Tfa Strika - Tumblr Posts

Me & the husbandwives

Optimus/Megatron/Strika/Lugnut

With Optimus as the littlest little spoon in existence. Help him.

- - - - - - - - - - -

🌟Optimus can’t deny that’s he’s.... ‘intrigued’ by the very surprising relationship he’s noticed between Megatron and his subordinates- Strika and Lugnut.

The terrifying femme tolerated nonsense even less than Megatron did, and her attitude matched Lugnut’s serious and straightforward approach to... everything, quite well. Learning they were conjunxed was easy to accept. Quite a fitting pair they made.

Curiously, though, Megatron had apparently wedged himself into the mix- Well, no. No, Optimus supposed the *truth* was more likely that Megatron had effortlessly attracted the attention of the two with his dangerous charisma, as well as by their sheer devotion to the glorious mech and his cause.

However they came to be, Optimus continued to struggle and fail to look anywhere else but at the thunderous trio when they were all in the room together.

Who could possibly ignore the flicker in Megatron’s optics when Strika *shamelessly* took him by the hips and swayed?

How Megatron spread a palm down her chest and followed it towards that thick waist, cinched the infuriatingly slightest bit at the middle.

What else was he supposed to think about when Lugnut practically jumped out of his chassis when he was invited over by an expectant pair of searing red optics, beckoning him to come enthusiastically grope at his partners? Of Megatron knocking his hips back into a fretfully sincere Lugnut, eager with what to explore of his talented, striking leader first?

No matter how brief and easy to miss the moments were, how could he look anywhere else?

He’d become completely entranced by the displays since his fist accidental viewing of their wandering servos in a secluded corridor. The surreality of it... the shock that they would do something so publicly only subdued by the fact that most war frames he’d come to know thus far seemed right at home making private berthroom matters public.

The prospect of the interactions between them away from prying eyes -like Optimus’, for example- thrilled the smaller bot. What did they get up to when he wasn’t there to see it? When no one was? How did they balance themselves between one another- how did they *share*?

Optimus hadn’t imagined being thrust into this position as enacting mediator -and essentially ‘babysitter’- so soon into a truce. Or ever, considering the constant disrespect he received from Autobot high command of his competent capabilities. But here he was-

And here he was being a lecher about it, too.

A young bot without an ounce of the experience or fortitude of these giant war frames, leering at them from over his datapads and morning energon rations.

He honestly, foolishly thought he hit rock bottom when he was sentenced to captain of a repair crew.

And maybe wistfully dreaming about the possibilities of ‘Cons treating each other like genuine, doting lovers in the privacy of their quarters *would* have been the true end of his disgrace... *If* he hadn’t been *caught* doing so by one of the mechs in question.

“Something Ultra Magnus wants to bring to my attention, Autobot?”

Optimus barely restrained himself from jumping at the sound of that baritone voice, draped across his throne. It wouldn’t due for Megatron to think he finally had some power over him, but especially during peace time when he was expected to roll over and keep tensions low.

He’d raise hell whenever he very well wanted, because it was always only ever deserved in Megatron’s case.

“No.”

“Then keep your optics to yourself.” The ex war lord sneered. Tapping a claw against his thigh.

Optimus instantly knew what he was referring to- apparently Megatron had caught him staring at the lingering touch of his servo along the low of Strika’s backstrut during their little briefing.

Optimus turned a vibrant color and whirled away to shield his face with his datapad. Pretending in earnest to take notes all at once.

Megatron, thoroughly confused, watched his wiggling finials curiously.

—— ———

Lugnut was marginally less aware of Optimus’ staring, sitting through his evening fueling with his bonded at his side, basking in the almost imperceptible stroke of her fingers about his hip joint -apparently Strika’s favorite place on a mech. Totally oblivious to the optics watching them from afar.

Lugnut sat the whole course, murmuring in a way that Optimus had thought impossibly quiet for the boisterous ‘Con, unaware of his prying stare. Occasionally Lugnut leant in to return a touch to Strika’s powerful bicep in quiet awe of his lover’s strength- repaid tenfold by her following an assault on a certain part of him that was out of Optimus’ range of sight. Earning Lugnut’s approving growl.

Out of Optimus’ sight, yes. But goodness, could he imagine.

He turned a color he doubted he’d ever had before, shocked to the core at no end by the boldness of war types.

And then his luck ran dry, as it often did, and Optimus was left inhaling and choking on his cube from a few tables away when a piercing optic swept over him, looking him up and down.

Lugnut was bound to notice him eventually, and Optimus visibly paled.

Lugnut, who’d never learned of subtlety or patience, or letting small perceived slights on his person go, rose from his seat in his full glory and threw a servo towards Optimus -who nearly slipped down onto his aft, he’d gone so tense.

