Work Text:
Oh, do you care,
I still feel for you
Oh, so aware,
What should be lost is there
"Beauty of the Beast," - Nightwish
There had always been a savage beauty about him, Optimus thought. Even when they were younglings, playing together on the outskirts of their home in the Northern sectors of Cybertron.
It existed in the breadth of his smile, that flash of razor sharp mandenta, in the narrowed optics that had always been able to predict and track Optimus' every move; in the way he ran, all controlled motion and fluid grace that Optimus himself had been hopeless at replicating; he was lucky he had managed to get around without tripping over his own pedes.
And even now, watching him jump and dive and transform in mid air, moving as though "hell were after him" as the humans might say, Optimus couldn't help but admire the swiftness of the movement, the way the components all collapsed and folded together to create the form of the Cybertronian jet.
And when Optimus landed his grip on Megatron, he couldn't help but take the minutest moment to stroke his fingers over the smooth plating of the jet's wings. And he heard, beneath the sounds of battle, the slightest catch in Megatron's intakes just before they both hit the ground.