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Ultra Magnus and Megatron quietly leaned against the wall of the Lost Light’s lounge, the low lights caressing their large frames and outlining intricate details of components once used for war, now lay stagnant as meaningless extra kibble.
Heavy vents took turns entering the two mech’s systems, cool air flooding their frame before exhaling into the ever warming room, EM fields mingling in a similarly warm manner, curling around each other in a quiet exchange of comforting neutrality.
Magnus was the first to make a move in a long while, carefully reaching into his subspace and pulling out a pack of energon sticks, laid carefully in his palm; the small box easily dwarfed compared to the size of his hand.
He then took out a stick and placed it between his derma, silently handing one to Megatron, who wordlessly took it, engines purring in appreciation.
Ultra Magnus hummed in response, audials flicking as the snap and click of a lighter igniting caught his attention, the tip of Megatron’s thumb folding back to showcase said lighter. Now how long did he have that little mod?
“Light?” Megatron queried.
“Thank you.” Magnus brought his pursed derma close to the flame, the end of the crushed energon sparking and starting to burn. But as his optics turned down to watch the solemn ordeal of the stick, his gaze turned upward when a shadow blankets where the flame flickered.
Megatron’s faceplate was so close now, the tip of his own stick bumping against Magnus’s as he finagled to keep the light steady. The soft glow of half-lidded optics flicked as he parted his derma, puffing experimentally; quietly, the need for a good smoke growing more insistent.
Megatron’s optics flicking with such precise gaze, derma moving so minutely, gaping like a fish’s last moments out of water. The slight twitches of Megatron’s powerful frame in quiet respite, as if it couldn’t sit still for a moment, and a quiet rocking on heavy pedes. All while Magnus’s gaze remained locked on him, truly entranced, unable to look away.
Then before Ultra Magnus could mutter a single syllable under metaphorical breath, Megatron pulled away, leaning against the wall and light fizzing out; a few rings of smoke pluming from Megatron’s derma.
And Magnus did the same, ignoring the very unprofessional shiver running down his back-strut.
“I never took you as someone to smoke.” Megatron commented, rolling the stick between two of his digits.
“Ah, well,” Ultra Magnus took a quick puff, hoping the usually relaxing activity would calm his nerves, “It’s only occasional. Something t-to kill time with.”
Megatron ignored the rare stutter caught in the supervisor’s vocalizer and hummed an almost-laugh, smooth as honey and warm as the stars just outside of the ship’s borders. “And you reprimand Rodimus for doing the same? Ironic.”
“Well, he is quite irresponsible,” Magnus huffed with a twinge of annoyance, a small puff of dusty-blue escaping his parted denta. “And I don’t trust him around substances in excess. Do you remember Swerve’s party after I decided not to shut down his bar? I really should’ve thrown Rodimus in the brig that night, and shut down the so-called ‘bar’ while I was at it.”
Megatron bit back a snicker, his derma pursing to attempt a semi-professional expression; albeit struggling. “Well, it’s no Macadams’.”
Magnus chuckled, then turned his gaze to the other wall, away from the silver mech right next to him. He took a deep vent and let the smoke settle in his jittery tanks for a moment, optics shutting and allowing a pleased shiver to roll through his frames. But as his gaze dared to turn back to Megatron, he had to fight back a cough of pure surprise; the now-retired warlord was stubbing his energon stick on his own chassis, a hiss escaping Megatron’s vocalizer and the crushed end.
“Megatron!” Ultra Magnus near scolded in hushed tones, as if they’d alert the presence of the rest of the mechs in the room. Of which there were none. “What are you doing? Your plating—.”
“Don’t worry Magnus,” Megatron chided in his smooth timbre, “‘t’s an old ache, quite dull. Once you’ve been shot, tortured, and nearly beheaded on occasions, nothing really stings anymore.”
“Well,” Ultra Magnus’s large servo came up and brushed away the ash sticking to Megatron’s plating, “I beg to differ. Your plating needs to stay pristine, as mine does.”
“I think Rodimus doesn’t uphold that rule as strictly as you do, Magnus.” Megatron chuckled, relaxing from each careful brush over his collar, almost seeming too careful.
Ultra Magnus huffed in feigned amusement, before removing his servo and letting it drop to his side, his other rising to bring the energon stick to his derma, “There.” Magnus nodded, before actually taking a quick puff, watching as Megatron copied him.
“Thank you.” Megatron said with a smile, grinning with the energon stick in the gap between his cheek and dull denta, lines carved into his faceplate like stone morphing and cupping the very corners of Megatron’s rather plump derma. “You… you’re too kind…”
“It’s nothing, really.” Ultra Magnus brushed off with a huff and a polite smile, just like he gave everyone. Not that Megatron was ‘anyone’. As Magnus drew a long vent, filling his tanks with rolling smoke til he could feel the energon ashes sticking to the walls, he stared at Megatron, taking in the oddly content mech before him.