“You! Autobot! Explain your fixation for my mate and I at once!”

Optimus desperately fought for practically to override embarrassment. Explaining himself articulately and quickly would end the confrontation in a timely manner and reduce any further embarrassment.

Only he had nothing to say for himself. He *was* staring and he....supposed he *was* fixating.

So lying was the only option he had enough working processor power to think of at the moment, and it was never his forte -or his preferrence.

But desperate times...

“I wasn’t, I- I wasn’t looking at you.” He forced the waver from his voice.

Strika had never looked at him like *that* before, but back on Earth, Lugnut had looked like he wanted to kill him plenty, so that was normal.

“I was just thinking to myself, and-and I let my optics wander. It had nothing to do with yo-“

“Such weak lies!” Lugnut bellowed, forcing all optics in the near vincity that Optimus had been struggling to ignore to turn back on him in question.

“Your faceplates are flushed! You’ve been *watching* our coupling- your Autobot gaze is *unworthy*!”

Optimus thought he might faint from the head rush of Energon to his face.

Lugnut was nano-kliks away from revving his engine to the point of exhaustion, he was so loud.

And Optimus had no one to blame but himself...

“I- I’m so sorry!” He yelped, effectively damning himself and confirming the unfortunate truths Lugnut spoke.

He bolted out of his seat and speed walked -because he was definitely *not* running away right now, he *wasn’t*- to his designated quarters.

The few others who’d been present for the show parted way.

He didn’t know if he felt better or worse for having some of their sympathy.

——- ——-

“Jou judge our velationship unfairly. Vut does an Autobot know about the affairs of ‘Cons?”

Optimus, having lost himself in another hour of the report he was making back to Cybertron -as if they’d read it- felt his spark nearly extinguish.

He answered before he even turned to face her, desperate to avoid another skirmish like last time.

“Nothing- absolutely nothing, ma’am. *Commander*.”

And he’d never claimed to.

All he ever claimed was that feeling pinned to his pathetic little place in the command center of his single desk and monitor by a sweltering hot war frame at his back was the stuff of nightmares.

He was no coward -hideously humiliated by his recurring run ins with this particularly enchanting femme or not- and found a handful left of his old brazen self to dare and stand. Turning to face her in the few inches between his desk and her chassis. In his pathetic little cubby, he had nowhere to run. Which he definitely did *not* do last time.

Strika had earned his direct and honest respect around the time he started tracing Megatron’s digits across her supple thigh, anyway. He would at least give her this much. A small, unknowing, apology.

“Hm. So explain now vhy you stare at my berthmates so incessantly.”

Good lord.

Optimus’ finials flattened and pinched the slightest bit pink at their tips. Sharp as a whip, Strika would no doubt have realized she was chasing her prey into a corner at the sight- which meant the pounce would soon follow.

“Are they- I don’t, um... I don’t think I-I do that, ma’am.”

A furious lie- maybe he was much more inclined to lying when his opponent was the grizzly, gargantuan Strika, then.

“Oh?” She said, almost sounding rather amused by that. Where as Megatron’s approach was cruel sarcasm and Lugnut’s blatant fury, Strika’s must be the sort where the femme enjoyed to play with her food until it had thoroughly humiliated itself and was good and tender.

Optimus bit his bottom lip, Energon confusingly rushing from place to place and blotching his frame in a colorful hue.

Strika, sadly perceptive, but intrigued, was very forward about her thoughts on the display.

“Jou fluster easily. How quaint.”

Maybe she was using that word incorrectly. Or maybe she was being condescending.

Optimus was shushed from condemning himself further by a servo brushing at the tip of his audial fin and stroking it downward, silencing him immediately.

Time seemed to stretch on for light years as that digit stroked down towards his jaw, over to his chin, and grasped it in a firm hand to *lift*.

Back his helm went, face tilting towards the dim light above.

“Hmm. Gracious. Look how pretty.”

Strika stared down and Optimus stared back- wide optics and parted lips.

She turned to call to someone over her shoulder then.

“Don’t jou zink so, my Lord?”

Optimus, incapable of moving his helm, darted optics over to the blur of a dark figure with the light in his eyes, fast approaching behind her. Glaring red optics appearing curiously over her shoulder and seemingly out of nowhere.

Optimus went very still.

Silence followed, both mechs clearly unsure of themselves. Prompting Strika to encourage the lord in question a bit more.

“Lugnut caught him staring at us vile we shared our love.” The phrasing was purposely made whimsical and romantic.

As expected, it triggered a fresh, warm flush in the little mech’s faceplates.

“Zen he decided to vudely interrupt him, and ze poor thing ran away.”

Strika tutted sympathetically, and Optimus thought he might melt from embarrassment -or from gratefulness.

