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Prowl might not ever get used to this. He was currently being held to his leader's side—tucked snugly against his larger frame. Here, sheltered by Optimus' impressively broad shoulders and solid chassis, Prowl felt so... small. It wouldn't be the first time—he was small, even for an Autobot—but whenever Optimus held him close like this, the disparity was not only evident, it was tangible. Optimus seemed content with this, the drape of his arm around Prowl’s back and side a lazy one, his large servo resting idly against Prowl’s thigh.
Perhaps such a touch was supposed to be exciting, but Prowl was content to merely enjoy this mech’s closeness, this quiet sharing of space, the gentle brush of one carefully-extended EM field against another. Thus far, neither of them had dared to allow much more contact between their wavelengths than this, had shied away from anything more direct than the faintest touch possible. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust one another—far from it—but neither of them were very used to sharing such private feelings, never mind moments like this one.
The first time that Prowl had felt Optimus' EM field tenderly caress his own, he had shuddered from his spinal strut to his pedes. He had unfurled his own without being cognizant of it, allowing his trusted friend closer than he had any other bot before. He had grown so still as their fields brushed together, soft curls of warmth daring to reach out and touch and welcome. Optimus had seemed just as awed as he had, betraying that he had not grown so close to many, even those he had called friends.
The purr of Optimus’ engine was loud, easily heard where Prowl rested his helm above a broad window he wouldn’t dare to scratch.
“Think the others need me?” Optimus asked with a playful lilt.
“I think they can handle themselves for another earth hour more. Bulkhead is ‘scrapbooking’, and Bumblebee and Sari seemed quite invested in playing the game of Chess they were most definitely making up the rules for as they went.”
“And Ratchet?”
“I’m sure he’d come to us if he needed anything.”
Optimus tilted his helm, his lips set into a cute frown. Oh, how cute it was... as he thought so, Prowl was aware of how his EM field rippled with amusement and admiration—however little of that Optimus may feel.
"Sorry, I'm just... I'm not used to relaxing," Optimus admitted.
"I mean, we are always a moment away from a Decepticon attack, or a call to deal with a rogue robot or criminal... but until we get that call, it would be wise to take a breather from time to time, would it not? You put much weight on your shoulders, Optimus... you're not carrying it alone, you know." Light caught off Prowl's visor, and he watched as Optimus blinked, the firetruck's charming optics wide as if it was a surprise that his team was there for him for more than just physical assistance.
"But—"
Prowl's servo raised with deadly speed, the tip of a digit pressing to Optimus' full lips. "No buts. I know that the others are... of varying degrees of reliable, but surely you can at least trust Ratchet and I to have your back. Relax."
"... You're right," Optimus conceded with a sigh, and Prowl felt some of the tension loosen from the larger mech's shoulders. Satisfied, he returned to resting his helm against the top of the firetruck's large chassis, letting a pointed digit slowly trail down between the blue panes of his windshield.
"I know."
Optimus raised a brow ridge. "You're gloating."
Prowl chuckled. "I may be more of a team player now, but that doesn't mean I'm subservient."
That got a hearty laugh out of his larger companion, and Prowl couldn't help his own softer laugh that followed after. Like this… he truly felt peace, a feeling that had been fleeting in the stellar cycles since his Master's spark had burnt out before his very optics. Discovering and studying Earth's nature had been a great step forward, and through a couple of missteps he had learned the value of teamwork, realized that his own actions had been endangering his friends (when had they become friends, exactly…?), and now… now he was here, with his spark opened to a mech for the very first time since his days at Yoketron's Dojo.
He trusted that Optimus would not hurt him. That Optimus understood him, for as much as he had been honest with him. Optimus knew him better than any mech here, and had since that fateful day they had met. On that spark-forsaken rock, he'd been alone—alone until this ragtag team of space bridge maintenance bots had shown up, and one of them had offered their servo to him with an easy-going smile. Once more, the trajectory of his life had been changed by a single bot—one he now felt indebted to.
