Chapter Text
Megatron knew he was in trouble when his bed felt too large.
His bed, which was the standard size for bots of his height, actually accommodated him quite well — his broad shoulders came close to hanging over the edges, but still fit. He knew he was a bulky type, and he could make no complaint — he had slept in worse places.
This became a problem, however, when Minimus started sleeping in his quarters. They had to do quite a bit of experimentation and finagling before Minimus, in his outer armor, found a place at Megatron’s side, under his arm and pillowed against his chest. Even though his back came dangerously close to the edge of the bed, Minimus had seemed fairly sure Megatron would keep him safe.
Several times that night, when Megatron woke from his usual nightmares, he had been blearily alarmed by the unfamiliar weight clinging to his torso. His hand clenched — and the pressure was returned by two smaller hands, which pulled his arm closer and hugged it to Minimus’s chest.
Megatron had lain awake for a good part of that night, staring at the ceiling, hyperaware of the quiet, half-nonsense nothings that Minimus mumbled out in his sleep — and how close the palm of his hand was to Minimus’s spark.
Despite the blush that looked as if it could very well become a permanent fixture on Minimus’s face after he realized just how much he had unknowingly entangled them, he appeared to enjoy the arrangement very much. If asked, he would likely reason that no bed was wide enough to hold both Megatron and himself in the Magnus armor, and because he did not want Megatron to damage his spark by mass-displacing for extended periods of time, their current solution was simply the best option. Of course, no one would actually ask him this — and if they did, he certainly wouldn’t answer.
(And Megatron, who was the only one who could possibly get an answer, saw no reason to question him at all).
Over time, they started to fit together like pieces of a puzzle, or two bits of machinery designed specifically for each other. They just clicked together, and it was perfect. It was simple. It was ritualistic, unquestioned, routine.
And then Minimus went on his mission. It was a standard diplomatic type of visit, except the inhabitants of the asteroid had an especially sharp dislike of Megatron — understandable, of course — and so he had been required to stay behind on the ship while Rodimus and Minimus made their visit.
That night, when Megatron got into bed, he scooted to the side and raised his arm slightly.
And then he realized he didn’t need to do that.
His bed was by no means spacious, but- in that moment, lying there with his arms at his sides, stiff and restless, Megatron felt much, much too small for it.