She leaned into Megatron’s side and murmured,

“He vas just enjoying ze show.”

Optimus made an aborted noise between a whine and something of protest.

But it was sadly all too true. He had been enjoying it... Save his spark, he needed therapy.

He hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

Optimus was just curious! He was just fascinated by the idea of these war scourges sharing affection, and trust, and loving whispers between one another. He was just floundering in the surreality of it- just unable to tear himself away from the amazing chance to witness war frames acting civilized and familiar. And careful and earnest. He was just...

He was just...

A little lonely....

Optimus remembered all too vividly his own mockery of a trine with Sentinel and Elita. He once had his own bots to come ‘home’ to- several soft hands touching him and hauling him into a heady embrace. Petting at his sensitive finials and kissing him goodnight.

The three of them against the world.

He was at a loss of how to process the three nefarious warriors’ own love triangle when he saw it for the first time, and never really learned how to move past it. Not in a way that was probably healthy.

He shouldn’t of poked his olfactory into their lives like this. He shouldn’t have assumed he was entitled to witness these things for himself, no matter how much he missed these moments in his old life.

“Hm. We should endeavor not to interrupt him next time.” Megatron finally spoke, snapping Optimus out of his daze.

Strika’s field bubbled and surged against the other two.

“Better yet, ve should *invite* him next time.”

Optimus didn’t dare to move, to ex vent or twitch or faint- or anything that would remind them of his presence down there beneath them. Pinned between them and his desk.

He didn’t even dare to hope- rather easy with fear and confusion muddling his processor.

There was no way that meant what he thought it did.

Megatron, however, had been seeming to test something in Strika with vague, careful words, and was seemingly *thrilled* all at once with the result it’d given him.

“Yes! Yes... hmm, I think you’re right.” He practically beamed, and it was so unlike the terror of Kaon he’d always known, Optimus wondered if he’d fallen through a black hole into another dimension this morning.

Optimus felt something uncomfortable stir in his belly and squashed it with a vengeance.

He was just projecting. He was just overthinking. He was just *imagining* things. He-

Megatron began to speak again over Strika hailing their third party on her comlink.

“I did have my suspicions, for some time mind you, but I never believed them to be true. That our little Autobot here was simply *shy*.”

Optimus flinched, spark in his throat.

“My, Optimus~ You should have told us you’d like an invitation sooner. I see no harm in another mech joining.”

“Especially vun so pretty.”

“Hmm, yes~ Right as always, Strika.”

‘I think there’s been a mistake’ was overruled by “Erm, um, um I-“ so Optimus promptly cut his rambling there.

The war frames focused their attention down on Optimus, trapped perfectly in their clutches. Delighting in his shuttering optics and trembling servo ‘trying’ to ‘pry’ Strika’s hand away from his chin to offer something like protest.

She mercifully lowered it away to rest on his collar, stroking down the expanse of his shoulder plating. Promising more fervent touch when the time was right again- which was horrifyingly, thankfully now.

Optimus steadied his gaze down to the third pair of pedes coming to fit themselves in with their partners’. Thick and green, and powerful enough to crush him with one stabilizer.

The gang was all here now, and Optimus waited for either that protest he’d attempted several times to make to finally come out, or the final nail in the coffin to be struck.

It was the latter, just his luck of course, as he could hear Megatron hum low into Lugnut’s audial that “Our curious little Prime would like an encore, Lugnut. My loyal subordinate~”

“An encore, my lord?”

“He vus most impressed with your prowess, conjunx. He vants to zee more.”

“Oh... He is?”

A large black servo, Megatron’s, cupped Optimus’ cheek in his palm and lifted his trembling gaze up once again to meet several starving, smoldering optics- angling his face towards Lugnut’s in particular. Strika resumed her gentle stroke down to his windshields, and all Optimus could do was stand and soak in the gentle touch to sensitive glass.

“Yes, Optimus simply suffers from a touch of shyness.” Megatron grinned -absolutely deplorable mech.

Optimus’ finials flicked in irritation. The effect dampened by the way he leant heavily into his tormentor’s servos.

“Won’t you show him there’s nothing to be nervous about?”

“Show him zere is plenty of jou to go around, and he needn’t vorry. Ve all get our due.”

Strika removed her warm palm to tug at a finial and prompt a full body shudder from Optimus’ painfully overclocked frame.

“Is simply time he got his.” She crooned.

“Primus.” Optimus effectively articulated.

Then someone he’d assumed would sooner smash him through the wall for insulting their dearest master at every available chance back on Earth had their mouth on his, purring happily and loudly at the way Optimus pliantly went slack against the desk behind him. Confirming that Lugnut’s prowess was truly as unmatched as this silly little Autobot had hoped -thank you for that humiliating assumption, Strika.

