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He had only wanted to get out of work.
He had only wanted to get out of work to avoid Starscream and for once enjoy a boring afternoon.
He hadn’t gotten out of work to have a sexual reawakening damn it!
It was quite baffling to say the least. When Megatron was in the midst of having his audial being ripped apart by Starscream’s daily rant and this average stranger came strolling into the cafe, asking for any volunteers for some final exercise, he hadn’t stopped to think how blessed the opportunity he truly was. He would only jump up, chug down his energon, and offer a half-hearted apology to Starscream and Soundwave before briskly walking towards the caller for more information. Over his shoulder, he could hear the seeker tsk in dismay and turned to Soundwave to start a new rant; This time about Megatron and his apparently ‘brutish manners and inability to distinguish good company’.
No one could’ve accused this to be staged. Or planned. Because it wasn’t! Megatron could swear it was a random occurrence when an assistant had decided to enter that specific cafe, at that specific time, to specifically ask these strangers for help with the fire department’s last practical training of the day! He hadn’t put much thought into the fact that the main fire station was down the street from where his, and Starscream’s and Soundwave’s, workplace was until later that night.
In the comforts of his habsuite, Megatron had groaned loudly and covered his face in his servos. He laid flat on his berth, charge crackling underneath his plating as he replayed the memory over and over again. For a profession that required a mech to be in top health, firefighters sure acted like they weren’t drugs to anyone in the vicinity. Because they were. Eye drugs, that is. Eye candy- The silver mech growled in frustration at that processor thread, immediately shunting the thought out and shooting up from his sheets. From fighting for his own right to climbing to the top from rock bottom, who knew all it took for Megatron’s infamous will to crumble was just a slight encounter with a slagging firefighter?
How he wished he knew that the first training mech that came out of the door would become the bane of his existence. When he was slouching against the wall, a datapad on his lap that simply wrote about his faux injuries, still and silently brooding even though the same assistant that beckoned his help had told him, and the other volunteers, to act in correspondence to their wounds. Megatron hadn’t really cared then. His participation was merely out of the benefit to escape Starscream’s dramatics.
But when he came in, suddenly everything had shifted on its pedes.
Red and blue paint glistened like the sea of jewels under the light, highlighting the broadness of his chassis while also boasting the slenderness of his elegant legs. Despite the silvery shine of his exposed underlayers, the armor platings clamored to his body made him look powerful. Powerful and graceful, all of his movements seemed considered, none of his actions being done without a reason; Including the turn of his head as his attention latches onto Megatron’s slumping form. His datapad had said he was supposed to be unconscious but nothing in his body was asleep at that moment.
When he had jogged closer, his em field radiated nothing but gentle kindness and comfort as if he was a god flying down to his starved follower offering him salvation and- He wasn’t even religious damn it! He had cursed the gods more than he had ever worshiped them! There was truly something divine about the mech, because when his crystal optics looked up from reading the glyphs on the datapad and onto him, Megatron could feel his spark stutter. And then he gave an encouraging and opened his mouth so his smooth-ass, fucking deep baritone voice could whisper,
“It will be okay. I will keep you safe.”
The mech would then slip one arm behind his back, gently nudging him forward, and use the other to hook under his knees. Then Megatron- Megatron! Former miner, academy star athlete, Megatron- was suddenly engulfed into a protective and firm carry like he didn’t weigh a dime. The revelation had forced a burst of static out of his throat. Megatron had briefly thanked the shuffling and the sounds made from such an effort were able to mostly muffle the embarrassing noise until his handsome rescuer chuckled and suddenly his spark couldn’t spin anymore.
“This is merely a simulation, you need not act if you are uncomfortable Sir.” The mech whispered amused and Megatron could feel where his warm vents meet his plating as if his nerves were on high alert. Which they probably were. Considering how much the mech is doing everything to his frame and not of his own volition of course.
Nevertheless, the firefighter didn’t once look strained or fatigued from carrying Megatron to the simulated medbay(Marked by cones and one hanging sign). He would lay him carefully onto a pad then turn to an arm-crossing medic to relay Megatron’s supposed injuries before returning to fetch more dying volunteers. Leaving Megatron to drown in embarrassment, confusion and also, less admittedly, arousal.
Slag and the mech had thought he was acting too.
“Are ya sayin’ he’s ugly then, mech?”
“No! No- I would never think that of anyone, Jazz.”
The white mech grinned at his friend and coworker, his blue visor glinting with taunting mischief. Optimus could only shake his head in disapproval at that and remained walking by his side as the two made their way to the rec room.
Most mechs would believe that, like their brothers and sisters at police stations, the fire department would also be busy with new missions from day to night and vice versa. That, however, would be an understatement. ‘Firefighters deal with rescues, not solvin’ murders and lockin’ up criminals’ Ironhide had said once to Hot Rod, and Optimus had used that memory as reference whenever he was prodded about his profession. It would easily explain why most of the time on their shifts was spent in either the rec room or training quarters than actually going out in the city to the younger firefighters, fresh on the force.
