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Something had been eating at Megatron the longer he spent on the Lost Light, particularly when his “co-captain” was near. The less tense their relationship became, the more it bothered him, until Megatron finally couldn’t take it anymore.
He thought about sending Rodimus a message, expressing his need to discuss some things with him, or at least to alert the speedster that he’d be dropping by unexpectedly. However, Megatron found himself in front of habitation suite 077 before he could follow through with either option.
Megatron stared at the words scrawled underneath the room number: “Co-Captain’s Quarters”. He briefly wondered if it irked Rodimus that he’d been moved out of the official Captain’s Quarters, and also pondered why that had occurred in the first place, seeing as Megatron had opted to not stay there anyway. His curiosity was outlived, however; his thoughts were interrupted by Rodimus’ door abruptly sliding open. Megatron wasn’t startled - warlords, former or not, do not startle - but he definitely took a step back in surprise.
“Are you just going to stand there staring at my door all day, or did you need something?”
Megatron stared down at the smaller mech before clearing his throat and attempting to summon words. “Rodimus,” Megatron intoned carefully, “we need to talk.”
Rodimus regarded the ex-Decepticon with narrowed optics, slightly suspicious, but stepped aside with a small shrug and went to his desk, where he’d presumably been sitting before judging by the half-drank cube of energon and colored pens scattered across the surface. The former prime flopped down in the chair, pushing his coloring supplies to the side and took a sip of his energon, as if to steel himself. “Alright, what’s up, Megs?”
Megatron settled with leaning against the wall next to the door as it slid shut. He crossed his arms imposingly. “My name is not…” His tired voice trailed off with a sigh. He hadn’t even been in Rodimus’ presence for a minute and he was already feeling worn out. Megatron shifted almost imperceptibly and started over.
“Rodimus, do you remember the first time we met?”
That earned Megatron an odd look from his co-captain, the expression a mixture of surprise, confusion and curiosity. The flame-colored mech glanced down at his desk, picking at one of the images carved into it that he’d just colored. “You mean all the various times you tried to kill me, like when you all but snuffed out my spark and left me to drift in space with the Matrix chained around my neck?” Rodimus’ mouth was pressed into a tight line, voice taking on a more bitter note. “Or do you mean when we first met formally, at your trial?”
Megatron took a deep breath, gazing down at Rodimus as he continued to trace his fingers over the lines in his desk. “No,” he responded slowly. “I don’t mean our cordial introduction by Optimus, nor the many times we, ah, met on the battlefield.” That gained the speedster’s attention, teal optics turning up to the ex-warlord with even more confusion. Megatron was the one to break eye contact this time, nonchalantly sliding his gaze past Rodimus to aimlessly look at the shadow his chair cast on the floor. He lowered his voice, tone softening. “I mean when we met for the very first time.”
Through his peripheral vision, Megatron noticed Rodimus stiffen, golden hands stilling on the desk before sliding into his lap, out of sight. The decorative helm bowed and Rodimus shrank back into his collar. He said nothing, but the noise he made when swallowing the hard lump forming in his throat was audible. That left Megatron to break the silence with the word that would hang in the air ominously, thick as a plush blanket that threatened to suffocate them both.
“Nyon.”
Rodimus shuddered, optics cycling wildly, and he gripped the edge of his desk hard enough to chip the paint on his hands. A flashback hit him with the force of an ion storm: a red sky, thick with smoke, peppered with embers like dying stars. Zeta’s awful machines looming in the background forebodingly. The screams of his people as they were burned alive…
After a moment’s attempt at collecting himself, Rodimus’ hands slipped back into his lap and he cast his eyes down toward them. The scarlet speedster kept his voice carefully neutral as he murmured, “I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”
More exasperated than irritated, Megatron responded, “Don’t play stupid with me, Rodimus. We both know you are not the idiot you play yourself off to be. You’re sharper than most give you credit for…perhaps because they haven’t had the opportunity to see the earnest side of you.”
The bitterness returned to Rodimus’ voice as he scoffed, “Oh? And you have?”
