Work Text:
Last night I dreamed you were back again.
"Past the Point of Rescue," - Hal Ketchum
It was their last night together.
He knew it immediately.
When Megatron came through the door, he stood to greet him and was nearly short circuited as silver hands reached immediately for the sensitive wiring at the base of his spinal column, fingers curving sharp as they stroked and tugged at plates and sensor nodes.
Optimus let himself be maneuvered into the recharge chambers, laid prostrate across the berth, while Megatron balanced above him, red optics searching his own blue ones for something.
He never knew if Megatron found what he was looking for.
The next moment his chest plates were manipulated open, Megatron's own following, and they were together in a surge of light brighter than anything he'd ever seen, and the pain searing through his core was sweeter than the most refined energon. Light exploded in his optics, silver, then green, then red bordering on black as his systems threatened a shut down.
When he came to, the room was empty.
His body sore, spark aching, cooling fans running, he took that last memory--a whisper of a mouth over his brow--for what it was.
Goodbye.