Sparks of Leadership

by Cyberfrost

Summary:

Megatron and Optimus Primal, each on his own, locate and fight for a stasis-pod, both getting knocked underground... in a cave.

Warnings to gore, mutilation, vore, dub-con.

You have been warned.

Chapter 1: 1 - The Fall

Chapter 1 – The Fall

Optimus opened his optics under complete darkness, lighting up his lanterns and looking around, slowly contemplating a crashed, very damaged, stasis-pod right besides him, and a heavy dinosaur head over his chestplate.

 

Of all the things he needed today, he sighed, lifting the head out of his chest, horrified as it rolled out, one jaw ripped apart from the other, a mess of congealed mech-fluid and coagulated plasma coming from its grossly ripped cables.

 

Had he finally managed to kill Megatron?

 

Flashing his lanterns and scanning around in the dark, Optimus adjusted his optics and finally found, at the other side of wherever he was, a purple groaning sprawled shadow, in-venting deeply.

 

Apparently not.

 

Better stand up and face the enemy on his feet.

 

After trying to stand up twice to no avail, however, he looked down his legs finding them wholly undamaged, except for the fact he couldn’t feel or move them. Running diagnostics, he found in registry that the main neural pathways controlling the lower half of his shell were fried by the blast of Megatron’s fusion canon, his twin kukris and the jetpack were avulsed away from his shell at the blast and he had no idea where it went, not to mention all automated weapon systems were rendered useless in the process as well.

 

Focusing his lanterns upwards, he couldn't measure where the ceiling of the supposed cave-in ended, which was just Prime.

 

They were stuck.

 

And he was paralysed. Defenceless. With the apparently awakening predacon. In this Primus-forsaken hole.

 

What would happen once Megatron woke up and decided it was a too good opportunity to pass? Optimus was as good as dead.

 

Not that the predacon leader would live much longer, considering the amount of fluid pooling under his severed out right arm.

 

All Optimus had to do was outlive him, and wait for his friends to send the rescue party.

 

Slagging moment the stasis pod decided to fall off orbit and reach the jungle, teetering above the ancient canopies, where Optimus happened to be closer than anyone, albeit on his own.

 

Fragging moment he had landed atop it, and the predacon leader, probably on his own as well, shot him on his back from the ground, bringing Optimus and the pod down, breaking tree branches all along the descent, finally sweeping the predacon together, both leaders falling into a mess of limbs, screams, promises of death, mech-fluid and twisted dinosaur jaws, disappearing within the lower canopies, further down, into a seemingly endless hole.

 

Think, Optimus. When the predacon awakes, you will need to reason with him on why both of you should still function.

 

------

 

I still function.

 

Pain receptors flaring through his whole shell, Megatron groaned: right now, he would rather he didn’t.

 

He had tried to transform, finding out the worst possible way he couldn’t: his systems pinged him of the impossibility, since his right forearm – his beast mode’s head – was no longer attached.

 

At least it wouldn’t ping him in flares of pain, like the rest of his shell: once he actually had a headache in both heads – beast and robot – at the same time, an experience he would rather not have to go through ever again.

 

Still resolutely immobile as he waited for the current wave of pain to dissipate, systems informing him of a 79% mech-fluid loss as his databanks re-emerged from the innermost depths of memory, Megatron slowly remembered.

 

Flashes of furry limbs, beast-head wide open taking away a faceplate, a pair of brutish hands latching one onto each maw and ripping them apart, avulsing his right forearm in the process, systems blaring alerts as he spiralled down and his precious mech-fluid flowed out freely through the main living energon-line, pulsing in waves according to his spark-frequency, sight finally fading as a pair of red optics and white, pointed canines were the last thing he saw before everything faded out.

 

--------------------

 

Fading energy levels, systems informing his charge at 48% and fluids at 94%, knowing self repair would not begin unless his charge levels were at least at 60%, Optimus in-vented deeply, catching a glimpse of movement from the predacon on the other side.

 

Megatron seemed to be remarkably whole. His main weapon was out, but there was no way of knowing if he had any other weapons stashed.

 

If.

 

Squinting, an evil little thought forming, he recalled how in every single fight, the predacon only ever had an advantage when shooting from afar: despite being taller, larger, heavier, Megatron was not experienced in close combat.

 

Which meant the safest way of avoiding his untimely death in any form, would be to scoot and remain close, at arms length of the predacon.

 

Afterall, should Megatron try anything hostile, all Optimus had to do was use his bare hands to literally claw his way into the predacon’s spark.

 

-----

 

Spark tugging painfully as he once more overrode a full system shutdown into stasis lock, Megatron knew he was risking permanent deactivation, but he couldn’t just let go, not when Primal was right there.

 

Not that he believed the maximal would just offline him right then, on the spot, but he knew Optimus would make sure his stasis-locked self would be properly arrested, taken to Cybertron, and finally judged and arrested by the Maximal Elders and Council from whom he stole the Golden Disk.

 

Which meant that either he died here in the hole, quickly, or much later, right after being returned to consciousness, judged by maximals, taken to a maximal prison, to be executed by maximal hands the same.

 

So, as long as there was a possibility of him keeping conscious, he would, to the very end.

 

Briefly diverting power to his optic system, he quickly turned them on, taking sight of the maximal sitting on the ground and staring back.

 

Shutting his optics off again as another wave of pain overcame his systems, the predacon would have sagged in defeat if he could.

 

Primal seemed to be remarkably whole, with those big, brutal hands of his intact. Under normal conditions, with his shell and full weapon systems intact, he already had a hard time every time that blasted ape came close.

 

------

 

Coming close to the predacon was no easy task: Optimus literally dragged his useless lower half across the ground with his hands, and once he came close enough to take a good look, he sat besides the downed mech and turned his lanterns on right in his faceplates.

 

------

 

Faceplates involuntarily moving into a grimace, Megatron briefly turned both optics on, being met with blinding light, that faded down to a minimum, locking sight with Optimus’ own, seeing the maximal was indeed looking quite whole.

 

“Megatron?”

 

Unable to keep them on for long, he offlined his optics once more, this time diverting power to his voicebox.

 

“Just finish what you have begun. Offline me, Primal. Show mercy and do it.”

 

Raising one optic ridge, Optimus squinted.

 

Megatron was known for having a penchant for the dramatic: except for the fusion-cannon being out, there was no other obvious damage.

 

Scooting even closer, now sitting at touching distance of the predacon by his right side, Primal took a very good look, visually scanning him for the true extent of his damage.

 

Briefly pondering if this wouldn’t be a ploy to ensure his pity so he lowered his defences and the Predacon lunged himself at him, Optimus shooed the notion down: both of them knew very well who gets to be the winner in a fistfight.

 

Well, either Megatron was exaggerating and just being his ridiculous self by asking to be offlined, or he was truly at death’s brink.

 

“Megatron.”

 

“This is my name, do not waste it, maximal.”

 

Rolling his optics and ignoring the provocation, Optimus focused on the predacon’s right arm, very slowly leaking energon from the main line, as the predacon’s optics turned back on, looking up at him, dimly, finally turning off as his voicebox clicked back on and he spoke.

 

“Optimus Primal. You have won. I cannot keep two voluntary systems online at the same time, either I speak, or I stare. I am at your full mercy. Will you offline me already, or will I have to beg?”

 

Taken aback for a click, Optimus once more stared at the predacon, groaning: a ploy or not, he couldn’t simply offline him like this, in cold-spark.

 

--------

 

Spark cold, tugging painfully, hestubbornly overrode stasis once more, realising the flares of pain were diminishing with his approaching demise, systems accusing fluid loss of 84%, as he immediately felt a jolt of electrified heat on Megatron's right arm.

 

----

 

Megatron’s right arm on his lap, Optimus finished soldering shut the leaking energon lines, checking on his subspace to see if he had any emergency supplies, finding none. No readily transferable med-grade energon. No energon cubes, not even empty ones.

 

All he had was his own mech-fluid, running in his own energon lines.

 

Pursing his lip-plates, he checked on his own charge level, (now at 47%) and his circulating fluids at 93%, for a click wondering if it would be really a bad thing to just let Megatron go, then shook his head, finally coming to a decision, reaching for his own chestplate locks.

 

-----

 

Chestplates locks manually opened, Megatron turned his optics on fully, on reflex, systems instantly starting stasis-locking protocols at the sudden waste of energy, the last thing he saw being Primal’s optics before the throes of deactivation took him over.

 

-----

 

Taken over by the painful, greedy pull of the fading spark, Optimus’ own pulsed in waves of pain: he had managed to partially lay over the predacon’s chest, dragging his unfeeling right leg between Megatron’s thighs for balance, then gripping with his right hand at the predacon’s left shoulder, closing the distance between their chestplates.

 

As he kept the other’s spark from fading with his own spark’s energy, Optimus put himself to work in an emergency transfusion.

 

He knew the risks involved in performing mech-to-mech transfusion.

 

There were the risk of viruses: since the flow was supposed to go towards the predacon, not to himself, the chance of Optimus catching anything was dim, and he knew he was completely clean.

 

The most pressing difficulty though was the very real possibility of them owning incompatible fluid systems, that could lead to rejection, but they had no other option right now: any symptoms of rejection, however, would only start showing after a full solar cycle, so…

 

Decision taken, leading his left hand inside the predacon’s plates and manually locating his secondary energon line, Optimus unplugged it, pulling its end out, doing the same to his own line.

 

Taking a long glance at his visible innards, Optimus grimaced: by the shrivelled aspect of Megatron’s energon-lines, as far as Primal could see, he couldn’t understand how the predacon managed to still remain online.

 

Holding their secondary energon line connections in his left hand, Optimus finally clicked both ends together, removing his left hand from between their plates and fully closing the distance between them, shutting his optics down, ready.

Chapter 2: 2 - Bring me online

Summary:

Too deep down to be tracked by either faction, no easy rescue on sight, and the possibility of mech-fluid rejection from the transfusion, they have little option but to find a way to cooperate.

Chapter 2 - Bring me online

Ready to offline not a moment ago, Megatron was invaded by a sudden, scorching wave of pain under his plating, as his lines slowly filled with the foreign fluid and his systems booted up, one function at a time.

 

The rippling electric shockwave almost completely subsided, slowly, having been replaced by a dull, persistent warmth, followed by the indescribable feeling that only a weighted, furry blanket could provide.

 

Furry?

 

Optics on, he stared right into the maximal’s offline optics, currently passed out cold over himself, arms flopped to both sides, loosely wrapped on each side of the predacon’s waist.

 

Squinting from underneath the maximal, Megatron weakly rose his right arm, noticing the fresh welds, then raked his optics down their bodies, zooming into their wide open chestplates and going very much still as he felt the heavy furry thigh slotted between his own.

 

Moving his left hand’s fingers, slowly, Megatron rose his hand up, lifting the maximal’s torso to be sure of what actually happened, relieved that his suspicions rang false.

 

At the sight of the two adjoined secondary energon connections, Megatron ran diagnostics, concluding his circulating fluids were at 31% now, and his energon-charge levels at 23%.

 

Not enough to start repairs, but enough to stave off deactivation for now, he pondered, stealing a glance at the other’s spark, spinning on its own axis within the confines of the maximal’s own closed sparkchamber.

 

The idea of snuffing Primal’s spark off for good, then taking all his fluids for himself (after cannibalising the maximal’s jetpacks so he could escape that dreaded hole) briefly passed the predacon’s mind, being totally forgotten the instant the maximal’s optics booted up and he opened them wide.

 

-------

 

Optics open wide, relieved to see Megatron wasn't offline, Optimus blinked, immediately powering his optics off and lowering his face down, resting his forehead against the predacon’s.

 

Megatron on his turn was deadly mute, looking around, finally clearing his voicebox and rolling his optics.

 

“A cuddly Primal in my deathbed. It must be my lucky day.”

 

Rolling his own optics now, Optimus propped himself up with both arms, staring down the still joined secondary energon lines clicked together between their chestplates, both sparkchambers closed.

 

Holding himself by his left arm now, the maximal caught his own energon line in his right hand, motioning with his optics for Megatron to mirror him.

 

Nodding, Megatron also held his own in his only hand, both unplugging one line from the other, chestplates finally closing fully, only their own optics serving as light source now, one staring at the other in the dark.

 

After a full click of uncomfortable silence, Optimus returned to a sitting position, as Megatron offlined his optics and accessed his systems readings: he still had a quite low energon pressure, despite the transfusion, and even now it warned him of emergency stasis-lock, in case he so much decided upon standing up and walking, or even sitting for small periods.

 

Which meant he was stuck where he was, unless Optimus decided to carry him around, meaning Megatron was wholly unable to flee the close grasp of the maximal’s hands, strong enough to rip his beast jaws apart.

 

At least it seemed quite obvious that Optimus did not want Megatron to go offline, to the point of having kept him alive long enough with his own spark, then fragging sharing part of his own fluids with his nemesis.

 

“My charge levels are too low to actively display my personal signature, so no easy rescue with a clear beacon for us. At least you’re no longer under immediate risk of deactivation.”

 

Megatron rolled his optics, huffing.

 

“My, thank you so much for saving me, my dearest Matrix-sent Guiding Light, my Singing Satellite. Now thanks to your transfusion, if I am lucky, in a full solar cycle I shall begin to offline again, anyway, due to rejection of your fluids, your unsavoury mug being the last thing I will remember!”

 

----------

 

Remembering, Optimus squinted, immediately strangling the predacon's neck with both hands, growling into his face.

 

“Perhaps next time I should just let you offline, then! So much for being grateful.”

 

At that, Megatron widened his optics and stalled his in-venting, left hand moving up and gripping against Primal’s, futilely trying to extricate the maximal's hands away, optics wide, unable to not stare at the bared canines, a sheen of techno-organic saliva coating them, his spark missing a click in his spark-casing at the unexpected predatory exchange.

 

Used to gloating and getting away with it from afar, the predacon was not expecting such a physical response to his provocation, so he dimmed off his own optics, hoping the maximal would just make his demise quick.

 

----------------------

 

Quickly brought back to sanity at the sight of the predacon just giving up and visibly expecting to be executed right then, Optimus stalled, then shook his head and growled, retreating his hands from the predacon’s neck.

 

As Megatron realised he would not be terminated, he minutely dimmed ON one single optic, stealing a glance at the visibly conflicted maximal: it almost didn’t look like the Optimus he knew.

 

------

 

Optimus knew he shouldn’t have done it, staring at his own hands as if they burned. He wasn't supposed to attack his defenceless enemy like this.

 

Besides, why was he expecting any kind of gratefulness from Megatron of all mechs anyway?

 

“Why?”

 

Surprised with the question, the maximal stared down at Megatron, raising one optic ridge.

 

“Why what?”

 

Megatron donned him a lopsided smirk.

 

“Why, I wager, yess. You went through the trouble of keeping your nemesis from deactivation, when you could simply have left me undergo stasis-lock, then wait it out for your certain rescue.”

 

At that, Megatron immediately rose into a sitting position, straddling the maximal’s legs, pushing him down to the ground by the middle of his chestplates, gripping against his fur with his only functional hand as his HUD warned him of critically low fluid pressure, and Optimus reflexively held his both hands with a vice grip against the predacon’s left forearm.

 

“You are very well versed in close combat tactics, Primal. I am not by any extent a wrestler, yet you did not immediately evade me, right now, as you would have under normal conditions. Were you physically whole, I would have already been flip…”

 

One last ping of low pressure filled the predacon’s systems as his vision suddenly faltered and he went limp, collapsing with his full weight over the maximal, optics going offline as Optimus finally threw to his left side, much like a sac of bolts, the straddling predacon out of his lap.

 

Optimus watched the predacon's optics flicker on and off, and cursed his nemesis for being so perceptive, sighing.

 

“Fine, Megatron. I admit! You are a fantastic shoot and you literally managed to rip away my jetpacks, frying my neural net from the lumbar struts down. We will need to work together to either escape this place on our own or survive long enough to be rescued.”

 

Now laying on his right side, the way he had been haphazardly thrown, raising himself only very slightly with his left arm from the ground, Megatron stared back, and immediately broke in full, desperate laughter.

 

--------------------

 

Laughing as if his spark depended on it to pulse, Megatron cackled, and cackled, and cackled more.

 

It explains so much, laughed Megatron in his misery.

 

They were both royally fragged.

 

Had Megatron any loyal and intelligent troops, he might count with a rescue party: his predacons who were loyal wouldn't be able to wring a rescue together, and the ones who could do, wouldn't.

 

As such, Megatron had no option but admit that Optimus was right, making sure the maximal leader remained online and shining for now, and very much willing to aid him as well.

Chapter 3: 3 - Poker Face

Summary:

Optimus and Megatron each one have their own plans for the protoform's fate.

Chapter 3 - Poker Face

 

 

“Very well. Primal. I concur with your idea of mutual collaboration. Can you reach your maximals for rescue?”

 

The question came as a surprise, sudden, interrupting the deafening silence that descended upon them once the erupting laughter had died out. Optimus shook his head.

 

“What about your predacons?”

 

The predacon snorted.

 

“Oh, my innocent Primal. I am not naive. No one will come after me, and you and I know it is true. So, I admit I depend on your good will for my rescue. You stand a better chance of being remembered than me.”

 

Megatron squinted, staring up at the maximal.

 

“Need I remind you that I once had a very loyal and capable soldier, that could and would succeed in rescuing me, but you took Dinobot from me??”

 

Optimus blinked, but before he could reply or think, the predacon continued complaining, pinching his nosebridge.

 

“In thinking my loyalties lie with the intellectual likes of Scorponok and Inferno.”

 

At that, the predacon actually lead his left hand dramatically to his forehead.

 

“Trust me, Scorponok is just a waste of energon.” he monologued “Now, strong, mad, devoted Inferno is probably the only good thing this Beast Wars gave me so far.”

 

Optimus looked quite uncomfortable, trying not to imagine the extent of Megatron's concept of a devoted good thing, staring down at the predacon leader, opening his lip-plates to speak, and the tyrant waved his hand in a negative.

 

“Do not interrupt me, blasted ape! Were I in possession of enough energon and charge, and my intact weapon systems, be very certain that instead of laying on my side staring at you, I would be using my last energies to keep a decent distant away from your brutal hands, shoot you down for good this time, then go for the pod and open it, reprogramming it and making sure the new predacon can take me away from here, and…!”

 

Optimus facepalmed. Why didn't he think on it before? The Pod was right there all the time!!!

 

As Megatron gloated, without warning, Optimus, beaming, captured the predacon's face between both hands, planting a full blown kiss in his mouthpiece, immediately turning and dragging himself towards the crashed pod.

 

Blinking in confusion, still not quite understanding what happened, Megatron slowly crept his left hand towards his lip-plates.

 

“I... what???”

 

Away from where he left the predacon, Optimus screamed that yes, Megatron was a genius, pulling himself by his hands and finally getting to the pod.

 

To the tilted, damaged, smashed, leaking pod, sitting besides what was left of the status panel, analysing it.

 

As Megatron noticed the maximal typing a few commands on the terminal, the tyrant, now furious, bellowed, snarling to the maximal who dared kiss him!

 

“Of course I am a genius, but that is not under discussion now!!! What kind of shareware do you take me for? Come back here at once!!!”

 

The predacon’s protest died off though, as Optimus hit his own forehead into the pod, repeatedly, finally shaking his head.

 

“Now that´s just Prime.” he fleeted a pained glance at Megatron, who had an optic ridge raised, questioningly. “The fall demolished the pod’s landing gear, obliterated its propulsion, and nullified its stasis mode, so the protoform lost all life-support and the spark faded. This sparkless protoform is already undergoing the first steps of self-destruction.” he sighed “It’s useless.”

 

Initially taken aback for a couple of clicks, Megatron averted his gaze, as slowly a sinister smile crept up his face, and he in-vented, going on all threes, intent in reaching the pod, systems warning him of low pressure as he gave his fourth, fifth crawl.

 

“Megatron! Your fluid levels are still low, you can’t stand moving!”

 

He rolled his optics and kept crawling, pushing his luck: as if every time Megatron had been told he couldn't do something, he had complied! All he had to do for now was keep his head closer to the ground and he would manage. Just a few crawls more... just...

 

Shaking his head, Optimus facepalmed as the predacon simply collapsed almost by his side, on his face, optics dimming low and blinking on and off in a couple of clicks.

 

“Why are you so stubborn?”

 

At that Megatron looked up, only to find Optimus immediately pulled him with both hands, holding his shoulders and bringing the predacon into a sitting position before the pod.

 

“I am not an invalid, I do not need your help!” he spat.

 

Optimus then squinted, taking both hands away from the predacon’s shoulders.

 

“Ah well, since you don’t.”

 

Immediately slumping on his back, Megatron groaned as his helmet hit the ground and he looked up at the visibly amused, smirking faceplates of Optimus Slagging Primal.

 

Vision going a dim pink but not offline at the smug sight, Megatron only slightly rose his torso, glaring up at the maximal’s folded arms and proud face for a full click, finally averting his gaze to the side.

 

“Right. I admit. I do need your help.”

 

Nodding, pleased, Optimus extended his left hand palm up to the predacon, who grimaced but took it, this time being gently pulled up towards the panel of the pod.

 

“Now, Megatron.” he made sure to hold him by his shoulders, for him not to collapse again “What is it you wanted so badly with this already self-destructing protoform, and this completely broken and useless pod?”

 

----

 

“Broken, yes. Useless, nooo.” Megatron peeked inside, optic’s oscillating between a dark pink and almost off, lifting his left hand's index to circle, pointing at the panel “One full protoform, properly converted, could ensure us both sufficient energy to restart our repair protocols and last us long enough to be able to dig ourselves out of here.”

 

Squinting, Optimus rolled the information in his systems, optics immediately growing wide, realisation creeping upon the maximal’s plates, face actually going pale.

 

“Primus forbid. You plan to ingest the protoform.”

 

“Actually, for now, preferably the energy-dense fluids on its energon lines. It’s the first part that goes stale.”

 

Optimus physically recoiled from the predacon, letting go of his grip as Megatron immediately slumped forward with optics dimmed low, hitting his forehead against the pod in a THUD.

 

Groaning, the predacon turned his two weakly dimming optics to the maximal, stating matter-of-factly.

 

“Do not think I am thrilled by the prospect, Primal. I might be a predacon but I’m not named Tarantulus." he made a visible effort to smirk "Or Dinobot.”

 

Megatron winked then, as Optimus recalled, horrified, the day Tarantulus threatened eating Cheetor, and the day Dinobot actually ate his clone, digesting Megatron’s words.

 

For now.

 

“The sooner we can leave, the less we shall have to cannibalise this protoform, Primal. It is your call however. You are the one who is most likely to be rescued and at whose mercy I will be under.”

 

---------------------------------------

 

Under the weight of apparently getting appointed by no one less than Megatron as responsible for this decision, Optimus actually pinched his nosebridge.

 

Why do all the difficult decisions have to fall in his hands??

 

“I must remind you that the longer we take to begin, the more deteriorated the protoform will get.”

 

Squinting at the predacon, Optimus tried to see if there was any sarcasm, this time finding none.

 

As such, drastically, unceremoniously, the maximal immediately pulled the protoform out of the stasis pod, literally throwing it right before Megatron’s direction, the pod’s nanite-filled liquid spraying on his face.

 

“You can have your meal. I don’t want to be part of it.” and turned his back on both the predacon and the protoform.

 

Shifting his glance between the protoform and the maximal’s back, Megatron cleaned his face up with what was left of his right arm, now turning his full focus on the protoform.

 

Taking from subspace an exquisite, ornate, quite embellished energon blade with purplish glowing predacon glyphs, Megatron gave it one long and pained glance, before angling it at the protoform’s arm with the precision of a spark surgeon holding an energon-bistoury, cutting the mesh’s layers until he reached the main energon line.

 

Half-laid on his right side like a Tarnian Emperor before the royal buffet, he produced 5 empty energon cubes from subspace and placed 4 before himself, bringing one close to the protoform’s would-be-arm, then neatly puncturing it with the blade, making sure not to waste a single droplet, manually crushing the line for it not to leak, finally storing the precious liquid once he was done.

 

Optimus, until then stealing glances at the predacon, immediately held a very surprised glare at the sight, as Megatron rose his optics.

 

“Is there something wrong, Primal?”

 

Optimus actually stuttered, blinking.

 

"You carry empty energon cubes?"

 

Megatron rolled his optics as if it was obvious, then glanced between the protoform’s arm and a still empty cube, smirking.

 

“Why, my dear Optimus Primal. Were you expecting me to drape myself languidly over the protoform like a sparkeater, biting on its neck’s main energon line, suckling and lapping its fluids directly from the source??”

 

Immediately taken aback by the colourful mental imagery Megatron had just gifted him, Optimus blinked a couple of times, shaking his head, as the predacon snorted.

 

“Could you imagine me, giving you such a spectacle? I think not!”

 

As Optimus pursed his lip-plates, quite capable of imagining, Megatron donned him a lopsided smirk, filling the 5th cube and rising it up slightly at the maximal, finally offlining his own optics and leading the border of the cube to his own lip-plates, sipping.

 

-----

 

Sipping, Megatron actually held his in-venting, the thick, sweet, deceptive taste of living, processed energon instantly reaching his sensors like a freight truck, leaving him under a full blown spell of nausea as the predacon reflexively took the cube away with a grimace, biting his own lower lip-plate.

 

-----

 

Biting his own lower lip-plate at the sight, for an entirely different reason, Optimus averted his direct glaze but observed through the corner of his optics the predacon, optics currently offline, holding is in-venting for a full click, then unexpectedly bringing the cube back and downing the rest of it at once.

 

As the tyrant placed the cube on the ground and pinched his nosebridge, Optimus couldn’t help staring at the stray glimmering energon droplet that slipped to the sides of the predacon’s lip-plate, immediately wiped out by a very slow lick, and his own empty fuel tanks instantly rumbled.

 

Immediately turning his optics on at the noise, Megatron turned to the maximal, staring with his now brightly lit cerise optics.

 

--------------

 

Cerise optics bright, system readings accusing the rapid increase in electric charge, Megatron stared at the maximal, slowly smirking at him, then taking a second cube and downing it as well, just because he could and it deeply pleased him to see the maximal stand visibly uncomfortable.

 

Afterall, he was stuck into this hole with Primal of all mechs, and he might as well have some fun: the maximal’s visibly hungry face at him chugging the second cube was too priceless to let pass.

 

Registering the evolution of his fluid levels to 52%, energon charge peaking 98%, Megatron finally managed to kickstart his own self-repairs, glad he could stall refuelling for now.

 

Afterall, there was absolutely no need for him to become overcharged before his nemesis, just to add insult to shame.

 

-----

 

Adding shame to insult, Optimus received a system ping of low charge, tanks rumbling once more into the sepulchral, pregnant silence hanging between them.

 

"Hungry, Primal?"

 

He rose the third cube up, offering it as he would a chalice.

 

"It would be very impolite of me to not insist in inviting you to the feast...."

 

Megatron, then, clearly amused at the captive audience of one he amassed, couldn’t help a smirk, making an irked face and blurting a “Yuck..!, continuing.

 

"...but living energon is... an acquired taste. "

 

Blinking twice, the maximal followed with morbid fascination the moment Megatron briefly led the cube to his mouthpiece, the purplish liquid shimmering as it almost touched the predacon’s lip-plates and the saurian finally winked, magenta optics and full smirk boring right through the maximal’s spark.

 

Once more rumbling his tanks at the sight, Optimus wasn’t sure anymore if he was angry, hungry, empty, disgusted or excited.

 

All he could think about now was asking himself how the slag could this fragger keep such a straight face, making those faces and just drinking his energon like this???

 

Optimus couldn't say he wasn’t being affected. For the moment though he was very glad he couldn't feel anything below his waist, stealing a last glance at the predacon.

 

-----

 

The predacon on his side spared a few glances, as the maximal squirmed once then twice, going stock still.

 

Analysing from a distance, looking for signals of pain or life-threatening conditions that could hinder his own rescue, Megatron, too amused to remember his own decision to quit fuelling for now, sipped the cube again, taking his time, painstakingly slowly, heat burning behind his intakes and down his fuel lines, bright-ruby optics gleaming like a beacon, as the maximal openly avoided staring at him, visibly worried out of his mind.

 

---------------------------------

 

Optimus changed his mind.

 

He was very worried he couldn't feel anything from his waist down.

 

--------

 

Down to two cubes and a half, now officially overcharged, Megatron blinked twice, placed the half-cube on the ground and tilted his head to the right, optics glowing full crimson, as his fluid levels reached 60% and his systems stopped blaring low pressure alerts.

 

Concluding he now would be able to stand up and move around without collapsing, Megatron checked on his systems just to make sure, finally turning on his ventral plates and slowly, very slowly, rose in all threes, lifting his head and standing up, holding against the stasis pod for a while, for balance, finally turning to face the maximal, now.

 

“Now, tell me, how are your charge levels, Primal?”

 

Startled at the question, mind wandering elsewhere, Optimus would have jumped if he could: quickly checking on his systems, he answered.

 

Megatron nodded, bending down on his hip-plates to get the half cube from the ground, rotating it slowly in his left hand while staring at it, then turning his dim optics to the maximal, literally promenading on his heels, step by step with saurian grace, continuing.

 

“With your energon reserves at 21%, not taking any form of nourishment is not an option, noo.”

 

The maximal rested both hands on his own lap, one holding the other, just in case, as Megatron, oblivious, knelt down besides him and brought the half cube before his face.

"Now, be a good maximal, will you? This is as fresh as it will ever get. How do you expect to remain online displaying your signature otherwise?"

 

Glaring first up into the predacon's face, then down at the cube in his hands, Optimus involuntarily rumbled his tanks at the sight of the shimmering liquid, then shook his head.

 

"I will not betray my principles on not consuming the dead, Megatron."

 

"Are you entirely sure, yess?"

 

The predacon insisted, swirling the cube right before the maximal's nose, who shook his head even more vigorously, optics minutely widening: twice more the tyrant tried getting his nemesis to drink, but Optimus easily evaded the cube by moving his face away.

 

“For pits sake, will you remain still, Primal!!”

 

Megatron grimaced, holding himself not to simply break the cube in frustration, for he had only the 5 of them, and it not bode well to destroy any for now.

 

“I am positive Primus will forgive you.” he rolled his optics up “Or whatever useless deity you deem appropriate to worship, yess.”

