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The deep orange and yellow hues that rose from the freshly lit fireplace acted as a contrast to the otherwise cool room as Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, allowed his vermillion optics to wander around the area in the midst of his bitter contempt.
Cold, grey stone walls and a matching floor, accompanied by a simple berth, a nightstand, and a desk with a chair. The living space wasn’t particularly fancy, but as one of the many hidden bases that the Decepticons had on Cybertron, he knew it would have to suffice until he could make it back to his main headquarters, and he’d made do with it. It was neat and proper, clean as he preferred most everything… Only, there was one exception to his meticulous way of life on this fateful night, and that was the heap of shredded, crumpled, abandoned poetry on the floor.
Though many of his subordinates questioned why he still bothered with writing on paper when he could’ve used the array of technology they had at their fingertips, he enjoyed it… Most of the time, that is, because most of the time, getting his emotions out with a pen in his servo proved to be therapeutic.
Currently, it wasn’t proving to be as therapeutic as it usually would, only fueling his rage like gasoline would a fire, hence why he had torn up almost all of the pages and tossed them wherever he could in a fit of rage rather than disposing of them properly.
It was different, he supposed, to be writing poetry inspired by the throes of passion he had for that Autobot instead of about his own grief or hatred. The mere thought filled him with rage as he turned back to what was left of his journal on the floor and sat down. He hunched over the book and held it in his lap, a pen in one servo as he continued where he’d left off.
I confess to Primus almighty,
You know I am a righteous mech,
Of my virtue I am justly proud,
You know I'm so much purer than,
The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd,
And yet, the same vulgar, weak, licentious, debauched thoughts that he would condemn others for having about someone in another faction were currently running through his processor; thoughts about what that damned Prime’s body would feel like under his cold servos, what the Prime’s face would look like were it twisted with sinful pleasure, what it would feel like to be buried in the depths of the Prime’s heat, their frames pressed against one another and sparks intertwined.
Ah, no.
He was better than that. He was a strong, fierce, twisted mech. He was fine alone, not needing another to complete him. He wasn’t an unfinished half, but a whole individual, fully capable of resisting the temptation that was threatening to make him betray everything and everyone he had worked for.
But he couldn’t. No, he didn’t want to. As much as he hated to admit it, he found himself drowning in the temptation, consumed by the flames and ready to be burnt if it meant that Optimus Prime would be his for the taking.
Regardless, he kept trying to remind himself that he was above that nonsense, only for his processor to ache with the memories. Unable to make them go away, he sighed and continued scrawling out the details of his plight.
Then tell me, Primus,
Why I see him dancing there,
Why his smoldering optics still scorch my soul,
In thought,
Megatron still remembered that fateful night that resulted in him being taken hostage and made a victim of the Autobot’s alluring optics, blue and vast like a clear sky, and those plump lips, periwinkle like a bed of flowers and curled into a deceivingly pure smile.
He had been spying on a party hosted by Ultra Magnus to celebrate the new group of recruits for the Autobot Academy; a high class, pompous sort function attended by them and their familial units, set up in the lounge area right outside of the academy, which was decorated to look like a ballroom. Megatron had seen it as an opportunity to attack since the Magnus was surrounded by only two guards and a bunch of untrained Autobots, but with Starscream behind him as he walked through the halls of the inside building, Optimus had caught him.
For whatever reason, the bot- not yet a Prime- had thought to look up and smile at him, and they’d locked optics, sky blue pouring into vermillion. His face plates had burned red, and his gaze had held a new softness to it when he’d returned to the party without a word without either Decepticon. Though Starscream demanded they fight the Autobot or crash the party, Megatron had insisted that it was fine, simply looking out at the party through one of the windows in the empty building and etching the image of Optimus Prime into both his processor and his spark.
That was a few deca-cycles ago. Megatron had been so alarmed by the sudden increase in his sparkrate and the way his body felt like it had been ignited that he’d retreated, but there wasn’t a cycle that had passed since then in which that pesky Autobot wasn’t meddling somewhere in his processor.
So, Megatron watched him, showing up wherever he knew Optimus would be, and most of the time, he was caught but never addressed, just like he had been on that fateful night.
The image of Optimus Prime was burned into his spark and behind his optics now; pretty lips, a gentle yet firm gaze, nimble and brightly colored body that Megatron wanted to ravage until it was covered with maroon and gunmetal grey.
