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It was a rare day of celebration on the Ark. Balloons, streamers, and a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY in bright colors decorated the mess hall. Though the word “birth” was clumsily painted over with the word “forge.”
Optimus smiled behind his mask. His Forgeday wasn’t something he liked to draw attention to, but Jazz had suggested morale was low and the Autobots could use something to distract themselves. Humans celebrated their birthdays with decorations, games, and gifts, so why not “embrace the local lifestyle” as Jazz had put it?
Optimus had to admit, the mood was lighter.
“Happy Forgeday!” a crowd of Autobots yelled accosting Optimus with loud horns and tossed confetti. Someone was going to have to clean that up. He forced himself not to think about it and just enjoy the moment.
“Open your presents!” Bumblebee called, directing Optimus’ attention to the back table, which held several boxes messily wrapped in far too much colorful paper.
“I—thank you,” Optimus said. “Really, you all shouldn’t have.”
“Here.” Sunstreaker handed him a box. “Open this one first.”
There was a mischievous glint to his optic, shared by his twin. Optimus was immediately skeptical, but in the spirit of the occasion, he tore off the paper and opened the container.
His spark did a series of odd flips when he saw what was inside.
It was a gun. A gun that looked nearly identical to Megatron’s alt mode, albeit with a bright orange stopper shoved over the end of the muzzle.
Awkwardly Optimus lifted it out of the box.
“MEGATRON!” Red Alert cried as he dove for cover. Several Autobots looked over, dropping energon cubes on the ground in confusion and alarm.
Sunstreaker burst out laughing.
“Aw man, you guys are too easy. It’s fake.”
It didn’t feel fake. It had weight. Heft. It fit in Optimus’ hand almost how the real thing would have all those millennia ago…
“What kind of gift even is that?” Arcee snapped.
“A prank gift,” Sideswipe replied. “Best kind.”
“Where did you get it?”
Wheeljack raised his hand slowly.
“They told me it was for a mission!” he said in frantic defense. “Y’know, confuse the Cons or something?”
“Alright, alright.” Ironhide grabbed both twins by the shoulder. “You’ve had your fun. At everyone else’s expense. Seems only fair you two are on cleanup duty.”
The twins’ groans were quickly drowned out by the laughter and cheers of the rest.
###
Optimus had no idea why the party had left him so exhausted. As a commander, he really should not mind being the center of attention as much as he did. Still, his fatigue was a satisfied one. His tanks were full, his Autobots were happy, and for the first time in ages he could honestly say he’d had a bit of fun.
He refused Jazz’s help in getting his gifts back to his hab suite. They weren’t heavy, and the boxes stacked neatly once their wrapping was gone. Optimus cued up a mental command to open the door and it slid out of his way, allowing him inside to the quiet of his sitting room.
Once he placed the boxes down on the table, he debated putting them away immediately, but his aching struts yearned for his berth. Recharge first then. It was already late, and he couldn’t miss the morning command meeting.
As he headed towards his berthroom, one of the boxes called him back. The toy gun. His spark stung. There was no way the twins could have known how many memories that object would bring up. The faint thrill that refused to leave him. All the things he’d done with the mech in that exact form millennia ago. Things that haunted his recharge cycle and still managed to send a charge straight to his array.
Megatron had been so passionate. He had been daring, dangerous, and everything a young Orion had thought he wanted. It was all in the past now. He knew they would never get it back, and he couldn’t afford to indulge when he had a war to fight against that same former friend and lover.
Then again…it was his forgeday.
Optimus reached into the box and took out the fake gun. He rushed to his berthroom, shutting the door behind him and engaging every available lock. The weight of the gun’s frame pressed against his palm. His finger inched towards the trigger.
As he lay down, he debated removing the orange cap but decided against it. A little distance was probably healthy. A reminder of where he was. Who he was. That this was only a little indulgence and nothing more.
Slowly and sensuously, Optimus placed his lips against the barrel of the gun and dragged his glossa upward.
###
Things were not going according to plan.
They had been going according to plan. Megatron had successfully infiltrated the Ark after a chance conversation overheard by Ravage. The idiot twins were going to attempt to replicate his alt and give it to Optimus as a prank. Those fools were going to pay for their disrespect. Megatron, with Ravage’s aid, had taken the gun’s place. He’d waited, jostled around in a box like cargo, all waiting for the moment when he could end Optimus Prime and the war in one fell swoop.