 

Contemplating the maximal’s miserable demeanour, Megatron in-vented, deeply and slowly: had he two functional hands, he would by now have already locked Primal’s head by his beast jaws and literally taken the cube in his good hand, making sure that stubborn ape would refuel whether he wanted it or not, and he growled, placing the cube on the ground and with his only functional hand, actually pinched his nosebridge.

 

“What is it that you require of me for you to fuel and remain online?"

Chapter 4: 4 - Interlude

Summary:

Optimus does-not-want. Megatron does, however. Warnings to mild dub-con.

Chapter 4 - Interlude

Onlining his optics, Minutely taken aback, Optimus blinked twice, mute, as Megatron met him optic-to-optic.

 

"You must have something you want. Do you want sector Alfa? Sector Zeta? Just tell it, for Primus sake, and fuel."

 

Placing his hands over his lap, he lowered his gaze down.

 

"I can't."

 

Staring up to the endless ceiling, Megatron huffed.

 

"I cannot believe you are throwing away the chance to obtain permanent access to all the energon in Sector Zeta. I am giving up on the main source of energy of my whole crew, and all you say is you can't?"

 

"Basic decency. Respect for the deactivated. Not everything is about getting territories with energon and assorted resources, Megatron." he in-vented "It goes against my principles."

 

"Well, you cannot keep principles if you are offline, nooo." he then smirked "Will I have to force you to refuel??"

 

At that, the Maximal looked up, squinting and baring his fangs.

 

"Try and I'll rip your spark casing out of you chest with a single hand. I already memorised the sequence of your locks."

 

Megatron tilted his head to the right then.

 

Interesting.

 

"How quaint." he slowly blinked "Had you really wanted me offline, it would have been easier if you had not made sure I would be alive right now. You would have your full charge, topped up. Ready to leave with my sparkchamber in tow for future trial on Cybertron."

 

He cruelly swirled the cube before the maximal's face, as Primal's pupils involuntarily cycled wide at the sight.

 

"Since you didn't allow me to offline, however, let me rephrase my question: are you entirely sure you do not want to fuel with this?"

 

"Absolutely."

 

Squinting, thought processes foggy behind his overcharged systems, quite sure he could hear the faint rumble of a tank running on fumes not belonging to himself, a slow smirk rising in his lip-plates, Megatron side glanced between Optimus, the cube, and his own only functional hand, glaring down his greatly heeled talons and wriggling his toes up and down, observing by the corner of his sight the maximal glaring.

 

Very Interesting indeed.

 

Turning his now very crimson optics to his nemesis, all furious intent and dark will, very much willing to spring into action, right now, Megatron's overcharged self made sure to put into action the magnificently evil, brilliant tiny idea he had in mind.

 

--------

 

Mind racing, intent in disappearing, Optimus suddenly froze.

 

Unceremoniously, without preamble, Megatron had just locked him in place, straddling his thighs and securing his feet claws against the maximal’s back struts, making sure he could neither move or trash around, his face looming close, as he inspected the maximal, raising an optic ridge.

 

“Optimus Primal. You're oozing guilt.”

 

Optimus groaned then in-vented, turning his optics on at maximum intensity and glowering right at the predacon’s optics, completely furious at how slagging perceptive that fragger was.

 

Immediately then, before Megatron could say anything, he gripped both hands onto the predacon’s full, sinful thighs, immediately digging his digits down, short of denting the dark mesh, looking up at him and gritting his dental plates together.

 

“Get out of my lap. Now.”

 

Squinting at the deep pressure the maximal’s heady hands and beastly fingers made on his legs, Megatron also gritted his dental plates, actually pressing both knees at each side of the maximal’s hips, finally looming even closer, smirking and whispering.

 

“Make me.”

 

Damn, stubborn, ape. He would not let Optimus, his only real chance of being rescued, stasis-lock and no longer be able to emit their coordinates to the maximals, or risk himself getting out of this mess only to stasis lock due to energon exposure or offline for good as a headless T-rex.

 

“Right. Morals, principles, whatever. Since what prevents you is your misplaced sense of guilt, allow me to take one more sin in your place, and violate the very dead for you.”

 

Megatron smirked, tilting his head to the right then turning it left, immediately downing the half-cube he still had in hand, tossing it incautiously on the ground, the maximal’s optics focusing for a click at the bouncing cube.

 

--------

 

Cube bouncing away, before Optimus could think, Megatron captured and trapped the back of the maximal’s head with his now free hand, closing the distance between their faceplates, making sure to lock his two feet behind the maximal’s unmoving and unfeeling lumbar struts, effectively preventing that stubborn ape of throwing him away by ripping his legs apart, dimming his optics low and snickering.

 

The maximal squirmed, doing his best not to click his fans on as he actually attempted to extricate that heavy, inconvenient, delectable saurian aft away from his lap, where Megatron managed to lodge himself like a scraplet: realising his attempts to grip and yank away the predacon by the lightly proto-feathered side-kibble on his legs were useless, Optimus finally opened his lip-plates to protest against it all.

 

-----

 

All protest died as Megatron took the maximal’s lip-plates fully, without shame or reservation, effectively trapping the other’s neck and face in place with his left hand.

 

Not having swallowed a single drop of the shimmering protoform’s fluid, much to Optimus' dismay, the predacon slowly pushed the living energon from his own mouthpiece into the unwilling lip-plates.

 

“Stubborn sparkling”, thought the tyrant, force-feeding the maximal with fully controlled delivery from his living energon mouthful, yanking Primal's neck upwards to make sure the energon would follow down the intakes “as Carrier would say, mummy knows best, yesss.”

 

Optimus was mortified, torn between revulsion at the forced refuelling, a sudden desire to rip apart Megatron’s spark from his torso (snuffing it off with his bare hands) and the primal urge to clasp both his own hands firmly on the predacon's aft and slide the very welcome weight over his currently unfeeling interface panel.

 

Why didn't any of his maximals find them yet?? It might have prevented this from happening!

 

This precise moment Megatron released his full weight on Optimus' hips, sliding closer to the very panel the maximal could not feel, slowly, the last drops of living energon reaching Primal's system as the tyrant's lip-plates whispered on his own.

 

“I have excess charge, Primal. I feel... magnanimous. Let me share.”

 

The predacon's glossa invaded the now intriguingly welcoming lips, the electric crackle twinging his systems, further tighteing his leg-lock with both feet behind the maximal’s aft.

 

On second thought, Optimus would rather no rescue came in right now, dimming his optics offline.

Chapter 5: 5 - Unleashed

Summary:

Unable to refuse or resist, Optimus endures, since Megatron is trying his best to keep his nemesis online by any possible means, not letting something small like full consent get in the way.

Chapter 5 - Unleashed

 

Optics dimming off, acutely aware at the way the maximal nipped his pointy canines on the luscious, purple mesh of the predacon's lower lip-plates, lapping every micron of the stray energon droplets he could take from the puncture wound, an overcharged Megatron basked in the borderline illegal feeling of having such a fine, soft, furry, warm maximal shell beneath his straddling hips, finding absoluterly nothing wrong in undulating his hip-plates and rocking painstakingly slowly back and forth, right and left, lowering and angling his face further into a vicious clash of dental plates.

 

Despite the fact the maximal leader lacks enough pointed teeth, has no hard angles and doesn't seem to use crude, dominating force as it would be more to his liking, Megatron held a smirk in face against Primal’s lip-plates, ghosting his fingertips down the maximal's neck-cables, sliding them across the furcula and finally in a single move, gripping a furry patch on his nemesis’ chestplates, rising one purposeful index finger and tapping twice, voicelessly asking for permission.

 

At that, after the first mouthfuls of energon (energon that Megatron so generously forced him to take) hit his tanks and got processed into readily available charge, Optimus was superficially brought out of the haze, crimson optics aglow, glaring intently at the predacons' own optics, nearly shivering at the invasion of that fragger's insistent, overcharged EM-field.

 

A small part of him told him that whatever was happening was wrong, so obviously Optimus truly and honestly thought about saying no.

 

Optimus could have said no.

 

Optimus should have said no.

 

His systems however had different plans and said yes.

 

-----

 

Yess, mentally approved the predacon, as with a single, clean, involuntary hydraulic hiss the maximal's spark chamber locks were overridden and the chamber was jolted upwards from his midsection, illuminating the whole place in a bright blue light.

 

Before Optimus could react and close his chestplates back, because it was wrong on so many levels to let go like this, the predacon also spontaneously opened his plates, hydraulics whirring and twisting, projecting his own sparkchamber up, as a spiked, black and silvery grey datacable, glowing eerie purple, uncoiled from before his own spark.

 

Coming from the recesses of Optimus' lower chambers, a similar yet smooth appendage, in white and red with pulsing blue biolights wormed out, their cables meeting on their own accord like snakes in a complicated dance, both ends clicking together.

 

The pure electric charge crackled between the connected energy cables, purple biolights rippling towards the blue biolight-glowing cable, undulating together in flow with the now synchronised spark-pulses, the scorching light of both exposed yet closed spark-chambers spreading around and casting the shadows of their own shells on the walls.

 

Lip-plates grazing very lightly now, face angled down for better access, Megatron's HUD registered the increase in the other's core temperature and his fans whirring in tandem with his own, as a small jolt of light in his peripheral vision interrupted his thoughts, and the predacon’s systems gave him a ping of lowering charge, reaching 43%.

 

Slowing down further, with two strong furry hands firmly holding him by his lateral hip-plates, Megatron felt the maximal pull him closer, bringing them chestplate-to-chestplate, both outer interface panels together in a slow slide-and-grind, the predacon seizing the moment to once more grapple both clawed feet behind the Primal’s aft, his only functional hand now free to return to behind the maximal’s neck.

 

Primal’s hands released the predacon’s hip-plates and slid up his waist, thumbs tracing the ventral plating and finding their way upwards at both sides of the predacon’s face, bringing them forehead-to-forehead, their two pairs of crimson, ruby optics locked together, as Megatron’s own slowly dimmed down to a very warm, persistent glow.

 

Sedately, the electric waves of energy kept flowing towards the maximal, who just received an audible ping, telling him he was at 78% charge: looking up the predacon, who raised an inquisitive optic ridge, Optimus never took his optics away from Megatron’s, speaking.

 

“My current charge is enough to start self-repairs, Megatron. You should stop now.”

 

Absently nodding, clearly not listening, the predacon never interrupted the flow, and remained resolutely immobile otherwise, until the moment stretched far more than it was supposed to, and finally Optimus brought the predacon down into a slow, chaste kiss, resting his face against Megatron’s neck, optics going offline once he started his self-repair sequence and drifted tiredly into recharge.

 

-----------------

 

Recharge eluded Megatron, current energon levels nearing 36% charge, fluids topped at 51% now, painstakingly slowly sipping from a cube, four full cubes surrounding the protoform, laying on his right side and contemplating the maximal, thinking.

 

He maintained their connection, sending the most charge he could, even after the maximal drifted into recharge, literally until his very own systems warned of dangerously low charge and forcibly disconnected themselves.

 

Which left him where he was now, refuelling to compensate and allow for his own repairs to keep going.

 

He could hardly believe he got carried away in his own idea.

 

What was supposed to really be a forced fuelling session that he indeed needed to inflict into a stubborn sparkling, as carrier always said he might one day, he recalled that if he had two working hands, he would have never needed to think on the brilliant alternative he did.

 

It had seemed like an amazing, genius idea. It was truly something that originally had absolutely no secondary intentions whatsoever, yet somehow devolved into debauchery.

 

Which would be bad enough already had it remained in lust and lasciviousness: as it happened, in a strangely intimate fashion more befitting of sparkbonded conjux, however, he couldn’t see a single good way to redeem himself in any way, so, he would do the reasonable thing.

 

He would entirely blame Optimus fragging Primal, obviously.

 

Afterall, the blame was his and he will put it whomever he wants.

 

Nodding at his own brilliance, left hand very much occupied with a cube as he was currently refuelling in his no-longer-desperate fashion, Megatron stole a glance at the current source of his problems.

 

The maximal was literally at his own left arm’s length, where the predacon had placed him, in a laying position on his left side, both hands effectively serving as pillows as Primal deeply, peacefully recharged.

 

Recalling, Megatron shook his head: that stubborn ape would rather offline than ingest the protoform’s fluids, and Megatron just knew he would not be able to maintain even the remotest semblance of civility if he had to once again force-feed the maximal like that, recalling the sharp canines nibbling on his lower lip-plates and the brutish hands in a vice grip pulling him close and...

 

Literally downing the rest of the cube as if he could swallow the memories down, Megatron instantly regretted the burn on his intakes, then grimaced and placed the empty cube aside.

 

He had absolutely no intention whatsoever of ever getting even slightly overcharged at Primal’s presence, ever again.

 

On his overcharged state, his plan had indeed looked like a great idea at the time. Restrain Primal with his legs, prevent him of evading the cube by holding the back of his neck, then with the protoform’s fluids secure in his mouthpiece, make sure that unruly sparkling would feed.

 

Now his charge was normal, Megatron knew how unwise he had been: he went full on stupid with a moronic idea that seemed great at the moment, got carried away and...

 

...and it was because of this, from now on, that Megatron decided he would only ever accept sharing charge with Optimus fragging Primal if both were lucid and in full possession of their mental faculties, keeping a respectable distance, exclusively through his main spiked data-cable that rested coiled around his own spark: every cybertronian had at least one such main datacable, to allow for fast, efficient, impersonal data and charge transfers.

 

He absolutely would not make a habit of straddling furry legs and warm hip-plates out there, to the point of leaking from inside his own plating: that had been a one-time occurrence he had no intention of ever repeating.

 

Afterall, he was not a cheap piece of shareware.

 

Noooo.

 

He was a very luxurious, very exclusive, very noble, very expensive piece of shareware.

 

Glumly offlining his optics, missing his own personal CR-bath, he turned to recharge, facing the maximal leader, mentally accepting, resigned, he would be the only one to fuel on any resources from the protoform, no matter how distasteful the experience was.

 

The holier-than-thou, sanctimonious attitude of Optimus Primal at the same time infuriated and exasperated him to no end, and to make things worse, Megatron still had to keep Optimus properly recharged, and functional at all times for him to finally send a message requesting help (either by direct comm or by flaring his maximal signature to the stratosphere) for the maximals to come to the rescue.

 

Who knows, Primal might even vouch for him to receive a quick death or even a lighter sentence once he was taken back to Cybertron in a silver plater to the maximal elders.

 

Resigned and wet, completely unable to do anything about it, Megatron finally offlined his optics and was quickly taken into restless slumber.

Chapter 6: 6 - Going ahead

Summary:

Megatron feels like slag, both agree neither should get overcharged anytime soon, Primal finally fuels of his own volition, and the predacon gives his blade away.

Chapter 6 – Going ahead

Slumber having taken him over, Optimus blinked his optics to life in the darkness, suddenly, immediately sitting and searching with his lanterns at all the far away unseen corners of the cave-in they were into, for a single moment worried he had been left behind.

 

Finally, staring down at his left, slotted at very close distance, only less than half his arm away, he found the predacon side-laying and curled up like a protoform, left arm stashed against his own chestplate, hand curled and loosely closed, gripping at nowhere before his neck, optics offline.

 

Holding his in-venting and recalling, he lead both hands to his own face, shaking his head.

 

What the frag had happened.

 

Or not happened, which was a relief in itself, he mused as he received a ping from his very locked underplating, that he dutifully overrode.

 

Wait.

 

Checking on his systems, he found the inner repairs of the neural net in his lumbar struts were just beginning, nociception being the first element restored, allowing for him to know that he had to be indeed grateful he was totally paralysed the slagging moment an overcharged Megatron of all mechs decided his lap was a very good place to slot himself over and grind.

He was a Scientist, for Primus sake. He didn’t know how to handle that kind of overcharged interaction. He was a full-on nerd. Out of academy. With a degree. In Organic Sciences. Meant to catalogue and explore organic worlds. Which just happened to be the Axalon’s main mission for himself and his crew. Before they had been diverted to arrest the rogue predacons and ended up in this foreign, wild planet and its two moons.

 

Not that he was completely innocent on the issue, but certainly he didn’t have much luck back then… neither now, apparently.

 

Smirking sadly, repairs underway, yet still unable to walk, he pondered hard and long on everything, finally taking a decision, leading his right hand towards Megatron’s left shoulder, calling.

 

----------------------------

 

Called out of a flux, Megatron jolted awake, fully alert, optics aglow and grimacing, looking like he had seen an Empty looming, taking some time to come to terms to reality.

 

“Megatron. It’s all right. It’s just me. There’s no threat.”

 

Shifting a side glance at his left shoulderplate, finding the heavy weight of Optimus’ grounding hand on his plating, he returned his optics to the maximal, staring with an unreadable expression.

 

“I do not suppose you are already able to walk, right?”

 

Megatron finally asked, trying to remain sane, after the most uncomfortable click ever passed between them, Optimus’ hand still burning on his shoulder.

 

Primal shook his head and the predacon cursed then groaned, turning to get his hand at the nearest full cube, intent in going back to refuelling, only to have his left hand gripped by the maximal’s both hands.

 

“You don’t have to do that.”

 

Megatron grimaced.

 

“It has been over one and a half solar cycle now, there is no way out that we know of, except up, the pod’s landing gear and engines are toast thanks to me, you do not have your jetpacks anymore, thanks to me as well, I know, and you are acting like a selfish, stubborn sparkling and will not fragging have a slagging CUBE to save your own life if needed!!!”

 

He glared back at the maximal sitting before him, hands still holding his own.

 

“So, I do have do it, dutifully I shall add, and I intend to chew on the whole protoform if needed, no matter how much I will hate it, for me to give you my charge, so you can get the most repaired possible, and finally send a frigging beacon signal or even a slagging message for your maximals to finally come to rescue you, their beloved leader!”

 

Still not letting Megatron’s hand go, Optimus rolled his optics, the predacon still furious and ranting.

 

“Yess, because obviously as I said very clearly before, no one will come for me. I have to leave and return on my own, or count on your good will and pity, both terrible prospects I currently loathe, just so you know, but unlike you, I do not deny reality. It is ugly, it is out there to offline us, and I will do whatever it takes to survive, then thrive and finally trample all those mechs who once dared think I would amount to nothing, ever!!”

 

Grimacing at nowhere, the predacon in-vented, ready to blurt another cascade of complaints, immediately going mute as Optimus let go of his hand and placed both hands, one on each of Megatron’s shoulders, boring right through his optics.

 

“You’re right. I’ve been selfish. Give me a cube.”

 

“Of course I am right, I am alw… I beg your pardon??”

 

Squinting, the predacon glared at the maximal.

 

“Yes, Megatron, you’re right. Just hand me one cube. It’s too soon for you to get overcharged again.”

 

Averting his optics for a click, Megatron knew: he hadn't even been that overcharged, and he remembered everything in details he would rather not.

 

“I’m positive I’ll get a faster and stronger charge, taking it directly from the cubes, instead of you sacrificing your charge via cable to me.”

 

Returning his gaze to the maximal, briefly recalling it hadn't exactly been a sacrifice, Megatron shooed the notion away and caught the nearest full-cube, offering it to him.

 

“Make sure to not get overcharged, Primal.”

 

Please.

 

This time it was Optimus who remembered, just nodding silently at his interlocutor: it would be better for their situation if there had been no reprise, he pondered, as Megatron, expression unreadable, finally handed him the cube he had just been slowly rotating in his hand.

 

-----------------

 

An empty cube rotated slowly in a furry hand, as another three cubes rested empty haphazardly spread around him and Optimus hiccuped, back resting against Megatron’s back, the predacon currently pinching his nosebridge, optics off, visibly suffering.

 

“Just between us, Megatron. I was expecting it to be worse.”

 

Megatron groaned, flares of neural-net pain blaring at the slightest sound. Optimus, remarkably unaffected, kept talking.

 

“It tastes terrible, and the source is disgusting, I'll give that to you, but it doesn’t seem to deliver that much of a punch. I honestly don’t know why you get that affected. I took four full cubes and I’m feeling Prime!”

 

Why can’t Optimus just keep quiet? Apparently the maximal is one of those mechs who get overcharged and becomes philosophical, talkative and even more friendly.

 

“Not my fault that you, as an early anthropoid, practically human, can metabolise the fluid’s high density of energy better than me, an extinct saurian.”

 

Optimus pondered for a while, then nodded.

 

“That actually makes sense. Must have something to do with the fact that gymnosperms were not around until after T-Rexes went extinct, as such, the saurian liver probably can’t handle the heavier products of digestion by fermentation. I imagine the primate liver probably is a master in detoxing poisons of all kinds.”

 

As Optimus pondered, blissful silence reigned between them for a couple of clicks, and Megatron slowly turned his optics on, a smile in plates, at the reprieve.

 

“I can give a try at reattaching your dinosaur head. I don’t guarantee it will work, either as a head or a weapon, but maybe if it’s reattached, your repair protocols might be able to recover function enough for you to transform.”

 

Megatron grimaced, then actually buried his head between his knees. It was too early for that. Or too late. He no longer knew.

 

“If I had the head on, by now I’d be suffering this post-overcharge processor-ache in them both. I’m actually glad it’s out for the moment, Primal. Now, be a good sparkling and let me suffer in silence, yesss.”

 

Rolling his optics, Optimus smirked: now there was the drama queen he knew.

 

“We could invert the situation. What if I refuel on the protoform, then give you the charge as you need?”

 

Megatron snorted.

 

“Ah, yess, the self-sacrificing Optimus I know. Now the world is looking right again.”

 

Optimus rolled his optics, using his hands to turn around and drag himself to stay right by Megatron’s right side: he was already recovering some feeling in his thighs, no movement however, and he took the predacon’s right arm, inspecting it briefly: he could indeed give the reattachment a try.

 

-----

 

Trying his best not to mourn his currently quite mangled beast-head, Megatron lifted her from the ground with his left hand, observing her lower jaw slowly rotating on an axis, hung attached only by a piece of techno-organic skin mesh.

 

Grimacing at the twisted mandible lacking most teeth and the popped out beast eye hanging from the left socket, Megatron contemplated the deep gashes currently marring both halves of his beast-head’s snout where that brute gripped with his fingers, the pooled gelled energon mixed with the deteriorating techno-organic plasma falling in chunks on the ground.

 

He honestly doubted the maximal could fix that level of mess, without appropriate tools, but Optimus insisted in trying, since, in his own words, it was his fault.

 

Not that Megatron had anything better to do, while he waited the final deadline when he would certainly start rejecting Primal’s transfused mech-fluid in his lines, finally plummeting into demise.

 

Turning on his heels, resignedly returning to the sitting maximal with the head, the predacon unceremoniously deposed it over Optimus’ lap in a swooshing noise, finally sitting cross-legged before him.

 

“Besides that emergency welder, Primal, what tools do you have in subspace to accomplish your intended miracle?”

 

Optimus contemplated his own artwork, right now wishing he hadn’t been so destructive, producing the welder from subspace, followed by a wrench, and a universal screwdriver.

 

“I’m afraid I have nothing to cut through mesh and metal, because I usually would use one of my kukris, but I saw you using that energon knife to open the protoform’s lines earlier.”

 

At the mention, Megatron stalled for a click, squinting.

 

“You mean my heirloom, hand-crafted, embellished, ornate, bejewelled predacon-branded Ceremonial Energon Blade.”

 

Optimus rolled his optics.

 

"Yes, precisely, that cute glittery knife you own Primus knows why."

 

He extended his hand towards the predacon, silently demanding the blade, as Megatron stood very still, visibly thinking, then in-venting deeply, produced the blade from subspace, coyly averted his gaze and powered both optics down, finally switching the energon blade towards himself and turning the handle to the maximal, instead of just plain placing it in his hands.

Optimus analysed the situation for a full-click, puzzled, as Megatron remained absolutely immobile and silent, simply offering it.

 

After a click too long, Optimus finally took the blade from the predacon's hand, once more looking up and down at the predacon leader, then focusing on the fancy knife, no, Ceremonial Energon Blade, rotating and turning it slowly, attentive at every detail.

 

It was visibly handcrafted, had a shape meant to cut and perforate, its handle was heavy and adorned with manually lapidated amethysts, had a good grip in his hand, and had something written in predacon glyphs.

 

“To the Victor, the Spoils”.

 

Optimus read it out loud, a raised an optic ridge, an unspoken question in the air.

 

“It is a predacon ritual blade.” Megatron said as he dimmed his optics even lower, not once staring back at the maximal.

 

“I can see it.” Optimus turned it again on his hands, clearly puzzled “I don’t suppose you ever plan to tell its story, will you?”

 

At that Megatron rose his optics, turning them on bright, as Optimus squinted in annoyance, and the predacon finally extended him the stump of his right arm.

 

“If you are deserving, yess.” Megatron held a smirk in his faceplates “Surprise me.”

 

-------

 

Surprised by the precision and the weight of the blade, Optimus improvised the basic repairs, cutting damaged wiring out and welding the good ends together, doing the best he could to attach the mechanical parts of the dino-head in a semblance of what it had one day looked like.

 

Megatron, watching the repairs underway, many times stared back at his blade, deftly used at him, although not the way it was supposed to, quite glad the sensory net in his stump was fried and that all he could feel for now was the pressure of the manipulation and the painless heat of the welder.

 

On his side, Optimus was glad for having something to do, mentally calculating how much time they had before Megatron had any transfusion rejection symptoms, very much aware that the only way to solve the problem if it rose, would be the full replacement of the predacon’s whole fluid system by med-grade energon in his main lines, something that would be impossible to do down this hole.

 

Trying not to think on the deadline looming, Optimus managed to link the main neural cable of the dino-head, hoping inner repairs would render the head minimally useful in beast mode, with at least the optic system going. They were currently too far down to be affected by the planet’s surface energon, but once they managed to start coming up, Megatron would be soon under stasis-lock without being able to revert to beast.

 

“What's the purpose of this ritual blade?”

 

The question came in a sudden, as Megatron jolted out of his thoughts and stared ahead, squinting, and the maximal continued.

 

“I mean, you had it all along, could have used it to surprise-attack me with it many times in the past. A single stab would have certainly hindered many of my close combat techniques.”

 

Optimus never removed his optics from the lines he was welding together while Megatron remained mute, listening to the maximal’s digression.

 

“Yet, you didn’t.”

 

“It is not a weapon. It is not meant to stab you, maximal.”

 

Optimus briefly rose his optics to the predacon.

 

“What’s it for then, if you aren't stabbing me, and I presume this is not meant to stab you as well?”

 

Megatron snickered. Nice analogy.

“Persistent today, yess?” he dimmed his optics low, in a lopsided smirk.

 

One optic ridge raised now, curiosity heavily picked, Optimus also squinted.

 

Megatron, tilting his head to the left, rose his chin up.

 

“For now it suffices to say it is a culture thing that has to be earned.”

 

Megatron then caught one half-full cube from the ground with his good hand, bringing it up to his plates and taking a tiny sip, intent in keeping a steady fuelling rhythm that would not bring overcharge, as Optimus rolled the information in his systems, deciding not to push the subject for now, wordlessly returning to the task currently at hand.

 

-----

 

Hand currently holding the welder in low temperature, Megatron kept it firm as Optimus tried to untwist the lower mandible of his beast hand, without breaking it: heat was making the techno-organic bony structure malleable enough to be slightly reshaped back to default, and Megatron was actually turning out surprised by the results.

 

Obviously, if he even managed to transform, he would be an Empty-fied version of himself, with skin slouching of, half-blind, probably drooling and unable to swallow his own organic saliva down, teeth lacking, in all likelihood mute as well.

 

The moment the fluid rejection set in, his body would restart slowly shutting down, the organic parts certainly would deteriorate first, and from this moment on he could practically count himself already gone, just waiting for the Well to open up and engulf his spark back to the Pit.

 

Detachedly seeing Optimus from time to time interrupt the work briefly to down generous gulps of the protoform’s main line fluids, he mentally calculated that at his rhythm of ingestion, by the next cycle there would be no more energy-dense fluids left, which would lead them to the next stage, true cannibalisation of parts.

 

As he mentally reviewed the best sequence of usable items in the protoform, he made a mental note to self to subspace its T-cog.

 

T-cogs could only be generated during the creation of the protoform at the hotspot or by its carrier in its early stages, and once a mech loses the T-cog, it’s not replaceable, unless by another, and there are no factories, which basically meant it is quite handy to have a spare one, lest a mech might never be able to transform again.

 

“Right, Megatron. This is my best possible result.”

 

Jolted out of his thoughts, Megatron blinked, looking down his reattached beast head. She felt heavy, lifeless, did not interact in any way, like it used to, chirping, clicking, cooing and staring back. He led his left hand towards the feathery nook behind the avulsed left eye, scratching it and getting no reaction, pursing his lip-plates.

“Now we need to power the head back.”

 

Raising an optic ridge as he still absently caressed the beast head, Megatron squinted as Optimus tapped twice over his own chestplate.

 

“I have topped my charge. Let’s just be done with it.”

 

Nodding, remembering, the predacon offlined his optics and undid his locks, Megatron’s coiled, spiked, armoured datacable unspooling from around his sparkchamber, slowly, as the maximal held his in-venting, powered his optics off and was very glad they were sitting apart at a proper distance this time, opening his own plating and sending the red and blue, biolight-glowing, smooth appendage towards its counterpart, resting both hands over his own knees.

 

------

 

Knees going weak as the charge that entered his systems was immediately diverted to the head currently nested on his own lap, Megatron never saw the moment he slumped ahead over it, optics off, neck bent forward, electric charge crackling and arching through the techno-organic mesh, as Optimus made sure to hold the predacon by his shoulderplates so he wouldn’t damage the partially repaired appendage, bracing himself and sending all at once the 80% charge he could spare in one single jolt.

 

Vision going dim, he barely heard the moment a bestial growl filled his audials, futilely employing all his power to not go offline, as a single, yellow-red eye blinked awake in the dark.

Chapter 7: 7 - Bladerunner

Summary:

Megatron's beast head functions, he refuses receiving the ceremonial blade back, and Optimus puts his hands to good use towards getting them out and away.

Chapter 7 - Bladerunner

Blinking awake, Megatron groaned, a double headache exploding on his systems.

 

Knowing what it meant, he very dimly turned his optics on, leading his left hand to the beast’s snout, taking sight of the empty left socket, then turning it around to meet its only good eye, the right one, immediately letting go a genuine smile as the head blinked slowly, managing only to emit a purring click, bunting his left hand.