So quiet, but that smile, so prominent and prevalent as he gazed longer, that Magnus couldn’t tear away; even when his energon stick’s end was starting to dribble ash onto the ground very unprofessionally. The cracks and chips in Megatron’s denta, the unevenness in how they hardly lined up, the noticeable, but not extremely harsh, overbite and how his upper derma stuck out in turn in a permanent pout. And not to mention Megatron’s lower, fuller lip, plumper than his already full upper lip.
Ultra Magnus removed the energon stick and licked his own, watching carefully until Megatron caught Ultra’s optics darting away, huffing softly to himself. “Something on your mind, Magnus?”
The supervisor nearly blushed at the remark, only straightening himself up and turning hesitantly to face Megatron, “Mega—.” Smoke plumed from Magnus’s intake as he gave a quick cough, clearing the intrusive yet velvety smooth substance, curling around a usually tame glossa. “Nothing…”
A slight frown ghosted over Ultra Magnus’s faceplate, optics dimming for just a moment too long. “That doesn’t seem like ‘nothing’, Magnus.” Megatron brushed his warm, ebony servo against Magnus’s—.
“It—.” Ultra Magnus yanked his servo away and clasped it over his intake, optics shuttering until the thinnest sliver of blue light was seen, a somber blue crescent. Megatron could nearly hear Magnus berating himself internally. If only he could actually listen.
The thoughts running through Magnus’s usually collected helm were scandalous, blasphemous even, memories of when he had to excuse himself from his duties for even a millisecond. Allowing himself to fantasize gentle yet firm touches over his neglected frame that were not his own, digits digging maddeningly deep past the crevices and ridges of what was his armor, ripping him apart at the seams til the light of his self streamed through the cracks. And the ache that he cannot go further, the growing warmth and charge building, that never quite released, tingling in his frame until new charge built. And because of the want of the touch of a particular mech’s hands.
Megatron’s hands.
“Please… forgive me.” Ultra Magnus whined underneath his servo, still politely clamped over his intake, lips pursed underneath in a bitter scowl. “I did not mean—.”
Megatron firmly placed his servo Ultra’s broad shoulder pauldron, forcing the mech to look at him, ruby optics flickering, creased at the edges with concern and… want? “Please.”
Such a simple word; a phrase even, that completely stilled his racing thoughts, even if for a moment. Their optics met and, if you stood from a distance, their lights mingled in a localized aurora borealis of magenta and pulsing colors. They could hear each other’s sparkbeats, spinning wildly in their chassis’ as faceplates drew closer, Magnus accidentally dropping his energon stick on the floor.
Megatron’s derma parted as he brought his energon smoke to his lips and took a deep vent, dusty blue smoke curling at the seams of his intake, and, before Ultra Magnus could allow himself to pull away or give into the overwhelming fear engulfing him and threatening to suffocate his feeble frames, Megatron closed the gap.
He was more eager, Magnus noted, his derma trying to catch up to Megatron’s as he tried to stay above the surface of his aching want, keeping him stagnant, waist deep in tar. But Megatron instead pushed him down into the inky black of desire and joined him. Drowning as their derma met again and again.
But as Magnus fought back to reality, it wasn’t as overwhelming as his senses interpreted it. Megatron was gentle, careful, and Ultra Magnus was following him in the slowed pace. Meet, part, vent, meet again; each kiss lingering longer and longer than it should’ve. But neither could find it in themselves to stop; servos once by their sides now entwining, digits running smoothly over the others until they couldn’t place whose was whose.
It was only when Megatron dipped his glossa into Magnus’s intake that Magnus pulled away with a displeased sound, that Megatron relented, field and servo still entwined in Ultra Magnus’s. But they still remained gentle, just as his smile, smoke blooming from between his denta, and crimson optics, now fixated on the supervisor’s turned faceplate, too embarrassed to look.
Ultra stuttered before huffing, his tanks suffocated by the transferred smoke, strangely sweeter than his own, “I am sorry, Megatron…” He whispered, glancing down at the floor as he sought a good excuse, only to find the smushed energon stick, blue dust smeared from under his heavy pede. “My smoke, I-I must’ve been affected, I must not have been thinking straight—…”
Megatron hushed the slightly taller mech, cupping his cheek with the same gentle servo he held his hand with. “Well, perhaps my senses were inebriated too. Besides, what are you going to do? Report me to the supervisor?”
Ultra Magnus couldn’t fight back the laugh that escaped him, bold and quick to miss. But as Megatron leaned in and caught the newly-relaxed Magnus in a kiss, he realized;
He really did love this mech. That was for sure.