Chapter Text
Optimus swears he didn’t trip over his own feet this much before his reframing.
He nearly falls on top of Blitzwing — which to be honest he’s sure they wouldn’t mind — while clutching their servo for support. They seem extremely amused by his attempts to follow them and how poorly he manages it.
“I’m not a dancer,” Optimus grumbles behind his mask, bracing a servo on his knee to pick himself back up. “Never have been.”
“That’s why we’re here now, sweetspark,” Zing says, their servo clinging to his like he’ll slip away if they let go. “Some bot has to keep you from falling over every other nanoklik!”
“You try having thrusters for heels,” Optimus says over their laughter, but it lacks any real heat. “This was so much easier before—“ he shuts that thought down and clears it from his processor. He knows it does him no good to dwell on the past. Much less a past that was ruined because of him.
“Before,” Blitzwing echoes, staring at him intently. Optimus doesn’t elaborate further, and Zing seems to know better than to push right now even though it’s obvious he wants to. “Well, I think your current frame is lovely,” He pulls Optimus in, forcing the taller bot to lean down in order to remain at conversation height. They shamelessly run their servos across his frame, tracing the edges of his cockpit and the joints of his arms.
Blitzwing’s admiration always makes Optimus feel odd. Their touches send revulsion through his tanks— not for them, but him. Their words and admiration only make him that much more aware of his body, every too big and too sharp angle of it, of the way it takes up too much space. How his frame is made to kill when before he could touch someone without worrying about leaving scratches behind. They remind Optimus that he exists in this frame when before he could zone out enough and pretend he was still a civilian.
But he also likes it. He doesn’t know why, really. Their touch makes him feel warm inside, temporarily making him feel comfortable existing, before their servos leave and all Optimus is left with is the reality of his own frame but not their adoration to soften it. Either way, he knows Blitzwing likes touching him and Optimus wouldn’t want to take that from him, so he doesn’t tell him any of this. He just lets Blitzwing adore and caress as much as he wants to.
Blitzwing presses a kiss to his cockpit, letting their lips leave a little mark on the glass and laughing when Optimus has to wipe it off.
“You’re so silly, sweetspark,” He giggles, pulling back to hold both of Optimus’ servos in his own.
Optimus smiles wryly, even though they can’t see it. “Because I stumble around like a newspark?”
“That too,” they agree. “But you do just fine in battle, so I think you’re just focusing on your pedes too much. It’s just walking, sweetspark! Nothing different about it whether you’re a civilian or not.”
Optimus considers this. It is easier to exist in his own frame when he doesn’t think about it, when he doesn’t even have the space to pretend he’s his old self and instead throw himself wholly into fighting. It is his purpose as a protector— to kill and defend so the real Autobots won’t have to.
Wake up. Fight. Kill. Recharge. Repeat.
“I don’t suppose you have any suggestions to get me to stop focusing on my frame?” Optimus says, a touch too sarcastic to be serious.
Still Zing laughs. “Of course I do! It’s why I called you here to dance with me, ja? So just focus on me~”
Optimus can’t help but chuckle a bit, allowing Zing to guide him back into a slow dance. Their desire to help him walk like a competent mech is so genuine he can’t help but appreciate it. Despite his larger size they guide him along like he weighs nothing, directing him to spin them or let them go as needed.
“Don’t make me accidentally scratch your paint,” Optimus jokes, and Blitzwing pouts. They take him by the waist and guide him into a new dance, except this time they lean forward and put their weight into it, forcing Optimus off his pedes and relying on their servos holding him to stay off the ground.
“You see, Liebling?” He grins at Optimus’ surprise, purple wings fluttering against the sun. “I’m not fragile! No need to be gentle or scared around me.”
“Right,” Optimus nods, still a little surprised they can hold his weight so effortlessly. “Sorry.”
“Pwah, no need to apologize,” Zing brings him back to his pedes, this time grabbing onto his arm and servo. “You’re too used to being around fragile Autobots and organics all day. One wrong move and splat!”
