The worst part of getting tied up in his own grapples and yanked into Megatron’s terrible grip and nearly killed was, unquestionably, getting tied up in his own grapples and yanked into Megatron’s terrible grip and nearly killed.
The second worst part of it was that he hadn’t been killed, and as a result, his obviously depraved and malfunctioning brain had been given the chance to decide it was the hottest experience of his life. It took nearly a month before Optimus could get through a single recharge cycle without having the memory slide into his processor, and when it did he would wake up with his interface unit open and his valve sticky where he’d been frantically trying to lube up enough to take whatever equipment his speculation unit was imagining that Megatron had tucked under the crazily huge panel that had brushed against his for one insufficiently brief—or insufficiently long, depending on the part of his neural sphere you consulted—moment.
It kept not going away even through several more near-death experiences—or possibly because-of—and finally a few ashamed middle-of-the-night searches of the oldest chunks of the archive from before the war turned up the completely unhelpful information that warmechs were usually active down there during combat, and sparring with them was therefore not recommended for civilians. Great, thanks. A few more searches turned up the even more unhelpful recommendation to just let the warmech have their way with you if you accidentally got yourself activated, because if you didn’t, you could end up fixated. So, clearly, what Optimus urgently needed to do was catch Megatron in the middle of their next fight and ask—
“I don’t suppose you’d consider letting me walk?” Optimus asked a little morbidly. He wasn’t exactly asking Megatron; the somewhat one-sided conversation was being held with Megatron’s left shoulder, which he was currently slung over, once more tied up, and yes, with his own grapples. He really needed to do something about that design flaw, assuming he survived the rest of this encounter, which wasn’t looking good.
“Patience, little Autobot,” Megatron said, a rumble that despite the situation went straight to deeply inappropriate parts of Optimus’s construction, which were in much too much direct contact with Megatron’s armor right now. “I’ll deal with you soon enough.”
“Great, looking forward to it,” Optimus said, and tried to squirm his way off, which only resulted in the humiliation of having Megatron just put a single hand absently on his aft and hold him in place.
And there was more humiliation on the way, because after a couple steps, Megatron abruptly stopped walking. Optimus had a moment of hoping maybe he actually would be set down and have a chance to get away—probably only a few steps away, before being caught and roughly yanked back by an irresistibly powerful grip—except Megatron tapped his fingers a couple of times and then said, “Hm,” in a bemused tone. “What interesting taste you have, Autobot,” and Optimus had a moment of appalled horror as he realized Megatron had apparently picked up on whatever Optimus’s system was doing.
And then Megatron slung him off his shoulder, pinned the knot of the grapples against the nearby wall so Optimus was dangling in front of him—at just the right height, Optimus’s systems gleefully informed him—and then he said, “Very well, open up,” like he was—what, he was going to just do Optimus right here and now, he was going to pop his spike out and shove it—
Yes, actually, it turned out, that was exactly what he was going to do. “Oh,” Optimus said, very faintly, as Megatron pushed steadily and yet inexorably up and up and up into him, and it was interesting how he had managed to do that when Optimus clearly hadn’t even opened his panel because he would never and also wait, why were his legs wrapped around Megatron’s hips, and oh Primus there was more of it, there wasn’t more of him, where was it going to go. “It’s—it’s not going to fit,” he whispered out threadily.
Megatron laughed. “I’m going to make it fit,” he said, a deep purring that rumbled through him, and kept pushing. Tears sprang into Optimus’s eyes. He couldn’t, oh, except he tried to get loose and he was tied up, Megatron was still holding the grapples fisted in one hand even as his eyes got narrow and satisfied and his mouth started to curve. Optimus had practically handed him a leash. “Yes,” Megatron murmured at him. “Yes, struggle a little more. Feel how utterly you are at my mercy. Nothing can stop me now. I will claim you fully.”
“Ohh-h-h,” Optimus gasped out in one long wavering cry, his whole body writhing involuntarily, trying to get away, straining at the cords, and it didn’t work at all, oh, he was just working himself onto it.
“There,” Megatron breathed out over his audio receptors. “Yes. Come now, unlock your configuration,” and Optimus gave a desperate gulping sob and let his body shift into scanning mode, and Megatron sighed with pleasure and deliberately lowered him onto the rest of his spike, Optimus’s configuration manager shifting things around inside rapidly to make it fit, to alter him to match the incoming parameters. When he was finally all the way down, and his head was lolling back dazed, Megatron gave a small humming noise of satisfaction. “Magnificent,” he said, and Optimus moaned faintly. “Now, then…”
Three blissful, mindblowing hours of being fragged to an inch of his life later, Optimus sank down along the wall to the ground and sat there, gasping. The grapples had mostly come off at some point, but a few loops were still dangling from around his waist and ankles. A moment later, Megatron slowly creaked himself down and sat next to him with a massive clang. He was breathing hard.