 

Optimus, very quietly observing the exchange, exhausted, ran his hands lightly over his thighs, confirming he could finally move them, having regained feeling of his legs, but not the movement down his knees and feet, yet.

 

So, slowly lifting himself from the ground on his knees and walking on them towards the protoform, sitting before it and taking Megatron’s ceremonial blade from subspace, OPtimus refilled the five empty cubes, closely observed by the visibly amused predacon, who absently caressed and comforted his beast head, optics dimmed low, a positive ping in his systems.

 

A sudden chirp from the head alerted Optimus, who turned to the predacon, currently holding an unreadable stare at him, fleeting a quick glance towards the maximal’s right hand holding the blade and donning him an extremely pleased smile.

 

Squinting, Optimus followed the predacon’s optics, realisation hitting him.

 

“Oh. Sorry. You must be wanting the blade back, since it’s heirloom and everything.”

 

Megatron rose his left hand up then.

 

“Keep it.” he stood up “It has been earned already, yesss.”

 

Walking closer, Megatron bent down his waist to gather only one cube, sitting besides the maximal and placing the cube on the ground at the beast-head’s reach, as Optimus could do nothing but stare.

 

He asked himself what frigging game could Megatron be playing. First the blade is immensely valued, then suddenly he earned it?

 

“Right, Megatron. What is the catch???”

 

He squinted, watching the still quite damaged beast head lead its ill-coordinated organic tongue towards the simmering liquid, touching it as Megatron’s robot face grimaced, momentarily nauseated, steeling himself while the head slowly lapped the energon, finally speaking.

 

“There is no catch, Primal.”

 

Optimus rolled the information in his systems and the predacon caught the cube that his hand-head was lapping, setting it away and motioning a silent no with his left index finger at her, as the head rolled her good eye and closed it, going inert with Megatron patting it twice, finally talking back to the maximal.

 

“You now own the blade. It is yours.”

 

Megatron then lifted the energon cube he took from the beast head, placing it directly on Primal’s hands, offlined his optics and rested his back against the wall, quickly undergoing recharge, the beast-head’s repair protocols kicking in.

 

-------------------------

 

Kicking dust, Optimus, finally able to walk, although still having flares of weakness on his knees, made sure to explore the cave-in where they had fallen, actually surprised it was not a true cave as they presumed, but apparently part of a system of tunnels.

 

Having located what appears to be a semi-collapsed rocky pathway, he made sure to transform to beast and use his hands to literally remove and hurl the obstructing stones away.

 

He had to find a way of bringing them both either out of here, or at least far up enough to the surface for his signature to be adequately broadcasted: now after two solar cycles without being found, he was sure they were too deep down to be located and rescued, and he had no intention of becoming a fossil for the future generations.

 

He could have summoned Megatron to help, but the predacon was certainly under a deep repair cycle now that his beast head was reattached, and Optimus knew the most recovered the tyrant was, the better their chances of survival.

 

Besides, he needed to be alone for a while: there was a pressing matter down under to be dealt with, and he used the last of the protoform’s stasis liquid to properly clean up his underplating’s leftover fluids, before it became even nastier and started to reek.

 

Afterall, apparently, Megatron’s beast head had an independent sensorial system also functional during robot mode: now that the head was attached, it, no, she might capture residual odours of deteriorating materials, and Optimus had shame enough for the next million years already.

 

-----------------

 

Already up, Megatron came back to function in time to witness the maximal hurling stones and apparently opening a pathway for them to escape. Making sure his beast-hand would remain quiet and silent, he slowly left to the other direction, the farthest possible from Optimus for now, towards the downed stasis pod and the deteriorating protoform.

 

Confirming his predictions that the maximal had finished consuming the mech-fluid from within the protoform’s main energon lines, he briefly pondered about cutting through the protoform’s mesh to gather the T-Cog, searching for his blade in subspace for a click, then widening his optics and facepalming.

 

He had given his blade away.

 

Now he had nothing with which to cut through the mesh without damaging delicate structures.

 

It’s not like Megatron couldn’t ask to borrow it back, but it wasn’t proper: carrier was probably rolling on his entombed spark-casing by now, with all the mess he did already with his life.

 

Regretting there was not enough stasis liquid for him to soak and have any semblance of a proper, cleansing bath, he resigned himself to his misery, recalling the instant he came back online with a wave of dizziness and nausea, suppressing his will to retch and purge on empty tanks.

 

The first signals of foreign fluid rejection were setting, and he had in the most one solar cycle to get to any form of help, before it would be too late.

 

Fleeting a glance at where the maximal was, decision taken, Megatron in-vented, opened and closed his beast-jaws, captured the protoform between its remaining teeth, and transformed to his zombiefied version, charging.

 

---------------------------

 

Charging out of the way, Optimus barely had time to avoid the barrelling T-Rex that went head on at the boulder he had been trying to dislodge: Megatron screeched a beastly growl as his bent lower jaw crushed the techno-organic tongue, and for once the tyrant was glad Primal had avulsed so many of his teeth, otherwise he might have lost the tongue then.

 

Releasing the protoform down, slobbering, groaning and unable of intelligible speech in this form, Megatron shook his head, saliva flying everywhere, the half-avulsed organic mesh hanging in patches from his neck: Optimus, wide-eyed, observed Megatron point with his snout at the protoform, then motion up at his own back, and finally stare at the now dislodged boulder.

 

Getting the message across, Optimus placed the protoform on the saurian’s back, walking ahead of the predacon towards the dark, down the long tunnel, guiding the way.

Chapter 8: 8 - Cabin Fever

Summary:

Optimus is sorry, Megatron is too feverish to care.

Chapter 8 - Cabin Fever

All the way up the long tunnel, walking side by side silently, Optimus observed with the corner of his beast eyes Megatron’s continuous dribbling of saliva, the saurian having on occasion stopped to purge the greenish digestive fluids of his beast mode’s empty stomach, very aware these were the first symptoms of fluid incompatibility.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Megatron, who had just finished retching, turned his only good eye at the maximal and shrieked a cry something in between a crocodile’s growl and a distressed chicken, flickering his tiny arms for emphasis.

 

“I know I shouldn’t have to apologise for the transfusion rejection symptoms. But I still feel guilty.”

 

Rolling his remaining eye, Megatron kept walking, growling low and stomping, the protoform bouncing up and down on his back.

 

“I mean, you wouldn’t have symptoms if I hadn’t done it, but then, you’d not have any more symptoms, because you’d be dead.”

 

At that Megatron stalled, throwing the protoform on the ground with a sloshing noise and immediately transforming, pointing a finger at the gorilla’s nose.

 

“I still have a double headache. Do not make me wish I would rather be deactivated.”

 

Also transforming and raising both hands up, Optimus actually gave a step back, and this time Megatron grimaced then glared down at the protoform.

 

“I strongly suggest you portion the mesh and distribute it into the 5 empty energon cubes, and then we should make a conscious effort to ingest whatever is left before it gets worse.”

 

Optimus fleeted a glance at the visibly greyed out protoform, points of rust setting at its extremities, sighing.

 

“Why does it have to be me?? It’s your idea, I don't even know how to… portion a protoform!”

 

Squinting at the maximal’s visibly disgusted face, Megatron smirked.

 

“Oh, my good Primal. It has to be you, yess. I have nothing with which to cut it in pieces.”

 

Immediately unsubspacing it, Optimus extended Megatron the blade, as the predacon stepped back from it.

 

“I think not. It is yours.”

 

Rolling his optics, he offered it again.

 

“By no means. Do borrow it, then.”

 

Megatron then shook his head, instantly going dizzy and holding against the tunnel’s wall, Optimus instinctively releasing the blade down to the ground and reaching for the predacon’s left arm, bringing him into a sitting position on the ground, a visibly pained glare in his faceplates.

 

Before he could say another sorry, however, Megatron looked directly into the maximal’s optics, grimacing.

 

“I do not want it back. Just go to the protoform, cut the least deteriorated parts and seal them in the cubes for now. Now let me purge in peace, will you??”

 

Optimus sighed, looking away from the retching sound, feeling very guilty, finally taking the blade from the ground, holding it firmly and heading to their next meal, just like he had been asked.

 

----------------------------

 

“Did I ask for this kind of meal?”

 

Optimus in-vented, offering the visibly sick predacon the cube full with extremely small bits of mesh.

 

“It's the only kind available, Megatron. Besides, you never told me how to prepare a protoform in the first place.”

 

Megatron groaned, leading his left hand to cover his lip-plates, as Optimus squinted, shaking once the sloshing minced bits leading the container before the predacon’s face.

 

“Please, don’t make me have to force-fuel you, Megatron.”

 

The tyrant immediately stalled at that, recalling the way he himself had force-fuelled the maximal, mind racing for a full uncomfortable click, as Optimus gave him a genuine, friendly smile, wriggling the fingers in his left hand before him.

 

“I mean, I have two fully functional hands.”

 

For a full click Megatron glowered, mind elsewhere recalling flashes of these same brutal hands gripping his thighs, pulling him close by the hip-plates, moving up his back and pulling him down…

 

...blinking back to the present, the tyrant took the cube harshly in hands and without further ado, downed a mouthful of minced mesh, grimacing and chewing, as Optimus nodded at nowhere, smiling, and caught one other cube with equally minced protoform, joining him.

 

--------

 

Joined pieces of the predacon's own beast-mode’s flesh had started to heal, forming a crust of organic plasma that would certainly scar, if he lived long enough, glumly mused Optimus, stealing a glance at the currently pale purple in Megatron's faceplates, curled into the maximal's right side, head resting on the his right shoulder.

 

Making sure to hold the predacon still, Optimus shared his charge, literally topping the predacon’s energy levels through their main datacables, both chestplates open, as the maximal leader was silently munching on cube-fulls of minced protoform, right arm holding the predacon's waist in a tight grip, keeping him close as he remembered.

 

After taking the first gulp, the minced protoform meal didn’t stay down Megatron’s tanks, coming as it went, back into the very cube it had just left, and the predacon made a visible effort not to throw the cube away and break it, steeling himself and just giving it back into Primal’s hands, offlining his optics, HUD warning of an abnormally increased body temperature, the second set of symptoms of fluid rejection kicking in.

 

“It is all your fault. All yours. And you know it, Primal, yess.”

 

Optimus rolled his optics, preparing himself for the avalanche of complaints that was brewing. Again.

 

“I am certain you planned this thoroughly, my dear, evil Primal.”

 

Tired, Optimus simply nodded along, agreeing.

 

“So I did. Did I?”

 

The predacon nodded weakly, doing a very serious face.

 

“Most certainly, yess, you did. You planned to get to this pod and trap us down this hole so you could first doom me, then save me, by transfusing me your fluids, knowing I would suffer from incompatible fluid rejection, so then you could continuously keep preventing me of deactivating, in order to convince me to see the error in my ways and join the maximals.”

 

Optimus pinched his nosebridge.

 

“No, that looks like something you’d have plotted, Megatron. I recall very well the day you trapped me in beast mode and tried to convince me to join your side.”

 

Onlining his optics dimly, Megatron slotted his forehead at the crook of the maximal’s neck.

 

“And what a glorious predacon you would have been, a dark and gloomy silverback, sporting the richest of purples and blacks, a true Nemesis Primal, yesss indeed.”

 

Stalling, frozen, reactionless, very taken aback, Optimus shifted his optics lethargically towards the predacon, finally placing his left hand extremely slowly at Megatron’s burning forehead.

 

“You’re delirious with fever, Megatron.”

 

Nodding, the predacon literally nuzzled his face at the maximal’s audials, whispering.

 

“Feverish, yess. Delirious? I think not. My lucubrations are as impressive and lucid as always, I caught on your full strategy already, yesss.” he briefly looked Optimus in the optic and winked “Very well, first, you trapped us down this hole, making sure to nearly offline me, with the sole purpose of saving my life and having me indebted to you, to the point of making me give away my ceremonial blade, then you proceeded into guaranteeing I would still function, so that now I must slowly wallow in anguish and torment, miserable and wretched, expelling fluids from almost every single orifices, every click inching closer and closer to my demise, for you to finally have the excuse of having me weak, debilitated and assailable, forcibly close to you, cable to cable, chestplate to chestplate, completely at your mercy, solely for your satisfaction, ready to be taken and pinned by these brutish hands of yours, wet, ravished, debauched and fully, repeatedly pounded against this very ground until I am properly filled with a whole different kind of your fluids, yess, just like this.”

 

Optimus for a click could actually visualise the full scenario he made sure to dismiss, told himself three times the predacon was not in his right mind and nothing he said or did was supposed to count, overrode his array’s ping twice in a row, activated his full plating locks and actually facepalmed, offlining his optics.

“For the last time, Megatron, I don’t have any hidden agenda, I have no plots at all, good or evil, Primus knows I’m just trying to keep you functional until we leave here or get rescued, I’m aware you’re feeling like slag and actually sick because of the transfusion, and to prove I have no ill intent, all I’m sharing is pure charge through the charge datacables. As you can see, we aren’t even chestplate to chestplate.

 

Listening to the prelection, squinting and leading his index at his lower lip-plates, Megatron had an epiphany.

 

"How unobservant of mine. We are truly not chestplate to chestplate, nooo."

 

Optimus nodded and sighed in relief for a click, as the predacon, thoughts foggy with fever, vaguely recalling he promised himself not to straddle anymore these furry, thick thighs, mentally shrugged and did precisely that, in one single move, much to the maximal's chagrin.

 

"I suppose we must rectify that grave mistake, yessss."

 

Now truly chestplate-to-chestplate, Megatron immediately made himself comfortable in the maximal's lap, then slid closer, faceplates now touching, lip-plates grazing, data and charge cabling hanging connected between both chestplates, biolight-glowing from the maximal to the predacon.

 

Primus help me, stalled Optimus, both hands in the air, avoiding to touch any part of anatomy he might regret later, as he stared deep into the tyrant’s visibly amused optics, finally in-venting and steeling himself.

 

“Megatron. Don’t you see you’re ill with high fever? Why don’t you check on how hot you are now!?”

 

Squinting and smirking maliciously, the predacon actually purred against the maximal’s lip-plates, a full body electric current travelling right to where the maximal didn’t want to.

 

“Oh, sweet Primal. I have no need of checking. I am aware I am very hot and bothered right now, yesss.”

 

Having deeply regretted his choice of wording and mustering all the mental strength he could not to do anything untoward, Optimus in-vented, taking his two hands from the air and moving them to the predacon’s visibly feverish, purplish-crimson faceplates, bringing the predacon’s face just slightly away from his own, and staring right at the red-pinkish optics.

 

“Megatron, listen to me. You’re ill. You don’t know what you’re saying or doing, even if you think you do. Although it pains me to say so, Primus knows how much, I have to tell you, a firm and difficult no.”

 

The predacon downed his optics and actually pouted, as Optimus sighed and continued.

 

“Not like this. Not right now. Not down here. In this frigging hole. With you damaged and ill and unable to properly consent. Right?”

 

Tilting his head to the left, the feverish predacon slowly processed these words, a sudden ping of complete charge flooding his systems, repair protocols kicking in full, finally his optics offlining of their own accord as he slumped ahead.

 

The moment the predacon actually went under recharge, Optimus disconnected themselves, rolling him to the side, very quickly closing both chestplates: once he was sure Megatron wouldn’t move, he hastily stood up, leaving the premises to explore the corridor, cursing himself and his stupid set of morals.

 

He had to find their way out, he mused, more determined than ever.

 

-----

 

Determined to never ever let Primal know he was not that far gone, although he was certain he only spoke those things under the fog of fever, just awoken, Megatron, already beyond shame anyway, having come online on his own no longer feeling ill for the while, scanned his surroundings to find himself completely alone in the dark, with the now cut open protoform abandoned on a far corner, most probably because it had started to reek.

 

Sincerely believing he hadn’t been left behind, he stood up to his 89% charge and 94% fluid levels, taking a peek at his still recharging beast head, that looked only marginally better than before, deciding not to wake her yet, making his way towards the stinking protoform, intent in locating and keeping its T-cog.

 

Rummaging through the protoform’s innards, Currently not feeling nauseous, or weak, or ill in any way, even his temperature having normalised, Megatron rolled back the memory of Primal’s words of refusal due to the circumstances echoed in the back of his processors, generating a very positive ping in his systems as he squinted in anger at himself for being stupid once more.

 

Grimacing at the stink, he plunged his left hand deep into the rotting mess, emerging with a ripped out T-cog, putrid protoform mesh dribbling off in chunks, sloshing into the ground.

 

Unable to properly clean it for now, he awoke his beast head, motioning with his optics toward the tunnel, as she growled, sniffed the air, blinked her good eye and pointed to the right direction.

 

Nodding, Megatron followed her lead towards the musk of wet ape, very glad T-Rexes were not only hunters but also great carrion seizers, with a fabulous sense of smell.

 

----

 

The smell hit him first, followed by the sound of heavy steps finally stopping right behind his back.

 

“Please tell me you aren’t dragging that nasty protoform, Megatron.”

 

Feeling prime, Megatron stepped right besides the maximal, showing him the T-Cog, to which Optimus, in beast mode, recoiled and actually changed to robot, where his sense of smell would be dulled, squinting as he gave the item a very good look, widening his optics.

 

“Behold the protoform’s T-Cog. Who knows when one will be needed, yess. If you have any of my empty cubes, I intend to seal this foul smelling thing within one until we get to base.”

 

Looking up at the predacon, amazed to see him remarkably healthy, he finally registered the predacon’s last word.

 

“Base?”

 

He handed the currently 5 empty cubes back to Megatron (who only took the one he needed in his beast-head-hand, gesturing for the maximal to keep the other four), who stashed the T-Cog in and subspaced it, as Optimus insisted.

 

“Which base??”

 

Staring at his own stinking hand, now empty, Megatron muttered a “yuck” and made sure to wipe it on the ground: he would rather lick the dirt out of his hand than to keep smelling that.

 

“Back to base. Your base.”

 

He offered his dirty left hand for the beast head to lick and clean, as she made sure to growl her discontentment, but obeyed, and Optimus fleeted a glance at the sight, shook his head, then looked back up at the predacon, a visible unvoiced question in his faceplates.

 

“I have no intention of getting to my own base unless I am minimally repaired first. Too many traitors there, yess. Since we are under a truce, I suppose you would be so kind as to invite me in for repairs?”

 

Megatron tilted his head, donning him a lopsided smirk, winking, walking ahead in the tunnel and beast-moding on his way to the darkness, as Optimus’ mind raced in thought.

 

If he hadn’t seen Megatron hallucinating in high fever and purging, he would never tell he had been even remotely ill at all.

 

Maybe the fluid rejection was partial and the predacon’s sheer stubbornness to not let his grip on life go, actually somehow cured him, which would be an impressive feat in itself.

 

Maybe it was the tell-tale, last-resort, temporary improvement that every organic being experiments, often megaclicks before plummeting into a catastrophic, predicted, expected death.

 

Either way, Megatron looking Prime for now was an improvement in their situation, since they could actually advance and try to get out, instead of Optimus having to deal with that delirious saurian teasing the sanity out of his plating and the fluids out of his parts.

 

Checking on his own systems, charge and fluids topped to 98% and 97% respectively, feeling confident in their success in leaving that system of tunnels, Primal heard the distant roar calling for him, spark missing a beat, transforming to beast as he followed away, right behind the heavy echo of the predacon's footsteps.

Chapter 9: 9 - Blue Lagoon

Summary:

They finally reach an underground lake that is more than meets the optics, Optimus worries, and Megatron agrees.

Chapter 9 - Blue Lagoon

Footsteps echoing on the walls, quickly pacing then finally running towards the familiar sound of water flowing, Megatron and Optimus (who had been steadily walking upwards on the tunnel for a couple of megaclicks for now) made sure to keep running until they were met with what looked like light seeping from its end.

 

Coming to a halt as the tunnel became brighter, wider, and the sound and smell of water filled their beast senses, both took in the sight of the many energon crystals littering the ceiling, the walls and the bottom of the small lake, maintained by the water dripping down the crystals, forming stalactites and stalagmites of calcium and energon composite all over the place, some having already fused into whole glowing columns, pulsing in tandem with the rest of the energon clusters.

 

“This… looks like a giant energon geode.” Optimus knuckled towards the closest column, touching it with his right hand “It's probably been eroded by subterranean rivers, that over the millennia bore through its outer shell, making water accumulate inside.”

 

Megatron, only marginally interested in the scientific aspect of the energon cave they entered, walked towards the underground lake, leading a single clawed toe to test for the water’s temperature and condition, wriggling it, then unceremoniously jumping into the lake with an unintelligible growl, glowing energon-riddled-water splashing all over Primal’s face.

 

Less than pleased, wiping the water out of his face, Optimus squinted as Megatron emerged out, the glowing water flowing down the curves of his beast shell, glimmering and repairing the outer mesh, as he stepped to the margin.

 

Since the beast-head’s wounds improved drastically after Megatron’s skinny-dipping, Optimus literally ran and simply dragged the predacon back into the water with himself, both plunging down for a click then coming up, now only their heads above the water, as Megatron grimaced in protest at being pulled in, ready to growl back…

 

… his beast tongue finding many, many teeth where there had been previously almost none.

 

Squinting his one good eye, looking down the glimmering water, he smirked widely, then cleared his throat, speaking.

 

“This is a fascinating outcome, most certainly, yesss.”

 

Optimus, still squinting, watched Megatron wriggle his little arms splashing in the water and the beast's lower jaw slowly untwist itself into perfection, her empty and closed left eye socket filling from within, while the ripped out mesh on the predacon’s head and neck visibly recovered and the dead mesh fell off, dissolving into the energon-waters.

 

Fascinating indeed, pondered Optimus, his own aching joints and many painful spots on his beast mode getting immediately soothed.

 

“Unfortunately, I wouldn’t recommend for either of us to even try leaving beast mode, Megatron.” the maximal lifted some of the glimmering water in his palms, drinking it. “This may not hurt us in this form, but I’m sure it would be immediate stasis lock at transformation.”

 

Megatron, nodding without any sarcasm, had to agree, as he opened his left eye and a healthy, yellow-red eyeball blinked from within, plunging his whole dinosaur head into the water, chugging it in large gulps.

 

It was way safer to top their charge during beast mode, since the modes protect them from energon surge: whatever way this energon cave came into existence, Megatron couldn’t care less, as long as it was apparently repairing their beast modes with remarkable speed.

 

Idly marking this spot in his own processors, very aware that Optimus was probably registering it in log as well, Megatron actually managed to sit his saurian aft on the border of the energon lake, letting both feet dip into the water, wriggling all his toes and lamenting not having brought his ducky.

 

A scientist at the core, an idea in mind, Optimus left the lake to sit besides the predacon, who was idly splashing his claws on its waters, observing the ripples ebb away.

 

“I suspect the energon-water may resemble the CR-chambers’ repair liquid. Depending on its composition, we could replicate the formula and improve the functionality of our repair stations.”

 

Megatron absently nodded at the maximal, an intrusive thought of furry hands groping him in his own CR-tank getting immediately shooed away: he certainly wouldn’t mind having some of this water brought to his personal use, and then he would finally have a great, soothing, very long CR bath once he reached his quarters, with his Ducky, on his own, with no one to tempt him.

 

“Will you tell the predacons about this place and come with them to raid this energon?”

 

Surprised at the question, Megatron squinted, observing Optimus unsubspace one empty energon cube and take a sample of the water.

 

“Worried I might capture only for myself this amazing resource?”

 

Optimus shook his head, unsubspacing a second cube and filling it.

 

“I’m worried your predacons will destroy forever this place.”

 

Stalling for a click, Megatron took his time to contemplate the sheer beauty of the giant geode’s glowing columns of energon that came from the ground serving as porticos in this vaulted hall.

 

“Obviously, you stand correct in that they would demolish this place down. I cannot tell any of my predacons, not even the loyal ones, since they are morons and would tattle to the disloyal: in the end, Tarantulus would find about it here anyway, and be certain, that scurrilous spider will certainly find a wicked, absolutely corrupted use for this place and its miraculous energon waters.”

 

The predacon dipped his head down, looking at Optimus with the corner of a beast eye.

 

“Since it means so much for you, Primal... I would be very amenable to agree in keeping this exquisite place as our dainty little secret, just between us, yess.”

 

He winked, donning the gaping maximal a lopsided smirk.

 

“However...”

 

Optimus minutely squinted then, getting the third empty cube from subspace, as Megatron nodded and continued.

 

“...regrettably, I am positive you fully intend to tell your maximals about it here, specially that rude obnoxious one who decided to attack me with flatulence, the one sporting the green chainguns, yess.”

 

“His name is Rhinox, Megatron.” he squinted. “And he’s a very trusted friend.”

 

“Whatever.” he waved a tiny arm in annoyance “Unfortunately for me, he happens to be the bulk of your science team, the most probable to decipher the mysteries of this place. I fully concur in allowing him into the secret, considering the situation, as long as he responds to you.”

 

Megatron stood up then, walking slowly towards the maximal, who filled the last empty cube, subspacing it.

 

“Rhinox, your old friend, might seem agreeable and civilised, abnegate, uninterested in obtaining power, a very good maximal indeed, but… for a mech with such thick hull, what keeps him in place is terribly thin.”

 

He came close to the maximal’s audials, whispering.

 

“Maximals and predacons are not as black and white as our ancestors had been. There had been millennia of admixture between autobots and decepticons generating our current population. Just take sight of the amount of mechs with red optics that identify as maximals… like you. Such coincidence, yess.”

 

Optimus opened his lip-plates to speak, but gave up, as the predacon briefly nuzzled the left side of his face, protofeathers against fur, slowly sliding his whole left body on the maximal, then finally walking away, on his way towards what should be the correct exit from that underground maze.

Chapter 10: 10 - The Final Countdown

Summary:

The last symptoms of fluid rejection begin, and both have little choice but to resort to their last source of energy before it's too late.

Chapter 10 - The Final Countdown

The underground maze went on and on, detours here and there, dead-ends, collapsed tunnels, oppressive and claustrophobic, both mechs resolutely following through the pathways in beast mode, leading up, never going down, as the full cycles of the day came by.

 

Unsurprisingly, by what would be the start of the night cycle, a new plethora of fluid rejection symptoms slowly set in.

 

Undergoing now full blown myalgia in his legs and talons, bilateral retro-ocular pain, dry coughing with every single, painful inspiration, Megatron, only stubbornness keeping him up and moving, made sure not to stop, no matter how much that overzealous anthropoid would insist for him to rest.

 

As if! Rest! What did that primate think Megatron was, an oversized purple chicken?

 

Something in the background of his processors was nagging on him, and he had a biological feeling that he could not afford the luxury of stopping to rest. They were very close to the surface now, maybe by the next sunrise they would finally be able to emerge…

 

...except Megatron probably didn’t have that long to live, since it had been about to the middle of the night cycle the instant Optimus proceeded to the transfusion, 24 megacycles ago.

 

As such, sighing, aware of the countdown coming close, Optimus unsubspaced three of the four cubes containing the miraculous energon water, wordlessly offering them three to the predacon.

 

Megatron, beast eyes dulled by a jaundiced tint, clear sign of destruction of the haeme compounds in his beast mode’s organic blood, stared at the cubes, exhausted, then at Primal’s pleading eyes, finally acquiescing with a single dip of his head, opening his jaws wide and allowing for the maximal to dump the contents of the three cubes in, swallowing them at once for the extra charge.

 

It was all or nothing, and once Megatron felt the burst of extra power, he walked behind the maximal, slotting his beast head between Primal’s legs, raising him up into a riding position, taking one deep inspiration and immediately speeding away.

 

Holding for dear life against the predacon’s unimpressive, ugly crest of proto-feathers atop his head, Optimus made sure to lower himself enough for his presence not to bother the predacon’s aerodynamics: they both had discussed on the way up, the moment they might have to resort to this, to quickly leave the tunnels should the need arise.

 

Both agreed it would probably speed up Megatron’s eventual deactivation, with luck, only into stasis-lock, something neither were sure the predacon could bounce back from, once more, without permanent damage, but it’s not like they had many options left.

 

Seeing pale light coming from the end of the tunnel, for a click Optimus feared they might encounter another energon geode, maybe even a half-sealed one, which would be just Prime, and a tragedy for their situation.

 

Megatron, on his side, didn’t have the energy to spare on thinking: once he restarted having symptoms, Optimus slagging Primal promised to do everything in his power to make sure to bring them both out, never letting him stay behind, and so far he had been true to his word.

 

Running to the surface with his last energies before the final collapse was the least the saurian could do to ease their mutual escape.

 

The instant the tunnel widened and light came through more intensely, revealing a small chasm, Megatron, never speeding down, sprinted further and jumped over the sunken abyss, landing heavily with both feet on the far edge, claws digging on dirt in an attempt of preventing their fall, as one talon slipped and he started sliding down...

 

… getting immediately yanked up and thrown far and away out of the edge by no one less than Optimus Primal, who as soon as he noticed they would fall, made sure to jump out of the predacon’s back, still holding with both hands his strong, muscular neck, landing way ahead and catapulting the predacon out of his certain fall at what looked like the exit towards the outside world.

 

---------------------------------------

 

Outside the cave, slowly standing up and staring at the two full moons, Optimus, shaking the dust out of his fur, could barely believe they made it out, knuckling towards Megatron, laying eerily still on a side on the ground.

 

He wanted to say they did it, they were a great team, they could stop that stupid war and just try a hand at peace, but stopped on his tracks, deadly mute, at the fully limp, apparently stasis-locked purple T-Rex, jaundiced eyes open and dull, right pupil dilated to a rim, left one only halfway dilated, both staring at nowhere, dry tongue hanging out of the partially open jaws, darkened organic liquid dribbling out of the beast mode’s mouth and from its cloacal orifice as well.

 

Horrified at the clear onset of the final stage of fluid rejection where the shell actually self-destructs in a quite stupid attempt of getting rid of the foreign fluids, activating his maximal signature at full power, Optimus Primal sent a message to his team: he needed his spare pair of jetpacks from his quarters and an aerial rescue right now, and he informed them he was taking a guest home.

Chapter 11: 11- Coming Home

Summary:

Rescue comes, Dinobot wants a feast, Rhinox is less than thrilled, and Optimus tries to do things right.

Chapter 11 - Coming Home

 

Homecoming was never as awkward as it had been this time.