For the time being, their relationship was not so much a secret as it was a private one—by Prowl's request, but clearly, Optimus' unspoken comfort as well. The way he relaxed those large shoulders once they were by themselves in the larger mech's room spoke datapads worth. When they were alone together, Optimus was able to let reality go just a little, to take a step out of his 'leader shoes' and relax. At least, somewhat… that particular activity was still not his strong suit. Prowl, on the other servo, had millions of stellar cycles of practice.
✬
It was, admittedly, difficult to restrain the urge to be closer to Optimus around their comrades. Prowl maintained a respectful distance from him, though he would lean against a nearby wall, or at least be close enough to defend him if any Decepticon decided to burst into the base.
It seemed that… Optimus was taking his request perhaps a little too seriously. Routinely, he would step further away from Prowl if he noticed the distance between them, seeking to widen it even if it was Prowl himself that had taken steps to clear it in the first place.
At first, Prowl had appreciated this—it was nice to be known , to be listened to, but… as time went on, it seemed like even the least-perceptive of their companions—Bumblebee—had noticed that something was up. Prowl's frown had, evidently, become so deep-set that it had alerted the younger bot.
"Hey, Prowl, what's got you so upset? Bulkhead tape over one of your nature shows again?"
Prowl raised an optical ridge. "Bulkhead? I'm quite sure that, primarily, it has been you recording over them, Bumblebee."
Bumblebee stood to full attention with comical immediacy, arms straight at his sides. "What!? N-no, serious, it wasn't me! I would never do such a thing!" Now, he transitioned to waving his servos around in protest. "Honest! Pinky swear! You do know what a pinky swear is, right?"
Prowled sighed, heavily. "Yes, Bumblebee. I watch over the organics daily. I know more about their lives than you do. And I know that that pinky swear is not an honourable one."
Bumblebee gawked, then shook his helm, waving his servos in a fashion not unlike an organic swatting at a swarm of attacking bees. "A-anyway! Back to the matter at hand. You, and this weird… you-thing. What's got you down, man?"
This was not the bot to be talking to about this. Not ever, Prowl reasoned, and he moved to vacate his general vicinity, before—
Again, Optimus, standing only a few strides' walking distance away, took a purposeful step to the side to create more space between them. Prowl's gut sank, and for a moment, he stopped walking, overcome by the weight of that feeling. It sunk into his leg struts, and he froze, unable to walk a single step further. Bumblebee, of course, noticed this, and bound over to him with a complete lack of spacial awareness.
"Helloooo? Earth to Prowl? See, something's gotten into y—"
"Enough!" Prowl shouted suddenly, and the event of his voice raising was a rare enough one that each bot in the room turned their helm to look at him. Least of all was Optimus, and his gaze in particular burned , so much so that Prowl couldn't meet his optics, even from behind the protection of his visor. He could not see the way that his companion startled, but it was evident in the way he gasped, and even from this distance, Prowl could feel Optimus coming closer, lifting a servo to reach out for him—
In a flash, Prowl leapt upward, easily landing on one of the rafters. From up high, he chanced a glance down, and met Optimus' optics for a brief moment—still wide in their surprise—before jumping his way toward the exit of the room and dropping down. None of the mechs below had a chance to react before he was gone, and none of them could hope to keep up with him when he was running.
Where he ran was instinctive, even as his spark pulsed harder in its chamber, reminding him that he was very much alive .
✬
Here, he was safe. Here, no one would bother him. Here, he would be left alone—
"…Prowl?"
Ah. Of course… Optimus had followed him to his room, and stood now beneath the towering old tree that Prowl had taken such a liking to when they had first arrived here. That day, he had jumped and hid in it just like this, though that had been to get away from Bumblebee's immature pestering… this time, he was running from something else entirely.
"You're up there, aren't you?" Came Optimus' voice again, and Prowl was as still as an organic prey animal waiting for its chance to strike. He remained silent, testing the tenacity of the other mech. After a short silence, Optimus tried again. "… Prowl, please. I know you're up there."
"And what if I am?" Prowl shot back, defiant.
It was quiet for a another moment. Then, Optimus spoke again.