——

if I could shame anybody in the world, it would be myself and Optimus. Oh, look at that, I just made a whole thing embarrassing us both.

I made this for that thing I wrote. Pick the color you like best.

Lol I only colored one thing

The very overdone ‘sparring turns into excessive kissing’ trope, plus Megop✨

Some sort of ceasefire AU with combined factions. As always...

I refuse to proof read this anytime soon, I don’t want to see what humiliation I’ve conjured for myself.

Warnings are in the tags💕

————————-

“If you’re going to live amongst arrogant bots thousands of tonnes bigger than you are, you’ll have to learn how to defend yourself.” Megatron said seriously, but the irony, of course, left a tickle in his throat.

Obviously Optimus could hold his own against mechs 3 times his size and then some, or Megatron wouldn’t have been forced into this ceasefire in the first place by the little Prime’s bare fists and a shoddy axe.

Which speaking of, he really needed to repay the smaller mech for shattering it during their artillery training. It really had been an accident. Though he suspected Optimus was going to hit during this sparring match with a lot less forgiveness than he’d assured him with at the time.

“Oh, so you admit that your soldiers are rude, thuggish brutes half the time there’s an Autobot in the control room?” Optimus asked, readying his stance on the square of padded floor. He would never stop being amazed that the Decepticons had entertained such a luxury -that is, until he’d learnt that Starscream had been the one to complain about being thrown to her delicate wings on the cold, hard floor one too many times.

That Megatron had been the only one the self-obsessed seeker leveled to spar with meant that Megatron had agreed solely on the promise that he’d be able to continue doing so.

Megatron sized up the brazen thing before  him and smiled. In regards to his question, Decepticons were like that more than just half the time.

“Yes, I confess. Though I also admit I’m often guilty of the same arrogance myself.” Because if he weren’t, he wouldn’t have thought so little of one lowly Prime once upon a time, and would have otherwise dominated an entire foreign planet in deca-cycles. Perhaps that was the arrogance talking again.

But Optimus had indeed bested him, and thank goodness it’d happened sooner than later before Megatron had let himself go completely.

He’d found his footing since then and was moving with a ferocity he hadn’t in ages. He hadn’t even known he was slipping until he was shaping his wayward Decepticons, thousands of years out of practice, up in one single, terrifying rant about the disobedience he’d noticed in his absence. He hadn’t even needed to threaten them. It felt so good to be back.

And he believed he had this brave mech here to thank for that. Which unfortunately meant that Optimus really did have a merciless force of nature to worry about now in a way he hadn’t before.

Well... only a little bit ‘merciless’.

Optimus returned his smile then, though it was far more genuine. Megatron tried not to let it sway him off his pedes and focused on the lesson.

“Now,” He began, distributing his weight through spread pedes and opening his palms, making for a more intimidating foe. It would have worked on anybody else.

“Ready yourself, little Prime.”

“I’m ready.” Optimus murmured, big optics trained on the other, and innocent little smile starting to look a tinge wicked.

Megatron liked the fire in this one, possibly too much, as he often tried to rile it out of him.

To test his claim, Megatron offered no further warning and lunged.

Optimus was easily taken to the floor with a surprised little ‘oof’.

“Decepticons don’t play fair.” Megatron purred. His gentle reminder overshadowed by the crush of his chest into Optimus’. He could hear him struggle to vent and had to repress a snicker.

A knee thrusting up just above his pelvic plating, forcing the air from his vents, turned that snicker into a wheeze.

“I can see that.” Optimus hissed, already adapting to the change of pace.

Dumbstruck, Optimus was able to roll Megatron off of him and pin him to the mat by his shoulders.

Megatron considered reaching up and digging his claws into his forearms and tearing, just to reiterate what he’d said about playing fair -and he would have, if it wasn’t Optimus.

A simple buck of the hips was enough to throw the other off his balance and push him away.

Feeling generous, Megatron even allowed him to scramble to his pedes.

“You’ll have to be on your guard at all times.” Megatron said, infrared pupils dissolving into slits. Assessing.

That time the lesson stuck, and Optimus was quick to dodge another lunge.

But predictably was unlikely a thing in the wild. Decepticons were conniving and unfair. They’d had to be to resist Autobot forces, who were supplied by better resources and more fuel.

What a difference nearly a year had made between their factions and their coming together. How long before natural instincts such as those became obsolete and written from their code?

Megatron made to lunge again and deftly fell to the floor on palms and knee to sweep a pede out and right from underneath a parrying Optimus. He fell hard and had to bite back a curse when the other was moving to cage him there, giant black servos encasing his again. Crushing him into the mat.

Knocked to his back twice in half as much time...