 

The instant Airazor landed, guns locked on the passed out predacon, Optimus placed himself between her and her target, making sure to shield him long enough while he told her almost everything that took place during the whole journey (minus the sordid details no one needed to know, and the energon-geodetic-cave, supposed to be their dainty little secret), assuring her they only escaped that eldritch horror of a maze due to teamwork and that he was the Maximal Leader and he was indeed taking Megatron along for repairs as promised.

 

Airazor made sure to escort Optimus only close enough for him to get back to base, because she had no intention of being there the moment Rhinox and Dinobot saw who Primal’s guest was: there was a reason why she preferred to stay most of her time outside either by herself or with Tigertron, and it had everything to do with her mental sanity.

 

As such, on his own, holding a slumped, stasis-locked T-Rex over his left shoulder, Optimus landed, opening his comm link to whoever was manning the security cameras and requesting the lift to be sent down.

 

Receiving instead a truckload of autoguns pointing at his shoulder, where his guest currently was, Optimus squinted his optics, grimaced and immediately sent his override command, all guns stopping and slowly returning to their rightful places, the lift coming down as requested, and he stepped in the fastest possible…

 

...getting very much welcomed by a pair of chainguns and a twin set of green laser beams pointing towards himself.

 

“Optimus Primal, our leader, finally you return, for the victory meal with the spoils!!”

 

Dinobot, turning off his lasers, actually came close to inspect the stasis-locked saurian, as Optimus squinted and slowly rolled a single word in his processors, filing the information for later.

 

Spoils.

 

“We… you’re not feasting on Megatron, Dinobot, he isn’t dead.”

 

“Yet.” Dinobot opened a wide, slow, dangerous grin, transforming to beast-mode, clicking his claws closer, saliva collecting in his maws “You know, I don’t really need to wait for confirmation to begin.”

 

Optimus actually blinked twice at the display, slapping Dinobot’s claws away.

 

“I expressly forbid you of eating Megatron, even if he actually dies! No matter your feud with him. We’re maximals!”

 

Dinobot rolled his eyes, puffed up his chest and rose his bright-red feathered crest, idly preening on his beast arm’s feathers, doing his best to look like he didn't care.

 

Nodding at himself for having stalled the saurian, feeling Prime and full of authority, Optimus turned to Rhinox, staring up at his old friend but somehow staring him down, as the hulking scientist finally sighed and stored his chainguns back, albeit clearly unhappy with the situation.

 

“As maximals, it’s our duty to help." Primal finally spoke "So, Rhinox, I know you have Med-grade energon more than enough for Megatron’s full mech-fluid replacement, and we’re doing it, right now.”

 

As Rhinox squinted, trying to understand, Optimus made his way towards the Lab, carrying the predacon and placing the beast-moded form over the medical berth, leaving his old friend no room for refusal, in the end.

 

------------------------------

 

At the end of the night cycle, sun rising, Rhinox had finally managed to override the stasis-locked predacon’s beast-mode, allowing for both him and Optimus to literally manually shift the predacon’s parts into transforming back to robot, much like they would to a transforming toy.

 

Before Rhinox could check on Megatron’s downloaded blueprints for his chestplate locks, however, Optimus simply started putting himself to work.

 

Without hesitation, the maximal leader and scientist quickly led his index fingertips, one on each of Megatron’s lateral seams, opening his chestplates cleanly and quickly wide, unceremoniously pulling the spiked, dark-grey, currently not glowing, coiled cable from before the predacon’s weakly glowing sparkchamber, connecting it to the Axalon’s Spark Support Systems and observing with visible relief the return of a healthy, albeit slow, pulse through the pinkish-purple biolights flowing inside.

 

After staring at the pulsing spark a bit longer than was medically needed, Optimus finally pushed the predacon’s sparkchamber downwards, making room to access Megatron’s main energon line, additionally to the secondary one that was always accessible even with the sparkchamber jolted up.

 

Folding his arms, Rhinox stared and stared and stared, face currently unreadable, as Optimus connected the vat of Med-grade energon into the predacon’s main energon line, plugging the secondary line into the buffering filters, meant to trap the degraded compounds before they can be sent back to the patient.

 

The moment the screen started displaying the rate of mech-fluid replacement alongside the basic data on life-support, Optimus finally allowed himself to sit by the foot of the berth, resting his elbows on it and his forehead between his hands, as Rhinox came close, placing one hand over his old friend’s left shoulder.

 

“I can take it from here. Go refuel, then rest in your quarters.”

 

At Optimus’ instant glower, Rhinox minutely stalled, then took his hand away and in-vented slowly, continuing.

 

“Only Primus knows why you’re saving him, but I am positive the story will be good. You may go in peace, I promise not to offline Megatron on my watch.”

 

At that, Optimus stood up, shaking his head and taking his right hand into Rhinox’ left arm, walking him to the lab’s door.

 

“No, Rhinox. I can’t ask anything more from you. This is my mess, and I’m cleaning it up.”

Chapter 12: 12 - Wicked Game

Summary:

Rhinox ponders on the situation, Optimus sees no way out, and the maximal scientist makes sure Dinobot's efforts will not go to waste.

12 – Wicked game.

Cleaning up the mess in the refuelling station, right after Rattrap and Cheetor, Rhinox couldn’t undergo recharge: having voluntarily taken Dinobot’s place on camera duty for the rest of the night, allowing the justifiably angry raptor to go out and blow steam hunting or doing whatever he wished, he made sure to put Sentinel to warn him of any intruders on audio, and flipped the monitor's images to display the camera feed from his own lab.

 

Slowly moving the many gears in his own mind, now that the sun already rose and the shift was over, Rhinox recalled the scenario he had contemplated through the camera feed.

 

Optimus had remained the whole half-cycle resting his head on both folded arms, at the foot of the medical berth, the Med-grade replacement fluid going slowly into the predacon, with the visibly contaminated, darkened fluids leaving Megatron’s secondary line and being filtered, then returning back to him through the main energon line.

 

Everything looked so frigging normal: here was Optimus Saint Primal, saving his nemesis because why not?, all in pure spark and sheer abnegation!

 

There was nothing outwardly wrong.

 

Still, he couldn’t put a finger in it: there was something smelling bad, really bad, and it wasn’t Megatron’s foul beast-mode, that had managed to soil itself during the onset of stasis-lock, a clear sign of a very deep fragged organic mess at the neurological level.

 

A mess Primal apparently had no great difficulty managing. Once the beast mode was overridden, the rest of the procedure took place extremely efficiently.

 

Suspiciously efficiently.

 

If Rhinox didn’t know Optimus any better, he might even start to believe his old friend and the predacon leader had had more than enough time to get familiar with each other’s plates and locks.

 

It has been only three full days Optimus Primal had disappeared, afterall.

 

It’s not like three days of total, utter isolation with your sworn enemy, under the imminent threat of deactivation coupled with grievous bodily damage and the impossibility of an easy rescue, would ever actually impact that much on a mentally sane mech’s mind.

 

Squinting at nowhere, staring right and left for a click to make sure he was alone, Rhinox immediately dismissed the intrusive, paranoid thought.

 

Nothing else he could do for now, except to wait for his friend to be ready to start telling what happened: he was certain Megatron was criminally insane, but Optimus was a sane, lucid mech, sound of mind and body, and everything would soon finally make sense.

 

Certainly he insisted on Megatron’s rescue for a very good reason.

 

---------------------

 

He didn’t have a good reason.

 

He had the chance to keep the predacon rogue’s sparkchamber under stasis-lock, linking it to life-support under cryo-sleep, so that by now they all could be returning to Cybertron as heroes.

 

He had the chance to end the Beast Wars for good.

 

But noooo, he had to try to do things right, specially after doing things wrong, and almost succumbing a couple of times to the ill timed advances of a delirious, feverish, deactivating mech that didn’t know when to stop.

 

Either this, or it had been a very strange plan from Megatron’s part, which also wouldn’t be out of place: the predacon was known for having bizarre ideas for extremely convoluted plans.

 

Neither of his ideas however involved him risking his own spark into deactivation, only his minion’s ones.

 

Which took them to where they were now:

 

With Optimus keeping his promise.

 

For the predacon’s recovery to take place though, Optimus had to watch on his nemesis: no matter how resilient and stubborn Megatron proved to be, Optimus had a feeling it didn’t do any good for his spark to stasis-lock for the third time in three days.

 

Raising his head off his forearms slightly, he focused on the screen readings: the fluid replacement would still take place for quite a while, and he just knew his maximals would make his life difficult, intentionally or not, if he left Megatron alone on the Lab now.

 

The least Rattrap would do is draw spikes on the predacon’s face, take pictures and distribute them to every single predacon on planet, while Cheetor would stare at the drawings and come by with questions he would rather not have to explain.

 

He just knew Rhinox would insidiously stasis-lock the predacon back so they may return to Cybertron as heroes, for him to be finally granted a Laboratory of his own.

 

Now, Dinobot is another matter: he was absolutely certain the utahraptor was just waiting for the opportunity to fragging eat the unconscious Megatron as a spoil. For a Victory Meal.

 

Wait.

 

Very conscious that he was not in his own video and soundproof quarters, he immediately aborted the idea of unsubspacing Megatron’s Ceremonial Energon Blade, recalling the inscription engraved in it.

 

Could it be a blade meant to offline other cybertronians, namely the spoils, and cut through them to later eat their mesh in a Victory Meal?

 

Afterall, Megatron clearly told it was not to meant to stab him, Optimus Primal, however, he never said anything on stabbing any other mechs.

 

Maybe only predacons could be stabbed, apparently to be eaten.

 

By the looks and faces Megatron did when ingesting protoform mesh, however, he doubted the predacon had any intentions of literally eating people.

 

Recalling how stubborn the predacon had been, to the point of deactivation, he briefly wondered if the blade could be a Suicidal Ceremonial Blade, and Megatron was supposed to be stab himself ???

 

No, it wouldn’t befit him. Megatron absolutely didn’t have a single suicidal atom in his shell.

 

Fleeting a glance at the currently immobile face, optics off, left arm limp on his side, the beast-head also offline, Optimus shook his head, also aborting his intention of taking the predacon’s left hand in his: he was tired, he needed a proper recharge, and for a click he recalled he still had the last cube full with the miraculous energon water.

 

The only problem is, he wouldn’t dare unsubspace it under the certain scrutiny of the cameras inside Rhinox’ lab.

 

Not after Megatron had suggested they make that place their dainty little secret.

 

So, the only thing left for them, is to wait for the recharging beauty to come back to life.

 

------------------------

 

Coming back from his hunting session in raptor mode, feathers dull with organic blood caked with soil, leaves and dirt, Dinobot shook the most dirt he could before pinging Rhinox to request reentry.

 

As the lift came down, he stepped up, starting to lick and bite on his claws to clean them, as the elevator’s doors opened, revealing the empty bridge.

 

[Rhinox speaking. Don’t go to the Lab now. Optimus and our guest are still there. Just come to the refuelling station.]

 

Dinobot, having finished licking and picking both claws “clean”, replied back with a snarl, for a click glared at the Lab’s door, shook his head, huffed and finally left to where the second in command had summoned him.

 

Entering the refuelling room in his full bloodied glory, he dipped his head in a nod at the other maximal, currently sitting before a full energon cube.

 

“Here I was expecting that there would be a special breakfast with the flesh of a certain mech for me.”

 

He grinned, transforming and heading to the refuelling station, as Rhinox cleared his voicebox.

 

Squinting, Dinobot fleeted a glare at him, as the smirking maximal rose both hands in the air wriggling his fingers, and the saurian grimaced, turning towards the handwashing-racks, dipping both arms elbow deep at the cleaning solution, trying and not exactly managing to scrub the grime out according to the right way Rhinox told him to do before touching any lab samples, finally taking some with his hands to have a quick wash at his faceplates and briefly his chest as well.

 

Once he had minimally cleaned up, something he deemed unnecessary, yet Rhinox for some strange reason insisted upon, he finally headed for the station, caught a cube and went on to sit right before the maximal scientist.

 

A full click passed between them, Dinobot still not touching his cube, as Rhinox slowly had his own, under companionable silence.

 

“When will you have ou… your Lab back just for yourself again?”

 

Recalling, he shook his head.

 

“Apparently not so soon.” he snorted "The royalty is still there."

 

Dinobot absently nodded, as Rhinox dimmed his optics low, releasing the cube and resting his elbows on the table, propping his chin on his interlocked hands and staring right into the saurian’s optics.

 

“Why, Dinobot? Would you have a reason for me to be inside my Lab?”

 

Raising his chin up and grinning, Dinobot briefly glanced around the room, before mimicking the other mech’s position on the table.

 

“It was a fruitful hunt. I have… collected samples. Things you once requested. Things you will like.”

 

Rhinox dimmed his optics even lower, this time donning Dinobot a very slow smirk.

 

“Is that so?”

 

Dinobot silently nodded, fully grinning, visibly proud: he had managed to get off monitor and camera duty, hunted all the night under the full moons, in full bloodied resplendence, collected samples Rhinox would certainly like, and neither Cheetor or the vermin were nowhere in sight.

 

Life would be looking pretty good, if not for that dishonourable saurian occupying their Lab, a saurian he had been forbidden of feasting upon.

 

“Are the samples delicate and easily perishable?”

 

Dinobot opened a wolfish grin.

 

“Extremely.”

 

At Rhinox’ satisfied face, Dinobot reviewed his subspace, boring his crimson, dimming optics right into Rhinox’, speaking.

 

“Would you recall by any means, in one of our nightly duty swaps, that you once mentioned you required green monkey kidneys, liver, heart and assorted offal, and regrettably, back then, I was unable to provide?”

 

For an instant Rhinox’ optics glimmered in excitement: heart muscle for a nutrient broth meant to grow his bacteria and fungi, liver and pancreas, as source of enzymes to be extracted and purified, and the extremely prized kidneys, its cells fundamental for the growth of certain blood marrow cellular lineages he was currently cultivating.

 

“These do sound extremely delicate and perishable, Dinobot.” he finished his cube at once “I happen to have a small cryogenic container in my personal quarters where these can be rendered and stored.”

 

Nodding with a full grin, Dinobot wolfed his cube down as well, silently following behind.

 

Chapter 13: 13 - Con te partiro

Summary:

Optimus sneaks out of the Lab, Cheetor is oblivious, and Megatron awakes.

Chapter 13 - Con te partiro

 

Behind his closed doors, contemplating the stasis-locked predacon, Optimus was once more plagued by the memory of the wirling and glimmering energon-water.

 

Megatron’s whole fluids had just been completely replaced and/or filtered, yet he didn’t even stir, no external signals of life, except for the pulsing of his spark, currently connected to the Axalon.

   

Optimus was itching to just either inject some energon-water into his systems, or send a jolt of charge from his own systems into the Predacon, like he did when he managed to kickstart the beast-head at the hole.

 

He wouldn’t dare do so in Rhinox’ lab, though.

 

Decision taken, he turned off the life support systems, disconnected all the lines, returned the coiled spiked datacable into Megatron’s chestplates, closed them, threw the visibly offline predacon over his shoulder, and slowly opened the door of the lab, staring right and left to make sure no one would be there.

 

Believing himself safe, he nearly sprinted towards his personal quarters, where he knew he could turn cameras off and soundproof on, slamming right into no one less than Cheetor.

 

“Big bot?” he rose his face to stare directly at Megatron’s aft “WOW, this is ultra-gear, you captured Megatron and brought his dead shell to be returned to Cybertron!”

 

Optimus sighed.

 

“No, Cheetor, Megatron is not dead.”

 

Cheetor idly poked a claw at Megatron’s huge feet, turned to face the predacon’s offline face and totally limp frame, and flickered a fingertip at his nose.

 

“Are you sure? He looks quite dead to me. No offence, Big Bot!”

 

Optimus groaned: he didn’t have time for this now.

 

“Cheetor, isn't it your shift manning the cameras?”

 

Cheetor led a fingertip to his mouth, thinking then widening his optics.

 

“Jumping gyros!! I’m sorry, big bot, going there now!”

 

He beast-moded, sprinting away, as Optimus smiled, blessed be his little naive neural processors, and quickly entered his own quarters, locking the door behind himself.

-------------------------

 

Behind locked doors, Dinobot observed with morbid fascination the moment Rhinox spread all the offal he brought over his own table, not before meticulously cleaning it and placing a sterile mesh over said surface.

 

Being primarily ruled by his sense of honour, and secondarily, by his beast mode's predatorial instincts, upon getting to the maximals and meeting their scientist, Dinobot had no idea he would ever come to this.

 

He was elated to have the privilege of being allowed to see living things getting minutely minced and put on those glass thingies and looked upon, magnified zillions of times, revealing the inner workings of those organic beings, of which they had borrowed so much once they incorporated beast modes.

 

He was absolutely smitten the first time Rhinox offered him the seat at the microscope, even though he would never admit, having made sure to snarl and resist until the maximal was nearly giving up.

 

What Dinobot could say? He knew to stand his ground until the other couldn’t take it anymore, and only then he would concede: He learned from the best: leave it to Megatron to insist relentlessly until he got what he wanted, no matter what it would be.

 

How visibly delighted Rhinox was when Dinobot finally agreed to look through the microscope: how quickly the frustration that had been brewing dispelled, in a palpable wobble of the mech’s EM field.

 

Dinobot decided he indeed liked very much to bring Rhinox many assorted samples, then be a little fragger just because he could, until he finally agreed to participate in anything the maximal wanted him to help at the lab, every single time.

 

He remained with Megatron for so long. Rhinox wasn’t that bad of an alternative, in the end.

 

------------------------------

 

In the end, it turned out Optimus had few alternatives: the near stasis-locked Megatron would never be able to process the energon-water, so he quickly dismissed the idea in favour of the next option.

 

Laying the offline predacon on his own berth in his private, locked, soundproofed and camera-blocked personal quarters, he pushed Megatron the most he could, until his dino-head bumped against the wall, leaving room enough on his left for Optimus to sit, and glare down at the mech’s chestplate, in-venting and going for the locks.

 

Uncoiling Megatron’s spiked data and energy cable, taking sight of the still pulsing spark within the sparkchamber, Optimus made sure to open his own chestplate, offlining his optics as his blue and white smooth datacable moved to meet its inert counterpart, clicking together.

 

Leading his left hand towards Megatron’s waist, blindly sliding his hand over it until Optimus finally held him firmly, bringing themselves the closest possible (without him climbing on the predacon) then braced himself, collecting his own charge until it reached 80%, sending it all at once...

 

...meeting a logical circuitry dead-end.

 

Squinting, connected through the datacable to Megatron, Optimus tried and tried breaking through the firewalls, to no avail, for he didn’t have permission to go through them, unless the predacon was minimally conscious to allow for cabled access.

 

Which left him only one last-resort option.

 

Due to the inner workings of the predacon’s sparkchamber, the act of uncoiling the datacable exposed a portion of his spark, not enough to endanger it, but as Optimus found out, sufficient for keeping it online, so maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to null the stasis-lock.

 

As such, he undid his own sparkchamber locks, opening them wide, closing the distance between their chestplates until they were forehead to forehead, lip-plating to lip-plating, thigh-to-array, just like he had down down the hole where all this mess begun.

 

Except this time the predacon had specifically requested to be brought back and invited for repairs.

 

It’s not like Optimus had anything to lose.

 

----------

 

Lost into nothingness, floating in the haze of near-deactivation, currently free of pain and of any semblance of thought, he barely registered the instant he was pulled from the void he was spiralling into, back to the world of the conscious.

 

Vaguely aware of his own existence, the instant Megatron realised there was a welcome weight over his chest, and a furry thigh between his own, he knew.

 

Optics flickering on and off, still not fully connected to his own shell, the predacon, weak and unable to lift his own head, made sure to focus on the maximal’s optics right before his own, making an immense effort to speak.

 

Hearing the slightest of groans, Optimus turned his optics on, meeting Megatron’s brief stare, immediately capturing his face between his hands and angling down into a full, deep and slow kiss, sending all the spark energy he could.

 

Invaded by warm light and crackling with charge, the predacon’s sparkchamber fully finished rotating open then, releasing his spark free between the confines of their joined chestplates, to meet its counterpart, one rotating around the other, finally Megatron’s datacable bringing down its own firewalls to allow for the full transfer of charge between both.

 

Before Optimus could ping the request, Megatron’s greedy spark made sure to demand all he could: the maximal sent at once the full charge he had not managed to send before, and that cascaded a rippling chain reaction all over the predacon’s shell, finally unlocking his stasis mode and reactivating his spark-to-body connections in full.

 

----------

 

Full consciousness returned slowly, the cool wind washing over Megatron’s frame, high above the clouds.

 

Squinting and bringing his optics on, he nearly screeched as he saw himself up high in the sky, indeed among the clouds, securely held bridal style by a now very well known pair of furry hands.

 

Making sure to hold tighter, a thousand unspoken questions in mind, Megatron finally glared up to meet Optimus’ smile followed by a wink, as he landed atop a mountain, deposing the tyrant on the ground and sitting besides him, both now contemplating the Darkside, down below the lava pits.

 

“You must be asking yourself why we’re here.”

 

Megatron truly wasn’t, because honestly he had no memory of having even left the underground maze of doom, and had no idea at all about their rescue by Airazor, much less on the full replacement of his circulating fluids for Med-grade energon.

 

All he remembered was the maximal’s weight, a kiss, the instant he was filled with the light and warmth of Primal’s spark, and then he awoke in his arms, right before landing so close to his own base.

 

Before he could ask anything, however, he was met with the sight of the last cube, full with the glimmering, miraculous energon-water from the underground maze.

 

“There was a situation, and I had no more time to have you properly repaired back at the Axalon, so I’m sorry for not accomplishing this part of my promise before bringing you home.”

 

He extend the cube into the predacon’s left hand, briefly grazing the back of his hand and knuckles into Megatron’s palm.

 

“I believe that with the energy from this cube, however, you’ll be able to make a triumphant return back to your ship and your command position, Megatron. Afterall, we can’t risk Tarantulus taking over, right?”

 

The predacon first smirked, then stared down at the cube, and finally at Optimus.

 

“Unless I am mistaken, I recall this was the cube supposed to be the last one you reserved to research on the properties of the miraculous energon water with the help of your scientist.”

 

Optimus tilted his head to the right, winking.

 

“We can always return and get more. The energon geodetic cave with its miraculous waters will remain there, hidden and protected, our dainty little secret.”

 

Briefly averting his gaze for an instant, smirking at the memory, Megatron turned a devilish glare to the maximal, who caught the cube back with one hand, then stood up and extended his other hand, palms up, for the predacon to hold.

 

Accepting the hand and getting to his feet, Megatron beast-moded, circling once around the maximal and opening his jaws, extending his organic tongue out and waiting for the contents of the cube to be thrown in.

Chapter 14: 14 - Welcome to the Darkside

Summary:

Megatron retakes leadership, Optimus returns to the Axalon, Rattrap knows, and Inferno swears revenge.

14 - Welcome to the Darkside

 

 

Throwing open the Darkside’s main entrance doors ajar, listening to the quite dejected buzz coming from behind one of its halves, Megatron triumphantly stepped in, shoulders raised, confident, swaying his hips lightly, left and right, raising his chestplates as he scanned around with his optics.

 

Terrorsaur stalled for a second staring up, literally going white and stepping back: Megatron, chin raised up, made sure to stare him down as he walked past him, a smirk in place, until the annoying screecher gulped and remained dutifully quiet trying to merge with the walls behind his back.

 

Scorponok came running, anxious to give the leadership back to Megatron, the sooner, the better: the only reason he was not challenged for leadership or simply murdered, is because Inferno, trailing right behind him, had promptly regarded him as a Juvenile Queen, that had to be fully protected at all times if she one day meant to form her own colony, for now getting experience while the One True Queen stayed away, certainly solving matters in the best interests of the Colony.

Immediately and without warning, Tarantulus was shot: Megatron might not know why he was shooting at the scurrilous spider, but he was certain the spider knew why he was being shot at.

 

Witnessing the visibly unmotivated shot, Blackarachnia made sure to beast-mode and climb up to the ceiling, disappearing away into a ventilation duct, as Megatron, momentarily satisfied, absently caressed his dinosaur-head, then summoned his throne and sat on it slowly, crossing one leg over the other, beckoning for silence.

 

“Terrorsaur: you will help Scorponok in his latest project.”

 

Staring in confusion, Scorponok scratched his head.

 

“What project??”

 

Megatron sneered at him then.

 

“That project. The secret one you told me.”

 

Very aware he had no projects on sight, Scorponok widened his visor back at Megatron, slowly rolling a tiny gear in his processors, realisation hitting him as he finally understood.

 

“Ahhhh! Yes, the project!!!”

 

Megatron then grimaced at him, pointing at Terrorsaur.

 

“Yes, your secret project. Just hand that flying buffoon the list of your required items, now!!!”

 

Nodding, Scorponok produced from subspace a datapad with a completely random list of items, delivering it into Terrorsaur’s hands.

 

Huffing in annoyance, the flier subspaced the datapad, transformed and left through the ceiling hatch, as Megatron squinted.

 

“Now where is that spider?”

 

Scorponok pointed towards the wreckage of Tarantulus’ calcined self.

 

“I meant the other spider. She is not here, so she must necessarily be scheming. Inferno!!!”

 

Inferno, elated to see the One True Queen back, made sure to honour him with a flourished, full-body bow.

 

“Say the word, my Queen, and the spider will burn!”

 

Briefly facepalming, Megatron continued.

 

“Your mission is not the spider. Gather Waspinator from behind the door where I smashed him, and put him into CR, right now, then come back to me.”

 

Inferno saluted, collected the drone and left, leaving only Megatron and Scorponok still in the room.

 

“What about Tarantulus? Shouldn’t he get repaired as well? For once he didn’t do anything but exist.”

 

Megatron rolled his optics.

 

“His mere existence is reason enough.” he raised one optic ridge “I shall have him repaired later, right now I really need one less traitorous spider for me to worry about.”

 

Giving Scorponok a conspiratorial smirk, he motioned for the predacon to come closer to his command chair.

 

“Now, I have a special request for you.”

 

Attention picked, Scorponok nodded in agreement even before knowing what the task was.

 

“I require that you find out where Blackarachnia went, what she is doing, and make sure to capture everything on camera with your cyberbees.”

 

Saluting, Scorponok made sure to leave and do exactly what he was told to do, as Megatron, waiting for Inferno to come back, pinched his nosebridge, finally alone in the room.

 

---------

 

Alone in his room, having deep-firewalled his console, displacing the maximal signature and projecting any residual tracks at the stratosphere, Rattrap shook his head, contemplating the recording he made sure to erase from the Axalon (obviously keeping a copy for himself).

 

Big boss has really gone bananas, he mused, snickering at the sight of the superhero taking off from the outer window in his own quarters, certainly delivering the damsel in distress home.

 

Yes, home. Rattrap was there watching the cameras under the secrecy of his purposefully trash-littered quarters, from his departure until their fearless leader returned home, alone, silently chiming his override and requesting the lift down, waving to the blissfully unsuspecting Cheetor a hello, then immediately scurrying to his own habsuite as the sun slowly set down.

 

Optimus didn’t know yet, but for now he didn’t need to worry about either Rhinox or Dinobot: the supposedly brief sorting and storing of samples at the spare cryogenic vat on the scientist’s personal quarters was taking slightly longer than what Rattrap considered necessary, but frankly it wasn’t his problem, and they eventually would emerge from there.

 

As such, squinting and joining the fingertips of both hands together, Rattrap smirked at the delightful mental image of both Rhinox and Dinobot getting absolutely mad once they learned the fearless leader took Megsy away under their watch.

 

---------------------------------

 

“Not under my watch, Royalty! Had any of them tried, they were sure to burn!”

 

Megatron dimmed his optics low, agreeing.

 

“I am certain they would, Inferno, yess.”

 

Megatron, in dire need of continuing his repairs, having barely managed that display of strength on his arrival, still felt too weak to simply face a coup-d'etat right now.

 

As such, deciding to momentarily indulge Inferno, entertaining the caprices of his most loyal and fierce predacon, Megatron allowed him to have the honour of massaging his feet.

 

Nothing wrong in receiving a simple massage with no secondary motifs whatsoever, on one's own feet and claws: it's not like he actually owed any explanation to anyone.

 

Mentally facepalming, Megatron groaned: he actually did, since the moment he had given the blade away.

 

It's not like he would inform the maximal of this mere detail.

 

He was a free agent of his own life. He stole the golden disk. He landed in a planet brimming full of energon. The only predacon that joined him in this mudball that actually could hold himself in a fight and was loyal to boot was Inferno, bless his little faulty processor: the only thing that bothered Megatron to no end was being called my queen.

 

In public.

 

Behind locked doors he didn't give a damn, truly.

 

Inferno was the only one in this whole Beast Wars not calling him so out of disrespect, and was also a good enough soldier to have won this lenience so far.

 

Absolutely no harm keeping him at arm’s length as measure of extra-security, and getting a massage in his feet as bonus!

 

So, slowly lifting his left foot out of the glimmering liquid at his personal CR-jacuzzi, Megatron wriggled his toes in silent beckoning, getting promptly obeyed, as Inferno, extremely glad for being allowed to in-vent the same air the royalty did, and merely exist in the same general area his queen did, carefully sat at the outer border of the tank and reverently captured the foot in his claws.

 

-----

 

Claws tracing every corner and nook from his Queen’s marvellous feet, in their full, clawed purplish glory, Inferno made sure to activate all his environment sensors, microplating flaring open wide, intent in picking every possible reading from the Royalty’s whereabouts.

 

Yes, the royalty had arrived smelling like dust, soil, fungal spores, mech-fluid, organic reptilian plasma, primate’s fur and musk, raw energon, and assorted mucosal fluids his queen had no opportunity to properly clean up without the access to a CR-tank’s immersion bath.

 

The Royalty had arrived smelling almost entirely like the enemy Queen, except for a few extremely relevant choice spots.

 

Inferno would never lash on his queen, however. It wasn't his place to judge, and the royalty certainly knew what he was doing.

 

Now, concerning the Maximal Queen, it was another thing entirely.

 

How dared he touch his Queen.

 

Optimus Primal would pay.

Chapter 15: 15 - Everybody hates Rattrap

Summary:

Rhinox wants to know, Optimus pretends not to know, Rattrap does know and is absolutely not telling.

Chapter 15 - Everybody hates Rattrap.

 

Optimus Primal paid in full, once Rhinox found out Megatron left.

