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Megatron had grown accustomed to his new living situation easier than expected.
There were few habitable rooms left in Iacon post-war and as rebuilding efforts had yet to be undertaken, sacrifices had to be made.
Sacrifices such as having Optimus Prime as a roommate.
He’d been talked into it under the guise of ‘sending a message’ and how great it looked that the two wartime leaders can cohabitate under the same roof. At first, Megatron thought it was some sickly joke Prowl was playing, but after sliding his keycard through the door of his new temporary home and seeing Optimus putting away knickknacks onto shelves, the reality dawned on him.
Not wanting to look the weaker of the two or promote the image their alliance was even more unstable than it already was- he bit his tongue.
Megatron had expected the worst. Constant appearances from random autobots, loud phone calls and annoying one-liner comments about everything he did. But they never came. Optimus was ultimately, annoyingly, a very respectful roommate. He kept the quarters clean save for some rather endearing little ornaments, he even made sure there was enough hot solvent left after his morning shower for Megatron.
The Prime always arose first, sometimes even leaving out energon on the counter for Megatron to discover hours later. If anything, Megatron might’ve privately described it as domestic bliss. Especially in comparison to the nightmarish situations he’d been apprised of elsewhere with house pairings like Shockwave with Wheeljack and Starscream with Ratchet.
It was ideal, their hab was clean with a front room, telecaster and couch, a berthroom each and an energon dispenser. Optimus had even managed to make the place feel ‘homely’. Something he was never skilled at.
A far better deal than miner’s barracks or stuffy warship dorms. Sometimes they even had normal conversations. On certain days when things seemed slightly less heavy, they could ask each other how their day went and speak amusedly about the news. Megatron found himself looking forward to it.
The ex-warlord could not, as hard as he tried, find anything pivotal to complain about.
Until Decoy showed up.
Decoy was an unaffiliated mech, slightly younger than himself. A thick labour build with blue optics and a chipper attitude. Megatron despised him immediately.
Megatron had stopped by the hab midday to collect a datapad for an impromptu meeting and walked in on Decoy and Optimus sitting far too close together on his and Optimus’ couch. Watching the telecaster.
Optimus’ faceplates were blanched as he turned to meet his gaze and the other mech merely smiled, even waving.
“Are we just inviting any rapscallion off the streets into our home now, Optimus?” Megatron bit out, sizing up the new mech. ‘Our home’ may have been a little familial.
Optimus had clasped his servos together, bracing for the encounter.
“Megatron, this is Decoy he is a … newhire at the office across from mine. He specialises in therapy for those with war-“
“He’s a mind doctor?” Megatron spat, pointing an accusing digit at Decoy. The mech looked as if he wanted to sink into the ground.
“You have brought a brain doctor here to tamper with my processor! Haven’t you, Prime?! After all this time, I told you a personal piece of information and you have weaponised it against me! This is a declaration of war! Bringing that mech into my-“
Optimus stood briskly, armour flaring out as he crossed the room. He stood about a half inch away from Megatron until the great grey mech ceased bellowing accusations.
“I did not bring him here for you, Megatron. I brought him here for me. We are seeing each other.” The Prime’s battle mask snapped back. Megatron cleared his vocaliser.
“If that is alright with you?”
Clearly sarcastic. Megatron reached for a retort before the sheer mixture of anger and embarrassment in Optimus’ perfect blue optics told him otherwise.
He straightened up, composing himself before staring directly through Decoy’s spark chamber.
“No. Of course not, Optimus.” Megatron drawled. “Why would that be a problem with me?”
—
It was a problem.
Laying awake at night listening to Optimus’ berth hit the wall with a melodic thud was a problem. Having to endure endless muffled whisperings and laughter through the thin walls of the hab was a problem. The lack of energon left out for him in the morning was problem. He and Optimus barely spoke, that was a problem.
Megatron had already done the research and concluded that although Decoy was incredibly easy to track and would be deliciously satisfying to kill in broad daylight would not be the right path to take. Half because it would reignite the war but mostly because Optimus was unfortunately happy with him.
It would be far worse to have a Prime that hated him even more so for killing his date. Megatron cupped his helm in his servos and groaned.
It was midnight and Optimus and his lover had finally settled. It was night two of their deal.
After much arguing, that at one point he’d hoped would crescendo into a full on physical fight, they’d agreed Decoy could stay three nights a week.
However the nights he was present in their home Megatron could never recharge. Perhaps it was years of wartime paranoia about assassination but he simply could not rest comfortably knowing the other mech was across the hall. Curled up with Optimus, thighs likely covered in his transfluid.