Megatron didn’t let up this time and tensed his abdominal plates for any impending kicks. What would Optimus do when he ran into the less honorable sorts? He’d have to find a way out of this without Megatron’s goodwill.

Optimus pulled and writhed and made to kick something that’d have some affect, but all he could do was scramble against slick, gunmetal grey armor and the servos clutching him.

“Are you going to keep me down here?” He growled.

“Or are you going to teach me how to fight?”

Megatron snorted. Warm breath ghosting over a finial and making it twitch.

“Are you trying to talk your way out of this?”

When plenty of the ‘Con population could hardly be bothered to articulate beyond grunts?

Optimus had stopped trying to wriggle his way out then, so clearly he thought a bit of psychology was the logical way to go here. Most mechs weren’t Megatron, unfortunately, and couldn’t withstand a legitimate conversation, though.

“It worked on you.” Optimus pointed out. Which wasn’t saying too much these days.

Megatron remembered how’d he’d gotten here with nothing but Optimus trying to talk his way around everything like a hopeful, insistent fool -around violence and conflicting agendas of mass destruction. And the fact that that had eventually done him in somehow was.... well....

Regardless, it had worked. Partly. Though another part of Optimus’ success at establishing this ceasefire was due to his impressive display of tactical resourcefulness during their Earthly encounters- and, admittedly, a bit of his brute strength. He was worthy, Megatron had come to find, and only then had he learnt to listen.

Decepticons weren’t going to spare him much time to prove himself. They couldn’t afford to in the wars prior.

But... Megatron was just fine to let him try.

Talking to Optimus was it’s own reward, and it was easy to forget he was supposed to be teaching him an important lesson when he’d managed to get him like this.

“Go on and try to get yourself out of this, then, if you’re so sure.” Megatron’s grip tightened painfully on his wrists to remind him this was supposed to be an example of some nameless thug getting the upper hand on him.

Optimus swallowed, and Megatron watched with terrifying interest the way his throat tubing moved.

Miraculously, he pushed the tremor from his voice when he next spoke.

“You’re supposed to be teaching me to fight, aren’t you? You can’t do that from here.”

On the contrary...

But Megatron wanted to see where this was going.

“Yes, I am, but these imaginary foes who have only the wish to harm you will have no other reason to release you. Your enemy, Decepticon or not, is going to need a reason to let you out of this. If you’re so intent to talk your way out still.”

Megatron secured Optimus’ wrists into one massive servo and bared down.

Optimus went deathly still, carefully distant stare betraying any fear that might be thumping around his spark chamber, threatening to burst through.

Megatron couldn’t help but grin at his cornered prey. Optimus’ poker face was was truly a commendable thing, but there was little that could sway Megatron from his goals once he was determined.

“So...” He whispered, dipping his helm into the small space of Optimus’ throat cabling and his servo raised above and pinned. Mouth angled towards his audial.

“You’ll have to give me an incentive to let you up~”

He was impressed by how limp the other had gone, rather than tensing and squirming in every direction to break free. When he slowly pulled away to get a look at that pretty blue face, Megatron had expected to see the same disinterested gaze the other always wore when he was trying -and failing- to intimidate him.

But there was Optimus, practically thrumming below him as the gears turned and his processor span. Thinking much too hard about.... something....

Optimus stared up at him for so long with those wide blue optics that Megatron worried he’d broken him. Either by being too suggestive or too outright forward. He could never tell how civil frames perceived the things war types casually said -and Strika was always threatening him to act with some amount of manners towards the little mech, so he must be coming off too strong in most cases.

He decided he’d gone and crossed a line this time, too, when-

“Let me up... and I’ll thank you.” Optimus whispered, barely able to withhold an embarrassing stutter.

Megatron was compelled to challenge him how that would incentivize a foe to do anything, if only to further the lesson and keep them on track. But he’d had the mech off his pedes for long enough to make his point.

....And he really wanted whatever this ‘thank you’ was.

It’d be his own fault if the ‘thank you’ was a swift punch to the nasal ridge, and he hoped honestly it was just that. Optimus would certainly prove he had the necessary skills to handle his opponents that way.

Megatron was on his stabilizers in two short moves and helping Optimus up with the assistance of those manners Strika had insisted he locate from deep within his hard drive.

Oddly enough, manners had never been a chore when extended to any other bot. Optimus made him forget how to act half the time.

But on his feet again, Optimus looked considerably less annoyed to be thrown about as freely as he had been than he should.

Megatron wondered if that was because he had been the bot doing all the throwing. Optimus had shown himself rather tolerant of his touch on prior occasions since peacetime. And he’d been no stranger to it before peacetime either, unfortunately.

When he didn’t back away to put some more appropriate distance between them, it became clear he was anything but ‘annoyed’ with the treatment.

