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Unlike some less sturdy Cybertronians, Labour class bots only suffered a heat cycle every one-hundred years or so.
It had been easy to put off during the war, with suppressants readily available and necessary for maintaining armies. However, in the crooked post-war world Megatron found himself inhabiting the use of any form of suppressant had been formally banned.
For reasons such as desperate need for repopulation and research proving that suppressants ‘worsened mood’ and increased ‘violent tendencies’ among other things.
Reasons Megatron wholly disagreed with.
But he had been outvoted by the council 2-8, and so the ban had taken place cycles ago. Cycles ago and yet he was still housed upon the accursed moon Luna 1, mulling over fine print, laws and rules with the United Council of New Cybertron.
Every day brought forth a new argument over some petty proceeding. Especially with Ultra Magnus on the council the meetings often dragged out far longer than planned. That, between Optimus’ frequent intrusive messaging and having to exercise iron will not to strangle Starscream to death on the meeting room table - meant most days he was tired.
Resolution had been hard fought. And while the tediousness of daily routine chipped away at his processor - Megatron had come to accept it wasn’t all bad.
Video footage of mechs from both factions rebuilding cities, pictures of heavy labour bots graduating from science universities and articles of post-war relations kept most thoughts of restarting the war at bay.
During a daily flick through the news, he stumbled upon a newsprint about the Luna Alignment Ceremony coming up in a weeks time. The first Luna Alignment celebrated since the break of the war. The two moons passing in front of each other at the same time while in full view. It only happened every 100 years. His optic twitched.
Scrolling through his internal chronometer only confirmed the horrible, unforgiving truth. As it was when he was young, his heat cycle was due to start perfectly inline with the dual moons alignment.
He could’ve hit something had his room not been barren apart from a pile of rather important datapads.
“Scrap,” he muttered spitefully, leaning back into his chair. It was fine, there was a week to go. Some suppressants could easily be located by then.
Only this was similar to some nightmare of the deepest depths, forged by the Great Undoer himself to go into heat upon this forsaken moon. In this base full of fools.
He was an old mech now, perhaps the cycle just wouldn’t trigger. Or would fizzle out quickly.
—
A week had nearly passed with no luck.
Even Soundwave had refused to help, stating something short and cutting like “it is best for all of us.”
Megatron huffed, pouring over meeting reports and referencing them to his essay on the new cybertronian taxonomy. The work was satisfying, knowing it had positive impact. Words making a difference in the lives of the average mech in Kaon.
Worry ticked in the back of his helm. He was not oblivious to the signs. The past two days he had awoken with groggy feeling, frame aching. He had lost his appetite, found loud noises even more aggravating.
Not to mention the engorgement of his valve and the incessant pulse of his exterior node which was now unfortunately almost constantly swollen, rubbing at the inside of his panel and making it extremely difficult to concentrate.
He had elected not to attend the day’s late meeting under the guise of ‘feeling unwell’. And as there was no sign of suppressants being magically presented to him, Megatron had accepted the disturbing reality he may be ‘unwell’ for a few days.
:: Megatron. You were absent today. ::
His commlink buzzed and the message appeared on his HUD. Another statement from Optimus. Just the thing to lighten his foul mood. Not even a question, it felt almost accusatory.
:: I sent message advising of my absence ahead of time. ::
There was a pause before Optimus responded.
:: Do you need anything? ::
Megatron rolled his optics. Ever courteous Optimus, offering to spoon feed the slag-maker himself back to health. He replied hastily.
:: Negative. ::
Never discouraged, Optimus pinged back promptly.
:: Let me know. ::
As if. As if he would allow Optimus or any mech on the forsaken moon base to know.
—
It was unbearable.
Megatron curled in on himself, wishing to be swallowed up by his berth and spat out anew.
In anticipation for his heat he had amassed a vast collection of valve and spike toys, heat relieving gel, a stockpile of energon cubes.
But this was far worse than he could have envisioned. Megatron had not experienced a heat cycle since before he was a gladiator, and then he was aided by fellow miners.
Nothing was comfortable. Nothing could sate him. He rolled onto his back allowing his legs to lull open, relishing the cold air that hit his over-heated array. Lubricant dripped down onto the berth. After his fifth weak overload it was incorrigibly clear that the situation was utterly helpless.
The large vibrating purple faux spike just wasn’t cutting it. He craved heat and weight, the sensation of transfluid filling his tanks. He groaned, rubbing at his optics.
For a moment he glanced over at his fusion cannon propped up against the wall. Sturdy, with its own vibrations and heat.
Megatron forced the thought from his professor. He was not going to grind down on his own weapon like a piece of shareware.