 

“So, you’re telling me that Megatron... left. Without alerting Sentinel, without a single alarm blaring through the ship.”

 

Optimus, calm and collected, knowing he was an awful liar, decided that the best course of action to explain the whole mess to his second in command would be telling him nearly the whole truth, except for the sordid details.

 

“Of course no alarms blared through the ship. Do I have to remind you, Rhinox, back on that hole, a hole neither you or the predacons managed to locate and where we would have certainly perished, had Megatron and I had not undergone a truce then an alliance in order to leave, we would be gone by now?”

 

Rhinox folded his arms, annoyed, mostly because he indeed was unable to locate Optimus before the duo eventually managed to leave on their own.

 

“Since we had to compromise to survive, he was the one that would require immediate change of all his circulating fluids, I promised I’d help him recover so he could return to his predacons.”

 

Rhinox leered, shifting his weight onto his left leg.

 

“Megatron fully agreed with my terms for a no-conditions-extended-truce between our factions, and that he would not be the one to break it.”

 

Rhinox placed a hand in his chin, squinting, as Optimus continued.

 

“Just think about it: what if Tarantulus took over the predacon leadership? Our lives would become pure hell and horror, from cannibalism that this deranged spider would execute, to the creation of mass-murdering viruses. Who knows what else he might think of doing?”

 

Rhinox blinked, taken aback for a click, picturing the mental image of Mesothulus, Prowl’s handymech and mad scientist, heir to Shockwave’s name and tech, and shuddered, finally shaking his head, in-venting and turning to his old friend.

 

“It still doesn’t justify Megatron being set free! I only wonder how on Cybertron right after literally emerging from the dead, still largely unrepaired, he managed to leave the Axalon of his own volition and agency, walking the whole distance on his feet, alone, through the lava pits, to the Darkside.”

 

As Optimus minutely stalled, Rhinox, attentive, squinted even further and turned a side glower to his old friend.

 

“Because, that’s how Megatron left, correct? On his own talons, right?”

 

At that, Optimus rose his hands up in mock-defeat.

 

“You see, he wasn’t well enough to leave on his own, so I gave him a lift home.”

 

Rhinox donned him a flat stare.

 

“You. You gave Megatron a lift…”

 

“...home.”

 

Rhinox kept glowering at Optimus for a full click, as Optimus, making his best innocent face, shrugged.

 

“Would you rather I had invited him to stay with us until he recovered? I can always invite him back and go there to give him another lift.”

 

Taken aback, Rhinox gave him a very slow and worried stare.

 

“… would you?”

 

Optimus tilted his head to the right, smiling. Rhinox blinked.

 

Of course he would.

 

“Not to mention we would have no spare rooms immediately available, thanks to a certain trash collecting Rattrap. We would need time to clean up and set up a room. Meanwhile, who would Megatron bunk up with? Dinobot, maybe? You??”

 

Rhinox widened his optics, blinking in revulsion.

 

“Perhaps with me?” Optimus smirked.

 

Rhinox facepalmed, groaning at the mental image, all options atrocious.

 

“Fine. You won. I’m not convinced, but I can’t say you didn’t act true to your spark. The fact we are under a truce, however, doesn’t mean I will let the security of our crew waiver.”

 

Making his leave, Rhinox stopped by the door of his old friend’s habsuite, looking back at him.

 

“There had been a couple of camera failures on this ship, and I’ll request that Rattrap deals with it. Just… be careful.”

 

-----------------------

 

“Be careful, idiot!!!”

 

The instant his whole foot was bitten, Megatron kicked Inferno away, six twin pricks of energon glimmering as they dribbled down.

 

What had this moron in mind???

 

“Is this what I get for indulging you?”

 

Contrite, ashamed, Inferno recoiled, lowering his head, still not getting away, however. He didn't have an answer that might satisfy his queen, as such he didn't even try.

 

“Out of words?” Megatron stomped closer, pointing to the door, in the dark “GET OUT!!”

 

---------------------------

 

Out in the dark, Scorponok, searching for Blackarachnia inside the ship, observed Inferno be volleyed out of Megatron's quarters, his doors hammered shut afterwards.

 

He shook his head, quite glad for having never been the target of Megatron’s attention: the price to be paid was a bit too high for his liking, and he had no intentions of ever having to leave for the maximals to escape the saurian’s wrath.

 

Not that he wouldn’t want it, in theory, Primus knew he did, I mean, who wouldn’t… but real life was another entirely different thing, so Scorponok didn’t even try, having fully resigned himself to dreaming from afar, silently cursing his fate of being only a dutiful second in command.

 

--------------------------

 

As dutiful Second in Command, Rhinox knew there was something ringing wrong in this whole story, but he couldn’t yet put a finger in it: as such, he went for the most reliable source of gossip.

 

“Nope, I ain’t see nothing, Big Green. Seen the cameras and everything. Failed. You’ll have to take da Big Boss’ words as true.”

 

As if I’d tell you anything, ma'mech, not after you'd been literally stealing all of Dinobot’s time and stopped talking to me, except when it interests you!

 

“It’s for the good of the team, Rattrap. Optimus seems to be off. Since that incident where they escaped the hole on their own.”

 

Good of the team my aft.

 

“Yeah, trust me, I’d be weirded out too if I dragged Megs’ soiled fat aft to my own ship to save him, then give him a lift back home, man.”

 

Annoyed, Rhinox huffed, as Rattrap beast-moded and produced from subspace what looked vaguely like a very mushy banana, munching it whole.

 

“Just chill, mech. Aren’t we supposed to be under a truce? Take this time to make science. When you’ll ever work again under such peace and quiet?”

 

-------

 

Finally, in peace and quiet, Megatron limped back to his CR-jacuzzi-tank, hissing as his bitten foot dove under the glimmering liquid, a flash memory of Primal pulling him into a divebomb jump at the energon-water lake flooding his mind.

 

Offlining his optics and in-venting slowly as he forced the memories away for the while, he sank slowly in his jacuzzi until only his optics were visible above the liquid, very much like an organic, underwater gavial would.

 

You, Megatron, made a fragging royal mess.

 

Yes, you managed to undergo two near death experiences, at least, getting rescued by Optimus Saint Primal, developing a stupid crush towards that blasted ape, and acting like cheap, starved shareware whenever you had the chance, because why not!!!, not to mention literally gifting your ceremonial energon blade.

 

Had Primal any idea on the real extent of having been gifted the blade, would he have still accepted it?

 

Afterall, Dinobot, cognisant on the traditions, refused the ritual blade: it was too much responsibility and honour, he said, and considering the situation, it was something better left for their return to Cybertron, under the proper conditions.

 

Of course Megatron didn't take well being rejected: they had detached by then, and could never rekindle, since Dinobot promptly defected to the enemy the moment they crashed on this mudball.

 

A mudball where he was surrounded by idiots and uncultured brutes that had no knowledge of tradition and propriety.

 

Traditions he himself sent to the pit the moment he befell under the hands of Cryotek, despite carrier's best intentions, that he had no option but to seize the first opportunity he could to change his fate, recruiting his ragtag team of predacons to steal the Golden Disk, and the rest is history.

 

All he had left from his previous life, now that he owned the energon blade no more, is his ducky Squeaky, currently ebbing slowly at the glowing CR-tank’s nanite-filled liquid, the memories of the geode-cave returning to his upper processors in full strength as he once more sent them to the background of his processors, shaking his head.

 

------

 

Shaking his head, a beast-moded Rattrap made sure to walk right into Optimus' open door, resting against the doorway with both feetcrossed, producing from subspace and eating a vaguely edible-looking thing that was not a banana.

 

"So, are the rumours true? How was it?"

 

Groaning at once more having his plans of refuelling interrupted, Optimus spat.

 

"What rumours? How was what?"

 

Rattrap smirked at his boss' outraged expression, then vaguely waved his hand at Optimus' lower body.

 

“Yeahhhh, it ain’t none of my problem, Big Bananas, but just so you know… you’d been walking around with these black and purple paint transfers all around your legs and aft."

 

At that, Optimus cycled his optics wide, actually looking down at himself and only now noticing the way his frame was littered with admittedly discreetly thin, black and purple scratches, in-venting.

 

"We had to cooperate to survive, Rattrap." he gave a not-reply.

 

Smirking, Rattrap shook his head.

 

"The cooperation must have been good, considering the distribution of the paint scratches around yer body. Shows ya got a lapful of bottom Megs at least a couple of times. Must've been good enough for the repeats, then taking the queen home, I guess.”

 

At that, Optimus went immediately still, optics even wider in a very worried expression, slowly focusing on Rattrap, this time a silent plea in face.

 

“Don’t ya worry about me, though, I didn’t see anything. Neither the cameras did." he winked "But ya should hit a CR-chamber to fix these before anyone else noticed them. And by anyone I mean the lizard-lips and our good friend Rhinox. I can't keep deleting the cameras forever.”

 

Before Optimus could voice any reply or explanation, however, Rattrap disappeared in the corridor, sending a private message with a ping.

 

[Ya do ya, hitting some saurian aft: you’re the boss, Big Monkey.]

 

Chapter 16: 16 - Monkey see, monkey do

Summary:

Rhinox asks for surprise samples, Dinobot is eager to provide, Cheetor tries to help, Optimus makes a call, and Megatron is ready.

Chapter 16 - Monkey see, Monkey do.

 

Monkey see, monkey do.

 

Just like he saw Inferno doing, taken by a feeling of pure belonging that he only ever felt when he was a youngling tapeformer, Waspinator made sure to do his best in imitating Inferno’s actions to the T…

 

...except calling Megatron the Queen. Regrettably, as Waspinator learned first hand, the only mech that sort-of-could ever get away doing precisely this is Inferno.

 

So, relegating himself the role of drone, he happily aided the maddened ant to top up their energon reserves since Megatron made his triumphal return, about to one month ago.

 

Waspinator smiled at the lack of maximals, of attacks against the maximals, of convoluted plans only a mind like Megatron’s could concoct: for once, he honestly only wanted to help Inferno, who was finding him a very useful drone and made sure to protect him from harm as long as he kept working and bringing energon.

 

For once it was nice not to be broken, shot at, exploded, drowned down and just generally treated like second class.

 

-----------

 

“Second-class: unfortunately, it's a specimen of subpar quality, worse for being already dead. A pity.”

 

Dinobot, currently lounging at the main chair in Rhinox’ lab, groaned: he knew he should have brought the horseshoe-crab, no, Limulus polyphemus, alive, into the scientist’s eager hands!

 

“Can’t any parts be useful as it is? I nearly drowned to gather it from the undersea bed!”

 

Rhinox nodded absently as he spoke, facing the lab bench.

 

“The most valuable substance of this crab is their blue circulating fluids, composed of haemocyanin, from which I can derive stabilizers, antibiotics, all sort of medical assets. I can salvage some of it from its veins, but I should require more, living subjects. As this one is now, it may be useful for gathering some circulating fluid, and the substances in its exoskeleton and innards. I’ll make sure to prepare this particular specimen’s empty husk later for display and anatomical study.”

 

Dinobot grimaced, minimally ruffling the feathers in his arms, when Rhinox’ hand rested on his shoulder.

 

“So, do you have any plans for the beginning night cycle?”

 

Dinobot squinted, then shrugged.

 

“I have no fixed obligations on this schedule, right now.”

 

Rhinox nodded non-committally.

 

“Would you be amenable to a special request?”

 

Smirking wide, a sudden predatory grin in his faceplates, Dinobot squinted and dimmed his optics low.

 

“Absolutely.” he opened a wolfish grin and ruffled up the feathers in his chestplate, stepping closer to Rhinox. “What would you wish me to do?”

 

Rhinox squinted, optics dimming low, and donned him a side glance, followed by a lop-sided smirk, walking even closer and approaching the saurian’s audials in a whisper.

 

“Surprise me.”

 

---------------------------------

 

“Surprise!!!”

 

Optimus, unable to recharge properly for a month now, was currently on the bridge, as the night cycle had just begun: engrossed in dozing on and off at his command chair and accomplishing nothing productive at all for a whole month now, he nearly jumped out of his sparkchamber the instant Cheetor came by with what looked like to be…

 

“Hey, you’re looking a bit down lately, Big Bot. So, I was under patrol and found these. They are sweet, not rotten, and those monkeys down the valley were really upset when I took it from them.”

 

Optimus glared down at the hand of bananas.

 

“You took these from whom?”

 

“Those monkeys down the valley, those that walk on two legs and throw rocks and sticks at us when we try getting close. Hey, they had plenty of these around the forest. They won’t miss this bunch.”

 

Optimus shook his head.

 

“I appreciate the effort, Cheetor, but I do believe those monkeys really need this bunch.”

 

“But I had to fight Rattrap to make sure he wouldn’t take any! He was also visibly upset when I defeated him.”

 

Sighing, Optimus facepalmed at the mental image of Rattrap and Cheetor fighting for a hand of bananas, then gave up on reasoning with his protégé, heading for his own quarters as he passed by Dinobot (out of Rhinox' lab, surprising no one anymore) and Rattrap, who literally appeared from nowhere and was following the beast-moded saurian.

 

Dinobot, having just noticed Rattrap, walked close to the bunch of bananas, sniffed it and made a disgusted face, ruffling the great and primp feathers in his crest as he turned to face the rodent.

 

“Optimus is wise in not taking these. It smells like the vermin already. Who knows what viruses and bacteria it may contain.”

 

“Hmmmm! So, apparently our lizard-lips has been spending a bit of quality time with the Big Brain of our team. Learn any new vernacular already?”

 

The saurian raised his full crest in annoyance, puffing up his chest and ruffling the feathers on his back, arms and tail.

 

“At least I cooperate by bringing samples, unlike certain pestilences only good to spread bubonic plague.”

 

Before Rattrap could complain further, Dinobot growled low, opening a wide, pointy and predatory grin, dipping his head down with a feral glimmer to his eyes and running to the elevator, immediately going down, as on the camera console, the last images of the mighty utahraptor appeared, running away in the night.

 

----------

 

The night cycle had just begun with its twin crescent moons, as Megatron contemplated the outside of the lava pits from his personal quarters through a heat-sealed one-way window, fire exploding in geysers on the background, its smoke slowly rolling up to the atmosphere, blocking the light of the weaker stars and fogging both moons up.

 

Recalling it's been a full lunar cycle now, Megatron idly pondered he had been feeling prime.

 

The results of the latest weeks under a truce, without them attacking the maximals were:

 

Terrorsaur actually has been providing some of the items in Scorponok’s fake list.

 

Tarantulus had been eventually repaired, and now both spiders were being closely watched by Scorponok’s cyberbees.

 

Inferno had been obsessively following Megatron around, which was expected, and Waspinator, who had been repaired that other day and managed to remain undamaged so far the whole month – a feat in itself –, decided to tug along the maddened ant and be a dutiful member of the colony and even started bringing surplus energon every time he went out.

 

So far things were looking pretty good. His proto-feathers and the tiny, ugly crest atop his head were shiny, the mesh in his synthoflesh silky, his scales firmer and his claws stronger than ever.

 

If only he could get rid of the annoying fluxes he started having every single time he went into recharge, a weakness he entirely blamed on Optimus Primal, things would be perfect.

 

There were only two means of stopping the fluxes: were they not into a truce, by now Megatron would have already stormed the Axalon, and once there, he would retrieve his blade, a blade he could not take back unless he offlined the mech he gave it to, or...

 

No questioning coding, tradition and culture, he mused, shaking his head, as he briefly recalled the other way he could have the fluxes stop.

 

Which was why Dinobot refused the blade. Once it was freely given and accepted... there was no going back. Except by deactivation.

 

Yess, Optimus Primal had to go offline for Megatron to finally have peace, for Megatron to regain control, that blasted ape would certainly have a very slow, agonising deact...

 

"Incoming message."

 

Stalling for a click in his mental ranting, Megatron, currently on a death grip on Squeaky, who silently suffered with his eyes and head bulging, cleared his voicebox, quit grimacing, and steeled himself.

 

“Megatron speaking.”

 

To his surprise, the face of Optimus Primal showed up on the screen. The tyrant quickly hid his rubber ducky behind his back, raising his chin to signal Primal he could talk.

 

“Optimus Primal speaking. We need to talk. Alone.”

 

The set of coordinates and the time of the meeting were displayed onscreen. Megatron, optics minutely widening at the direct order, remained absolutely impassive and before he could either nod or refuse, the maximal leader simply ended the call.

 

“Optimus out.”

 

The comm died out, as the predacon, initially mute, blinked twice then grimaced: having kept his grip on Squeaky so far, he finally released his beloved friend, who squeaked back dejectedly as he slowly returned to his normal shape.

 

Who that blasted ape thought he was to think he could order Megatron into a set of coordinates for a meeting like this???

 

Squeezing Squeaky once more until the ducky bulged his head and eyes, growling low, Megatron threw the toy into the CR-Tank, stomping in circles around the room, ranting at the walls.

 

Rationally, he had no reason to suspect of a trap, coming from Primal, a mech that trice rescued his spark from the Pit, and gave him a lift back to the Darkside, and refused to take advantage of his weakened predicament back down the hole, and made sure to keep the secret on their dainty little cave, and now just came by and plainly ordered a meeting, not even waiting for his acknowledgement before comming off, and....

 

...and Megatron actually sagged and lead his left hand to his face, facepalming for a full click as he recalled how shamefully he had behaved back in the caved in hole, and still Optimus wanted to meet.

 

As his beast-hand cooed at him and asked to be petted, in-venting and taking a decision, the predacon actually gave in and caressed her.

 

He would go, because certainly Primal had a non violent reason for them to meet, and honestly after losing face and losing his blade, he really had only one more thing to lose, and if it turned out to be any kind of trap, well... he would have the opportunity to regain his pride and his blade afterall.

 

He was most definitely ready.

Chapter 17: 17 - Are you ready to rumble?

Summary:

Dinobot hunts and remembers, and Optimus and Megatron finally meet.

Chapter 17 - Are you ready to rumble?

 

Ready, Dinobot silently took on a decision, glaring up above the trees, spark singing in delight: he loved when Rhinox came with his surprise requests.

 

Thrumming with anticipation, he remembered the first time the maximal scientist asked: Rhinox almost sounded like he wanted to do something wrong, and Primus knew that the way it sounded forbidden and dangerous was precisely what immediately picked Dinobot’s attention, who promptly accepted doing the task even before he knew what the something was.

 

It ended up being no big deal, just a few freshly harvested long bones from his habitual prey: the maximal needed to extract the still living bone marrow for a couple of experiments.

 

He recalled how the maximal’s optics widened at the sight of the bloodied gazelle: he instantly took Dinobot to the lab for manual repairs, to which the still blood-frenzied saurian did not protest or refuse.

 

Even though both knew the CR-chambers would take perfectly good care of the admittedly superficial lesions and cuts on his shell.

 

Even though Dinobot knew the clinical touch was not supposed to feel warm.

 

Dinobot couldn't help it: he knew he was messed up, damaged goods, like most predacons, having all his life lived under the weight of dysfunctional relationships, since his sparkling years with carrier and a sire that never showed up, through the wreck of a relationship he almost-had-only-not with Megatron.

 

Dinobot knew Rhinox was stealing the touches and sensations he wouldn't dare ask for, and frankly he couldn't blame the maximal. Dinobot couldn't deny he wasn't intrigued, and as the maximal actually buffered out the surface scratches on his chestplates, he casually asked asked what Dinobot wanted him to do in exchange for the materials, no matter what it was, and if he would be amenable for further, future requests.

 

Dinobot recalled the heavy atmosphere that befell the Lab right then, the scientist's optics boring into his own, one hand burning in each of Dinobot's shoulderplates, the moment lasting a nanoclick more than required, and this was when the saurian knew.

 

Obviously, from this day on, Dinobot rarely needed to suffer through a whole shift of camera duty ever again: Rhinox usually came late in the night, when everybody else was recharging, to take his place, even when he didn’t need anything specific from the outside world.

 

Dinobot, obviously, always brought something back: yes, he was very aware that Rhinox was abusing his position as an excuse to have Dinobot up close, every time he returned injured, and Dinobot did make sure to always sport a bruise or two... or ten, in quite visible places, expecting personal repairs from his scientifically capable hands.

 

Dinobot briefly pondered the whole thing should have reviled his tanks, except it didn't.

 

It felt strangely like home.

 

And he couldn't care less.

 

---------

 

Careless! What would carrier think seeing you now? Stupid sparkstruck fool!!

 

Megatron made sure to insult himself all the way from the predacon base, that he left on foot, on his own, once he made sure no one would be following, until he reached the foot of the hill where the meeting point would be.

 

The same hilltop Optimus brought him to, the day he was given a lift home.

 

As he climbed through the rocky pathway, on his beast mode, finally getting to the hilltop of the mountain overseeing the lava pits and the Darkside, he couldn't help being assaulted by his own treacherous memories, shooing them away as he visually scanned for threats.

 

As time passed and Optimus wouldn't show up, Megatron's paranoid mind begun doubting even Primal's intentions.

 

What if it is a trap?

 

He clicked his claws together in annoyance.

 

What if it isn't?

 

Scouting the sky again, impatient, Megatron was quite sure he should have just never come, or even better, had already left to his room and his CR-Tank and his miserable life by now.

 

As the clicks ticked by, no Optimus showing up, his tail swinging right and left, Megatron begrudgingly checked his inner clock.

----------------------------------------------------

 

Checking his inner clock, hovering out of sight, Optimus looked down at the meeting point, where Megatron already was, pacing in circles, occasionally stopping to curse something he couldn’t listen, but he could bet was some colourful expletive against himself.

 

In-venting, Optimus had one last chance to give up and return home: it had been hard enough to leave the Axalon with Dinobot (meaning, Rhinox) in camera duty.

 

Recalling how he made sure to leave right after Dinobot went out and before Rhinox left the lab and fully clocked in, while Rattrap and Cheetor literally argued about bananas, Optimus knew it would be a matter of time before his old friend missed him and went searching.

 

So, jetpacks in reverse, Optimus came down with a loud roar, optics focused on the saurian who immediately stopped pacing and looked up.

 

Optics locking into the saurian’s eyes, the maximal leader transformed on his way down, landing in gorilla mode, knuckling towards Megatron in beast mode, dipping his head in a nod as the predacon flickered both claws together in the air.

 

“Here I thought you would not come, Primal.”

 

Optimus raised one eyebrow, looking up at the predacon.

 

“And yet here you are.”

 

Optimus, trying to read for cues of potential deceit, paid close attention to the predacon circling once around him, lowering his head to the level of Primal's optics.

 

“How could I not, Primal?"

 

Optimus suppressed a smirk, remembering, as Megatron made sure to look up at the maximal from under his optic ridge.

 

"You have determined that we need to talk..."

 

Megatron averted his gaze to a side, then robot-moded, sticking his tail on the ground with one determined move, placing his hand on his left hip, swinging it once to the left as he rested his full weight on his left leg, finally glowing his optics crimson and donning the maximal leader a lopsided smirk and slowly walking towards the maximal, who couldn't avoid staring at the other mech's frame, taking in the sight, contemplating the curve of the synthofleshed purplish proto-feathers on his hips shining under the two moon's, giving way to the toned abs and the quite slim waist before enlarging at the chestplate, finally meeting the tyrant's optics, currently dimmed low, as the predacon's voice rolled in his audios like liquid energon in a whisper.

 

“...as such, I willingly complied, at your given coordinates, without a single ounce of protest.”

 

Optimus smirked, watching Megatron come close, at touching distance: the fragger wasn't even trying to conceal any intentions, if Primal's current impressions were by any stretch even remotely right.

--------------------------------------------------

 

Right from the remotest hunting grounds, Dinobot's voice came from the speakers, requesting the lift down and specifically asking for Rhinox to avert his gaze from the cameras, to which the maximal scientist obeyed, a smirk in faceplates.

 

Usually Dinobot's surprises were good enough to warrant Rhinox making such a concession: once the lift came up, the saurian walked closer, claws clicking on the ground, and the scientist took it as clue to turn and finally see...

 

...Dinobot, grinning, proudly sporting uncountable oedematous blisters at the exposed leathery skin not covered up by feathers, beast eyes puffed, bearing his precious gift in his claws.

 

“I’m positive you’ll find this most interesting.”

 

Rhinox was momentarily taken aback by the sore sight: instead of a bloodied predator in murderous glory, he was face to face with the worse anaphylactic reaction to the sting of hundreds of bees that the scientist had ever seen, as Dinonot proudly held a large chunk of a beehive filled with dripping honey in his claws.

 

Very aware of the seriousness of the situation,Rhinox immediately stood up from his chair, asking the saurian to follow him to his lab: he had a clean, sterile container where the rare, precious honey-filled honeycombs could be immediately stored, and was sure his new gazelle adrenal gland extract would have a positive effect to make him feel Prime.

 

-------------------------------

 

Feeling Prime, contemplating the approach of that infuriating, smug, delectable saurian, Optimus immediately robot-moded and closed the distance between both, yanking the visibly smirking predacon down by his breastplate, optics meeting in the dark, the maximal leader literally growling and baring his canines until both faces were almost touching, as Megatron finally smirked widely, asking.

 

"I presume you remembered to bring the blade?"

 

Minutely squinting, blinking twice, very glad he forgot to take it out of subspace, Optimus let go of his grip in the predacon's chestplates and produced the ceremonial blade from subspace, to which Megatron nodded in approval, one other positive ping in his systems.

 

"You still owe me it's history."

 

Megatron squinted and grinned at the implicit request, dimming his optics low, leading his left hand at Primal's right shoulderplate and tracing it slowly downwards until his waist, stopping there and gripping him firmly, as the maximal followed the motion with his optics.

 

"Obviously." he stepped ahead and approached the maximal's audials "However, the wretched nature of this planet dictates there is no way of accomplishing anything productive outside: so, before anything, I require a secure location where we shall not be affected by energon surge, or disturbed by unwelcome visitors."

 

Optimus squinted, subspacing back the energon blade that still was in his hands, mentally reviewing his map of caves that dwelled deep enough into the stone.

 

"I'm afraid I'm out of suitable natural places nearby."

 

"Pity. It would have been the experience for us to engage a comely wrestling match in our beast modes, culminating into my expected defeat followed by my full submission, but I suppose beggars cannot be choosers."

Optimus blinked twice, absolutely not imagining the full extent of Megatron's idea of full submission, as the tyrant winked, then traced his fingertips up his chestplates, finally bringing his left hand under the maximal's chin, lowering his face down until their lip-plates briefly touched, the moment immediately broken as Primal got hit by an energon surge, shifting into beast mode and finally looking up at the predacon.

 

"If you have any idea, of secure places at a reasonable walking distance from here, I'm all audials, Megatron."

 

Nodding absently, the predacon caught his tail that was still sticking to the ground, and beast-moded as well, briefly nuzzling the side of Optimus' face, purring and giving him one final nuzzle before heading to the trail, tail swinging left and right, talons touching the ground noisily.

"Hey! Where are you going??"

Megatron stopped then, legs crossed mid-motion, knees half-flexed, looking behind.

“It is obvious, is it not? I require a safe location. So, we should be heading towards your base."

 

Optimus shook his head, remembering Dinobot was on schedule to monitor the cameras, which really meant that in truth it would be Rhinox taking his place, and either options were horrifying.

 

"Rhinox and Dinobot are there, and the Darkside is down here."

 

Megatron nodded non-committally.

 

"...and down here we have Terrorsaur, Blackarachnia and... Tarantulus. Forget about Scorponok and Waspinator, they are quite harmless under normal conditions. I suspect Inferno might give you a hard time, though."

 

Groaning, Optimus shook his head while the predacon continued.

 

“Need I remind you, Primal, that we are still under our truce.” he winked “Your base is considerably safer. Besides... I promise I will behave… until you order me otherwise, yess.”

 

Before the silverback could retrieve his gaping jaw from the ground where it fell, Megatron turned on his heels, tail swishing left and right, walking down the trail in the hilltop, taking direction of the Axalon.

Giving up, knowing this time Megatron was right, Optimus whispered that it was just Prime, then followed behind, shaking his head.

Chapter 18: 18 - All your base

Summary:

Dinobot gets treatment, Rhinox is mad, Megatron's amused, and Primal learns Primus isn't that kind.

18 - All your base

 

Behind the counter, Rhinox filled the syringe with the purified extract, flickering it twice to make sure the air bubbles are removed from the liquid, as the already robot-moded Dinobot currently sat on the lab’s berth, covered in papules all over his organic mesh, thrumming in anticipation as he waited to be treated.

 

“I fail to see why you insist on trying these medications when we have perfectly functional CR chambers. I wouldn’t mind being enlightened on your reasons.”

 

Aware of the kind of game Dinobot was playing, Rhinox smirked, fell into his role and raised the syringe up, facing him.

 

“You have an organic poison in your beast parts. It has to be treated now, otherwise next time you transform, the beast mode might offline with its air intakes clogged because you were stubborn and refused to treat it.”

 

Rhinox motioned with his free hand for the saurian to extend his left arm, to which he mock-reluctantly did, receiving the so called medication under the organic skin on his forearm, grimacing.

 

“I have offlined mechs for causing way less pain than this.” Dinobot raised his chin up, a lopsided grin in his plates “You’re very lucky I’m no longer a predacon.”

 

Smirking, optics minutely glowing deep crimson, the maximal scientist focused on the saurian’s own.

 

“No, Dinobot. You are lucky I’m not a predacon anymore.”

 

He placed both the syringe and needle down to be sterilised.

 

“This first extract is meant to quickly reduce the critical swelling in your organic air intakes. There’s still one more to go.”

 

Rolling his optics up, Dinobot folded his arms and actually pouted, as Rhinox caught the second syringe, this time with concentrated chamomile extract, meant to lower histamine levels, requesting that he extended his arm once more.

 

“You should be proud, Dinobot, to know that thanks to your selfless efforts I have managed to produce these quite effective medications specifically tailored for the organic beasts of this strange world.”

 

The saurian obeyed with a smirk, exposing his left arm's deltoid plating to the scientist, who made sure to first trace, then thoroughly clean his left shoulder mesh very slowly, with nanite-solution, in preparation for the next medication.

 

Once he deemed the shoulderplating more than sufficiently cleaned, Rhinox caught the syringe, and Dinobot rasped his protest as the oily, thick liquid was injected, slowly, this time into the very techno-organic muscle of his left shoulder.

