Work Text:
You had often spent time in Optimus’ berthroom within the base.
You weren’t sure why. Why this massive, inorganic alien had taken such an interest in you. Why he only allowed you to see this side of himself, and none of the other humans who had befriended the Autobots. Why, despite his stoic yet gentle demeanor, he allowed one of the tiny creatures he swore to protect to get so close to his spark.
You weren’t sure if you would ever get a straight answer from him. Optimus was the strangest combination of being the most poetic yet blunt bot you had ever met. Some days, he spoke to you in flowery tones, and you made a game of trying to match his poetry with yours- a game that the Prime seemed to have a perpetual winning streak with.
But on other days, Optimus seemed distracted. Processor lost within another motherboard, he answered your questions kindly, yet to the point. On those days, you noticed, he never seemed to want to let you go- sometimes literally.
Today appeared to be one of those days.
You had been lying on the base’s couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone without really processing whatever you were reading. The ‘fun’ bots were all out on their final patrols for the night, and Ratchet was, as usual, beavering away at some busy work on the base’s computer module- not that you didn’t like the grumpy old bot. Your personal life away from the Autobots was going sluggishly, and with little to no Decepticon action as of late, your whole life seemed to be going in a dazed blur.
Suddenly, you shoot upwards as you hear a deep voice call out your name. Turning your head, you instinctively flinch back as you see Optimus’ signature neutral face appear right up against yours.
“Optimus,” you heave a sigh of relief, “it’s just you. I didn’t even hear you come over.”
Without a word, the Prime offers a servo to you just outside of the yellow guardrails of the catwalk. It was a gesture you had grown accustomed to by now, sure, but something felt different this time. You weren’t sure if it was just because you were having an off day and maybe you were projecting, but you could’ve sworn Optimus appeared more tired than usual.
Hopping off of the couch with a nod, you raise your leg over the guardrail as you tap your foot around below- trying to find your footing. The gray mech raises his dark servo up the slightest bit, and you’re able to touch solid ground. Slowly, you shift your other leg over the rail as well, and land yourself within his palm.
Once you’re settled, you expect him to carry you at a casual arm’s distance as he usually did whenever you needed to travel to and fro. But, to your surprise, the Prime almost instantly brings you right up to his chest. You gaze at your own reflection against one of the massive, battered windshields that made up his chestplate- and you cringe at the dark circles under your eyes and otherwise generally disheveled appearance.
You crane your neck up to look at Optimus, to try and gauge his expression, but all you could see from this angle was his chin. His worries were truly none of your business, and he didn’t need to tell you what was wrong if he didn’t want to, but still. Casting your gaze back down and placing a hand on the edge of his square thumb, you wished you could do more for him.
If the mech reacted, you couldn’t tell, as the pair of you approached his berthroom as silently as before. Optimus’ room was a reflection of himself- all the bots’ rooms were in terms of themselves, you came to realize. The commander’s space was neatly organized and well put together, everything appeared to belong exactly in its place. Shelved neatly lined with datapads, berth kept spotless, work desk clear of all except the necessities… despite the cleanliness, you felt Ratchet’s room would somehow be even more organized than Optimus’.
Chuckling to yourself at the thought, you don’t bat an eye as the Prime approaches his berth. Taking a seat upon the recharge slab, Optimus finally raises you to eye level, and now, away from the world and in the privacy of you and the room, the mech allows his expression to falter.
“Optimus…?” You approach his faceplate, never removing your hand from his thumb. “Is everything alright?”
The commander is silent for a long time. Carefully, he brings up a free servo and gently drags a digit from the top of your head all the way down your back. The feeling of the cool steel of his hand sends goosebumps up your spine, and you reflexively arch your back- but you knew that with Optimus, you were always safe. Soon enough, you melt into his touch.
“You can tell me if something is bothering you,” you insist. You hated whenever Optimus did this. Keeping his problems to himself- leaving the weight of not one, but two worlds on his shoulders. Silently burdening himself with whatever thoughts his ancient processor plagued him with.
You wished you could share that burden with him. Or, more accurately, you wished he would allow you to. But, you were a human, and he was a mech with millions of years of life and struggles behind him. Even if he did share his strife with you, what could you do that none of the other mechs haven’t already tried?
Optimus’ dermas shift slightly to the side. “Perhaps… I should—“ the mech’s words are suddenly cut off as he brings his gaze upwards, bringing two digits to his audial. You look up in the direction he was facing, too, and it’s only when you see nothing that you realize someone must be speaking to him over comms. It must’ve been convenient to essentially have telepathy built into your kind, but in moments like these, you’re grateful humans didn’t.
“Not a problem,” Optimus says after a moment of silence, “I will review the report. Get some rest, old friend.” That could only mean one thing- Ratchet. The blue and red mech’s gaze falls on you once more as he rises from his berth- and you stick out your arms to balance yourself out upon the sudden movement.
“My apologies. The others have returned from their patrols, Ratchet has gathered all of the data from their reports and asked me to review them,” he explains as he approaches his work desk. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks- optics flicking to you once more. “If you would like, I could take you home—“
“No,” you cut him off, and the mech’s optics widen the slightest bit. You clear your throat, trying to stuff down the embarrassment you were feeling after interrupting a Prime, and try again. “I mean… you don’t have to do that. I’m not doing anything at home that I wouldn’t be doing here. Except here, I’d… be with you. And I think that’s a little better than being alone at home.”