“I think I may need to recompute my value function for Autobots,” Megatron remarked. He sounded somewhat hoarse.
“It was good for me too,” Optimus said faintly.
After a moment, Megatron picked him up and put him into his lap. Optimus was going to ask what he was doing but his power was so low he just fell into recharge mode before he could get the words out. When he woke up a little while later, his whole body was soaking in fantastic radiating heat and Megatron was…he wasn’t exactly sure what Megatron was doing but it involved having Optimus tucked into the curve of his body with his arms around him in a vaguely—huggy way. Optimus stared out at the world from the—even more inappropriately—relaxing and intensely safe pocket. He felt strongly that he should have some kind of objection to this, and also, who knew Decepticons liked to cuddle.
Then Megatron woke up, and it turned out Decepticons also liked to do things other than cuddle, and more often than Optimus had ever previously imagined anyone doing them, and it also turned out that getting aggressively spiked by the mech you’d redesigned your internals for was amazing. “Harder,” he gasped out, and Megatron literally growled all his turbines at once and tipped him back a little further and pounded him like Optimus was the Forge of Solus and—okay, that metaphor was going bad places, but Megatron’s spike wasn’t.
And afterwards Megatron kept it in him for a while and tilted his head up and nuzzled at his mouth and cheeks and throat, leaving small kisses all over while Optimus moaned and squirmed helplessly around it, his valve and the walls of his input port clenching in pulses and lubricating it.
“Look,” Optimus said a little high and desperately, “I—I do actually have to go back to base at some point.”
“Mm. I’m not sure I’m going to let you,” Megatron said. “You are actually my prisoner, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You—you can’t interface with a prisoner,” Optimus tried. “It’s unethical?” Megatron started laughing so hard that Optimus overloaded again, Primus.
After one more round, Megatron did actually agree to let him go, in what seemed to be a spirit of tolerant amusement, with a set of coordinates and firm instructions to show up the next day for what Optimus had decided to call preliminary peace talks. Then Megatron took off—doing some odd acrobatic stunt flying on the way. Optimus rolled out and found himself weaving at top speed between lanes and having to fight the impulse to blow his horn at every car he passed, so maybe he understood the sentiment.
Oddly, there was no one at base. Puzzled, he radioed out asking where everyone was, and half an hour later they all came charging in and Bumblebee said, “You got away!” and Prowl said, “How did you get away?” and Bulkhead said, “Where did he even take you?” and Ratchet sniffed the air, and then they all did, and Bumblebee yelled in indignation, “We were all out looking for you thinking Megatron was ripping you limb from limb and you were just getting some action?”
“Uhhh,” Optimus said feebly.
Bulkhead frowned. “But wait a second, we were all out looking for you, cause we thought Megatron was ripping you limb from limb. Who were you getting action with?”
Optimus gulped, but there was basically no help for it. “Megatron,” he squeaked out.
There was a long, total silence.
“You laid Megatron,” Bumblebee said, in reverent tones, staring at Optimus with more respect than he’d ever shown before. Then he said, “Was he any good?”
Optimus fought a frantic battle to keep an idiotically goofy smile from coming over his face and failed so hard they all gaped at him, wide-eyed. “Um,” he said despairingly. “He was okay?”
“Are you gonna see him again?” Bumblebee said.
“He can’t,” Prowl said, glaring at Optimus. “He’s the enemy. He’s the enemy leader.”
“We’re—starting peace talks tomorrow,” Optimus said.
“Megatron agreed to peace talks?” Ratchet said, his voice rising.
“Well,” Optimus said. “It—it’s going to be—a preliminary conversation—”
“You mean it’s going to be a booty call!” Ratchet said. Then he paused and said slowly, “You’re getting Megatron to show up for peace talks with a booty call?”
Everyone was completely silent for a long thoughtful moment. “Wow,” Bumblebee said doubtfully. “You must’ve been any good.” They all eyed him in skeptical evaluation.
Optimus already knew from extensive experience that you couldn’t actually die of embarrassment, but you could certainly want to.
“I’m—I’m just s-saying that maybe,” Optimus stuttered out, half dazedly watching as Megatron slowly and gently drew out his grapple lines—he’d told Optimus he’d listen to whatever he had to say in exchange for Optimus handing him the grapples, unlocked, which had seemed like a much better—well, more productive—deal when he’d made it, and less now that Megatron was looping them around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides, and turning him around and, um, securing his wrists together in the small of his back, and—
“You know, maybe we could—talk after,” Optimus said, as Megatron literally picked him up, bent him firmly over the top of the shipping container, and secured the ends of the grapples under the bottom of it. Optimus tried to move and could barely even wriggle. His legs were dangling off the ground, and when he peered around, yes, he was once more positioned at exactly the right height.