He tried to ignore it the best he could. For a mech who preached of virtue and purity, of damning the Autobots and letting them taste the fires of hell for their sins against the lower classes, he truly was starting to sink into those flames of lust and desire, and yet… It was fine. It wasn’t his fault, he told himself, it was the Autobot’s, and after all of the brilliant things he’d done in his time, he deserved this one indulgence, didn’t he?
I feel him, I see him,
The sun caught in his blushing cheeks,
Is blazing in me out of all control,
In word and deed,
Like fire,
Hellfire,
This fire in my frame,
It was frustrating, wrong, disgusting. The idea of him falling in love with Optimus Prime had him struggling to vent, spark beating fast and temperature rising with his visceral scorn, but it was already too late, and he knew that. He had worked too hard to build what he had… His repertoire and his power, his respect and his command, it would all be at risk if he made a spectacle of this issue with the Prime, and yet… His spark was telling him it would be worth it.
Megatron would do anything he had to for this aching flicker of a flame to be put out, and if that meant claiming Optimus Prime as his own, so be it. He couldn’t handle the blistering heat coursing in his circuits and under his armor for much longer.
This burning,
Desire,
Is turning me to sin,
Megatron ripped the pages out with fury crackling bright in his vermillion optics. The papers were crumpled to nothing in the grasp of his strong servos and dropped to the ground as he frantically flipped through the pages that were left, many of them filled with the same songs of praises and prayers to rid him of his licentious thoughts, all scribbled words of lust and worship for an Autobot who should’ve been insignificant to him. Finally, he found a piece of the lined stationary that was blank and began to write again. The joints in his wrist stung at the furious, rushed pace at which he scrawled every grudge and slight, all of the antipathy he had for Optimus Prime in the midst of his ambivalence.
It's not my fault,
Through my fault,
I'm not to blame,
Through my fault,
It is the Autobot,
The one who sent this flame,
Through my most grievous fault,
It's not my fault,
Through my fault,
If in Primus’s plan,
Through my fault,
He made the devil so much,
Stronger than a mech,
Optimus Prime, a name that Megatron cursed for being so ironic. Amongst the Autobots, Primes were considered heavenly, angelic saviors. For him, this particular Prime was the devil, a curse, a damnation, a death sentence. He was convinced that this vulnerability that was filling his vents with scorching smoke and making his spark beat against his chest was what was going to do him in and finally take him offline.
It wasn’t going to be his health or any of his battles against the Autobots that sent him to the well of all sparks, no, it was going to be the one time he united with an Autobot that put the nail in the coffin. The predicament had him yelling out to no one in particular and throwing the notebook and pen at the nearest wall so hard that their clattering to the floor echoed in the room. Meanwhile, the fire behind him roared, and he found himself gazing upon it.
All he could see was Optimus Prime within the shapes of the blazing flames. The familiar stare, the sound of a voice that had never been directed at him but was so melodious and seductive, the subtle movements of those voluptuous hips and the dimples in his cheeks… Every little thing about the Autobot that he so lusted for seemed to be staring back at him. The image had him blinking his optics and snapping out of his incensed state to take a long, hard look at himself.
The strong, confident Lord Megatron, warlord, commander of the Decepticons, genocidal, treasonous maniac had been brought to nothing by a trifling, injudicious Autobot who hadn’t known the strength of the utter inferno that was his intoxicating gaze. He was sitting on the floor, rendered to a useless mess who spent his time writing and trashing sappy poetry and staring at walls.
This was his own fault. He should’ve known better than to fall into the trap of lust, of love, but he was already there, and it was easier to push the blame onto Prime- if anything, it made him feel better to believe that Optimus had dared commit the sin of seducing him on purpose, that Optimus was the one in the wrong, that he was simply the victim of a lecherous Autobot.
Through my most grievous fault,
Protect me, Primus,
In the depths of his escalating anger, he realized that he was terrified. Said realization knocked a vent out of him and made him struggle to take another, but he managed to do so in the form of a horrified gasp.
Fear was burning through his circuits and flooding his processor with its treacherous grasp, its piercing claws tearing through his metal and seeping into him until he couldn’t resist them any longer. The feeling was debilitating enough that he fell forward where he sat, elbows on the ground and helm held within his servos. He prayed to whatever God there was out there that would be merciful enough to rid him of this feeling despite his many sins to no avail.