 

“I had as much interest in getting away from camera duty as you had of getting the samples.” he raised his chin up “It's a mutually beneficial agreement.”

 

Dinobot smiled widely, optics focused on Rhinox’ own, who returned him an amused smirk, taking the second syringe and needle away for sterilization as well.

 

“By the way, I must inform you. You’ll have to wait here, for your own security, until the collateral effects wear off before you can even leave the Lab.”

 

Growling, Dinobot wobbled, grumbling something unintelligible at the scientist, squinting very hard at him, optics dimming low as Rhinox simply donned him a condescending smile, then nudged his shoulder down very lightly with one single fingertip into a laying position on the berth, tracing agonisingly slowly every single old scar marring the ex-predacon's chestplates before he turned on his heels and left to the lab bench.

 

Recalling the anti-histaminic properties of the chamomile extract also had one peculiar effect, of inducing a slightly hallucinogenic state of sleep, Rhinox, finally headed to the huge honeycomb, as the saurian drifted into the realm of his wildest dreams.

 

---------

 

Not even in his wildest dreams Optimus imagined himself as lucky as he had been right now.

 

He managed to approach the Axalon, literally megaclicks later, with Megatron in tow, both in beast mode, without getting a single ping from Rhinox.

 

He frankly expected the lift to have come down by now with Rhinox sporting both chainguns aimed at the predacon leader’s spark, and on seeing it empty, he didn’t think twice, robot-moding and stepping in, literally getting the purple saurian’s tiny arms in hands and pulling him in as well, raising an index asking for silence.

 

Amused, Megatron smirked and transformed on his way up, the most silently he could, as Optimus pursed his lip-plates together: he was totally unprepared for the complete silence at the bridge, only the whirr of Sentinel running on the background, lights dimmed off, no one sitting at the cameras.

 

Actually scratching his head at the emptiness, he finally decided that Primus was being kind and decided mercifully ridding them of being seen, nodding once at Megatron, then turning on his pedes to enter the corridors that lead to the habsuites…

 

...meeting face first with a quite angry, quite green and quite big scowl, Rhinox’ optics glowing deeply crimson as he met Megatron’s and immediately shoved Optimus aside, stepping ahead towards the predacon with his very loaded, very dangerous chainguns, zimming and ready to shoot, one at his face, the other aiming at the spark.

 

Megatron actually stalled at the murderous frown in Rhinox’ face, as he fleeted a quick, worried glance at the maximal leader, who in-vented deeply, and mustering all the serenity he could, spoke.

 

“It’s all right, Rhinox. Megatron comes in peace.”

 

Ready to shoot to the next century through the predacon’s spark, making sure he would also turn these handsome faceplates into a puddle of loose atoms and photons, Rhinox never took his optics from the saurian, growling his reply.

 

“If he comes truly in peace, he will not mind stepping behind you and keeping back.”

 

Raising an optic ridge, Megatron tilted his head to the right, thinking and immediately desisting to voice his protest, as Rhinox cocked and activated the right chaingun, currently aiming at his spark, and the predacon made a conscious effort to not engage his fusion canon at the maximal scientist.

 

“Rhinox. Be reasonable. He promised he will behave.”

 

At the lack of response from his old friend, Optimus sighed, tiredly contemplating Rhinox also cock and activate his left chaingun, never taking his sight out of the predacon.

 

“If he doesn’t step behind you right now, I will shoot.”

 

At that, Optimus turned to face his guest, as Megatron dipped his head down, never taking his optics off the enraged scientist, dutifully stepping back until he placed himself behind the maximal leader: Rhinox looked predatory, albeit not in a good way, and he felt it better not to provoke him any further.

 

Having had enough, Optimus Primal, despite smaller than the hulking scientist, feeling the fur patches all over his shell rising up, in-vented, puffing up his chestplates and clenching his fists, yanking his subordinate down with both hands, making Rhinox meet him optic to optic, then actually growled and glowered his second in command up into silence.

 

After an instant that seemed to stretch indefinitely, the maximal leader pushed Rhinox with his left hand against the wall, never taking his optics away from his opponent, finally extending Megatron his right hand, palm up.

 

Very aware the situation right now was quite precarious and could defuse at the slightest mistake, Megatron, absolutely not taking the offered hand and resolutely not staring at Rhinox or even at the maximal leader, just walked past the duo quickly, as Optimus finally released the maximal scientist with a final growl, walking behind the predacon and resting a hand on the saurian's right arm right above where the dino-head ends, finally guiding his guest to the corridor where the habsuites are located, turning to speak.

"Rhinox. For the last time: we are under a truce, Megatron has promised to behave, and I will not be disturbed. I will make sure to ping an emergency code in case I need any help. Am I clear?"

Optics still crimson in anger, Rhinox clenched for a click his fists, in-venting deeply, slowly, finally lowering his chainguns down, shaking his head and moving towards the cameras, returning to his self-imposed monitor duty.

"You are the boss.” he changed the camera view on-screen, never taking his optics away “But I must warn you, Megatron: try anything against my friend, and you won't see the light of another day."

Megatron, feeling considerably safer now he had a wall of metal between himself and the enraged rhino, was about to respond with a witty remark, getting instantly nudged ahead by the maximal leader, quite harshly, and Rhinox couldn’t help thinking he had heard a faint chuckle dying into silence as Optimus' door opened and closed behind.

 

 

Chapter 19: 19 - OOops, I did it again!

Summary:

Megatron wants, Optimus wants, they are both alone. Could anything possibly go wrong??

Chapter 19 - Oops, I did it again!

 

Behind closed doors, Optimus sight-proofed and soundproofed his own room, just for a safety measure, immediately turning to see Megatron stretching like a cat, then absently caressing the peachy feathery nook behind his beast head's left eye, glaring intently at the head, who closed her eyes in delight.

 

Apparently feeling home, the tyrant contemplated the spartan room, not much unlike his own on the Darkside, taking note of the door that probably led to Primal's private washracks, also peeking a glance at the sturdy berth and the sturdy desk as well, finally glaring at the window to the outside of the ship, where he could actually see the full plethora of the stars.

 

"It's a one-way window." he stepped besides the predacon "Now we're here, what about the history of the energon blade?"

 

Megatron smirked.

 

"When the moment rises you will know, yess."

 

Optimus squinted, as Megatron turned to face him, lowering his lip-plates to his audials.

 

"Just so you know, despite my feverish, delirious state, I was not that far out of my mind back then, and I recall very well, that you made me a promise."

 

Turning a side glance to the visibly amused predacon at his left, Optimus felt his systems burn as he also remembered his own words, words Megatron rolled out of his lip-plates like liquid energon in his audials.

 

Not now. Not here. Not with you unable to properly consent.

 

Immediately baring his canines, the maximal lunged against the predacon, pinning the taller mech against the wall.

 

"Why didn't you tell it before?? Why did you let me suffer?? Why did you let yourself suffer for the whole lunar cycle???"

 

Smug, Megatron lowered his face, nose-to-nose with Optimus now, purring.

 

"Because it had to be your move, Primal, yessss."

 

Barely finishing the phrase, Megatron was instantly taken by a demanding kiss, all canines and tongue, his chestplates being yanked down by the maximal's right hand, his left holding the slim waist and bringing their shells together and out of the wall, the maximal making sure to manoeuvre them both close to the desk.

 

Freeing his left hand and swiping every single datapad to the ground with one move, Optimus captured Megatron's thighs, one with each arm, planting the saurian's aft onto the desk, running both hands up into the predacon's waist, their faces now levelled up as the tyrant smirked against his lip-plates, rising his legs up and locking both feet behind the maximal's aft.

 

"Maybe I am wrong, Primal, but I have a nagging, slight suspicion your old friend is less than pleased in seeing me around."

 

Optimus rolled his optics, then grinned against Megatron's lip-plates, capturing them between a pair of canines and pulling lightly, moving both hands from the predacon's waist right into his aft, bringing both closed interface panels together.

 

"I am positive he feels ready to storm in, on cue." Megatron whispered against the maximal's lip-plates.

 

Instantly taken by rage, Optimus actually punctured the predacon's lower lips, a fine line of energon dribbling down, Megatron's optics flaring full crimson as he licked the energon with a dangerous smirk.

 

"He is certainly waiting for you to say you cannot handle me and you need help."

 

At that, Megatron was lifted from the desk and unceremoniously thrown at the berth on his back, the maximal slotting himself between his thighs and meeting his face, pining him against the berth, lowering his face down the closest possible, squinting and actually growling.

 

"You talk too much."

 

And captured the predacon's mouthpiece on his own, effectively silencing him, planting one purposeful thigh over the predacon's closed interface panel, to which he received an involuntary grind back, as he heard the distinct sound of cooling fans whirring from the frame underneath his own.

 

"Look at you, hardly containing yourself." he made sure to cup the panel with his left hand "Now, how is it going to be? Are you going to open up for me or must I rip these panels apart with my bare hands?"

 

Feeling a full bodied ripple, at the show of strength, Megatron bit on his lower lip-plates, optics dimm, opening wide both legs, clicking the outer panel open...

 

...only to reveal one more sealed panel underneath.

 

Squinting, Optimus removed his hand to take a very good look at what was underneath, in-vented, then finally spoke.

 

"You, Megatron, owe me a very good explanation."

 

Chapter 20: 20 - How do I know?

Summary:

Megatron explains, and Optimus finally understands.

Chapter 20 – How do I know?

 

 

"...is this explanation good enough, Primal?"

 

Megatron finished with a single in-vent, as Optimus, spark missing a pulse, made sure to keep his tone even, as he rolled the info in his systems.

 

“You are telling me then that you have been fitted with a…”

 

“Vosian Class Nobility Seal, Independent Port and Connector, model 12. Carrier had taste.”

 

Remembering Vos was the ancient extinct city of the flight-moded cybertronians, Optimus was sensible enough not to voice his impressions on such outdated, barbaric practices, at the same time he felt slightly worried that there might be at least 11 other models of this particular brand.

 

He also asked himself how many more models and brands there might have been, at the same time scared and morbidly fascinated: this kind of thing was borderline psychopathic: what kind of mecha would bolt their young shut?

He then recalled sadly then, that Predacons lived in essence under a Rape Culture, and as such this level of personal security might have its place.

 

The fact Megatron was bolted shut by his own creators, during his early years, spoke volumes about his upbringing and automatically placed his origins within the Predacon upper class, and suddenly everything started making sense.

 

"I don't suppose you actually agreed to... this."

 

Megatron snorted.

 

"Sire had plans for me since my forging, and Carrier had no true means of officially intervening and changing my fate: the farthest carrier's influence could go was in picking up the colour, the brand and the model of the seal."

 

Megatron then crossed his legs, the right over the left, slowly swinging his right leg back and forth.

 

"Obviously, the moment I fully understood all the implications behind this, I tried my best to break free. Once I got hold of the blade and a new brand name, I finally did."

 

Not that Megatron would ever admit out loud that without the conniving, cold-sparked schemer that carrier had been, he would never have escaped his pre-determined fate with the blade in hands. To all effects, Megatron had stolen the blade and disappeared precisely when both creators were away in some stupid high-society gathering: in truth, however, carrier gave him the blade and told him when it would be the best moment for him to go away, having made arrangements for his new ID, and contacting Cryotek to take him in.

 

"I can't possibly imagine how you felt."

 

Optimus unhelpfully tried to help, breaking the silence between them, as Megatron shrugged and waved his left hand dismissively.

 

"There is nothing to be felt. Carrier had also been bolted, as grand-carrier was too. Had I not left, I would have been been made to bond some disgusting old mech who would debase and humiliate me just because he could, in every imaginable means possible, parading me as a trophy until he got tired, to in the end simply exchange me for a brand new fragtoy."

 

Optimus remained still, rolling the info in his systems: it was highly unusual for any mech to keep their fabric seals intact beyond their sparkling age, with most succumbing to temptation early, if not by being outright raped.

 

In order to avoid disgrace to the would-be high-class predacon carriers, the predacon high class (that traded virginity for political favours and position) made sure to bolt them shut from an early age: the practice pre-dates the existence of anti-sparking protocols, with the added bonus of keeping a mech's factory seals untouched...

 

Optimus widened his optics the moment realisation dawned on him.

 

Megatron is untouched.

 

Before he could actually voice his conclusion, Optimus was jolted out of his thoughts as Megatron, previously sitting by his left side at the edge of the recharging berth at arm's lenght, made sure to scoot closer, dino-hand placed behind the maximal leader's back, now touching hip-to-hip, then finally cleared his voicebox.

 

"Very well. I am aware you do not know how the ceremonial blade works so I will make this easy for you. Press the gem in the handle: it will show you the number of charges left."

 

Blinking twice, Optimus glanced at the Predacon at touching distance by his left side, unsubspaced the blade and did it, contemplating the holographic projection of the number one in predacon glyphs, as Megatron nodded to nowhere.

 

"Each charge unlocks one seal."

 

Rotating the blade between his fingers, Optimus pondered for a full click.

 

"But you have two seals."

 

Megatron smirked, maliciously, as Optimus opened his mouthplates to speak, finally closing them and remaining mute.

 

"Carrier might have been smart, but Sire was smarter: a chargeless blade would self-destruct, so he kept the charge at the minimum of one. The full charge would make the blade permanent, and it was meant to be added for the bonding ceremony."

 

Optimus blinked, numbly repeating.

 

"But you have two seals.”

 

“Yess?”

 

“Even if the blade self-destructed afterwards… two charges would have been more than enough."

 

"Not if after each time the seal plating was open, it had to be put back to re-seal the array, noo."

 

"But why the slag would you want to put it back... oh."

 

Silence immediately crept up on his mouthplates, grim realisation hitting him.

 

"I wasn't supposed to chose, Primal. My bonded would have full rights on my array, however he wished, to the point of deciding to keep me locked at all times except for his use, as would befit the good, pleasant, entertaining, agreeable, well-cultured, one-mech-only glorified piece of expensive shareware I was meant to be."

 

Optimus, resting both hands in his lap, the right one still holding the ceremonial blade, in-vented deeply as the info settled in his systems.

 

"...this is awful."

 

Megatron shrugged.

 

"Not all mecha had the chance of proper higher education. While you studied to become a scientist, I was made to learn not only Predacon and Maximal dialects and glyphs, but also Old Vosian, Old Praxian, Old Iaconian, Old Polihexian and even The Primal Vernacular. General History. Rituals of courtship. Music. Home economics. Spark-rearing. Basic Energon processing, basic Cybertronian Biology and correlate studies."

 

Pursing his lip-lates together as he stood dumbstruck by the résumé of Megatron's best conjunx qualities, Optimus pressed the handle's gem once more, re-reading the glyph for one.

 

"Would you rather have me try to remove both seals with a medkit?"

 

Megatron squinted, as the maximal added.

 

"I may be no medic but with a medkit I am positive I can remove both with minimal pain and scarring." he offered "Then you might keep the blade as a memento? So at some point in the future we could try to charge it up to maximum and make it permanent?"

 

Megatron tilted his head, contently processing Primal's words at the future and the we, immediately straddling Primal's thighs, holding a malicious smirk in face.

 

"I am touched by your disposition, but just between us... I would rather this slagging thing self-destructs once you take the lower seal away, Primal." he wriggled himself comfortable, capturing Primal's right hand in his left servo and boldly placing the furry hand on his aft "My mind is more than made up and you may begin whenever you wish, yess."

 

"But but but!" he stuttered, leading his left hand right into the predacon's aft "Won't you ever ever want to spi.."

 

"No."

 

Making Primal's hand slide until it fully cupped the left side of his aft, Megatron smugly smirked in triumph once the maximal finally gave his both aftcheeks an involuntary squeeze.

 

"But are you aware you'll only be able to get spi.."

 

"Yesss." 

 

"But."

 

Megatron then agonisingly slowly slided and ground against the maximal's scorching plating. ghosting his fingertips through the maximal's right hip, waist and chestplates, finally resting them under his chin.

 

"No more buts, Primal." a sudden flint of amusement passed in Megatron's carmine optics "Indecisiveness might be a cute trait on you, but not right now, noo."

 

Angling down and purring against the maximal's lip-plates, he whispered.

 

"Do it. Unbolt me, Primal." he donned him a lopsided smirk, cerise optics aglow "Make me yours."

 

Offlining his optics and baring his right canine, without warning, Optimus actually growled, unceremoniously held the predacon's thighs, then made sure to lunge themselves from the memory-foam of the berth right into the ground, however they fell, planting Megatron's back against the floor, hard enough to dent, and finally capturing the predacon's lip-plating in a hard, possessively demanding kiss, a single word currently filling the front of his processors.

 

Mine.

 

Chapter 21: 21 - Sweet Spark of Mine

Summary:

Dinobot wants, Rhinox sort-of-does-not-only-yes, Optimus enthusiatically does, and Megatron can hardly wait.

Chapter 21 - Sweet spark of mine

 

 

Mine.

 

He was supposed to have been mine.

 

Once. Back when both had been Autobots.

 

Shaking the hate-filled thoughts out of mind, grimacing as he recalled how he never had the courage to ask Optimus back on Cybertron, Rhinox sagged on his seat at the security feed, cycling between all the outer cameras, not paying true attention to any of them: sanity and reason long gone, he wondered his processor might burst any time, all logic circuits circling around a loop.

 

He absolutely did not bite his friend’s poor excuses for having brought a visitor like Megatron in.

 

Seizing his momentary solitude at the bridge, he brought forth the 3D depiction of Megatron onscreen, the projected saurian rotating around its axis as Rhinox rested a fingertip between his dentae, having to concede the predacon was a fine specimen indeed, and he couldn't help a tiny, easily suppressed smirk rising in his green faceplates: he could perfectly comprehend why someone might feel a pull to a strong, willing predacon saurian who called to every single primal senses and could deliver as good as he could take.

 

Immediately Rhinox shook his head, dismissing the unformed thought: it’s not treason if said saurian belongs to your team, right?

 

He groaned: leave it to his old friend to be so trusting that he would allow such obnoxious, irritating, and notoriously dangerous purple wonder into his very quarters.

 

For negotiations.

 

To be honest, he couldn’t truly define if Primal was being naive or immensely clever: in his optics, Primal’s reasons were so blatantly clear it wasn’t even funny, and Rhinox, as a good second in command, should have stormed in by now, for Optimus' safety, obviously, and extracted the predacon from there already, removing his sparkchamber and imprisoning it under stasis, for them to finally focus on repairing the Axalon to the trip back to Cybertron.

 

Pursing his lip-plates, he recalled how Dinobot glumly mentioned once that he would never be able to return unpunished to their homeland, not unless Megatron was the undisputed winner: as a predacon, the instant he stepped out of the shuttle, he would be as arrested and condemned as Megatron himself, and he wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of returning.

 

Actually, he mentioned more than once that in the event of a maximal victory, he would rather be left behind on this planet forever, in his beast mode, until his animal instincts took completely over and rewrote his neural function, culminating inthe full reset of whatever was left of himself into that of his beast mode, all superior mental function gone forever with his memories, the only thing remaining being an immortal utahraptor, forever roaming this land, until a bigger beast eventually finished him.

 

Rhinox, no matter how pained at the prospect of leaving Dinobot behind, never promised the saurian a way for him to return to Cybertron and getting fully pardoned in his own shell, because he honestly couldn’t promise anything.

 

The only thing he might be able to do would be to transfer his sparkchamber into the shell of any other maximal’s protoform that they could get their hands into, but that would also mean that Rhinox would have to offline the maximal that Dinobot would officially steal his new ID from, and this wasn’t a very maximal thing to do.

 

Shaking his head at the lack of morally perfect options, Rhinox groaned, pushing the subject of Dinobot’s new future ID out of mind for now, once more fleeting a glance at the rotating 3D Megatron in the screen where he should be monitoring the cameras, optics raking at its legs and back torso for a split click.

 

With barely concealed hatred, Rhinox could only hope his friend's reasons were not the ones he thought they were, and he finally punched the console's depiction of Megatron offline, groaning and bringing the surveillance camera's images back online, for the while.

 

For Cybertron, for Optimus Primal, and for his own selfish reasons, the maximal scientist could only hope that his deepest gut feeling was ringing him very wrong.

 

---------------------------

 

Feeling something very wrong with his systems, Dinobot held a hand in his lumbar struts, standing up and holding against the lab’s bench, suppressing his will to purge and trying his best to focus on reorienting his gyros as he inched close to the door.

 

Dizzy, dimly aware he had been told to not leave the lab, Dinobot shrugged then groaned, rubbing his claws against his optics and checking on his inner clock before walking out of Rhinox’ Lab anyway: not having found the scientist working there, he took an educated guess at where he would be, leaving for the bridge.

 

Unable to hide a smirk at the sight of the maximal scientist dutifully watching the camera feed, Dinobot blinked, still hazy from the injections, briefly checking right and left to see if either Cheetor or the vermin were around: not finding them, he quickly moved towards the chair, minutely wobbling before he came close and finally rested both hands at the back of the rotating chair.

 

Without needing to turn to know it was Dinobot behind him, watching the warrior’s face through the reflex of the screen, Rhinox rested the back of his head against the chair, staring up at the saurian.

 

“You are still having visible collateral symptoms from the medication. I said you weren’t supposed to leave until the symptoms were over.”

 

Blinking mute for a few nanoclicks, Dinobot released the chair and watched Rhinox rotate it to fully face him, then finally stand up, squinting at him.

 

“Did I allow you to leave the lab before that, Dinobot?”

 

Dinobot shook his head, face cast down, optics focusing on Rhinox from under his brow-ridges.

 

“Very well.”Rhinox spoke “What do you have to say in your defence?”

 

Dinobot, in-venting, carelessly stepped right into the maximal scientist’s personal space as he spoke.

 

“I awoke… as you said I would… quite... indisposed.” he stuttered as his hazy processors failed to properly control his voicebox, then minutely rose his head, just enough not to tower over Rhinox for now “You weren’t in the Lab, so…I came looking. I am aware I disobeyed a direct order from... my superior officer.” his optics briefly flashed as he minutely rose the left corner of his lip-plates, a sliver of his glossa daring to lick the pointed teeth for a split nanoclick “I’m aware… I’m due my… well-deserved punishment.”

 

Squinting, Rhinox instantly yanked the ex-predacon down by his grime-caked, feathered chestplates, optics locked one into the other, foreheads touching as he spoke.

 

“You do deserve Discipline, Dinobot.” he let go of his grip, noting with satisfaction how the saurian’s optics remained focused on his own. “Hit a quick CR to wash these filthy feathers and make yourself properly presentable before heading to my habsuite where you shall wait for me, while you think about how you’d like to be disciplined. Am I clear?”

 

Dinobot nodded, unable to suppress a smirk, leaving the premises to do exactly as he was told, as Rhinox checked on his inner clock, shaking his head and pinging Cheetor a request for him to take over the cameras until dawn, finally heading to his lab: he intended to clean everything up before he could head to his own dependences for the remainder of the night, but first he had to make sure there had been no damage to any sensitive hardware, afterall.

 

----------------------------

 

Hardwired, sensitive plating flaring at the smallest touch, Megatron arched his back: the maximal leader, currently slotted panel-to-panel between his thighs, lightly nipped at the predacon’s powerful neck cables, careful not to produce visible claim marks as he trailed down the saurian’s chestplates, agonisingly slowly, issuing a full plating lock in his own interface array as he ghosted his blunt, organic fingertips down the saurian’s waist right into his ventral plating, finally sliding a lazy finger at the sides of the predacon’s ventral panels, blindly locating the locks he was reaching for.

 

A quiet click followed in the silence of the room, the accursed chastity seal right there before his optics now, both the independent upper and lower dark-purple plates running hot under his touch.

 

Recalling Megatron’s very specific request to have the lower seal out and the blade gone, he nodded to himself, pressing the gem at the handle with a triple-click in rapid succession, the blade’s plating transforming and folding out to reveal the single, once-only energon charge flickering underneath.

 

Making sure to hold the blade firmly in his right hand, Optimus deliberately impaled the crackling energon blade at the very middle of the lower port plating, the exact way Megatron told him to do, its single charge spreading towards the twin side-railings, the purple seal first glowing then going lax in place, demagnetised, at the same time the now chargeless blade eroded itself into purple glittery dust between Primal’s fingers in a puff of powder between them.

 

Having pretended not to watch the self-destruction of the blade, for it was unbecoming to do so, Megatron grimaced: good riddance, he pondered in farewell to the blade as the maximal (who didn’t take his eyes off the now loose plating for a single instant) dusted his hands off one into the other, the glittery powder falling to the ground and over the now demagnetised piece of chassis, his two hands faintly aglow with a purplish tone, and he finally picked the lower seal up, rising it for the predacon to see.

 

For a full click Megatron contemplated the contraption that was a symbol of the fate he escaped, nodding as the maximal nodded back, throwing the plating behind his back as it clanged away into the wall, bouncing three times before finally ending in a fading rotating motion, right underneath Primal’s recharge berth.

 

Minutely distracted by the discarded thing, he was completely taken by surprise the moment Optimus led his right hand’s fingertips to trace the no-longer-hidden port’s outer contours, the dark-purple mesh glistening as the glittery powder still in his fingers mixed with the intimate plating’s sheen of lubricants that slowly dribbled from within, making it gleam in the near-dark of the room.

 

What the slag, was the farthest Megatron could bring to mind as he thought of actually protesting: he had half-expected the maximal to immediately spring to action and just plain take what was now rightfully his, instead of the cautious exploration he was being subjected to.

 

Briefly torn between obeying the insistent coding that wanted him to be silent - as he ought to be - and take whatever was offered by his owner, even if it wasn’t good, and ignoring it and possibly ruining whatever Optimus had in mind with his delicate approach, Megatron took the only non-conflicting action he could and squirmed, trying to wriggle out of the reach of Primal’s strong hands long enough to clear his thoughts and maybe…

 

...and maybe he was utterly slagged, he dimly pondered, as the maximal simply sank his face into the port, dragging a slow, deliberate lick from the base of the outer folds to the covering of the upper biolight-glowing node.

 

This was absolutely not anything like the scripted bonding ritual he had received as guideline for this moment back then, Megatron weakly registered, the instant he stiffened before going lax himself at the persistently repeated attention, absolutely not releasing a needy, involuntary whine as the back of both his knees were lifted and placed each on one of Primal’s shoulders, the faintly-glowing purple glitter from the maximal’s strong, furry hands spreading on the protofeathers and scales of his legs while the maximal slowly coaxed the outer folds open with his glossa alone.

 

Uselessly trying to grip against the ground with his left hand, clawing irregular, shallow stripes on it, his lower back lifted from the ground and now resting at the maximal’s chestplates as he was effectively mech-handled nearly upside-down on Primal’s lap, he finally managed to open his mouth-piece to complain, getting stopped on his effort by the slide of the furry palms up the predacon’s thighs, finally reaching the back of his aft, pulling him even closer, if any such a thing was possible, then sliding up through the lumbar then dorsal struts and bringing Megatron into a nearly-sitting position, never once ceasing to explore the humid opening, blindly mapping its contours, committing to memory the moment he coxed the inner biolight-glowing folds open before he finally met, with the tip of his glossa, the thin, protoform-derived, finely cribbed true seal from which the pinkish lubricant discreetly dribbled in small amounts as the maximal lapped it slowly, making sure to completely swipe every single droplet away

 

Before he could point out the cribbed mesh is not sensitive on its own, except for pain, and that it needs proper, traditional removal, before he can actually enjoy anything, Megatron crashed into overload, in the most unexpected fashion he never imagined to, both legs locked behind the maximal’s helm, electric spark-charge crackling in his frame, Optimus’ optics off as he held the upper node between his upper and lower left canines, a full smirk in face.

 

----------------

 

A full smirk in face, Rhinox chimed his habsuite open, finding the ex-predacon protocol-knelt down in the middle of the room, sitting on his pedes, both hands on his thighs, optics off, facing away from the door.

 

Pretending not to have listened to the hydraulics of the door opening then closing, Dinobot schooled his face to remain neutral as he focused on the dulled vibrations from the set of heavy, stomping pedes coming to a halt right before him.

 

Clearing his voicebox to officially announce his arrival, Rhinox squinted as Dinobot’s EM-field minutely wobbled before getting immediately reigned in.

 

Pursing his lip-plates, Rhinox knelt down before the warrior, immediately bringing him close into what could only be described as a bear-hug, Dinobot’s knees slotting between the maximal’s parted legs.

 

Hiding his face at the crook of the maximal scientist’s neck, he let himself feel the steady, strong pulse of the spark underneath for a full click, before the silence was broken.

 

“Can I correctly presume you still have collateral symptoms?”

 

Dinobot silently nodded, hunching down as Rhinox slotted the underside of his chin over the top of the saurian’s helm in silent understanding for several clicks until both spark-frequencies synchronised, and the maximal scientist finally stood up, extending his hand towards the conflicted warrior.

 

Finally standing up after accepting the offered hand and getting into his pedes, Dinobot was made to sit at the right side of the berth as Rhinox walked around it towards the left side, sitting for a half-click before laying on his back and offlining his optics, both sharing the silence in the darkened room until Dinobot spoke.

 

“Well? What are you waiting? I am supposed to be punished. For disobeying a higher ranking officer.”

 

Rhinox onlined one single optic.

 

“Not punished. Disciplined. There's a big difference.”

 

Dinobot groaned, as Rhinox, unfazed, spoke.

 

“Punishment entails suffering and diminishes the respect between partners. Discipline has long-lasting, positive effects.”

 

Before Dinobot could protest, Rhinox rose a fingertip in the air, effectively silencing him.

 

“As your superior ranking officer, I deem you sufficiently chastised already.” he patted the empty side of the berth twice. “Now come here.”

 

Dinobot felt the slow ripples of Rhinox’ patting on the berth, reigning himself not to just succumb, snarling.

 

“Wouldn’t you by any means have concocted any medication to help the hallucinations go away? So I could be finally, properly pun... disciplined?”

 

Rhinox turned then both optics online, shining crimson like beacons, as he shook his head in the dark, very aware that Dinobot’s optics could see him clearly.

 

“Every medication has collateral effects, as you by now already know. Every time we aim to treat a condition, it’s an exchange: you only switch a worse problem with a more tolerable one.”

 

Dinobot glumly acquiesced to the faultless logic, as Rhinox kept on talking.

 

“Now that you have been sufficiently chastised, we should just wait it out until you’re good to go.”