“Better?” Megatron couldn’t help but tease, something warm licking below his tanks. Optimus, breathless and flushed, was a sight. Better than with his battle mask sheathing his face, and an axe poised and ready to split Megatron’s helm with.

Which he really did owe him a new one. One made from durabyllium-steel so that he might shave the arm off any attacker who might come his way and avoid all this talking nonsense in the first place.

“Yeah.” Optimus said then. His voice pinched, clearly struggling to voice his real concerns.

“Allow me to thank you.” He added, after a tense moment.

Megatron’s glossa worked faster than his brain module could.

“That’s not necessary.”

Maybe those manners weren’t so far out of reach, actually...

Optimus’ finials did that infuriating thing when he was nervous where the dipped down upon his helm, making Megatron physically have to restrain himself from reaching to touch them, and shifted his stance on restless pedes. Trying to quiet the urge.

“Well, it was part of the deal.” Optimus murmured, voice gone soft, optics growing heavy. Megatron unconsciously leaned into him.

“I am a mech of my word, after all.”

Which was how Megatron had known he could come to trust him as he had. But still-

‘I am a mech of standards.’ Megatron had wanted to say -to insist it wasn’t necessary. Instead, a less coherent gasp of some indecipherable thing escaped the tip of his glossa, as a firm blue palm planted itself high up on his chest plates.

There was a brief pause, and then someone’s engine rumbled at the contact. Warmth began to flood their cheek plates, a vibrant color bleeding through. Suddenly keeping optic contact was too great a feat for either of them.

“Here.” Optimus maneuvered them closer, and Megatron was moved without the barest hint of resistance. Vaguely aware he was being moved from helm to toe-pede by two little palms cupping his cheeks.

So be it.

He leaned over the shorter bot just enough to reach him better. Face level and drawn in a line to Optimus’ full lip plates like he was being pulled forward by a string.

Which was good, as that was exactly where the smaller mech had blessedly wanted him.

Their lips nudged and parted until they were properly slotted together.

Megatron swallowed the sound the other made into his open mouth. Little servos fell away from striped cheek plates to run themselves down and over layers of thick chassis, beginning a curious search to map the other out.

Megatron was happy to let him. The distraction gave him an opportunity to deepen the kiss with a tilt of his helm.

Optimus jumped, seeming to just realize he was stood there, locking lips with a once fearsome warlord and finding it unbearably dizzying. In an absolutely delicious way.

Megatron lavished the inside of his mouth with tame little licks, purely to incite some warmth and comfort in the other.

Encouraging intimacy, encouraging Optimus to trust Megatron with the more private, delicate parts of himself. Encouraging those hands to linger longer.

Optimus hummed something like the start of his name into his mouth and something blistering hot shot through Megatron’s spinal strut and down to his pedes.

Proving he could manage some ounce of control of himself, the bigger mech somehow refrained from wrapping a servo around Optimus’ middle and lifting him up into a kiss more fierce and inescapable.

He curled thick digits easily around the other’s arms instead. Pulling him close, forcing their chests to bump, knocking a noise loose from Optimus’ throat.

The little truck settled an open palm over a hip seam and stroked, and Megatron did well enough not to smotherhim back into the floor right there and-

“Ze mat is for sparring.”

Optimus pulled away with a squeal not unlike that of a trapped glitch-mouse in a Cyber cat’s claws. Megatron grinned like an incorrigible cur, elated to have left the other in such a bothered state.

He looked down at the plush of those dermamesh cheeks, turning the same color as his daydreams. Soft, gentle hues of pink and red. Megatron could kiss at them until the end of time, let the world and empire he’d built for himself crumble around them.

But there he’d gone and been appallingly romantic again.

“I’m sorry, Commander Strika.” Optimus said looking somewhere between brave for the sake of due respect and melting through Megatron’s servos and into the floor.

Megatron looked considerably less apologetic. He looked downright proud of himself, even.

“Well, we were sparring, if you ask me.” He chuckled, delighting in his mate’s affronted gasp.

Strika was quick to defend Optimus’ honor, intent on Megatron keeping this intelligent, responsible mech in his life for as long as she was able to see to such. If that meant acting her age while her Lord was acting half it, very well.

She was only a party mech on her off shifts, anyway.

“You outdated, carnal-wired circuit board. Take zis somevhere you aren’t parading your prize for every optic to see.”

Optimus blushed deeper at being called a ‘prize’. And by his temporary commander, no less.

“You don’t want just anybot ogling your precious little Prime vhen he’s like zis, do you?”

That did it.

Megatron bristled. Optimus could feel his plates tighten and lock, finding the decency to compose himself finally. His hands on Optimus’ low back -when had they gotten there?- flattened, as if to shield as much of him as he could from the world outside their little sparring mat.