"I've… upset you somehow, haven't I? That wasn't my intention, so please tell me what I did wrong. Please…?" The pleading tone of the larger mech's voice tugged at Prowl's spark, and he groaned at how easily it swayed him. He wasn't convinced enough to jump down quite yet, but he did feel it necessary to answer—to not would betray Optimus' sincerity, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Prowl thought of exactly how he could articulate his feelings... but the issue was that he did not entirely understand them himself. He was confused . It was likely that only Optimus could help him find the answer, but that would mean sucking up his pride and facing him like a mech, and admitting that he'd been wrong if this was a misunderstanding.
"… I do not recall saying that I wanted you to avoid me like I had an acute case of cosmic rust. You… keep stepping further away from me, and doing seemingly everything in your power to put distance between us." From his vantage point in the tree's higher branches, shrouded by dense foliage, Prowl watched Optimus' expression fall—a slow calculation in his processor made visible on his features.
"… I see. I… see how that could be taken like—"
"Like you don't want to be close to me?" Prowl snapped, and he immediately regretted it—the unpleasant feeling that bubbled up in his lines was reminiscent of ages past, of a stubborn young mech who only cared for his own well-being.
He wasn't that mech anymore. Far from it. He was better than that. Frankly, Yoketron should be ashamed of him for acting with such cowardice, and choosing to run from his problems instead of facing them head-on—
"I'm sorry. No matter my intentions… I hurt your feelings, Prowl. You have my deepest apologies." There was naught but sincerity in Optimus' voice, and, of course, he knew the right thing to say for the glyphs to work right into the finer workings of Prowl's spark, heat finding its rotation and urging it to spin quicker.
Prowl's descent from the tree was a graceful one—so quick that it was not fully visible to an ordinary set of optics. Optimus blinked, as if to him, Prowl had just suddenly materialized in front of the trunk—sure proof that he had not been trained in the Cyber Arts.
"What… were your intentions?" Prowl asked as he straightened up, his body language not giving away even a fraction of the vulnerability he felt. His internal systems were another story, but he stubbornly ignored the warning signs that popped up on his HUD. He was an expert at this.
"I was just trying to respect your boundaries, Prowl. I… perhaps some past life experiences have made me… over-compensate a little. I took your word a little too seriously."
"So… you kept shying away from me because you thought I wanted that space?"
"Yes."
"… I see." Prowl supposed that was… reasonable. He didn't see any reason for Optimus to lie—he was an honest mech, even to his enemies. Maybe not entirely to bots like Sentinel, but that pain in the aft didn't deserve Optimus' respect for a nanosecond. Space… truly, it was the last thing he wanted with Optimus, even around the others. "Well… I don't. Apparently." Prowl rubbed at the back of his neck with a servo, his response hushed as he glanced away.
"That's easily remedied. Right?" Optimus asked with the same easy-going, coaxing voice that he had convinced him to stick around with on that meteor.
Prowl couldn't help but smile.
"I suppose," He drawled, starting to relax some as he strode toward the other mech with graceful movements—ones that he felt optics lock onto, as if Optimus couldn't help himself. The corner of Prowl's smile curled into a smirk as he closed in on the larger mech, elegant digits splaying gently over a broad windshield. "I… accept your apology, Optimus." The lower measure of his vocalizer wasn't intentional—it couldn't be helped as their EM fields flirted closer, warmth spreading like afternoon sun.
Optimus relaxed—the movement felt where Prowl's palm met metal and glass. "Now, let me make it up to you… how about we go on a little 'date'? I have an idea, if you're up to it." Optimus' optics practically sparkled as he spoke, and Prowl's steadily whirring spark hiccuped, skipping a few of those quick rotations.
"I'd like that." With a quick glance to the door, Prowl frowned even at the imaginary Bumblebee that popped his head into its frame. "I'll… exit this way. I'd rather not get interrupted on our way out."
At that, Optimus laughed quietly—a rare, beautiful sound that Prowl wondered if only he was privy to. At the least… it felt like it was a laugh meant just for his audial receptors, and he stored it in his memory banks manually each time that he had the pleasure of hearing it.