:: Megatron. I cannot find the files on Helex’s Town Hall restoration. Please advise. ::
His HUD pinged and Megatron growled, closing the notification. Nothing was less important than Helex’s Town Hall. He’d bomb it again if he could.
The grey mech brought himself to his knees above the faux spike, hoping the sensation would bring him relief from the knot in his tanks and the empty ache in his valve.
:: Megatron. Soundwave informs me you are low on energon. Should I collect the file from you directly? I can bring supply. ::
His vents hitched as he sank halfway down onto the spike, the ridges heavenly over his sensitised internal nodes.
He began to rock back and forth with abandon, a digit coming down to his node. A visit from Optimus would be unfortunate given the circumstances.
Optimus was his greatest enemy. A large mech, certainly capable and overly caring of others. He would probably be able to overload him multiple times. Skilled digits, powerful frame and gravely, commanding voice. Megatron shuttered his optics and rocked back into his toy.
Optimus, who had manhandled him into submission thousands of times on the battlefield. Optimus, his only equal. Optimus, who he knew right now was utterly bluffing to get into his hab.
He keened, charge building. Optimus, who would kindly offer help to any living being. So full of morality it was sickening.
:: No. Leave me. ::
He replied, unable to fathom anything else. Anything else was a terrible idea. He was familiar with Optimus in a literal way. Before the war, when they were young and virile they had often shared each others company.
Usually with him being spike-mech, young Orion Pax squirming beneath him and clawing the berth for purchase. As it should always be. Megatron’s joints creaked as he sped up, chasing another unsatisfying overload ravenously.
Metal knuckles rapped at his hab door.
He stilled, bracing himself with shaky arms as dread washed through his lines.
“Go away, Optimus.”
Megatron rasped, callipers tightening around the toy. He withheld a whine of annoyance. He was not so lost to his heat yet that he could not turn Optimus away, but if he was to see him or for Optimus to be caught in what he knew was a horrifying amount of pheromones in his hab it would be a disaster. A terrible misstep.
Not to mention they would each likely be liable for fraud and corruption through copulation as they both presided on the council. A pity.
Optimus readied himself outside the door. Soundwave’s brief had been more nuanced and he intended to be prepared.
“I know what you are undertaking,” He started, not dissuaded by the very literal growl of anger from inside the room.
“I have come to offer my assistance.”
Megatron cringed at the formal tone. As if he was offering advice on first time home buying and not taking the opportunity to bury his spike deep in his mortal enemy.
:: Come in. ::
Optimus tapped the override code and stepped through the door, his battle mask snapping back as it closed. The smell hit him first, potent and overwhelming.
From the berth, Megatron sneered at him. The grey mech had laid himself against the headboard, arms wide and confident. He would’ve looked almost regal if not for his blatantly open panelling and the trail of lubricant that followed him, splattered across his inner thighs.
A collection of spikes, vibrators and porn magazines surrounded him.
It might’ve been the most erotic thing Optimus had ever seen if Megatron didn’t look so smug. Even in this vulnerable state, the ex-warlord had taken evident pride in Optimus’ shock.
A lesser mech would have fully succumbed to the heat coding and been begging for attention by now. Megatron merely glared at him, crossing his legs far too casually.
“Soundwave put you up to this.” He stated, watching Optimus closely, untrusting.
Slowly the Prime made his way to perch on the edge of the berth, acting as if his spike wasn’t begging for emergence beneath his panelling. Megatron was bare, his frame dumping heat and vents singing. His optics full blown and shoulders taut. All the signs were present, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet.
“He informed me you may require… special assistance.” Optimus reached out a servo to place gently on the grey mech’s thigh. He was burning hot.
“How assumptive.” Megatron bit out, refusing now to look at Optimus. He turned his leg towards the delicious touch.
Optimus took the hint, stroking along his strong thigh and up towards matte black hip panelling. Megatron emitted a noise of pure static from his vocaliser, frame slumping against the headboard and digits fisting into the covers.
His optics shuttered, concentrating on not jumping atop Optimus and risking his spike while ripping his spark out.
The sound rang in the Prime’s audials and his cooling fans clicked on. He was beautiful. All sharp lines and inconceivable power. Optimus shifted more of his weight onto the berth, feeling the waves of heat from Megatron’s frame hit him pleasurably.
Every piece of his coding shrieked for more touch, to unload himself in an all-too-ready Megatron.
“Megatron, it is not as if I am unfamiliar with your intimate array .. Soundwave likely deduced I was the best candida-“
“Oh, shut it, Prime!” Megatron spat, grabbing the mech by the shoulder and yanking him forward. He was devastatingly strong, even now.
“Are you going frag me or not?”