Megatron nodded, stepping forward and lowering his voice even more. “I have. At Nyon.”
Rodimus looked up, optics bright and wide, with the distinct edge of something that resembled the cold flame of fear. The larger of the two crouched down to one knee to bring their optics level, and placed one callused hand atop the marred desktop. “What happened to Hot Rod?” Megatron asked, tone gravelly but gentle. “Where’s the leader that wore his spark on his outer armor, who vowed to lead his people to safety, and then made the ultimate decision between the lesser of two evils?”
Beginning to tremble as dark memories swarmed his processor, Rodimus looked down at his hands again, noticing that his iron grip had dented his fingertips. “He’s dead, Megatron.” His tone was flat but quivered slightly as he whispered, “He died with the rest of Nyon.”
The gunmetal gray mech observed quietly and non-judgmentally as Rodimus drew his legs up into his chair and wrapped his arms around them, burying his face into his knees. His golden spoiler rattled softly, trembling with the rest of his frame. Megatron slid his hand forward across the desk, fingers catching in the marks carved onto its surface, and extended his EM field with the intent to soothe. He stopped his hand just short of touching his co-captain.
“Rodimus…”
Casting his inhibitions to the side, Megatron rest his hand on the younger mech’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Rodimus peeped up at him between the top of his arm and the bottom edge of his helm. Even with his optics being shaded and mostly obscured, Megatron could tell that they were overbright and welling up with coolant tears.
“You know that what happened wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could’ve done -”
“Yeah, just like with the sparkeater?” Rodimus interrupted coarsely. “And Red Alert trying to kill himself? And Fort Max nearly killing Rung and Whirl, and Swerve accidentally blowing off Rung’s head at my command?” The smaller co-captain’s voice rose, crackling with static and edged with mania. “And Overlord, and Tyrest, and-”
“Rodimus.” Megatron raised his free hand to silence the scarlet mech, engine letting out an uncomfortable rumble. He was no good at this, this offering of reassurance; speeches he could make, weave words to move others to action…but he hadn’t the slightest idea how to calm another’s spark rather than make it burn. “Not all of those events were even liked to you directly, and the rest of them were completely different-”
“Not really, Megatron.” The speedster’s voice was soft and trembling now as he cut off the other’s words yet again. He looked away, unable to meet those piercing crimson optics. “In all cases, I let down the people I was supposed to be taking care of. They say I was born a leader, but…maybe I just wasn’t born a good one. Maybe the Matrix chose wrong.”
The ex-warlord sighed and stood, moving to the other side of the desk, and turned Rodimus’ swivel chair to face him. Large gray hands settled in the spaces between the smaller mech’s collar fairing and shoulder kibble. “Rodimus, from what I’ve seen in the past year, you are a good captain, if a bit hotheaded. Although you don’t always make the best choices, whatever you choose is what you think is in the best interest of the overall crew,” Megatron rumbled, attempting to unravel the tight knots in Rodimus’ tangled field. “I do think you immature and reckless and, at times, irresponsible, but your spark is in the right place.”
He gently moved his hand down to rest over Rodimus’ Autobrand, right above his spark, and sighed. “Honestly, you give far more of it to others than they even realize, oftentimes because you have…unconventional means of showing it.” Megatron smirked bittersweetly, and chuckled low in his chassis, his gaze returning to Rodimus. “Such as with those ridiculous badges of yours.”
That earned a tiny smile out of Rodimus, and he finally looked up, tears still in his eyes. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Rodimus,” Megatron intoned, his face becoming serious again. He looked away once more, giving a small shoulder a gentle squeeze. “If anyone knows that, it is I.”
Megatron tried brighten again slightly, but his minute smile didn’t reach his optics. “That said, the road to heaven is often traversed through spilled energon and shed tears. It’s not easy, but the fact that you keep going, never giving up or backing down, is what sets you apart.”
Rodimus’ optics widened as Megatron leaned in closer and lowered himself to his knees, placing both servos over small golden hands, still smooth from being replaced not too long ago. “You are worth more than you know, Captain. You are the true embodiment of what a Prime should be.”