Like now where, after running multiple practical exercises with the new recruits, training was no longer a viable option of entertainment and so the pair of mechs were left with heading towards where the rest of their coworkers are. The polyhexian one would reach up to pat the other’s shoulder good-naturedly,
“I kid, Op. It’s just weird seein’ you in this funk, what’s the mech got that’s makin’ you act up?”
The corner of Optimus’ mouth twitched up before he’d given in and smiled, pushing the rec room’s door open to welcome his friend first before him.
“I had recognized him from his interviews, is all. He’s one of my favourite poets- The one who wrote ‘War and Peace’.” He explained patiently, prompting Jazz to look over his shoulder and give him a surprised expression as he entered the room.
“The one ya sent letters to? Well damn, what a small world then huh?”
Inside, the rec room itself was merely finished with tactical board games and television to watch the news. Mechs spilled about either chatting among themselves or crowding over the contests of arm wrestlings that were being hosted in the far table. Among them was Hot Rod who was cheering on the junior currently competing Minimus. Ironhide was his opponent and his conjunx Chromia had greeted the arriving pair with a hearty wave before shouting at her lover to ‘Get on with it and crush ‘im!’
“I hope I didn’t act foolishly in front of him.” Optimus laughed softly though the mech was far from being unease. While he had been in shock at first to see his favourite poet play dead at the exercise he was leading this afternoon, the station captain forced his spark to settle from its glee and presumed with the same professionalism he encouraged others to have. He would miss the opportunity to offer his compliments and ask his long-dying questions to Megatron, who once wrote his poetry under Megatronus, but the mech was content with that. He didn’t want to disturb the famed poet from his life and was more than content to keep his support at a healthy boundary of a fan and his idol.
Besides him, Jazz snickered.
“Mech, from what I saw I don’t think it’s you that needs to worry about actin’ foolish or not.”
Optimus turned to him, confused. “What?”
Jazz looked back, suddenly blank. “What?”
No matter the effort, the flames kept growing wilder and wilder out of control. Smoke was shoving its way down his vents and the heat pressured against his plating was becoming more unbearable the deeper he went. Less than a joor ago, an alarm had rung into the rec room and beckoned the firefighters out of their musings. A fire had erupted at a publishing house and though most of its employees were already recharging at berth, there were two known mechs inside. One of them was made safely out, badly hurt having taken most of the damage to protect his cassettes while the second was still missing, having ventured back into the building to find the last missing cassette.
“Laserbeak: Still inside.” The mech had said, smoke arising from his plating despite Ratchet’s efforts in cooling him down and looking over his wounds.
After sending his team to prepare water relief, only Optimus would run into the flaming building in search of the two missing. Being a convoy-framed, his armor was denser and he could brunt pass falling debris without much trouble. Each second was precious but each second became wasted the longer Optimus was alone amidst the inferno. That is until-
Optimus snapped his head towards the left door down the hall, hearing a shrill cry among the crackling flames. Another second wouldn’t be wasted as he busted into the room and his strained gaze landed on a fallen cassette, a gnarly gash on one of its wings. He scooped Laserbeak up, cradling the cassette protectively against his windshields and promising,
“It will be alright, I will keep you safe.”
But a snap was made from above him and Optimus could hear the tell-tale warning creaks before the flooring collapsed on him. The sudden touch of fire stung against his back and he grunted but it didn’t stop him from assuring himself that Laserbeak stayed beneath him and untouched from the wreckage. His efforts in pushing the debris off him only made the pain worse on his back and whatever strength he tried to regain was halted by the smoke suffocating within his vents. He sent an emergency ping out but received none from his friends. Was the fire altering his signal?
Optimus huffed, his mask still in place as he looked down at Laserbeak’s quivering body. He may not get out but Laserbeak has to-
Before Optimus could call out to the cassette, the weight that burdened his shoulders were suddenly lifted. The burning agony that sizzled past his plating and deep into his protoform remained but it didn’t matter at this new glimpse of hope before him. He glanced up, expecting perhaps Ironhide to have barreled in but his spark stilled at the subversion of expectations. Before him was the stunning grey mech he had seen earlier that cycle, red optics boring down on him like twin suns and carried the same spark as the wild inferno around them. And then- And then-
He offered one servo forward and used the other to grip onto Optimus’ arm, pulling him up with Laserbeak clinging onto the rim of his windshields. Perhaps the smoke had finally reached his processor but Optimus was in a slight daze. As bright light and heat burned around him, it was like the grace of a god had touched his crisped frame.
Megatron yanked him forward, breaking Optimus from his hallucination and back into their existing peril. Together the pair surged past the wreckage, shouldering past debris, and following back from Optimus’ path until they reached the doorway to their safety. His back burned and his chassis ached but a wave of adrenaline and hope had kept him driving forward; One arm cradling a cassette while the other clutched onto the silver mech’s hand.
By the time they crumpled down outside and medics surrounded the three, Optimus glanced from the corner of his optics at his savior. Surrounded by the wild flames, he had assumed the mech to be a silvery god but even now he could still assume the same. Although he harbored wounds of his own, the mech’s sharp features and dangerous body could be described as divine. And then his optics looked back at Optimus, securing eye contact. And he smirked, pained but triumphant all the same.
Suddenly Optimus was certain that his favorite poet was indeed a god after all.