“I think not,” Megatron said, and tapped his fingers on Optimus’s interface panel, a completely casual and frankly rude demand that, well, Optimus immediately opened up for. “I think you’ll need to make your case while I’m having you.”
“You really are evil,” Optimus said. “Oh, Primus,” he added, as Megatron pushed all the way into him in one magnificent stroke. “Oh. Ohh,” Optimus gasped as it came. Megatron slid all the way back out again, stroked a couple of fingers around his valve, petting it approvingly, and then slid firmly back in. It felt exactly like Optimus was a completely helpless and very, very good sex toy that Megatron had arranged exactly the way he wanted and was now going to enjoy at his leisure and there was absolutely nothing Optimus could do about it now but lie here and be taken and oh, he was going to melt with lust.
Megatron slowly and lingeringly drew out and pushed back in several times. He rubbed the valve some more in between, and murmured, “How delectable you are. I can feel your eagerness for me, how you long to be claimed.” He leaned in and purred out deeply, “Have no fear, Optimus. I will make you utterly mine. You will surrender to me completely.” And then he pushed the whole massive spike back in.
“Yes,” Optimus said, deliriously. “Yes, please, make me, make me, Megatron,” and Megatron growled and gripped Optimus by the hips and dragged him in just a little harder so he strained the whole port again and Optimus overloaded just like that.
“There’s definitely something wrong with me,” Optimus said aloud, resignedly, when he floated back up. Megatron was just vigorously pounding him now, so hard the whole container was clanging under him. He felt so good.
“I highly disagree,” Megatron said, in a rumbly growl. “You might be the single most perfect mech I’ve ever encountered.”
Oh, that was bad, that was absolutely terrible in a completely different way, especially when Megatron bent over him and nuzzled at him again and blew little exhaust trails into the armor gaps around his neck and then kissed him while a helpless, dizzy, stupid smile kept trying to break out onto Optimus’s face. The only saving grace was that he could just hide his head against the cool metal of the shipping container, and then Megatron pulled out and turned him over, and he couldn’t do that anymore, he was just lying there trying not to look Megatron in the face, and then Megatron said tenderly, “Look at me, Optimus. I want to see your ecstasy. Your glorious surrender. Yes. Oh, how magnificent you are. Do you feel a little discomfort? A little fear?”
Optimus shuddered all over. His hands were still bunched behind his back, underneath him, and Megatron’s spike was pushing into him so hard, and he was completely helpless. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Good,” Megatron said, low and dark. “So it should be. I want no easy, careless submission from you. I want you to struggle against both your instincts and your better judgement to deliver yourself to me. I want to see that desperate courage of yours as you hurl yourself to a terrifying fate. I want—you,” his own voice going ragged, and Optimus gave a hiccuped sob and went over again.
So everything was absolutely terrible, and to make things worse Megatron untied him and then stretched out leaning against the wall while tucking him in for some more ruthless cuddling, and Optimus involuntarily nestled into his massive chest and in sheer desperation blurted out in a rush, “Look, couldn’t we just—try to share one of Cybertron’s moonbases, maybe? Without killing each other? And if it works out, we could—try and share the other one, too? And maybe a city on Cybertron after that—”
Megatron made a faintly displeased rumble like Optimus was interfering with his positive emotional flow, but then he grudgingly said, “Hm, a moonbase,” stroking his fingers along the back of Optimus’s neck, and Optimus actually thought about his own suggestion and realized—that wasn’t completely insane—
“We could even start with—a space station?” he tried. Space Station Deuterium was almost ready to be decommissioned: it had only been being used as a minor sentry post and for Elite Guard training exercises. It wouldn’t even take a lot of fast talking to persuade Ultra Magnus to sign it over for—for—an experimental reconciliation project. That even sounded like something the Council would go for.
Megatron yawned massively and stretched and then said drowsily, “I’ll consider it. I need to come up with some excuse for taking an Autobot consort, I suppose.”
“I’ll talk to Ultra Magnus about it tonight,” Optimus said, dazed by success and hardly daring to believe—then he frowned. “Wait, what?”
“Tomorrow night,” Megatron murmured. “At the earliest.”
“No, uh, what was it you just said about—about taking an—” Optimus said, but Megatron was already thrumming away with the peaceful vibrations of a ludicrously overpowered fusion reactor and its associated cooling units settling into low-power mode, and it was just such a nice lulling noise. Anyway, he’d probably just been—joking, or something. Optimus would have to ask him in the morning.