Those words, spoken almost reverently, were what unravelled Rodimus. His shoulders gave a shuddering heave as he closed his eyes tightly and all but fell into Megatron’s strong arms. Rodimus had expected the larger mech to push him away with firm hands and a stern look, perhaps with a chastising comment about his emotional vulnerability. However, he was met with a comforting embrace, much to his surprise, and he melted against the other’s broad chassis. Coolant tears began to flow freely from his optics as he hugged Megatron tightly, EM field flaring with a strange sort of happiness as the other’s grip grounded him, shielding him from the rest of the universe. “M-Megatron…”
His spoiler and backplates were rubbed soothingly, the former Decepticon leader shushing him with a gentle voice. “You don’t need to say anything more, Rodimus. I understand.” Megatron used his other hand to stroke Rodimus’ bright, detailed helm. “I understand.”
With a choked sob, Rodimus buried his face into Megatron’s neck as he cried, clutching desperately to dark plating. As much as he wanted to protest, he knew deep within his spark that Megatron really did understand. Once his wails began to die down into hiccups, Rodimus shifted to fish around in his subspace. The large hands stroking his frame stilled for the moment as his co-captain watched with interest. “What are you-”
Suddenly, Megatron felt something cold pressed into one of his palms. He raised his brows and drew his hand closer, uncurling his fingers from around it. A smile tugged at his mouth plating at the golden badge. “For renouncing your evil ways,” Rodimus whispered, the tiniest hint of mirth in his voice.
Megatron’s own smile bloomed, and he carefully tilted up Rodimus’ chin as he magnetized the badge to his own shoulder. He pressed a tender kiss to crown of the former Prime’s helm, murmuring a thank you against his brow. When he pulled back, he frowned at Rodimus stunned expression. “I’m sorry, was that too-”
Rodimus hands flew up, clutching the sides of Megatron’s helm and pulling him into a desperate, needy kiss. His lip plates quivered along with the rest of his plating, rattling against Megatron’s armor. With a whisper of a sigh, both exasperated and surprised, the ex-Decepticon pushed Rodimus back slightly, hands firm against the golden chassis.
Optics lidded and heavy with tears, the hot rod whined pitifully and dug his fingers into Megatron’s seams, craving contact. He needed reassurance that he was wanted, maybe even needed. He had to know that he had a reason to keep existing in this miserable universe. While the scratchy but soft honest words from the other mech had reached his spark, Rodimus still needed to feel them, in whatever way he could.
“Please, Megs,” the scarlet speedster whimpered quietly, his EM field reaching out in trembling desperation. “Megatron. L-Let me have this…”
Megatron shook his head, idly tracing the seams of Rodimus’ chestplates. “It is not I that you desire this form of…reassurance from. Perhaps Ultra Magnus, or-”
“No,” Rodimus whispered, vocalizer crackling with emotion. “It is you. Like you said earlier, you…” He exhaled laboriously and rested his helm against Megatron’s broad chassis, moving one hand to follow the curving lines painted there. “…You understand me. You get what it’s like to question your cause and fall into regret over everything you’ve done, what it’s like to look back all to find that you’ve wasted your entire life by going down the wrong path, nothing but a mess left in your wake.” He hiccuped, hand moving to rest upon Megatron’s right arm. “You know what it’s like to think things might’ve been better if you’d never been created.”
If Megatron had any nagging doubts that Rodimus grasped what kind of person the ex-warlord was deep down inside, they’d been silenced for good. Perhaps Rodimus truly did understand him, too. “I do,” Megatron replied simply, voice lowered. His dark hands moved to stroke down the trim tangerine waist, softly illuminated by dim biolights. Shivering slightly, Rodimus dared to look up, his spark stuttering at the open, unguarded expression on the other’s face. Megatron gazed down at him with concerned optics, his field a cacophony of emotions: understanding, sympathy, regret.
“I do.”
Megatron gently grasped Rodimus’ pointed chin, carefully tilting his helm back. Cyan blue optics cycled wide momentarily before shuttering completely, and the former Prime allowed his helm to be canted back, lips parting with the promise of a kiss.