“You are the only one taking audience.” He snarled at the tank.

Optimus always admired how Strika never buckled like most mechs did under his ferocious gaze. Like how he did when it was Ultra Magnus talking to him.

“I’m making sure jou don’t do anyving inadvisable and unbefitting out here in public.” Vacant room, or not. 

“Don’t be stupid.” Her leader chided, and Strika looked closer to punching him now, than ensuring he had a future with this darling, little idiot firetruck.

But Megatron stood firm.

“It wasn’t going in.... that... direction, obviously.” He carefully explained. Honestly unsure how the civil frame would feel about such a thing. He certainly didn’t want to imply he would have done so without his agreeing to such.

But Optimus blinked in surprise at this.

“It wasn’t?” He asked before his better sense could tell him to bite his glossa and think first.

The two war mechs startled and looked him over, then shared a look amongst themselves. In the next blink, Megatron was back to looking his wolffish and clever self again. Eyeing Optimus up and down shamelessly, despite their livid chaperone.

“I was trying to be a gentle mech-“

“Not hardly, my ‘Lord’.”

“And keep my intentions to myself, until they’d been discussed properly. Gracious, little Prime. Were you hoping for something more?”

“Megatron!” Strika had forgone formalities. They’d agreed using his title while she was beating him into stasis did feel condescending, honestly.

Optimus was torn how to answer, because yes. He definitely had been thinking it was.. headed... that.... ‘direction’.....

Oh, Spark.

Optimus stared down at his pedes like they’d done him a great disservice not choosing to run at full speed in the opposite direction. Full lips pulled into a scowl that looked rather venomous.

Megatron basked in the sight of those glowing red cheeks on his favorite mech in the infinite universe, standing there flustered and fuming at having been so free with his affections.

Well, Megatron would gladly be the first to assure him they hadn’t been misplaced, nor were they unappreciated.

“The room is yours.” He told Strika, not sparing a glance away from the pretty Prime who’d occupied much of his processing power -including the parts once dedicated to the important matters of being a faction wide leader.

He’d given up getting through a field report without staring at sleek, silver pedes walking about in the corner of his optic. Imagining them strutting over his way and offering him to come take a break from ‘working so hard’ with their company. Crossed at the knee, sat atop the edge of his desk.

“I don’t vant it.” Strika sighed, exhausted, though waiting until Megatron had carried off his ‘prize’ and found someplace secure before abandoning the misused room.

Comforted only by the memory of what she’d had Lugnut do to her on the very mat they’d gotten themselves familiar on.

Megatron, as she’d imagined, couldn’t resist a spark deep calling within himself to sling an indignant Optimus over his shoulder and march off towards his quarters like a gladiator peacocking his beaten opponent in the pits.

Optimus put up a well enough attempt at looking scandalized by it. All up until Megatron dropped him down into his awaiting arms and carried him off with a tentative palm rubbing under both his knees and back. He forgot he was supposed to be offended after that.

—————

Just wanted to write Megop kissing, y’all, I’m dying.

Some incredibly gay sketches for my Appreciation AU thing

Ambiguous Ceasefire AU

Everyone’s favorite trope- Megatron gets high in the medbay and flirts with Optimus ✨

(I cannot proof read this or I will die)

————————————-

“It’s processor damage, Ratchet-“

“No, it’s processor lag. Stop fretting, Prime. He shouldn’t of been drinking that slag with an injury like that.”

“It’s a common practice, stumpy. Decepticons do not have ze luxury of pain patches jou hoity-toity Autobots do.”

“This is peace time, Strika. He could have waited for me to get to him after he comm’ed for me! Overcharge interferes with medication.”

“Please don’t raise your voice, Ratchet. He’s likely very sensitive.”

Megatron made a pathetic noise of agreement. Though it was too great a chore to open his optics and see for himself who was yelling back and forth at one another over his helpless, prone form, he could at least summon the strength to wave his servo in a silent plea to be spared.

These bots sounded far too over involved, and Megatron just wanted to sleep…

He shifted to find his bearings and a tremor ran through him as a searing sensation nestled deep in his abdominal plate screamed at him in protest. He conceded with a hiss, falling back against the padded slab beneath him.

“Hey! Stop moving!”

Megatron flinched at the sudden shouting.

“Let him.” Said the thick accent.

“He has to learn his lesson.”

“But it’s not his fault- you said he was trying to numb the pain.”

‘Not his fault’.

If Megatron’s glossa weren’t impossibly heavy and he had a slice of a processor left to think with, he knew he’d be quite inclined to chat with the more forgiving of the three voices above him to help him make sense of things.

He liked having a sensible mech around.