You shut yourself up before adding anything that would make it appear you were, in reality, concerned for his well-being. Wisely so, as Optimus- selfless as he was- relaxed his expression and nodded in understanding. “I see, then. Whenever you wish to be taken home, however, do let me know.”
“Of course,” you smile as Optimus continues forward. He reaches a free hand for the brightly glowing datapad on the desk, turning to the other side to grab the stylus- only to stop.
It appeared he had his hands full.
You notice this as well- and you open your mouth to suggest he just drop you off on the desk’s surface, but the mech appeared to have other plans.
As he sat upon the massive work desk within his room, a space built just for him, you found yourself as an imposition within that space.
Well, perhaps ‘impostion’ wasn’t the correct term. Optimus always made sure that you were aware of your value to him, and how the fact that he carried you around was never a bother to him.
But, as he lowered you down to sit between his legs- leaning your back against his inner thigh as your behind rested upon the same chair he sat upon- you couldn’t help but feel that this position was a little too… private.
“Oh. Uh, okay then,” you mutter under your breath.
You kept your hands tightly within your lap, not wanting to carelessly lay a hand anywhere you’d regret. You were at a loss for what to say- you could only stare up from your seat and watch as he grabbed the datapad stylus with his now free hand and read through Ratchet’s report.
You try to look around, but about ninety percent of your surroundings consist of Optimus’ frame. The gray metal plates around you breathed with life. Despite the fact that Optimus was, to your best understanding, a robot- there was a subtle rise and fall to his plates, even as he sat relatively still. Warmth erupting from the constantly moving inner workings of his frame surrounded you at all sides. It served as a reminder that these Cybertronians weren’t the mindless metal creations you were so used to seeing in movies or TV- they were sentient, living beings. While they weren’t organic, they had their own biology- one that, while practically unnoticeable to their own kind, a little human like you could notice without issue.
While you wanted to respect Optimus’ space, you also had to admit you were feeling quite uncomfortable in trying to keep all your limbs as close to yourself as possible. You dare to rest a hand behind you to shift your weight onto it- but your elbow brushes against the Prime’s plating. His pede twitches back reflexively- the involuntary movement causing you to fall backwards onto the seat of the massive chair as your backrest was taken away from you.
“Is everything alright?” The mech peers down from the space between the edge of the desk and his gigantic frame, and you stare up at him with wide eyes. You feel your cheeks burn, and you do your best to compose yourself before him. Well, as composed as you could be, being sat within a giant mech’s lap.
“Yup,” You lie, shooting straight back up and brushing nonexistent dust off of your clothes, “I’m good. I’m good, I’m great. Just, uh… rested weirdly on my arm. And I fell.”
Very smooth, you commend yourself.
Behind you, Optimus’ thigh returns to its previous position. In fact, it pushes just a fraction closer- you have to curl in your knees now.
“Ah, I see,” the Autobot ex-vents in relief, “if there’s anything I could do to make you more comfortable, let me know.”
You eye the gray-white and cobalt blue plating just beside you- shifting and lifting and falling with the tiniest moments. The seams of his plates spread slowly apart, just to come back all together again.
“No,” you say, laying a hand upon his inner thigh and daring to run your fingers through one of the thin seams. The Prime stifles a noise emerging from his voice box, his vents hitching and his pede twitching in its place once again- but this time, you don’t relent. More heat begins to gently bloom around you. “I think I’m good here.”
The mech around you doesn’t appear to relent either. His leg jerks slightly forward once more, closing your space even further- you’re practically hugging your legs now- and you’re enveloped entirely by the steadily growing warmth radiating from his inner legs. Whether or not he was aware of the space he was taking from you, you weren’t sure. His attention appeared more drawn to his work than you. But either way, you somehow found you didn’t mind.
Optimus would never harm you or force you to do something you didn’t want to do. Even now, despite his thoughts being clouded with work or whatever else ailed his mind. So when he drops his stylus and reaches down to you once more, running a digit through your hair and down your back in repeated motions, you knew the least you could do was return the favor.
You lean your head against his thigh, continuing to run your fingers through the hair-thin lines of his plating. The heat seems to be most prevalent in these thin areas- the wide plates emitting more of a warm glow than anything- but it wasn’t strong enough to burn you. In fact, you felt honored that Optimus would allow you to lay your hands in such sensitive, private places- even as his frame reacted in ways you weren’t sure he knew that you noticed.
The Prime resets his vocalizer once more upon the feeling. His vents were shuddering now. While he was mostly still, you felt as he occasionally shifted about in his seat. The way his pedes twitched and jerked would’ve bothered you were you actually trying to rest in stillness- but feeling his tiny, involuntary movements, you couldn’t help but suppress a small smile.
You both were tired, that much you could agree upon- so it didn’t come as a shock to find both you and the mech heaving small sighs of relief in this moment of silent peace.
You quietly hoped to yourself that you could do this again. And if not, that this moment could last forever. Unbeknownst to you, Optimus hoped the same.