Don't let the siren cast his spell,
Don't let his fire sear my frame and spark,
No, Primus had abandoned him in this, a punishment for his betrayal- not of the Decepticons and their cause, but of himself and everything he had ever stood for and believed in. He would have to handle this issue himself, and at that epiphany, he stood and stormed over to where he had lit the flickering flames that currently danced in the fireplace, still spewing Optimus Prime’s image with their vibrant and warm colors like they were mocking him, like they knew somehow.
“I’ll destroy Optimus Prime, and let him taste the fires of hell!” With a long swoop of his arm in the fire, he spread the ashes at the bottom of the pit over the flames and effectively put them out. The burning feeling had been fleeting, only providing him temporary relief from his thoughts with its simmering pain that flickered away within seconds. The room was dim and chilly again, the perfect setting for him to dwell on his wretched state of affairs. Finally, he composed himself and stood up to look out the window, arm covered in flaky ash. It was a gorgeous night, at least. The sky was pitch black and cloudy, no stars in sight. He briefly wondered if Optimus Prime would prefer pointing out the shapes in the clouds or counting stars and looking for constellations. A sigh fell from in between his lips… He was really in deep, wasn’t he? Destroying Optimus Prime wasn’t the solution, no, the solution was to be burned by the Autobot and burn him in return. “Or else let him be mine and mine alone…”
His trance was interrupted by a knock at his wooden door. It was loud but proper, a simple hit on the wooden door, a pause, and then two more; Lugnut. There was no objection from his end, so the door opened, revealing the large mech, who bowed down to him in the middle of the wide doorway and dropped his helm apologetically. Megatron moved to stand in front of his subordinate and vented sharply to prepare himself for whatever it could be that he was about to hear.
“Lord Megatron, the Autobot has escaped.”
Oh, right.
In the midst of his contemplation, he’d nearly forgotten what had gotten his mind on the subject in the first place.
“What?”
After having kept tabs on Optimus Prime for a ridiculously long amount of time, waiting for his opportunity to strike, it had finally come in the form of Optimus being kicked out of the Elite Guard. According to his intel, the Autobot had been wrongfully framed for the death of one of his close friends by another one of his comrades who had been at the scene. So, before anything else could happen, Megatron had told Lugnut to retrieve the Autobot through whatever means possible and bring him to where they were currently stationed. He’d planned to have a discussion with Optimus about their circumstances, but alas, it would have to wait with the… Recent development, AKA his apparent escape.
“He's nowhere on base. He's gone.”
It was amazing, really, the incompetence of his team. Lugnut and Blitzwing were both on base, stationed to guard the blue and red bot, and yet, he’d somehow made a retreat without either of them noticing until it was too late.
“But how? I... Never mind. Get out, you idiot,” Megatron growled, and as always, Lugnut listened, scrambling to get out of the room and slamming the door shut. “I'll find him... I'll find him if I have to burn down all of Cybertron!”
Hellfire,
The grey and maroon con huffed and stormed towards his window so he could open his curtains, only to see no other than Optimus Prime there, lounging on the ground outside and leaning his pretty little helm on the windowsill as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Megatron could only scowl and snap the window upwards, which made Optimus turn to look up at him from where he sat outside.
The expression on his face didn’t scream surprise nor did it scream fear like Megatron had assumed it would, but it did seem to be laced with a certain look of acknowledgment mixed with something else he couldn’t quite read. The calm, unbothered feeling of Optimus’s field was throwing him off. After light years of having nothing but servants and enemies, those who were petrified by him and those who worshipped him, he wasn’t sure which of the two categories Optimus fit into- maybe it was neither, or maybe it was both, but either way, it had him perturbed.
Dark fire,
“I heard you yelling at your subordinate,” Optimus smirked, an unmistakable heat rolling off of him as he raised himself up with his servos on the windowsill and leaned in to brush his nasal bridge against the Decepticon’s. It was tempting, alluring, almost like Optimus knew what he wanted and was determined to tease him every step of the way.
But Megatron wasn’t going to allow him to have the upper servo in this. He was going to gain back the control and dignity that he’d maintained for so long before Optimus had ruined it all with his smoldering gaze.