There were only two problems.
One, the hideous orange cap on the end of his barrel somehow inhibited his ability to fire! He could still transform, but the moment he did he would lose the element of surprise. Even if he did manage to kill Optimus, he’d be surrounded by vengeful Autobots. He did not like his odds of escaping with his life in that situation. His death would then leave Starscream in command of the Decepticons, and Megatron was not going to allow that under any circumstances.
The second problem was Optimus’ glossa currently teasing Megatron’s trigger.
A jolt of arousal shot through his frame. Optimus licked, hot and sweet, around the trigger and guard like Megatron was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. It took all of Megatron’s willpower not to quiver as the sensation. It felt good. It felt so damn good Megatron almost forgot where he was entirely.
Warmvents caressed Megatron’s handle. This was a bad idea. He shouldn't be allowing it. He simply couldn’t stop himself from enjoying it. Optimus had always been a sensitive lover. Even now that he thought was playing with a toy, Optimus lavished him with attention. He kissed the top of Megatron’s barrel. Kept kissing and fondling him, grip firm and hot.
Then Optimus’ panels opened.
Oh merciful Primus.
Optimus groaned as he dragged Megatron’s muzzle down his front, between his windshields and down his stomach towards his rapidly extending spike. Megatron should transform. He needed to transform before things went too far.
But the memories of that spike overwhelmed his processor, calling to mind phantom pleasures that made him shiver with imagined delights. Delights that weren’t so imagined as Optimus stroked that gorgeous spike and nestled the butt of Megatron’s alt against his node, pressing gently and rubbing.
Optimus’ moan was obscene. “Megatron.”
In this form every sensation was more concentrated. All of Megatron’s normal sensory inputs in a tiny fraction of the space. The faint charge in Optimus’ node was suddenly full body stimulation. Optimus’ valve started lubricating, slickening Megatron’s alt as the rubbing became more vigorous. Megatron’s processor was blank. He couldn’t help but quiver, thrilled at the charge building in his systems that he didn’t know how to release.
A gasp tore from Optimus’ intake and he shoved Megatron’s vibrating form harder against his anterior node. Megatron wanted Optimus to pull on his trigger, release at least some of the energy building inside him. Frankly he no longer cared if the orange cap caused his insides to fry. Anything but this terrible limbo.
Thick, warm thighs closed around and crushed him. Optimus’ back arched. He overloaded, pouring charge through all of Megatron’s systems. Primus, it was agony. Ecstatic. He was going to explode if he was denied relief much longer.
Optimus removed the cap and fired. Megatron’s to spark flickered as he was wracked with a full-form overload.
The world went blank. The room smelled of smoke. There was a scorch mark in the corner. Decidedly not a fake one. Megatron should have been more panicked that his cover had been blown, but he couldn’t seem to reach the emotional subroutines that would allow him to care about anything but the feeling of Optimus’ thighs and the quick lingering shocks from his nodes.
After several minutes letting his vents calm down, Optimus moved to the washracks to clean himself up. He brought Megatron as well, running him under the warm solvent and carefully cleaning out every nook and cranny. Megatron nearly fell into recharge, it was so relaxing.
He even forgot to be annoyed when Optimus replaced the orange cap.
Megatron found himself set on Optimus’ berthside table.
“Good night,” Optimus murmured as he lay down and offline his optics. “Megatron.”
Good…what? Scrap.
Megatron nearly attempted his transformation right then, Autobot masses be damned. However…it wasn’t as if Optimus had made any move to expose him. If indeed he had figured out what was going on and wasn’t simply being sentimental.
Sentimentality. That made more sense. Optimus Prime wasn’t so foolish that he’d recharge with an enemy right next to him. Megatron’s cover was safe. His infiltration was successful and would remain so.
Which meant there was really no need to spoil things now. Was there? Not when he could get a good night’s recharge without some Decepticon emergency or Starscream trying to stab him in the middle of the night.
Megatron relaxed as much as he could in his alt and let himself bask in the afterglow of overcharge.