Megatron’s berth creaked as he climbed off it and made heavy steps to the door. Requiring some air that only the cool Iaconian night could provide.
—
“You don’t like him.” Optimus said out of nowhere.
They were stood at opposite ends of the small kitchenette. Megatron collecting morning energon from the dispenser and Optimus leaning onto the island table. Blue optics tracked his movements earnestly. Megatron knew Optimus wanted to talk as he’d approached with the battlemask withdrawn.
“I never said that.” He muttered, grabbing his energon glass and sitting across from the Prime.
“You don’t need to. Your body language has always spoken for itself.” Optimus pressed. Megatron could sense an edge to his tone that meant there was far more to this.
“So what? I have kept out of your way. He clearly makes you giddy like a newspark in a way that sickens me so I choose to ignore it. What is your malfunction?”
Optimus’ long audials moved down as he lifted a servo to rub irately at his optics.
“He was arrested this morning.” He breathed. Megatron braced himself for best news he’d heard since Starscream fell into a vat of concrete.
“For working as a spy for the Consortia.”
There was a beat of silence before Megatron burst into harsh, mocking, hysterical laughter. Optimus scowled.
This was more than he ever could’ve hoped.
“The great Optimus Prime leading an enemy of the state directly to his berth! That’ll be a pleasurable news headline to read.” The grey mech mused, taking a long sip of his energon.
“The news will never know, it has been stippened. Only you, Prowl and Ratchet knew of Decoy’s… prominence.”
Optimus retorted, clearly heated. Irritated more by the situation or Megatron’s reaction he did not know. Why he told him at all was a mystery, he could have simply acted as if himself and Decoy had parted ways.
But the slag-maker had audials everywhere. It was better he found out this way, Optimus told himself.
“At least I won’t have to suffer your very mediocre sounding interfacing anymore.” Megatron grumbled, reaching for a datapad and searching for the day’s news.
—
He was charged. Helm heavy with engex, Megatron stumbled into their shared hab loudly. Knocking multiple of Optimus’ fragile little ornaments off a shelf while he attempting to brace himself on the well.
Growling a filthy tarnian curse he bent down to pick up the collection of nameless pieces. Optimus had explained the significance of each one to him before but he was hardly paying attention.
Far too busy concentrating on the sway of his hips and the arch of his back when he reached up to grab something new.
“Megatron?” Optimus’ sleep addled vocaliser sounded from the other side of the hab.
Quickly piling all the fallen treasures into his arms Megatron sloppily walked over and shoved them against Optimus’ chassis.
“I didn’t mean to.” He grumbled.
Optimus looked down at his knickknacks from Earth and beyond, luckily most unbroken. Megatron was a terrible drunk. Loud and clumsy. But it also meant he was a little softer, the constant walls of evaluation lowering to allow for slightly less frigid conversation.
“Thats quite alright, Megatron.” Optimus moved to place the collection onto the counter. They could be sorted in the morning.
“Did you have a good evening, at least?”
Megatron was already halfway down the hall to his hab, pedesteps heavy as he mismanaged the weight of his frame.
“Nothing special.” He groaned, collapsing into his berth. One of the many pleasures of post war Cybertron was drinking at Impactor’s hab without true repercussions. Other than the helm-splitting headache he was sure to acquire the following morning.
Optimus knew this too and came in to place a cube of energon on the side table, ready for Megatron to hungrily consume when he needed it.
“How did you get home? You didn’t fly did you?”
Optimus asked. He wasn’t quite sure when he had begun calling his temporary, shoddily constructed hab with Megatron ‘home’ but it was certainly more comforting than anything he’d experienced in the past four millennia.
Megatron stared up at him with ire.
Optimus was beautiful. He had always been beautiful, even before the war. His frame was strong and broad and yet he was so graceful, all careful movements and calculated steps. With his battlemask withdrawn his face was almost sensual. It was odd, what the withholding of those features meant when they were seen. He chose to ignore the question.
“I did hate Decoy. I was planning to terminate him.” He grunted, getting comfortable on his berth. Optimus smiled.
“I know.”
—
Megatron awoke, his helm feeling like a planet that had split from core to crust.
He wasn’t as young as he was. He couldn’t drink as much engex without the negative affects, and yet he did so every time. Perhaps it was Impactor’s goading, perhaps he was trying to forget something. Either way Megatron lurched forward on his berth and braced for what was going to be a terrible morning.