Megatron lingered for a moment, his spark swelling with as much trepidation as eagerness, before slowly leaning forward. It had been a long time since he…had he ever really initiated a kiss with anyone before?
Once, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. When you were a newbuild, back in the mines. You kissed Terminus once, before you really understood what kissing was for. He wasn’t sure if that really counted.
Either way, it had been a very, VERY long time since Megatron had kissed anyone. He’d never even been truly embraced before. The former warlord was mortified to realize that his hands were trembling against Rodimus’ frame. The great Megatron - the miner, the gladiator, the revolutionary, the warlord - nearly whimpered when he felt the smaller mech pulling back.
Face plates burning with shame, Rodimus looked away, anywhere but Megatron’s face. “M’sorry,” he murmured, barely audible. “Sorry for burdening you with all that, and now…this.” He gestured vaguely to the closeness of their frames - he could only move away so far with one of Megatron’s hands still on him.
“Don’t be sorry, Rodimus.” Megatron caressed the younger mech’s cheek with his knuckles. “If you’ve forgotten already, I was the one who was just trying to initiate another kiss.”
Still refusing to look at mech across from him, Rodimus bit his lip. “I know…but…”
“But nothing,” Megatron said firmly, his voice low and smooth as stainless steel. “I’ve made my decision.” With a note of humor to his voice, he rumbled, “Now, come here. Captain’s orders.”
Rodimus practically leapt back into Megatron’s arms, wrapping his own around the former warlord’s neck and kissing him firmly. He was brought closer to the battered gray chassis as Megatron enveloped the smaller mech in a tender but tight embrace. He stroked Rodimus’ golden spoiler comfortingly as they kissed, slow and passionate. When their lips finally parted, the hot rod’s faceplates seemed to be glowing, a painfully wide smile stretching his faceplates. His eyes were still full of coolant, but this time, they were happy tears.
Megatron let out a soft chuckle, brushing Rodimus’ tears away with one large finger. “Now, there’s the charming smile everyone adores.” With a laugh, Rodimus shook his head before lowering it to rest upon Megatron’s shoulder. He released a happy, relieved sigh, feeling as if a huge weight had been removed from his shoulders as he listened to Megatron’s spark thrumming beneath his plating.
Megatron pressed a kiss to the top of Rodimus’ head before settling his chin atop the orange helm. He moved to sit down on the co-captain’s berth, still cradling Rodimus close.
“Rodimus?” he whispered, trying not to disturb the tender moment.
“Mm?”
“Rodimus of Nyon…” Megatron took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Would you allow me the pleasure of courting you?”
Rodimus’ head shot up, nearly nailing Megatron’s chin. His optics bulged and flared with shock. “W-what?”
Megatron held eye contact as he spoke, reaching out to gently cup Rodimus’ pointed chin. “I understand if you do not wish to be courted by someone such as myself… should you refuse me, there is no need to apologize. However,” he continued, voice lowering, “it would bring me great pleasure to be allowed to take care of you and try my best to make you smile, and support you when you are in need.” Megatron took one of Rodimus’ petite hands in both of his own. “My Prime…would you give me the chance to court you?”
It took Rodimus a moment to realize that Megatron, former leader of the Decepticon army, his rival co-captain, was legitimately asking him for a courtship - something no one had ever asked of Rodimus before. He wasn’t the type of mech that others wanted to get intimate with in more than a platonic sense - and even then rarely.
“Megatron,” he stammered, full lips quivering, “I…I accept.”
Megatron, at first, seemed completely flabbergasted that Rodimus had actually accepted his offer, but his shock quickly morphed into mirth. He actually laughed, for what seemed like the first time in forever, and clutched Rodimus close to his chassis once again, never wanting to let go of the young, hotheaded Prime that had somehow wormed his way under his plating and into his spark.
“Hey Megs?”
This time, Megatron did not correct him. “Yes, my sunshine?”
That brought an even wider smile to Rodimus’ face as he breathed, “Thank you.”
Megatron kissed Rodimus’ cheek and purred, “Thank you, too.”