 

In-venting, Dinobot groaned, as Rhinox turned on his right side, facing the saurian as he once more patted the right side of the berth with his left hand.

 

“Come here, will you?”

 

Optics offline in a grimace, Dinobot suppressed a growl, as Rhinox squinted, then pinched his nosebridge, the gesture clearly conveying his increasingly waning patience “Quit being stubborn, for once, and come here.”

 

Almost there, pondered the warrior, suppressing a forming smirk.

 

He might be suffering the medication’s side effects, he might even be hallucinating having heard Primal’s voice saying Megatron came in peace, and perhaps he might have completely imagined Rhinox being justifiably angry, but Dinobot was very certain that being stubborn pays in the end, and he wanted nothing less than to break Rhinox’ nice act, all the while being taken advantage of in every possible ways afterwards, under the maximal's huge, strong and very much capable hands..

 

Chapter 22: 22 - Mortillus, it's Vosian!

Summary:

Megatron is not happy, Optimus though he was happy, Dinobot thinks he's hallucinating still and plays even harder-to-get than usual, Megatron snaps and the maximal leader finally takes full control of the situation.

Chapter 22 - Mortillus, It’s Vosian!

 

 

Huge, strong, capable hands held him close, and Megatron need not gather confirmation of where and with who he was, as he flickered both optics on in the dark.

 

Mentally reviewing his databanks, squinting at nowhere and scanning the room from right to left with his optics alone, he recalled the events of the previous megaclicks, from before he went off, unsurprised that his security systems had quit registering the close presence of Optimus Primal as an enemy threat, currently regarding him as…

 

Pinching his nosebridge and feeling for the grounding presence of the welcome weight and heat on his back, he sighed. That was the expected outcome, was it not?

 

Speaking of expected outcome.

 

Slightly raising his left leg and peeking down in his now closed ventral plates, with a nearly silent click, he took a full while trying to see what had really happened, getting effectively trapped by the pair of stupidly heavy hands holding him from behind, clasped on the middle of his waist.

 

Unwilling to awake the maximal for now, at least not until he made sure the whole thing was properly done, unable to either bend and neither look or even take his left hand down there, he took a few seconds thinking then glaring at his currently recharging dino-head, lightly tapping her twice, a single yellow-red eye opening at him.

 

Minutely widening his optics and motioning with them towards the currently open lower plating, the head literally rolled her eyes at him (How dared she!) but finally complied, extending her tongue down and literally probing every available centimetre of the port, not only in tactile exploration but also chemical, giving a final, light probe inside, briefly returning and staring up to Megatron, literally shaking herself in a no.

 

Having confirmed the biological compounds detected by his beast-mode’s sensors, not finding what he was looking for, Megatron immediately shifted from calm and content to completely enraged, instantly elbowing behind, with his left arm's elbow deeply at the unsuspecting Primal's abdominal plating currently on display.

 

-------------

 

Abdominal plating currently on display, a pair of very green hands on his hips, Dinobot grinned: the rhino was very, very close to losing control, so the ex-predacon made sure to squirm and wriggle the most he could until he had riled Rhinox enough that the scientist had no option but to simply capture him from the edge of the berth, pine him on his back and make him stay put underneath his hefty weight.

 

“I will only ask one last time, Dinobot. Adrenal gland gazelle extract does not result in hallucinations, so I must ask: are you still having any symptoms from the chamomile extract?”

 

For a click pondering he could actually hear Megatron’s very muted voice grumbling colourful expletives in Old Vosian in the distance of his mind, very much certain he was still hallucinating, Dinobot stared up at Rhinox.

 

“I must admit... unfortunately, yes.”

 

Dinobot then half-lightened his optics, speaking in a hushed tone.

 

“I dare say… the medication you devised with your superior skills is too strong even for my cybertronium-will.”

 

Dinobot then rose both hands to rest flat against the Rhinox’ chestplates, feeling for the vibration of the spark underneath.

 

“I’m very certain that only you can help me with my predicament.”

 

He rose his chin, as the maximal’s pleased glare focused entirely on his own optics.

 

“How can I help your predicament then, Dinobot?”

 

“Make me forget...” he moved both hands behind the scientist’s neck, bringing him completely over himself, both faces at kissing distance. “...the hallucinations… before I start hearing Primal Vernacular. Be merciful and frag it away from me.”

 

------

 

“Frag away from me now! What’s your problem???”

 

Futilely trying to understand what happened, barely out of recharge, Optimus clutched a hand on his ventral plating, the other keeping a ranting Megatron at bay, the predacon’s furious demeanour spitting a barrage of accusations at him.

 

“...Inculturé brute, ignoble, ignominieux maximalle gorille! Vous n’avez pas concrétiser votre pròmesse adéquadement à mes besoins! Comment pouvez-vous me rejeter comme ça??? C'est moi qui vous inquire maintenant, avez-vous un pròbleme avec moi, ouiii? Je ne veux pas voir cette…”

 

“ENOUGH!”

 

Megatron immediately went mute, optics wide, visibly suppressing a wince, for a split second being fed by the wretched coding that he was a worthless mate that fully deserved punishment for talking back to his master in a language he didn’t know, as Optimus shook his head, staring at his own pedes.

 

“I didn’t mean to scream but you weren’t listening.” he turned his optics up at the visibly worried predacon “I… have no knowledge of what I can very much suspect is Old Vosian by the vocal intonation. Unfortunately, the only other language I have any notion of is Old Helex, and we had been taught it just rudimentarily so we could write scientific notation. So.. yes. Please explain to me everything again, but in current Neocybex.” he sighed “...since I didn’t do anything this time.”

 

“That’s precisely the problem, Primal!” Megaron reset his vocaliser and spat, punching the air between himself and the maximal’s face "You truly did nothing!" Optimus evaded him and he continued “How dared you do to me such a half-afted job???”

 

“Half-afted? Half-afted????” he grimaced “How can you say it after you have had three fragging overloads in a sequence, because you kept begging for more until you went offline???”

 

Optimus made sure to shake three fingers right before the predacon’s optics, as Megatron grimaced, forcing the memories to the back of his processors and finally hissed, clenching his fist once again.

 

“Half-afted yess indeed! There are no chemical residues of transfluid and my protoform’s seal is still there!”

 

Dodging, then instantly capturing the predacon’s left hand in his right, before he finished the punch and dealt any damage, Optimus held Megatron’s forearm down just enough to stop his senseless attack, stepping close and squinting.

 

“You went offline, Megatron. I couldn’t take advantage and just…”

 

At the predacon’s immediate smirk, Optimus gaped.

 

“Holy Primus, are you telling me by any twisted predacon logic I was supposed to frag you right there and then? Unconscious and unresponsive?”

 

“YESS!!! Precisely that!!!” he shook a fingertip at the maximal’s nosebridge “Where did you finish if not on me???”

 

Optimus blinked.

 

“Finish??”

 

“Yes, finish.” he squinted “Do not make me have to spell it for you in the very much crass glyphs of Old Tarnian.”

 

Gaping, understanding, Optimus actually scratched the fur in his head, staring down.

 

“I… I didn’t.”

 

Megatron literally captured the maximal by his chestplates and raised him up, grimacing right into his face.

 

“Why the slag not??”

 

“You went off. It didn’t seem the right thing to do.”

 

Megatron growled a dragged-out felinoid hiss, then grimaced the maximal down, clicking and rasping what could only be a low, lengthy curse in Primal Vernacular, finally going mute as Optimus squinted then in-vented, having understood nothing of the cursing, then finally resting both hands at the predacon’s shoulderplates, from where the maximal’s heady hands slowly manoeuvred the tyrant into a siting position back on the berth.

 

“So that ficlet you actually sent me is…”

 

“...It is not a ficlet, it is a Proper Guideline.” Megatron scowled. “I would never waste my own time sending you a guideline you were not supposed to follow, noo.”

 

Optimus shook his head then started chuckling.

 

“Here I thought you had sent me colourful por..”

 

Megatron, from his sitting position, immediately rose a finger to Optimus’s snickering face.

 

“No. Not that. Absolutely not. Sacre-bléu, pelo amor de Primus, isso não.” he grimaced sitting back on the berth “It is a Guideline. To be properly followed. For the completion of the full, correct rite.”

 

Megatron then pinched his nosebridge and averted his gaze, as Optimus pondered for a full click before he spoke.

 

“Would it make you feel better if I said I actually would be able to remove it with a medkit?”

 

Immediately furious, the predacon reached the maximal’s chestplating with his left hand, yanking him down until both noses met.

 

“What’s your problem??? Why the obsession with medkits, Primal???”

 

Optimus did his best innocent face, half over the sitting predacon currently holding him hostage by the grip on his chestplate’s fur.

 

“Medkits come with anaesthetics.” he angled his head slightly to the right “Since you’re so opposed to feeling pain, I thought you would like it better than by me doing it my way. Apparently, I’m wrong.”

 

Face schooled to neutrality, Optimus pretended to try to leave the predacon’s grip, still retaining the tilt in his head, and Megatron actually prevented him of slipping away from his scowling face, optics shifting to a squint.

 

“Your… way.” he slightly let go of the maximal’s chestplate “Enlighten me on your way, yesss.”

 

The maximal nodded, raising his right hand to touch the underside of Megatron’s chin, slightly lifting it.

 

"Whisper shushed Old Vosian against my finials and I just might."

 

Optimus could swear the predacon’s optics instantly cycled wide open and actually flared pink before the maximal captured his lip-plates on the saurian’s in a heated, angled, furious kiss.

Notes:

This is a very self-indulgent piece, as you all already know, and in my own personal headcanon:

1 - Vosian = French
2 - Helex = Greek
3 - Tarnian = Latin
4 - Polihexian = Any Portuguese, Basco, Romenian
5 - Praxian = Spanish and Latin-America Spanish
6 - Maximal Neocybex = North American English
7 - Predacon Neocybex = British English
And finally:

8 - Primal Vernacular - chuffs, growls, clicks, whirrs, assorted mechanimal sounds - the very first Cybertronian language from the Times Before the Quintessons arrived.

---
Imagine waking up to full-fledged insulting in languages you don't know: now imagine a furiously outraged Megatron doing so.

Obviously, Dinobot, sufficiently traumatised by hearing Megatron's furious multilingual rants since back on Cybertron and right before they landed, had long honed his sensors to capture the very vibrations of the slightest hint of his tantrums way before the tyrant came by, which is why he can actually know what is happening, even without having heard a single word of it.

Poor Primal had no idea that this might happen, however.

Once he witnessed it, though, he certainly was going to reap every single benefit, ouiiii...

Chapter 23: 23 - J'ai envie de toi

Summary:

Dinobot likes it rough, Optimus makes things up as he goes, Inferno notices Megatron left, Scorponok gave up and is just going along, and Rattrap cannot believe in his latest find.

Chapter 23 – J’ai envie de toi

 

 

Furiously kissed, the tiniest energon droplets dribbling down slowly into his partner’s blue plating, Rhinox relished the rough treatment Dinobot’s pointed teeth did on his lower lip-plates, the feather-light tingling laced with undertones of pain at each unexpected nibble.

 

Huge green hands grounding each of his shoulders down against the berth, acutely aware of the maximal’s weight pressing on his lower body, Dinobot made sure to make his needs known.

 

Bony legs up, techno-organic syntofleshed muscles wrapping around Rhinox’ hips, pedes aggressively scraping the outer leathery cuirass at the scientist’s lumbar struts, Dinobot smirked widely against the green lip-plates: it’s not submission if you are the one demanding it, right?

 

At the sound of panels clicking open, his own underplating meeting the unmistakable wetness of a hungry valve, Rhinox turned his optics on as the warrior rasped.

 

“Make it hurt.”

 

Rhinox then turned his optics towards the warrior with a squint.

 

“Ready?”

 

The hard grinding up followed by a most obscene roll of hips was the only answer Dinobot needed to give, the sound of panels other than his own now clicking open as he was unceremoniously filled, the scientists thick spike literally pressurising right into the already dripping valve, no preambles, no further warning.

 

They were of the same size class: Dinobot might be slightly taller, but Rhinox was heavier, which evened things up and made the absolute need for any kind of lengthy prep moot, turning everything outright convenient, especially when one was eager enough to jump the other and demand service.

 

Size compatibility was however not enough to dull the heady pain of being almost instantly stretched open, no to mention the fact that Rhinox’s size and placement of charge nodes was nearly matched to his own inner lining made everything better: the stretch was painful enough to be good, and Primus knew Dinobot was more than ready.

 

If he was going to be honest with himself, he had been painfully ready since he came back online at the Lab, barely able of keeping control once he found Rhinox dutifully manning the cameras: Dinobot was very much willing to straddle the scientist there and then, making sure to defile (with their combined fluids) the very chair where the whole crew used to sit when on monitor duty.

 

It would have certainly been a sight, he mused as Rhinox made his first, deliberately slow move, sliding the green spike out almost completely, only its upper biolight-glowing tip remaining inside, stalling as Dinobot tried forcing him back in, finding the maximal had locked them in position just like this.

 

------------------

 

“Like this?”

 

Optics off, relishing the slow slide of the maximal’s connector – never a spike, Megatron was self-respectable and well-brought-up enough to not even think such ungraceful tarnian-derived slang - making sure to dimly online a single magenta optic and steal a glance or two (or three) at the white and blue piece of anatomy sliding back and forth (for it was unbecoming to show too much interest!), Megatron turned his optic back off before Optimus noticed he had been staring, and silently nodded, actually hiding his face against the crook of the maximal’s neck.

 

In his mind he had imagined the whole thing going differently: on an ideal, formal, Predacon world, he would have been given a protocol overload, to then be taken while he was offline, then would come back to consciousness with the whole thing done for, to then be allowed proper berthrest and reprieve until any and all inner repairs were finished, and then, only then, in the next time if his future bonded deemed him deserving, if he was lucky to get a good, honourable mech, he might be allowed to finally start enjoying it.

 

Obviously, Primus liked to make him suffer, removing the predictability and formality of the situation and simply replacing everything with Optimus Fragging Primal.

 

Not that Megatron was complaining: the maximal was honestly making a stellar effort to do everything right.

 

No matter such noble-sparked mech had no clue on how he was supposed to behave and was clearly making stuff up as he went along: the anxiety of not knowing what was going to happen next was literally making Megatron want to crawl out of his own underplating and right into the Maximal’s sparkchamber, if anything to snuff his spark and finally spare himself the shame of having to actually verbally answer Primal’s misguided questions.

 

“Do you need me to stop?”

 

Stop?????

 

A half-suppressed outraged whine was all Megatron could voice however, before he actually bit on his lower lip-plate at the familiar feeling of warm wetness dribbling from the build-up of lubricants behind the cribbed seal, his half-functional, overheated processors barely registering the instant the connector’s tip paused right there, simply collecting the fluids for a split click and going back into maddeningly slowly sliding, back and forth.

 

That’s it, Primal devised the perfect plan to win the Beast Wars and it involved not fragging him into stupor and compliance, just almost into.

 

Hyper-focused, determined to take control of the situation once and for all, despite the dreaded coding screaming at him not to do it, Megatron, pain be damned, a master in finding and using loopholes, made sure to slightly move his legs up behind the maximal’s back, very much intending to subtly seize the next time Primal touched the cribbed mesh to simply make him plunge down and inside with a well-placed jerk of his powerfully long T-rex legs.

 

Easier said than done: finding he absolutely lacked coordination to even try to lock one pede against the other, much less having the strength to lift his own aft, charge crackling in his frame, he completely missed the next pause, vision going white at the edges during the aborted attempt, wholly unable to do anything but let himself go.

 

Having been painfully awake and conscious as he drove the predacon into overload three times before, Optimus, honourable but not stupid, wasted no time now, instantly letting go of his weight, both hands gripping each side of the predacon’s hips, lip-plates capturing the predacon’s own and biting, finally breaking through the finely cribbed mesh in a single, brutish move.

 

-------------

 

In a single and brutish move, Inferno finally managed to wedge the Royalty's quarters open with both hands alone.

 

No matter he had the override code: the Royalty had been very specific in that he could not get in with the code unless it was an absolute emergency.

 

Since he still did not know whether they were under an absolute emergency or not, unwilling to abuse the royalty’s trust, he made sure to invade the room: the royalty did not expressly forbid him of breaking inside, afterall.

 

Somehow managing to squint his bug-optics, proud of his brilliant logic, Inferno respectfully peeked inside, only to find it empty.

 

Annoyingly empty.

 

“See? I told you, Megatron isn’t home.”

 

Shifting a mean glower at Scorponok, Inferno grimaced: unfortunately for us, his face stayed absolutely the same, kind of undermining the effect of Inferno’s awful mood.

 

“It isn’t like The Royalty to sneak out without instating you, our Juvenile Queen, into power first. Something’s wrong.”

 

Scorponok facepalmed at the title, in-vented deeply then walked into the empty room and visually scanned it while honestly looking for anything truly amiss: he had long given up trying to micromanage Megatron’s moods and intentions, because he was a sane mech, that knew precisely when not to even try, and was mildly exasperated as Inferno kept on speaking.

 

“What if the Royalty found a stasis pod signal and went after it, like the other time, and ran into the Enemy Colony’s Queen or its drones?”

 

Groaning, Scorponok shook his head as Inferno transformed and scuttered on his ant pedes all over the room, smelling and tasting every single molecule he could place his sensors into.

 

“Megatron is a strong, intelligent, capable leader who can outsmart nearly anymech in this planet.” Scorponok spoke “Even when he last disappeared, he returned nearly undamaged, on his own, without ever asking for rescue, then cowed everyone into silence, as expected. He will be fine.”

 

Obviously Scorponok remembered very well the day a powered-up Terrorsaur scrapped Megatron to pieces until stasis lock, and it had been up to Waspinator and himself to literally pick up the pieces and reassemble him back into function: Inferno had not been around back then, and couldn't fathom that the predacon leader was not absolutely infallible.

 

Scorponok was slightly too fond of his own continued existence, however, to simply hand Inferno a new reason to worry, afterall.

 

“You have faith in our Queen, Princess, as you well should.” Inferno almost solemnly spoke as he tatted his antennae around the Queen’s CR-jacuzzi, the place where the particular scent of the Royalty lingered the strongest. “You will thus take command as our Juvenile Queen while she is away. I will remain with you at all times to protect you against the treacherous drones.”

 

For a split click Scorponok dimly pondered that he was the Second In Command, not the other way round, and as such he was supposed to give him orders: being a notorious coward however, Scorponok decided, like he did with most things in his life that he could have done differently, to let it go.

 

It wasn’t worth the effort, so he simply didn’t even try to correct Inferno, mentally shrugging as he opened his left pincer and, pinging it a data burst with its mission, released a cyberbee.

 

As Inferno continued on his task of mapping the Queen’s last actions. whirring a blip, the cyberbee jumped in a perfect eight in the air, quickly going to the ceiling and getting into an airlock.

 

------

 

Getting out of an airlock within Dinobot’s room, Rattrap snorted, finding it unsurprisingly empty.

 

Having just checked the presence of every single maximal signature that took official residence in the Axalon, also unsurprised to find no one less than Megatron inside the ship, he shook his head as he walked into the warrior’s personal computer, robot-moding and releasing a hacking cable, opening a side panel to the terminal and plugging in.

 

Mind narrowing to the firewalls encrypting choppaface’s files, he made sure to evade every single one of them, slipping through the saurian’s connection to the ship’s mainframe, gaining access first to Rhinox’ archives, then via the scientist’s Lab, rerouted into Optimus Primal’s own encrypted pathway, finally opening the audio and visual feed of the room.

 

Not that he wanted to be a voyeur, but as the last sane maximal around, he had to know.

 

Thanking Primus profusely for apparently having been spared of the juiciest bits of the action, Rattrap mentally leered at the duo, both currently offline, the fearless leader very much slotted between the purple wonder’s legs, and by the looks of it still connected.

 

Big Boss, what the slag did you do with your life??

 

Before he could bodily leave the link he had opened, however, a sliver of movement and the sound of a spike retracting back caught his attention.

 

Seeing a pair of magenta optics flickering online in the dark, he zoomed the camera in, morbidly capturing to physical memory the images as Megatron simply pushed the maximal away from himself and into the ground with a thud, slowly sitting on the berth and resting his head on his only hand, apparently facepalming, the unmistakably quiet click of a set of intimate panels closing down.

 

Despite being a shameless glitch, Rattrap had sense enough to not gape at Primal’s sprawled frame, absolutely not lingering at the sight of what could only be a now slotted albeit still exposed spike cover.

 

He could not however avoid staring the moment Megatron stood up, walking up to the maximal and staring down.

 

He was ready to leave Dinabutt’s room and break into his leader’s habsuite if it meant saving him: he knew it had to be a ploy, he knew Megatron was not to be trusted, and…

 

...and he was wholly unprepared to see the predacon leader hesitate for a split click with his left hand hovering in the air, before kneeling down and with a single fingertip under the lateral seams in Primal’s inguinal plating, Megatron located the exact spot in order to close the until then obscenely open panels, the tyrant's face turned to the other side in what could only be a prudish display.

 

Slowly standing up from his knelt down position with the prone form in arms, Megatron once more surprised Rattrap, placing Primal back into the berth and finally tucking in the maximal leader with the covers.

 

Uh.

 

Once Megabutt apparently deemed the maximal leader sufficiently comfortable, the predacon finally whispered for his dino-hand to be quiet, slowly stepping away right into Primal’s private washracks and leaving a gaping Rattrap contemplating the whole thing, dumbstruck, behind.

 

-------------------------

Chapter 24: 24 - Aftermath

Summary:

Waspinator decides he's safer following Inferno and the Princess, Rattrap taunts Megatron, and Rhinox commands an elated Dinobot into repairs.

Chapter 24 - Aftermath

 

Dumbstruck, behind a fixture of the wall, Waspinator watched very worried the moment Scorponok left Megatron’s room followed by Inferno, who briefly turned and forced the door back closed, both heading down the corridor.

 

As far as Waspinator understood, from what he overheard, Megatron was not at the ship, and did not tell either mechs of his whereabouts.

 

Being the third predacon that Megatron ever recruited, right after Scorponok and immediately before Dinobot, Waspinator made an immense effort not to buzz in worry.

 

Last time Megatron disappeared, he was the first to be unwillingly scrapped the instant their leader returned.

 

Not having been scrapped since, recalling that Inferno had been regarding him as a very useful, hardworking colony member, Waspinator, unwilling to lose the privilege of being protected, decided to simply keep being a good drone, thus following the duo, making sure not to laugh as Inferno blurted one “Yes my Princess!”, followed by Scorponok’s resigned silence.

 

----------

 

Silently, resigned, Megatron locked himself inside the private washracks, moving under the rerouted waterfall’s water spray, quickly transforming to beast while running diagnostics.

 

Getting the successful ping back from the wretched coding at a task well accomplished, he actually smiled, raising one leg up and stretching it ahead for balance as he lifted his tail up and moved his snout towards his beast-modes cloacal orifice, opening his maws wide and swiping his deft tongue down there once, plunging the tip all the way inside this time, taking time rotating the tongue in, counter and clockwise, literally collecting the most sizeable biochemical sample he could, finally bringing the tongue fully back into his beast mouth, snapping it shut to trap all the gathered compounds for analysis.

 

He did it. He finally did it.

 

A bit too late compared to other bolted mecha, but he did it.

 

Ah well. Actually, Primal did it.

 

Mentally shrugging (because Primal would have done nothing if Megatron did not hand him the blade) and checking his systems, the mirrored port function fully confirmed to have taken place, ensuring the exact, perfect rearrangement of inner nodes according to those of the first connector to ever come in, triggered by the presence of a full, standard load of transfluid, Megatron nodded to himself at the biochemical diagnostics giving him the final confirmation of a fully completed deed, with no inside damage beyond the rupture of the protoform’s true seal.

 

Confirming the measurements and details supplied by his systems, concerning the maximal’s connector, he was glad the equipment was pretty much standard in length and just barely thicker than expected according to Primal’s size class: totally vanilla, with no mods, no weird ribs, no piercings, no extravagant unnatural biolights. Classic. Just the kind of classic he had been brought up to expect.

 

Just proportionate to Primal’s size class.

 

Which, considering Megatron is a big mech, both tall and heavy, still made it kind of… to put it shortly, well…short.

 

Getting instantly mind-slapped by his own systems, Megatron grimaced, flickering his tiny arms at no-one in exasperation: he was not complaining, for Pit’s sake!

 

Megatron just happened to belong to a bigger size class than the maximal, and he actually liked very much the idea of not being stretched to the point of damage, just enough, especially now the reconfiguration of inner nodes and calliper diameters took place, ensuing perfect compatibility, thank you very much, yessss.

 

Flinching as he half-expected to be punished by his systems yet again, for being snarky, realising he wouldn't, he robot-moded, finally ordering his lower plating open.

 

Staring right and left in root mode as if he was being watched, Megatron peeked down at the purple connector’s sealed cover that he never wanted removed anyway, visually inspecting the now free port, then finally moved his left hand down there and swiping the falling solvent to properly finish cleaning the last traces of the maximal’s transfluid.

 

Oh, he could wait for the full completion of the inner cleaning subroutines, but truth be told, Megatron was running low on energon and wasn’t exactly willing to wait.

 

--------

 

Unwilling to wait a single further click in Dinabutt’s room, Rattrap erased all evidence of his hacking around the ship, and ultimately his presence inside the room, and quickly hit the airlocks, rushing towards the secret section of his own quarters, the ones too trash-littered for any other maximal to try venturing in.

 

He was currently undergoing full blown cognitive dissonance: he absolutely could not reconcile Megatron’s actions with any logical behaviour.

 

Were the predacon aware he was being watched, Rattrap might have attributed his actions to part of an elaborate ploy.

 

Could it be that Megatron was playing the long game, and had committed to pretending, even when not under watch?

 

Could it be that Megatron was a frigging genius afterall, and realised he was being watched, to take care of da Big Boss’ decency and comfort all the while pretending not to know Rattrap was watching?

 

Pinching his absent nosebridge, Rattrap once more replayed the video in the confines of his hacking-proof mind, finally deciding it was too early for this and that he deserved getting a very big energon cube, preferably before anyone else went to the dispenser.

 

-----------------

 

Dispensing all pleasantries, Dinobot cursed Rhinox profusely as the maximal scientist simply bid his time, extremely slowly amping Dinobot’s charge by microscopically moving in and out of the slick valve.

 

“Who would imagine you to be such a cruel, scuttering fragger?” he spat “Imagine what Primal would say?”

 

Rhinox growled, giving one single, hard shove, before returning to the sedate rhythm he intended to keep until the former predacon had decided taunting him up.

 

“I don’t care about what Optimus would think or say when we’re here. Not when you’re just like this: mine.”

 

He gave one other hard shove, returning to stillness as Dinobot actually offlined his optics this time, still speaking.

 

“So you admit you don’t have the high moral ground between us??”

 

“Being moral is for nice mechs.”

 

He removed his spike off the slick valve, actually pinching Dinobot’s upper node between his thumb and index finger, smirking at the saurian’s immediate flustered reaction.

 

“I’m not a nice mech.” he shoved the spike in “Nice mechs lack the courage to do what must be done.” he pulled it out, hovering at nearly touching distance of the now glowing node “I am a good mech willing to go to the end of the Universe to get whatever has to be done, done.”

 

Lowering his face down, optic to optic with the ex-predacon now, angling for a kiss, he donned a wide smirk as Dinobot actually bit on his glossa, drawing energon, immediately enveloping it with his own glossa and savouring the energon that had been drawn, retreating the tongue back and speaking in between thrusts.

 

“Even… if it isn’t.. the right thing... to do?”

 

Enraptured by the sight of such fierce warrior charged up and literally stuttering beneath his servos, he growled, aching to return to that wet, warm, fluttering valve, this time slowly moving all the way in, to the hilt, the warrior’s in-venting stalling as the ripple of the inner calipers closed around his spike, squeezing hard.

 

Were Rhinox a weaker mech, he would have overloaded right there and then.

 

Rhinox however was not only good but hard, and hard to break: the only thing meant to be broken today was Dinobot’s resolve and perhaps the inner surface of his valve lining, something he would thoroughly enjoy manually repairing afterwards.

 

He had the specks committed to mind, and it wouldn’t hurt to improve the resistance of the area, considering Dinobot was a reckless, demanding glitch prone to provoke him until he lost his senses and complied with something that he, Rhinox, would have to fix afterwards.

 

Having Decepticon CNA, more specifically, Astrotrain’s CNA, ingrained in his own shell, Rhinox, namely the former cassettibot Ramhorn, with Wheeljack’s and Perceptor’s help, received the triplechanging abilities that allowed him to gain a bipedal mode (added to the rhino and cassette mode) and finally become a scientist, had never needed to undergo The Great Downsizing, for he was already at the right size of shell.

 

Just like his old friend, Optimus, had been, he glumly recalled, sliding in and out now in a steady but brutal pace, angry at the memories, restarting a sequence of hard stockades, to which the ex-predacon snarled one finally, optics off, helm arching back and exposing the cabling on his neck, where Rhinox bit hard enough to draw energon, recalling Dinobot’s demand as soon as they begun.

 

Make it hurt.

 

Setting up an ever harder pace, literally lapping the energon from the warrior’s neck cables, the instant the felt the ripple of calipers tip Dinobot into the point of no return, Rhinox held both hands on the saurian’s hips, hard enough to dent, chasing his own overload.

 

The ex-predacon wanted it to hurt, but Rhinox knew what lies behind that request.

 

Dinobot was not the only one trying to forget.

 

-------------------

 

Forget stealthily trying to gather energon.

 

Turning on his taloned heels at the slightest sound of paws stilling, followed by the sound of transformation, Megatron, having managed to locate the rec room and its energon dispenser, was wholly unprepared to meet Rattrap’s squinting optics.

 

Exchanging a glower that lasted for a couple of full clicks, finally Rattrap waved his hand in the air in dismissal.

 

“Yeahhhhhh, tell’me about it.” he stalled “Actually… nope. Don’tcha tell me anything about nothin’. Don’t wanna know. Too early for this. Me? Just trying to start m’day. Gimme room.”

 

Because he knew. He knew and he really would rather not have known. He would need to invent optic bleach.

 

Primus’ damned curiosity.

 

Silently watching the rodent fill, then sit by the table with his cube, Megatron, frozen to the spot but unwilling to show, finally shrugged, caught a cube and sat opposite to Rattrap.