There was a soft hiss of pressure as he unclamped his helmet, lifting it free placing the hunk of metal on the side with a thunk. The alleviation of weight was pleasant but it did little to aid the pain in his cranium.
“Good evening?” Optimus was in the doorway, staring at him with what he could only imagine was a bemused look beneath his mask.
Megatron reached for the cube of energon wishing for him at the side.
“You already asked me that, Prime.”
“So, you’re not that bad you don’t remember. I can a recall a time you would stumble out of bars in Kaon and not be able to name a single thing you did in the past three cy-“
Megatron glowered. “Yes, Prime. Thank you. I do not need reminding I am in terrible pain.”
The morning was slow. It was a rare day of respite, meaning no bot had to work despite those in emergency services. Megatron had planned to take the day recovering but instead found himself entertaining Optimus’ ludicrous flights of fancy.
They had been distant since Decoy, less casual chatter and prolonged looks.
Megatron had grown used to it, but today Optimus seemed more spirited. An ominous green mixture had appeared for him claimed as ‘the ultimate cure’. He had taken it, the vile liquid tasted awful but he did feel better.
Optimus was at the counter, sorting and rearranging the knickknacks that had taken a brutal fall the night before. Megatron was sat in front of the telecaster on their couch, but had found the Prime far more entertaining to watch.
The grey mech stood slowly, taking heavy steps over to the counter. He peered over Optimus’ shoulder at the small objects he had flung from their positions. It all looked like rubbish to him, apart from a small shiny one. Megatron picked it up gently between two digits to bring it closer to his optic. Optimus grinned.
“That is a crystal made to simulate the look of a flower. The Earth ‘rose’.” Optimus explained evenly before he could bother to ask. Megatron grunted in response, turning over the fragile thing.
“You can keep it, if you’d like. Your hab does require some form of decoration. It is saddeningly bland in there.”
Megatron ex-vented harshly.
“I do not need you to tell me what my hab needs!” He bit out, cupping the crystal rose in his servo. With a final dark look at the Prime he made his way down the hall to place the rose pride of place on his desk.
—
“Optimus ..”
Megatron vented, heat dumping en mass from his labour frame into the room. It had been a difficult day. While the past few months Optimus had been a close companion, the past cycles’ meetings had left a bitter taste in the ex-warlords mouth.
Optimus has voted against him on several laws pertaining to city-state trading which Megatron had spent the last week drafting. They were perfect laws, made with equality between nations at the forefront and yet Optimus’ and his house had voted against reason.
Across from him in their kitchen, Optimus widened his stance. Megatron had expected they would not be on speaking terms once they arrived home, but the Prime never failed to be aggravating.
Asking him some idle question about the show they were both watching and if he would be joining him to watch it tonight.
“I shall be pre-occupied drawing up plans for a refit that will hopefully suit your ridiculous demand.” Megatron grunted, not turning to face him. He grabbed his cube of energon from the dispenser and turned to leave for his personal hab.
Optimus blocked his path, a stupid stoic wall of wide blue optics and thrumming lines. They were close. Megatron pushed down thoughts of shoving past him or smashing the cube of energon against his battlemask.
“That is out there, Megatron. In here it is different. Surely you see that.” Optimus stated, that familiar winning softness in his tone. Megatron glared at him.
“I could not approve your trade deals as they ignore vital tax regulations and-“
“Shut it, Prime. Move out of my way before I make you.” Megatron cursed, but found himself lacking the venom he’d meant. It was clear he didn’t mean it, Optimus had sucked all the rage and edge from him at some point in their nightmarish cohabitation.
“There is nothing ‘different’ in here than out there. It’s the same planet. You are growing senile in your old age Prime. What we do-“
Optimus slid back his battlemask with a snkt of sound and grabbed Megatron by the shoulder pauldrons, yanking him down into a bruising kiss.
The larger mech’s vocaliser produced some soft static of shock before he leant down, taking the Prime’s waist with his free servo and deepened the kiss. Megatron’s large noise brushed against his cheek as they fell into each other.
Optimus was warm and alive in his arms, their kiss, initially rough and aggressive had faded into something sweeter. He allowed Optimus to guide them back down the hall and into Megatron’s berth. They broke with soft gasp and Megatron placed the cube down on his desk, certain he would be thankful for it later.
Megatron captured the Prime again, pushing him down onto the berth. His HUD displayed several heat warnings and a ping to activate interface protocols which he happily answered. Optimus was groping at his armour, his blunt digits finding their way to sensitive spots he’d found during their many battles. Smokestacks blew steam as Megatron positioned himself.
