted deeper, and he liked the way Optimus half-thrashed, half-tensed in his arms as he came again with a shaky cry for the fifth time in a cycle.
When Optimus spoke again, his voice was laden with static. “At the rate we’re going, I think you might burn out my fuel tanks.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Megatron wasn’t in the mood to pull out just yet, especially with how snug his spike was currently. He adjusted his position slightly, propping his helm up on a pillow while nestling the Prime’s head against his chassis. Optimus moved easily with him, moving a hand up his shoulder, and Megatron silently rejoiced at the reminder that the Prime was just as hungry to explore his frame as Megatron was for his. “But if you want to stop now…”
Optimus smiled at him sweetly, bordering on diffident. “Who said anything about stopping now?”
For that, Megatron kissed him. And for that, Optimus kissed back with renewed fervor, his glossa eagerly finding its way past Megatron’s lips. For someone who kept his own mouth covered so often, Prime was almost shockingly adept at using it.
They kept kissing, over and over, as Megatron took the Prime again—on his back, on his lap, on his other side. Even as the Prime’s optics began to close and exhaustion sank in, he never took his eyes off of Megatron’s, never stopped murmuring his name in that lovely, weary voice of his.
“Megatron…” he sighed, and his tired frame chose that moment to finally slump over into recharge. He went completely lax like a string of cord, helm pillowed against a steelcloth cushion.
Megatron touched his lips to Optimus’s cheek, stroking a finial before he whispered into it. “Recharge well, Optimus. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Optimus only mumbled something indecipherable in response, already drifting off as Megatron carefully pulled him close to his chassis. At this point, Megatron would normally be just as worn out. No amount of stamina could change that he eventually needed rest, but for now, he was too satisfied to just nod off.
For now, he thought, he would cherish the beautiful sight before him. And that was enough.