Optimus winces, thinking of the many anxieties and thoughts that intrude his processor whenever Sari tries to get close to him. “I’d rather not think about that right now,” he says.
Zing sighs dramatically, which annoys Optimus, but they do drop the subject. Surprisingly. Usually they push and prod, teasing Optimus about his delicate sensibilities.
On Blitzwing’s insistence, they dance for a while longer. Optimus is surprised to find he enjoys it, even though Blitzwing is the one doing the real work while Optimus follows their movements. He relishes in holding their servos in his own, feeling their fingers against his plating as though their touch is as natural as anything. As though Optimus has known them for stellar cycles and their touch was always a part of his life, as opposed to the reality of things.
“See?” Blitzwing says once they’re done, optics smug. “It’s much easier when you don’t focus on your pedes!”
“I suppose you’re right,” Optimus is genuinely surprised he hadn’t stumbled or fallen once, when he just focused on talking to and holding Blitzwing. “They’re just so… strange.”
“If you think of them like that it’s no wonder you keep tripping on them!” Zing says, playfully kicking Optimus’ pede with his own. “They’re a part of you, aren’t they?”
“I guess,” whether Optimus liked his pedes or not, Zing was right. They were a part of him. “Uh… thank you, Zing.”
Zing giggles. “Oh, it’s no problem at all, sweetspark!” They bat their optics at him. “Though if you really want to thank me, you could always do so with a kiss.”
Optimus flushes, but opens his battle mask indulgently. His spark warms at how Blitzwing lights up at the sight, as if Optimus’ face was something worth seeing. Optimus leans down for them and they eagerly accept it, bracing one servo on his shoulder and kissing them, their glossa running across his lips. Optimus opens his intake for them, and they eagerly accept the invitation.
They wrap their glossa around his, squeezing it like it’s a treat being offered to them. They laugh against Optimus’ lips as his own glossa squirms, releasing it to stick their glossa further down his intake. Optimus chokes around it, saliva bubbling against the corners of his mouth. Zing’s engine purrs as they delve deeper into Optimus’ frame, their glossa reaching his fuel tanks. Optimus wonders how long their glossa can even extend, but unfortunately has to pull away before he regurgitates his own fuel.
He gently nibbles Zing’s glossa with his fangs, but Zing just giggles and extends their glossa even deeper. Optimus bites down before he can purge into Zing’s mouth, coughing when they finally pull away.
“My bad,” Zing hums, watching Optimus hack. Optimus gives them an assuring thumbs up before closing his battle mask again.
“Waitwaitwait— nooooo!”
Optimus snorts at Zing’s dramatics, watching them fall to the ground on their chassis and claw at Optimus’ pede like he’s just shot them. “Something wrong, Blitzwing?”
“Open it back up!” He whines, looking up at Optimus with pleading optics. “Open your mask again, sweetspark! Puh-lease!”
“You already know what my face looks like,” Optimus kneels down and offers a servo, even if they don’t really need it. Blitzwing takes it regardless, only to cup Optimus’ face with his servos and pry at his mask.
“I like seeing it!” Blitzwing insists. “I don’t get why you hide it so much.”
“It’s not really anything pleasant to look at,” Optimus deflects, knowing full well how the other Autobots back in Detroit feel about his frame-tearing fangs. Sari seems to think it sounds cool, but even her “puppy dog eyes” can’t convince Optimus to show her. He’d hate to scare her.
“Maybe for delicate Autobot sensibilities,” Blitzwing grumbles, pawing at Optimus’ mask like they’re trying to rip it off. “Pleaaaase, Liebling?”
Optimus relents, always weak to Blitzwing’s pleading. He retracts his mask, exposing his scarred lips and violent fangs to the sunlight again. Blitzwing purrs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Optimus’ mouth.
“You should keep this off around us from now on,” Zing says— more like orders. He kisses Optimus again and pets the side of his helm. “You do know we like every part of you, ja? We’re not Autobots.”