Optics glazed, Optimus broke their kiss and shuffled his frame up the berth. His fans had clicked on, frame preparing for their impending activity.
Megatron was burning hot against him, his frame meant for the mines able to withstand the temperature of magma. It was overwhelming. His mouth, recently assaulted by the grey mech’s tongue, tasted like oil and musk and smoke. He allowed his interface panelling to open as Megatron moved himself atop him.
Megatron did not stop to ask questions before his digits greedily found the wet folds of Optimus’ valve. Circling the outer petals and gifting his anterior node a charitable rub before pushing the length of a digit in.
Optimus gasped, holding firm to Megatron’s shoulders, making sure he would leave dents behind. Eager to roll his hips down in a way that made the grey mech shudder.
This had been a long time coming. Four million years of time, and Optimus would take what he deserved. He leant up to capture Megatron’s bitten lips in another crude kiss, moving his frame in time with the mech’s pumping. Faster would’ve been nice, but he knew Megatron enjoyed an overly dramatic crescendo during most parts of his life.
Another digit was added, causing Optimus’ vents to hitch. He bit down on Megatron’s lip, eliciting a strained growl from him. Thick digits snapped and scissored, opening him up and preparing for what Optimus could only imagine was a spike large enough to match its owner.
“Don’t be gentle,” Optimus ground out into the mech’s audial as he moved his hips up, hooking a leg over Megatron’s blocky waist plating.
He grasped at the back of his helmet, feeling lubricant begin to drip out onto his thighs and mess Megatron’s berth. The digits were removed with a disgustingly erotic noise.
The mech above him stifled a laugh as he leant back on his haunches, manually unclipping his interface panel. His spike pressurised to fullness quickly, standing perpendicular to his matte black hip armour. Red biolights glowed in the darkness of the room. Orion couldn’t tear his optics from it.
“I wasn’t going to. I am still angry about the trade laws,”
Megatron was always slightly stronger than him. So sure in his frame, skilled in battle and sharp in hand to hand combat. It did not take much to flip Optimus over and place him on his knees, slotting his own thick hips between those polished silver thighs. Their plating came together with a clank. Megatron adjusted, giving his spike a couple self-indulgent strokes before positioning himself over Optimus’ waiting heat.
He pushed in too quick, sheathing his length in one solid forceful movement. Optimus’s helm flew back, his engine stuttering as Megatron began to snap his hips back in a harsh rhythm. Neither of them were fragile, and the mech was taking advantage. He ground his hips forward and down each thrust, pulling Optimus’s hips towards him. Instinctively the Prime had begun to move forward away from the intensity but Megatron kept him in place, raking against his node clusters.
With a particularly hard thrust Optimus’ optics whited out with charge, coming back online with a moan that racked through his entire frame.
He was panting, frame unable to dump heat quickly enough. Megatron grunted above him, optics frantic and crimson as he kept one servo on Optimus’ hips and used the other to grope at his smokestacks.
Optimus was thrown into overload with a choked gasp, Megatron slowed his thrusts, letting him ride through it. Blue servos fisted into the sheets as fresh lubricant dripped onto the berth from where their frames connected.
Optimus fell forward listlessly, becoming dead weight in Megatron’s servos.
“Primus..,” Optimus breathed as he was flipped again onto his back, Megatron manoeuvring him skillfully so his legs balanced perfectly either side of the grey mechs helmet. Blearily, Optimus gathered himself enough to realise what was happening as Megatron traced his grill and chasis.
“May I?” He asked, voice subdued and raspy.
Optimus nodded and Megatron pressed back in, eager to take his own pleasure. It didn’t take long, lubricant smeared hips moved at a frightening pace. Optimus moaned at the overstimulation, still not recovered form his first overload. He reached up to place a servo on Megatron’s cheek, admiring the concentrated expression that painted his faceplates.
They overloaded as one, Megatron stilling and bracing himself on the prime’s shoulders as he emptied his transfluid reserves into Optimus’ valve. His frame heaved, armour pinging with heat. Optimus’s faceplates were a mess, but his optics bright and understanding. He adored them.
He collpasing next to him. A blue servo caught his own in a sickly display of entwined wet digits. Megatron was tired. Not full of the virility of his youth. Optimus reached over to kiss at his helmet. The implication that yet again their dynamics had changed.
“I will consider the trade deal if you take into account the tariffs Praxus must set on all manufacturing product.” Optimus offered, closing his thighs with a squelch.
“Quiet, Prime. Pass me that energon on the side.” Megatron groaned, already feeling his old joints click with strain.