“Now Autobot, it's your turn,” Megatron tilted his helm and grabbed Optimus by the scruff bar so he could pull him into his room and close the window. In seconds, Optimus was immediately crowded up against it, the back of his body pressed into the cold glass and Megatron’s arms on either side of his helm to keep him trapped there, a large leg between both of his smaller ones. “What made you think you could leave where you were told to be and come here!?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed permission,” Optimus shot back with a huff and crossed his arms over his chest. “Was I not allowed to? Forgive me for not being aware, but I was asked to come here, and I obliged, not taken by force. Someone told me you had business with me… Waiting on you was proving to be a tiring game to play, so I came to find you myself.”
That would’ve been great to know earlier, he thought. He’d been under the assumption that Lugnut, the uncharismatic fool, would’ve simply taken Optimus against his will and tied him up in the main area like some sort of spectacle, but through whatever miracle, he’d managed to convince the Autobot to come on his own… Still, the fact that Lugnut was ignorant to his feelings and had framed the issue as business when talking to the Prime was rather humorous.
“Business? Ha,” Megatron scoffed and looked to the side, only to jump when he felt Optimus’s servos resting on the cool metal of his chest just moments later. The digits were small and thin, their touch delicate in a way that had Megatron shivering and struggling to stay on his stabilizing servos. It had been far too long since he’d been touched- in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time… He hoped this was the last mech, the one who would give him everything he needed. “Business… That’s one way to put it.”
“What are your intentions with me?” Optimus finally asked and moved forward so he could meet Megatron’s gaze.
“You’re wanting transparency, yes?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. You’ve been following me for a long time, and at this point in my life, I don’t have much left to chase after. My curiosity is eating away at me in regards to you, Megatron.”
“Choose me or your pyre,” Megatron threatened, only to earn a chuckle in response, almost as if the Prime wasn’t taking him seriously. The mocking tone that it possessed made him want to scream, to lash out and show Optimus just how serious he was, but those glittering optics and those kissable lips were burning away at what little resolve he had left, so all he could do was allow his helm to fall forward and rest on top of the Autobot’s as he reiterated his previous warning. “Be mine or you will burn.”
“I already am burning,” Optimus’s servos were grabbing his own, placing them over a broad yet fragile and deep red chest plate, adorned with the shiny, clean windows from his vehicle mode. Megatron stared at the glass in awe as his servos, much bigger and stronger than Optimus’s own, were placed on top of it.
In that glass, his own reflection was staring back at him.
His processor began to race at that, a plethora of thoughts running through it. He had spent this entire time convincing himself that Optimus was the one who had sinned, the one who had lured him, but he was the one standing there with his filthy, death-stained servos on the Autobot’s clean, untainted body. A pang of guilt ran through his circuits for a few seconds too long before he shoved it deep, deep down into depths of his spark and continued talking.
“You’re quite bold,” The Decepticon’s proclamation, accusatory and confident, was paired with a contrastingly nervous gulp.
The electricity was becoming infectious, rolling off of both of them in waves and manifesting itself in a sensation that made Megatron feel like there were fireworks popping off underneath his armor, sending flashes of heat and static all throughout his frame.
“Your voice is very… Scalding.”
“You find me to be that harsh, my dear Autobot?” He chortled. “I believe I’ve been quite civil with you so far… At least comparatively speaking. I’m sure you’re aware of how my underlings can be.”
“No, my apologies,” Optimus breathed and looked away, his normally pale blue cheeks now a blazing red that exuded enough heat for Megatron to be able to feel it on the cool metal of his lip plates when he leaned in to press a kiss against the delicate area. “You light me on fire is what I meant to say… My spark feels like it’s burning. Can you feel it, too?”
“You feel like you’re burning,” Megatron pointed out, but yes, he could feel it. The servos on Optimus’s chest twitched with the feeling of an increasingly fast sparkbeat against them, but to add onto that, Optimus’s metal was searing hot, and he wanted it all over him. “Dare I ask what’s got you this?”
“If you’d like to hear the ego boost, you’re more than free.”
Optimus was batting his lashes at him, servos now roaming freely up and down his chest and torso. Megatron tensed at the touch and allowed a feeble sigh to fall from in between his lips. How was this Autobot, so little and pure and sweet, able to touch him so freely? Most would tremble at the thought, and most would fear being in the same room with him, let alone caressing his war frame like it held the world and more.
“Why aren’t you alarmed by me? By my threats?” He demanded, only for Optimus to wrap his arms around his neck, lean up, and nip at the side of his throat. “You- You should be running away.”
“I suppose you don’t understand how nice it feels to be desired by another for once.”