“He’s an idiot, but he was also desperate, you two.”

Megatron took it back.

Sleep was clearly not an option anymore, nor was a moment’s peace of the burning hole in his tank keeping him on high alert.

Through sheer force of will -and the need to assert himself, especially as an incapacitated warlord- Megatron cracked an optic open to address the spinning room at large.

In seconds, the colliding world of colors and far too bright lights came into a hazy focus, morphing into a sight more arresting than his first view of the Iacon tower in 4 millennia.

Before him stood a stunningly vivid mech, painted in blues and reds, silvers and yellows, and peering down at him with such captivation.

Shielding him from the blinding light in his optics with his curiously cocked helm.

Or perhaps, Megatron thought, that was concern etched into his smooth features- rather unsure of how to behold the colossal mech laid before him.

Megatron had built an empire with… ‘physical persuasion’ and his dashing charisma, and this new recruit was clearly feeling out of his depths at the sight of his glorious leader. Even in the pathetic state he was in -which Megatron could tell by his aching joints.

He was simply too magnificent a mech.

“Megatron?” The young recruit spoke his name, and in an instant of clarity, as Energon rushed to Megatron’s helm -and with it, the euphoric tendrils of some unnamed emotion- Megatron realized in wonder and awe that this was no recruit he’d ever seen before- because the blue mech wasn’t one.

“….M-Megatron?”

He was a guardian sent by Primus. That was a halo above his angled helm.

“A holy architect of the AllSpark.” The helicopter murmured in a hushed voice. Lying there in worship.

“You are a messenger of Primus?”

Wide optics stared back at him.

“No- Megatron, you’re not dead.” That little billed helm shook.

“This is Cybertron.”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s dead and gone to the well of AllSparks.” Ratchet mumbled somewhere off to his side. Dialing in another boost of sensor blockers to rush Megatron’s sensor net and effectively muddle his already vacant processor further.

With the new surge of pleasure came another ping of inspiration, as Megatron’s sharp denta gleamed and curled back into the first genuine smile he’d fostered in ages.

The little angel looked at him, terrified.

“You are a messenger, here to give me strength to stand and weather these injuries to fight another day. I can feel myself returning to my full glory from just your presence here.”

“That would be the cortical patch.” Ratchet spoke again.

“You’re high. Feels good, don’t it?”

The angel began to shake his helm more frantically at Megatron’s blatant leering.

“I’m not a… a… u-um. I’m…”

“When I raise my sword again, fair Virgo,” Megatron’s rumbling vocalizer broke with the roughness of recharge attempting to take over him.

“Know that it is you I pray to victory for.”

Laughter burst throughout the little makeshift medbay as Strika heaved her vents empty. Ratchet struggled similarly.

Megatron did not mind the boisterous -frankly bothersome in this moment of rare beauty- laughter, as the angel’s blue faceplates turned kissably red all at once because of it.

Perhaps he was shy and unused to the thunderous sounds of war. The battlefield was always full of raucous mechs, and untouched by the appearance of a creation so pure and precious, did not know how to shelter one from it.

Megatron attempted to reach up and pacify the frightened thing by freckling each cheekplate with a gentle press of his lips to them, but found himself immediately knocked back by the weight of his own unresponsive limbs.

“Megatron!” The little mech reached out and grabbed his paw of a hand, barely able to grip one massive digit, squeezing for some kind of confirmation that Megatron was ok.

He was out, though. Giving in to the impressive cocktail of blockers Ratchet had calculated he’d fall victim to several minutes ago.

The laughter continued until Strika was on her knees on the floor, scrambling to string a sentence together.

“It’s processor lag…” Optimus reminded them.

———————————

Megatron had been subjected to the recording Strika had taken ten times over -or what little he could make of it over her deafening cackling. The wretched glitch.

Why he hadn’t permanently demoted her right then and there with his fusion cannon was entirely Lugnut’s fault, with his endless litany of loyalties Megatron needed to take into account.

He had to admit, while he couldn’t see most of what he and Optimus were up to by the end of Strika’s wheezing attack, he could not deny that that was his voice on the other end of the recording, promising his spark away to his former rival and crooning over him like he was the one bleeding out on a medberth.

Not that Megatron would be worried if he were…

At least their entire Earth teams hadn’t bared witness to the display, as they had when it’d been Blitzwing and Bumblebee accidentally confessing to one another. And that had been fairly explicit in its presentation, too.

So it could have been worse…

Optimus, with his flushed face, wasn’t looking at him like he shared that opinion anymore, though….

————

Actually, Optimus is gay as fuck right now and he wants to do that again please, but he doesn’t think he deserves it, you know how his insecurities are

Draw lugnut and his gf

look at the little happy couple! Lugnut made a little flower for her!