Optimus cycles his optics. “I guess sometimes I just forget,” he says, flushing a bit at their casual praise. More than the reverent touches and kisses, the way Blitzwing casually weaves in how beautiful they think Optimus is into every conversation makes him feel strange. For once, he’s aware of his body, but he doesn’t completely hate it. Probably because Blitzwing was also a warframe— no doubt if they were a civilian they’d feel the same way the team of Autobots here do.
“We’re more than happy to remind you,” Zing purrs, glossa flicking out to taste Optimus’ faceplate. It’s such a habit for them that Optimus has stopped being very surprised by it— though it does embarrass him a bit.
“As fun as that would be,” Optimus puts a servo on their wrist to pull their servo from his helm. “I better get back to the base before I fall into recharge.”
Blitzwing cycles their optics in surprise. “You haven’t been recharging well?”
They almost sound concerned. “I guess not. I do nothing but recharge outside of patrolling and helping the city and meeting up with you, so I thought it would’ve fixed itself by now.”
Blitzwing looks at him oddly. “Do you not have hobbies?”
“No?” Optimus is confused as to why he would. Even before his reframing he didn’t do much outside of the academy. Sometimes he’d hang out with… his friends at the oil house, but that was it. And afterwards, it wasn’t like a warframe had any place in Autobot society, or that Optimus’ actions got him any sort of money he could use to spend anyway. What was there to do but recharge in his cell and wait for the Elite Guard to wake him up for his next assignment? “I mean… I guess I date you?”
Blitzwing hums in acknowledgement. Then, he pulls Optimus down into his laps, holding his helm down.
“Then you can recharge here!” He says, patting Optimus’ helm. “It would be a shame to see you leave so soon, sweetspark. And this way I can continue looking at that pretty faceplate~”
Optimus sputters as Blitzwing laughs. “I— the Autobots will ask where I am,” he says.
“I’ll wake you before it’s too late,” Zing promises. Optimus doesn’t completely trust it, but he can’t deny that the plating of Blitzwing’s thighs feels nicer than the ground.
“Fine,” Optimus relents, earning a happy purr from Blitzwing’s engine.
The two of them shift their position so it’s more comfortable. Optimus’ helm rests on Blitzwing’s shoulder (battle mask still open at their pleading), the larger warframe sat comfortably between their legs, his pedes slung over their thigh. The two sat under a tree, which was just tall enough to provide shade from the Earth’s sun. Optimus closes his optics, feeling Blitzwing’s servo rub the space between his wings and where the hinges meet his back. Somehow, it made Optimus relax even more, a soothing touch for his spinal struts. He slips into recharge without even noticing.
When Optimus wakes, it’s to a setting sun. He can only manage a dirty look at a too-smug Wings before rushing back to the base in the city. It pains Optimus not to use his wings, but he knows that the humans have rules where he can fly, and generally “over a populated city” isn’t one of them.
He crouches his way under the entrance, his finials nearly scraping against the ceiling. He really does appreciate Sari for getting a place for them, but he has to admit that very few places built by humans could completely accommodate a warframe of his size.
He shuffles past a few suspicious looks from the two Autobots — Prowl and Bumblebee if his memory wasn’t failing him — and makes sure to keep his wings low. He wouldn’t be able to patrol for another few hours, so until then he’d have to occupy his time with… something. He felt so well rested after that recharge with Blitzwing, he didn’t want to ruin it by forcing himself into unconsciousness. Plus, his wings and back always hurt upon waking up, so he would like to avoid that for now.
He would also like to avoid having his mind wander, though. That’s how he fell down dark spirals and did stupid things like “let’s cut my claws off to have blunt fingers again even though they’ll just grow back, and oh now there’s energon coming out of my hands.”
Not Optimus’ best moment.
Resigning himself to a few megacycles of boredom, Optimus sits down at his makeshift desk and studies the few datapads that remained from the other Autobots’ crashed ship.