“No, I do, I definitely do,” Megatron rebutted and rested a servo on the side of Optimus’s cheek; waiting, wondering. Vermillion optics flicked over the Prime’s face as the Decepticon stood there. He felt himself anticipating a change of spark from Optimus’s end, a realization that none of this was very wise and that he should just leave and run back to Ultra Magnus, beg for his old spot in the academy and be a good little Autobot. But he didn’t. As Megatron continued to stare, waiting for something to happen, all Optimus did was stare right back at him. “Truly.”
“Primus have mercy on me for what I’m about to do,” Optimus’s words, whispered and rushed, were followed with him finally giving into the building tension, capturing the Decepticon’s mouth with his own.
The warlord never thought he’d burn like this for another, let alone an Autobot, but there he was, spark ignited as he was kissed by Optimus Prime like he was something to be worshipped; gently, dripping with utter passion and adoration- nothing less, nothing more, and if this was the taste of sin and betrayal, so sweet and decadent on his lips, Megatron found that he would be exultant to drown in it- to light himself on fire if it kept the little Prime warm.
Primus have mercy on him,
“Primus have mercy on me, you mean to say,” Megatron breathed between kisses, but didn’t bother with saying much more, too addicted to the feeling of those supple lips against his own to break the connection.
Primus have mercy on me… Primus have mercy on him.
Megatron was desperate, grabbing his new lover by the back of his helm and dragging him in, too scared of what would happen if he dared to let go. Lips melted into lips, servos roamed blazing frames, and the fiery passion that Megatron had possessed for this Autobot for so long now seemed to flare up even more at finally feeling his touch, just like he’d always wanted but always denied.
But he will be mine,
Or he will burn,
No, he’s going to burn either way, with or without me. We both are.
“On both of us, then,” The compromise was spoken against his lips, coming out in the form of hot air. Megatron shuddered at the feeling, only to feel what little resolve that remained in him break at the following statement. “I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me, so take me.”
Megatron obliged without hesitation and rushed his servos down to grip Optimus’s aft, lifting him up by it and relishing in the feeling of those strong, thick legs wrapping around his waist. Their frames were pressed flush together with Optimus’s interface panel against his abdomen, stabilizing servos digging into the groove of his lower back plate, arms around his neck, chest against his chest, and lips on his lips yet again. The Decepticon groaned and turned back to his berth, tossing Optimus onto it and hurriedly crawling on top of him as to not risk them being apart for too long. It had only been a little bit since that first touch, but now, he was enraptured in it and convinced that if he went without for too long, he’d certainly offline right then and there.
“Did you remember me from that night, Optimus Prime?” He inquired and vented deeply, trying his best to maintain his long-held facade of calm and cool even though he was struggling to vent properly given the close proximity of him to his new lover.
“How could I not?”
Tenderly, oh-so-tenderly, Optimus’s servo rested on his cheek, a single digit brushing over the apex of it, just below one of his optics. The rage and fury that had consumed him a few minutes before was extinguished by just one touch, and as Megatron felt himself melt into that touch, Optimus’s arms were around him.
“You only saw me up close the once…” Megatron marveled. Optimus was splayed out beneath him, laid onto the berth on his back with his legs spread, Megatron comfortably positioned between them on his knees, sturdy arms rested on either side of the Prime’s helm. There was something special about seeing Optimus in this moment, vulnerable and soft, the sparkles in his optics and the curve of his dimples brought out by the warm lamp that was on Megatron’s night table… Something so special that Megatron couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to live the rest of their lives like this, what it would be like for Optimus Prime to be his and his alone. “Yet you remembered me.”
And it was all he’d ever wanted; to be remembered, to be loved, to be adored, to be wanted, to be desired, just like Optimus had said, even if he would never admit such a thing out loud.
“How could I not?” Optimus repeated, and as a reward, Megatron found himself kissing up and down the Autobot’s lithe body, memorizing every little twitch and buck of those narrow hips into his own. The Decepticon swiped his glossa over his own lips to moisten them as he pondered on what was hidden beneath the red and blue bot’s tantalizing spark panel.
Would they bond after this?
“You don’t care that I’m a Decepticon? That I’m as bad as I am? Filthy, even? Are you really going to let me do this to you?”
“What are you gonna do to me that’s so bad, Decepticon?” Optimus challenged with yet another wiggle of his hips.
“I’ll destroy you,” Megatron warned with a particularly hard bite to Optimus’s shoulder, which earned him a loud cry in return at the dent that was left there. “I’ll make you mine, do whatever I have to if it means you’ll beg to be bonded with me.”
“I don’t beg.”
Megatron grinned, something wide and uncharacteristically toothy as he peered up at the Prime and quirked his optical ridge.
“Oh, is that so? Then I’ll have to make you.”
“You’re more than free to try.”
Optimus was staring back down at him, face filled with nothing but warmth; sky blue optics looking at him tenderly, a shaky smile on those plump lips, cheeks a dark red. It was kind, benevolent, and most of all, love-filled, a look that Megatron wasn’t sure he’d ever received so earnestly. It had his spark beating against his chest and his dentas worrying his bottom lip as he was met with it, with the epitome of the sins he’d been detesting just a few breems ago, now right in front of him, wanting him so sincerely.
He couldn’t say he was expecting for it to go this perfectly- if he was honest, it had been the exact opposite. He’d expected for this endeavor to go the opposite way, with Optimus Prime kicking and screaming, resisting him and his affections until he eventually gave in or met his own pyre, but if he would take Megatron and everything he was so willingly, the Decepticon was going to give it to him without so much as a second of hesitation.
“You… Really don’t mind who I am, do you?” Megatron murmured again, unusually quiet.
“Not at all,” Optimus’s optics landed on the lamp that was next to them as he continued, his voice laced with wistfulness and a looming sense of regret that was contagious enough for Megatron to feel in the pit of his own stomach. “You’ve been following me for so long now that I’m sure you’re more loyal to me than anyone else in my life, even as the leader of the Decepticons. My friends who I trusted are either all gone or traitors, and they were Autobots. I can make an exception and give you a chance, just… Don’t take me for granted. Don’t hurt me, I… Something like this is a bit of a reach for me. I’ve never had anyone to call my own, never been touched like this, held like this. It feels weird to be wanted- wrong, almost, like I don’t deserve it. All I’ve ever wanted is to know someone and to be known in return, but I know that my spark can’t take another break, so… Don’t break me, please.”
It was an honest, genuine confession- no, a plea was what that was, Megatron thought, a plea to be protected and loved, to be kept whole. His spark swelled up in its chamber at it, and he found himself thinking about everything he could give; the riches, the spoils, the love, everything he would sacrifice for this little Prime whose life he had stumbled into by happenstance on that fateful night.
“Then… I won’t take you for granted, but I hope you know we’re both going to hell for this,” Megatron reminded the Prime and caressed his face, blinking when Optimus leaned into his touch. “If anyone were to find out about us, we would be crucified, my dear.”
“I don’t believe in hell anymore after everything I’ve been through. No matter how virtuous a life I live, one small mistake can take it all away… I don’t see why I should worry about heaven or hell, the pit or the well of all sparks when I’m not sure if they exist,” Optimus reached up to rest his palms on top of the backs of Megatron’s servos, staring at him with ardent intensity. “What I am certain about is that you’re here right now, you exist, and I want you, and if that’s something I’ll get punished in the afterlife for, then so be it. Love and passion aren’t sins. Desire isn’t a sin… I deserve to enjoy my life while I have it, as do you, and I want you to be part of mine.”
“If you want me, have me,” Megatron challenged the Autobot with a mischievous edge to his voice, low and sultry. “Allow me to show you the strength of the fire you’ve ignited in my spark for you and to rekindle the flames that are already in yours, dearest.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Megatron asked, just to be sure. He was expecting Optimus to get up and run, to melt away at any moment, but all the Prime did was stare up at him with determined optics. “I need you to be certain that this is what you want, because if we start now… There’s no turning back. You know that.”
“Okay,” Optimus nodded. In return, Megatron placed his servos on top of the other mech’s, effectively intertwining their digits and pinning his lover to the berth. “I’m sure.”
Megatron was kissing him again the second those words fell from his glossa, drinking it in and shuddering at the vibration against his lips when Optimus moaned against him.
“Then…” Megatron murmured, briefly breaking from the kiss to stare into Optimus’s optics. All he could see was the entire world and more, a kindling fire ready to erupt; passion, lust, devotion, adoration, and so much more. “I’ll make you mine, Optimus Prime.”
And, with that, their lips were crashing together once again, creating a flurry of flames deep within the mechs’ sparks that would never cease.