 

Raising his right hand to the table, the predacon leader never removed his optics from the maximal, the dino-head’s eyes blinking twice at the cube, sniffing quite interested at its contents, then extending the tip of her tongue in for a split click, running a quick biochemical diagnosis and confirming the energon was safe with a thrill towards her master, as Rattrap watched the exchange with a squint.

 

Silently, having decided not speaking was a better course of action for now, Megatron rose the cube to his lip-plates, sipping the insipid mix.

 

Sufficiently emboldened by the apparent lack of aggression, too torqued up to keep silent, crossing the fingers of both hands and resting his chin on them, Rattrap retained his squint, a slow smirk rising in his faceplates.

 

“So, Megsy. What’cha think of the welcome party? Bet’cha the meeting had been exhausting. Did ya and da Big Boss get to an agreement?”

 

Instantly pinned against the nearest wall by the predacon's much larger hand, lifting him up by his neck and squeezing against the maximal’s fuel lines, Rattrap gagged as Megatron spoke.

 

“I have not attacked a single maximal since I arrived on this ship. Yet.” he slammed the rodent once against the wall “I would be very, very amenable, though, to break the truce if it meant finishing your miserable spark right now, vermin.”

 

Rattrap minutely widened his optics, raising both hands up: Megatron had a truly murderous frown, and the rodent was not stupid enough to get his voicebox crushed into silence and his sparkchamber flattened against the wall for kicks.

 

“Whoa!!!! I was just’asking!!! Gee, didn’t think ya’d be dat offended, Megabutt!”

 

Teeth bared in a grimace, Megatron actually growled, finally releasing the annoying glitch’s neck, Rattrap falling gracelessly on his aft with a thump on the ground as the predacon returned to the table, caught the nearly full cube, downed it at once and returned to the dispenser, filling another one, also downing this one with a grimace.

 

The Axalon’s energon was too pure and too bland, lacking the sulphuric undertones of the lava pits that Megatron learned to appreciate, but he was ravenous and, thanks to the rodent, currently in a very foul mood.

 

--------------------

 

In a foul mood, Dinobot growled, blinking his optics online and actually suppressing a wince: immediately recognising the feeling of macro and microtears on his valve lining, he actually smiled at the persistent, slightly burning, quite welcome pain in his interface equipment, finally swinging his legs out of Rhinox’ berth, standing up.

 

“We have to schedule the substitution of your valve callipers with sturdier ones. And a way more resistant lining.” said the voice sitting at the desk, rendering samples.

 

Dinobot growled: like the Pit he would. He was a masochist at his core. There was only one thing better than coming online completely sore.

 

It was coming online sore and full.

 

“I have specifically asked to be hurt.”

 

He spat, turning on his heels as Rhinox rotated his chair and gave him a once-over followed by his most disapproving stare.

 

“Will you go into CR by the pure good will of your own spark, or will I have to pull rank for you to go?”

 

Optics gleaming, Dinobot flashed a crooked smirk at the memories that Rhinox’ authoritative voice brought to the front of his processors, minutely dipping his head in a respectful nod, leaving to do exactly that.

Chapter 25: 25 - And they were both bottoms!

Summary:

Optimus remains out, The predacons start searching for Megatron, Cheetor wants his lead-flavoured energon treats, and Dinobot remembers.

Chapter 25 - And they were both bottoms!

 

Exactly that!

 

A full smirk in face as he congratulated himself, optics online and intently staring at the crashing predacon going lax, Optimus managed only a couple more of thrusts around those constricting calipers, the maximal finally hilting himself deep in the predacon’s slick, swollen, warm valve, fully emptying his transfluid tank, the pulsation of his unmodded, plain spike rippling through his systems.

 

Before he could actually think, something shifted around his spike, Megatron’s calipers slowly rotating and moving down as inner nodes were aligned with Primal’s spike, each motion bringing a new flare o f light in the periphery of the maximal’s sight, the newly built charge of the repositioned clusters of sensor nodes bringing him to the edge again , the sudden constriction of the newly rearranged calipers actually attempting to vacuum the spent transfluid tank.

 

It was too much, and Primal had nothing more to give.

 

It was delicious.

 

Crashing hard in a sequence of dry spike overloads, his own valve releasing scorching hot beads of lubricant that sept through the seams in his lower panels, the maximal’s overheated systems shut down one system at a time, unconsciousness finally taking over.

 

-------------------

 

“Taking over? Me? Who said anything on me taking over??”

 

For once having done really nothing, Terrorsaur actually squawked, glaring in horror at Waspinator’s fidgeting self, while Inferno rose the screaming flier by his neck and Scorponok folded his arms.

 

“For you to attempt to inquire on the Royalty’s whereabouts, it truly means you must know where the Royalty really went! Yield, treacherous drone!!! Confess!!

 

Inferno bellowed, furious: he absolutely did not appreciate the fact that Terrorsaur landed before The Princess to ask if any of them had seen Megatron.

 

Instantly concluding the flier might have something to do with his Queen’s vanishing act, Inferno wasted no time in capturing the schemer, doing his best to extract from him exactly where Megatron might have gone.

 

“You’re getting it wrong!! I no longer have the wish to take over!! That one time I tried was more than enough, I learned my lesson!!!! Let me go!!! I swear I only wanted to debrief with Megatron like I do every day!!! I’ve only been leaving the ship to gather items from Scorponok’s list!!!!”

 

Scorponok squinted under his yellow visor for a half-click, then immediately mentally facepalmed: oh yes. That fake list. For his fake project.

 

“Do you wish me to offline this lying, treacherous drone, my Princess?”

 

If whiplash could kill, Terrorsaur would be offline from this alone: blinking at a visibly uncomfortable Scorponok, he watched the arthropod shake his head.

 

“I think we could send him to look for M.. the Queen. Just in case he...she needs help.”

 

At that, the maddened ant turned to face Scorponok for a full click, then pointed his flamethrower at Terrorsaur.

 

“You heard the Princess, drone. Locate the Royalty!!”

 

Gulping, Terrorsaur saluted, then beast-moded and left through the ceiling hatch, before he would be literally shot out.

 

-----------

 

Shooting out of his duty at the cameras, by the rising sun, Cheetor, glad the night was over and he would very soon be able to leave the ship for a run and maybe even to hunt a bit, currently on his beast mode, stretched and kneaded his non-retractable claws on the camera seat, yawning wide and actually jumping at the ground.

 

Rhinox had asked him to complete the shift, and he was promised a load of lead-flavoured energon crystals for this, a treat he was very much looking forward to taste.

 

Opening his comm, he made sure to call the scientist.

 

:Big Green? No casualties this night. Your shift’s over.:

 

The reply took a few clicks, but came.

 

:I’ll hand you the sweetened crystals at the rec room once I’m done with my samples. I’ll call you back. Rhinox out.:

 

Eagerly bringing the memory of the rare treat to mind, Cheetor decided skipping the first morning energon would make the experience even better, sprinting to the privacy of his own quarters to thoroughly clean his beast mode like all cats do, actually purring as he took the corridor to his room in quick strides.

 

----------------

 

Quickly striding through the corridor, Dinobot made sure to gather the first CR available, locking himself inside and starting the repairing sequence: he was not looking forward to being seen before he could be made presentable, not until the telling dents and outer scratches were fixed.

 

He was not giving the rodent the pleasure of speculating about his proclivities and preferences: it had been bad enough that he had no true respectable outlet all his life as a predacon.

 

Hiding behind a façade of harsh dominance all his existence, Dinobot recalled the initial thrill he felt at being sought after by that imposing, tall, strong and powerful mech that identified himself as Megatron.

 

Overwhelmed by the promise of power, plentiful energon and conquest, the glory of restoring Cybertron under predacon rule at his fingertips, Dinobot recalled how a fateful night many, many vorns ago, he took Megatron by surprise with a demanding kiss, getting instantly reciprocated.

 

It had been his greatest mistake ever.

 

Had he not been a greedy glitch, wanting to coax that powerful imposing mech into ravishing him in every possible way, he failed to see the signs before it was too late.

 

While Dinobot preferred the passive role, he was willing to occasionally switch.

 

Megatron however wasn’t, and it was made painfully clear the day he unsubspaced the ceremonial blade.

 

Dinobot absolutely did not know how to respond: most bolted little wonders were light armoured, small, delicate, and fragile.

 

He felt deceived.

 

Extremely disappointed about the fact that technically both of them were bottoms, Dinobot instantly provided himself an easy way out of having to confess he would never be able to comply with everything a coded mech required in the long term.

 

It’s too much honour, he recalled as Megatron’s features instantly soured. We would better let if for our victorious return to Cybertron.

 

Of course, everything went to the Pit since then, and once they crashed on this mudball, he instantly saw no way for them to return to Cybertron, and the rest is history.

 

Defecting was the only way to escape his shame: had he remained, he was certain Megatron would eventually try again.

 

And discover.

 

Completely unwilling to confess he was not the kind of exclusive top Megatron needed, he made sure to make a careless grab for leadership, getting evicted from the predacons as he planned.

 

Meeting up the maximal leader was refreshing, and once he had been defeated, he fully expected Optimus to claim him in submission once they returned to the ship.

 

Either too noble or not interested, Optimus, being an even tempered mech, strong but never abusive or needlessly violent, never did.

 

Unwilling to risk anything this time and perish the notion, finding Primal was not a dominant top, because obviously Primus would make sure he should suffer, Dinobot never started anything, for fear of committing the same mistake he had with Megatron.

 

It’s not like he could afford erring once again, not in this wretched mudball, not among the only twelve cybertronians around.

 

The day he had been approached by Rhinox with a request for gazelle parts, knowing the maximal’s quiet, almost shy disposition as the scientist buffered out his battle damage, he almost refused, currently unwilling to deal with the fallout in case things went wrong.

 

Deeply focusing on the red optics that cycled wide, however, once the maximal’s EM-field flared full of purpose and domineering energy, he knew.

 

Instantly enraptured, still sitting on the Lab’s medical berth, he immediately wrapped both legs around the maximal’s waist, bringing him closer and locking both pedes on his back.

 

The moment he was scrutinised by Rhinox (who raised a single optic brow while harbouring a half-click of confusion), Dinobot recalled how he seized the moment to don a crooked smirk and rake a single claw down the scientist’s chestplates, slowly reaching the edges of his interface panel, waiting.

 

Pleasantly recalling the memories of the ravishing of his life, Dinobot flickered his optics on and off as he rembered, tiredly drifting into forced recharge.

Chapter 26: 26 - Before the Storm

Summary:

Rhinox doesn't really want to know but can't help himself, Rattrap whishes he didn't know but still does, Megatron doesn't care either way, and Optimus just happened to remember and actually wants to explain.

Chapter 26 - Before the Storm

 

Forced off recharge in a jolt, Optimus lunged from his berth instantly into a sitting position, pedes hitting in a dry thud against the ground, leading his hands to his face as both elbow joints touched his knees, optics offline in the dark, every single fibre of fur prickling on his shell.

 

Grimacing at no-one and no-where, he flickered both optics on, squinting right and left, finally getting the berth’s mesh covers he was for some reason covered up with (instead of having it cover the memory foam mesh underneath like he usually does), he briefly squished them between his hands as he pondered on the myriad of errors cascading down his HUD as his systems underwent a hard reset.

 

He was undamaged, and was not under CR. There was no logical reason for his system-wide reboot.

 

He also shouldn’t be that depleted of energon after merely undergoing recharge.

 

Still absently gripping the covers, while his memory recovered from its deep-set pre-reset backup, Optimus manually verified his logs, conferring his levels of charge, fluids, physical integrity, everything that might clue him in on what was going on.

 

Or what might have gone on.

 

His temperature readings were higher than expected, most probably result of having been covered up up to his neck when he truly did not need it: he had a homoeothermic shell with fur for a reason.

 

Even the room’s temperature was higher than expected, uncomfortably so, so he finally stood up, throwing the too warm covers into the berth, heading to the washracks.

 

Squinting at finding them warm, wet and steamy , he slowly stepped under the water spray, left hand’s fingertips grazing the humid walls as he visually inspected the physical thermometer, unsurprised to find it also registering higher than usual readings, finally dialling the temperature down to the natural, nearly freezing temperature of the waterfall right by the maximal base, and watched his dishevelled expression reflected at the wall.

 

He honestly looked and felt like a tank ran him over. Strangely enough, he was not feeling ill. Just tired . Drained. Empty. Spent.

 

Wait .

 

Re-checking on the base system readings of all his systems in detail, specially his organic fluid levels, once again, Optimus finally reached a conclusion, pinching his partially-battlemasked nosebridge, unhelpfully trying to reconstruct the full extent of what he might have done, and sadly concluding that just like every single other time since those three fatidic days, at the underground maze… he most probably awoke from yet one more of the many colourful fluxes he had recently been having with a certain purple plated saurian, and simply self-serviced under the diverted waterfall’s spray until he fully emptied his transfluid tank and dispelled the excess of his self-produced heat.

 

Which would explain his mostly spent charge and fluid and fuel levels.

 

And the excessive warmth on the room, the haphazard way his covers were draped over himself, the fact that he certainly had already used his washracks before and headed back to berth, and the fact he did not remember doing any of this.

 

At all.

 

Defeated by his own shell for apparently being unable to keep his basest instincts in check, he made sure to buffer himself again, in case he left any unsightly fluids staining himself anywhere visible, then briefly pondered if he shouldn’t just give up on trying to control biology and simply call Megatron to arrange for a civil, polite, proper meeting.

 

Or even a not so proper one, who knows, the predacon seemed to be rather willing back then, and it’s not like Optimus would complain in case Megatron decided wrapping once more those sinful thighs of his around his hips, sliding and grinding those purple and black panels on his own plating and…

 

Clipping the subject at the bud, before he managed to fully commit to this currently dangerous train of thought, Optimus shook his head and shell in a full ripple to rid himself of the freezing cold water, empty fuel tanks rumbling, then hand-combed the fur patches on his head and arms back into normal, finally turning the hot air to dry himself.

 

For the briefest of clicks, the flash memory of powdery purple glitter exploding in his hand filled his mind, making absolutely no sense, and he eventually concluded he would certainly think much more clearly as soon as he left his quarters and headed to the rec room, where he actually intended to grab a brimming full energon cube to finally start his day.

 

--------

 

Finally starting his day, Rhinox, a cautiously wrapped-up bag of lead-sweetened energon crystals in hand, left the Lab, where he managed to store his most recently rendered samples, having by now buffered out his own scratches and paint transfers.

 

Briefly stopping before the corridor by the CR chambers, peeking at each one of them, he nodded satisfied at finding that the stubborn saurian, optics offline under restorative recharge, had actually obeyed and put himself into CR, instead of going to his own quarters to wait for his inner repairs to kick in, only for Rhinox to find him ill-repaired much later, forcing the scientist to drag him to the lab to be manually fixed, and...

 

...and it’s not like both of them didn’t appreciate these moments of manual repairs, Primus knew both of them were fairly fragged in the head and it was indeed fun, but too much is too much even for pain-play and in the end sometimes Rhinox got tired of always needing to be the bigger mech, the level headed one, keeping himself in check not to cause more than an acceptable degree of pain and slight, fully repairable damage, specially considering Dinobot refuses to even acknowledge the existence of the concept of a safe word, and...

 

Instantly colliding against a certain furry , dense wall of a synthoflesh-muscle-packed mech, Rhinox actually bounced back a few steps, taking a quite long while to understand what the frag had just happened, optics going wide at the almost fleeing maximal leader, as he mentally facepalmed.

 

------------------

 

Mentally facepalming, optics going wide at the green, solid bulwark he collided against, Optimus actually braced himself against the corridor’s wall, absolutely not apologising and pointedly not staring at Rhinox, nearly fleeing towards the rec room.

 

Watching his old friend hastily leave the premises without any explanation, Rhinox immediately soured, feeling also mad at himself that he had completely forgotten about the fact that Megatron, of all mechs, had spent the night in the ship.

 

With Optimus Saint Primal.

 

Such a good, attentive second in command he was, for having left his good judgement and his very memories be muddled by the rippling, slick walls of a certain saurian’s valve: had not Dinobot truly defected long ago, a fact Rhinox himself confirmed during medical readings and the ship’s logs, he might even have thought the whole débâcle might have been a very well thought-out plan from Megatron’s part and ultimately executed by them both.

 

At least Optimus seemed to be physically unharmed: Rhinox would have absolutely hated himself if anything truly irreversible had happened, finally heading after his leader, just to be sure everything was good and well.

 

--------

 

Everything was not good and well.

 

Having stopped before the rec room’s door, Optimus slowly blinked at the sight of Rattrap and Megatron glowering themselves into silence, one from each side of the room, weirdly enough with not a single weapon drawn out.

 

Slowly turning a very lethargic, under-fuelled, rusted wheel in his upper processors, the maximal leader remained absolutely immobile, as the two other mechs didn’t even acknowledge his existence.

 

Running a hand in his faceplates, unable to suppress the shiver that rose the fur on his forearms and back at the sight, he briefly pondered on what he was actually witnessing, as piece by piece his memory blocks rebooted in his memory, and the hazy details of the latest megaclicks he spent with Megatron started shaping themselves in a logical sequence, leading him to ask himself...

 

...had it been or had it not been a flux ?

 

Yes, because he supposed hazy, fake memories could indeed originate as part of his interface-driven fluxes.

 

Why there had to be fluxes and not the Primus-forsaken real thing?

 

Well, for a start, Megatron and Rattrap were in the same room, not currently engaging any weapons, and this is not something bound to happen in real life, not to mention the absolute lack of bickering and snarking between them.

 

And the fact that Rattrap is still online.

 

And not screeching that they were all gonna die.

 

And the fact that Megatron was not gloating.

 

Much less trying to either offline the rodent, or take over the Axalon.

 

Yet .

 

Darkly glaring between the two glowering mechs, Optimus finally concluded that this scenario was just this, the awful consequence of the continuation of his previous feverish interface-driven fantasies.

 

For a click reviewing the supposed memory banks slowly reshaping themselves, he actually commended his own imagination for being so rich and detailed, to the point he actually  wanted to have been there and done that.

 

Briefly raking the strong, tall, imposing purple frame, from talons to head, thick thighs, slim waist, squinting optics and luscious lip-plates whose taste he still viscerally remembered, Optimus actually donned the sight a very lopsided smirk.

 

Ah well, pity nothing of this ever happened.

 

Since everything is well and all Just Prime and nothing but a figment of his imagination , might as well simply step to the dispenser and gather a cube.

 

----------------

 

Gathering a cube, Optimus never noticed the shocked glares he received as he filled it at the dispenser, wolfing its contents down in one go, then finishing a second and finally a third one, getting to his fourth until a loudly disproportionate voice made sure to make itself known as its owner cleared his voicebox.

 

Stalling at the middle of the now fourth cube, Optimus slowly turned his neck, now facing a very, very amused Rattrap.

 

“Jeeezzz, an’here I though-da purple wonder was d’energon chugger between yer two.”

 

Blinking as Megatron instantly backhanded Rattrap with his pet-hand against the nearest wall, Optimus watched the rodent bouncing and clanking on the ground as Rhinox stomped down into the room, turned on his heels and cocked both chainguns up right into the predacon's chestplates and face.

 

--------------------

 

Face slowly turning towards the freaking huge guns currently aiming at Megatron's face and spark, contemplating the situation for an agonisingly slow split-click, Optimus watched time actually move in slow motion as his back-up memories finally fully clocked-in and he immediately, irremediably remembered.

 

Before Megatron actually finished powering up his fusion canon, getting ready to engage in serious battle against his team-members, Optimus quickly manoeuvred his big, strong, grounding left hand towards the saurian, finally gripping then safely holding the predacon's right elbow down.

 

------------------

 

Holding the predacon’s right elbow down, nearly at the base of his pet-hand-arm, Optimus deliberately reached for the dino-head, sliding his fingertips at the feathery nook behind her right eye and looking up and meeting the saurian's optics, as Rattrap shook his head, facepalming, and Rhinox actually growled.

 

Optimus, having finally fully remembered, not a mech to shirk from responsibility, did what a good maximal leader was supposed to do.

 

“My fellow maximals… and Megatron. If you all just stopped fighting, I’m positive I will be able to explain.”

Chapter 27: 27 - Chain of Command

Summary:

Rhinox's angry, Cheetor doesn't want his candy confiscated, Blackarachnia comes to a conclusion, Rattrap is an afthole, Megatron gets arrested, and Optimus never stood a chance.

Chapter 27 – Chain of Command

 

How will he be able to explain?

 

Unblinking, holding himself firm and steady while sitting on his usual chair at the command room’s round table, Optimus made sure to project the faceplates of duty and leadership, as Rattrap and Rhinox sat on their usual places as well, looking at themselves and occasionally shifting a glance at Megatron, who was sitting at Dinobot’s chair, the only chair big enough for him to fit anyway, absently scratching the feathery nook behind his head-hand’s right eye, as it softly chirped in bliss.

 

Before silence stretched for too long, Optimus cleared his voicebox.

 

“Very well, I’m answering your questions, from the begining. I’m aware I owe you explanations.”

 

Rhinox rolled his optics as Rattrap rose his left hand palms up, poking his right hand’s index finger at his left palm, repeatedly, as he spoke.

 

“And owe ya do, Fearlass Leader. Ya see, I was just tryin to start ma day, when Megsy here a’ttacked me for no reason!”

 

Instantly raising his left hand to the round table, tapping his fingertips in sequence at the surface, Megatron fleeted a glower between Rattrap and the maximal leader.

 

“I was peacefully trying to gather energon when the rodent decided to try my patience.”

 

Rattrap rolled his optics then.

 

“Yeeeah, yer a bit tooo impatient for someone that’d just had’a good peace talk with da fearlass Leader. Chill, ma’mech.”

 

“Enough, Rattrap.”

 

Rattrap actually blinked and gave up at that, raising both arms to the ceiling as Rhinox kept a deadly serious, sour demeanour, visibly thinking while the predacon openly snickered, earning himself a frown from Primal, which made the saurian immediately stop, and now both the rodent and the rhino eyed themselves, dumbfounded, while the maximal leader cleared his voicebox, continuing.

 

“To your information, I have called Megatron for a civilised discussion that actually brought results, about the ongoing truce.”

 

Rattrap snorted.

 

“Betcha the results were through, Megsy’ even behaving. Me, I’m impressed.”

 

Actually before Megatron could wake his pet-hand up and simply silence Rattrap with a well placed shot (an action Optimus himself was actually considering doing) Optimus squinted and glowered first Megatron into stillness, then Rattrap into silence, as Rhinox darted his optics between the duo, an unspoken question lingering in the air for three full clicks...

 

…until, instantly darting from the habsuite’s corridor, a beast-moded Cheetor sprinted in a beeline to Rhinox, transforming to robot as he approached, grabby hands extended at the little bag of sweetened energon crystals currently in the scientist’s hold.

 

“Ultra Gear, these lead sweets look just like I remembered!!!” he captured then opened the bag, staring right inside while ignoring his surroundings, stuffing his mouth-plates with a couple of crystals “Thank you so much, Big Green!”

 

Squinting at the exchange, Optimus, unaware of Rhinox’s request for Cheetor to take the last night’s shift over, folded arms.

 

“Rhinox, really? Lead based sweeteners? Everybody knows they impair upper processor function in the long term.”

 

Rhinox rolled his optics as mid-chew, Cheetor actually choked, then punched his own chestplates once and finally gulped the stuck morsel down, resting against the table for a half-click before he actually noticed Megatron in the room, optics going wide, about to engage his gut-gun the moment Optimus cleared his voicebox.

 

“That’s fine, Cheetor. Megatron came in peace. You do remember our truce, right?”

 

Rolling a tiny rusty gear in his head, Cheetor took on his surroundings, contemplating the fact that no one was even looking remotely aggressive or shooting (which basically counted as everyone being nice and peaceful, the very basic concept of a truce), immediately relaxing and opening his subspace to store his not-so-hard-earned candy before Optimus decided confiscating it for his own good, peeking inside his subspace for a click as he suddenly remembered what he came to do at the main room afterall.

 

Before he forgot about it again however, our good-natured, sweet, innocent Cheetor rummaged his subspace and absently raised an object up, asked what it was and what it was doing underneath Primal's berth, finally throwing the suspicious piece of purple chassis at the table while Optimus stiffened, Megatron stalled, Rattrap blinked and Rhinox stared.

 

---------------------------

Rhinox stared, focused on the offending chassis plate rotating slowly until it stopped, in the middle of the table.

 

Ominously, full-blown silence stretched, as Cheetor insisted, repeating the question and getting solemnly ignored: knowing he was supposed to say something, Optimus readied himself to speak, getting promptly backhanded by Rhinox into the other side of the room while Megatron openly stared.

 

Colliding against the ground, Optimus lead the back of his left hand to clean his mouthpiece, removing a streak of spilt energon from his split lip, actually worried.

 

“Why did you hit me? What’s wrong with you??”

 

“I'm the one who should be asking you!”

 

He pointed to the Predacon sitting very still on Dinobot’s chair, then threw the discarded purple chassis right into Optimus’s helm with a loud clang.

 

“You… a Vosian Classic Nobility Seal, valve cover, model 12... by any means.... I can't even begin to enumerate the list of things wrong with that... was... was it worth it???!!!”

 

Deciding he didn’t want to know how Rhinox could so easily identify the model of the seal, fur rising on his back, Optimus glowered, the corner of his mouthpiece upturning and allowing for him to bare his sharp canines, as Rhinox insisted.

“Optimus, I asked you a question!”

At that, in-venting, the maximal leader opened a very wide smirk at his old friend, drawling.

“It was veeery worth it.”

 

Grimacing, clearly not expecting this reply, going still for a split click, without warning, Rhinox rose a chaingun and shot Optimus in the chestplates, then lunged against Megatron, headbutting the predacon, who stammered backwards, digging his left arm’s tail-gun on the ground for balance, falling on his back and hitting his head against the wall, unconsciousness taking over as the maximal scientist aimed both chainguns into his face…

 

...and getting tackled by a furry bolt into the ground, where Optimus Primal’s battered self straddled his waist, delivering him a volley of punches, screaming.

 

“How dare you try to determine what I can and cannot do! Do you think yourself superior? That I don’t know about you and Dinobot??”

 

Rolling on the ground and delivering a single, dizzying punch to Optimus’ face, slightly denting his right cheek in, Rhinox growled.

 

"Says the one who's fraternising!"

 

Clenching both fists as he stood up, Rhinox slowly pondered on his next course of action, then finally regained some semblance of self-control and straightened himself, clasping his hands behind his back.

 

“Optimus Primal. You are completely out of your mind. It's with profound regret that I take over the leadership from you.”

 

He roamed his optics on his friend, currently sprawled on the ground, massaging his lower jaw and the right side of his face, staring in complete disbelief, slowly standing up, baring his teeth and growling.

 

“I'm afraid I am very much in possession of my mental faculties, Rhinox, and I will not relinquish the leadership without a fight.”

 

Optimus stepped closer then, puffing his chestplates, actually punching them with his closed fists twice, finally unsubspacing his twin kukris and readying himself.

 

Rhinox, squinting, sight narrowing to the blades, readied his naked fists and flexed his knees, charging.

 

--------------------------

 

Charging out of the way, Blackarachnia rose up the walls in beast mode to watch Inferno practically dragging Scorponok into the command room, boisterously encouraging the pitiful second in command to sit on the purple idiot’s throne.

 

Watching Scorponok’s claws struggle with Megatron’s left-handed keyboard, specially located at the left armrest of his hovering chair and programmed to work with his own four-fingered hand, she silently snorted.

 

What a dork!

 

After a moment of hesitation, Scorponok finally gave up and released a cyberbee, that took command of the keyboard with its six spindly legs in lieu of fingers, summoning up six different screens around himself, scanning them all briefly with his yellow optic band.

 

Keeping very quiet, momentarily impressed as Scorponok apparently remote-controlled his little drone, she squinted her many beast eyes attempting to focus from a distance at the summoned screens.

 

As far as she understood, the last time Megatron’s presence was registered on the ship, it had been about to 1800, local time, last solar cycle: according to the camera feeds, he left on his beast mode, alone, out and away from the base, destination unknown.

 

So far, Terrorsaur left to do aerial search, as Waspinator and Scorponok remained in the ship, Inferno most probably serving as that sycophant’s personal bodyguard.

 

She had an educated guess as to why she was not informed of the disappearance: she wasn’t considered trustful, with very good reason, being Tarantulus’ pawn and everything, and she could perfectly understand being left in the dark.

 

--------------

 

In the dark, only the light of his own optics flickering on and off, Megatron meekly shook his head, taking a shameful amount of time to understand where he was as he slowly focused his sight into the fizzling energon bars.

 

He was at the maximal brig.

 

On his own.

 

“About’time ya’woke, Megabutt! Da Big Green pack’a mean’punch, donthagree?”

 

He sighed: he wished he were on his own.

 

“I have no time to waste with the likes of you, objectionable vermin. Tell me at once, where is Optimus?”

 

Suddenly turning the brig’s lights on, Rattrap smirked widely as Megatron grimaced and led his left hand to protect his optics: finally shaking his left hand’s index right before Megatron’s face, from behind the safety of the energon bars, Rattrap spoke further.

 

“Nah nah nahh!!! Nope, ya dontcha getta to know dis. Ya corrupted our good and fearlass leader with yer… well. Yer predacon wiles.”

 

“...my what???”

 

He squinted as his sight slowly regained focus, no longer blinded by light, and Rattrap kept on speaking.

 

“Dontcha play coy, Megabutt. Jus’tspill da beans and tell about dis plan of yours to gift yer valve to da fearlass leadar.”

 

Megatron blinked twice, slowly, then opened his mouthplates to speak, remaining mute for a full click before closing them up and immediately cackling.

 

Scratching his head, Rattrap observed the predacon cackle as if his spark depended on it to exist, as on his side Megatron cursed his complete lack of luck.

 

He wished it had been a plan!

 

And what a plan would that have been.

 

He was actually ashamed with himself to NOT have used up the situation as a plan.

 

He felt very stupid for having stepped in this without even a semblance of a plan.

 

Stupid, very stupid indeed.

 

A sated stupid nonetheless.

 

“Megadolt, ya deaf? I aint repeating again.”

 

“Thank the Pit you will quit babbling then. Dismissed, vermin.” 

 

He crouched on the ground then, resting his back against the wall, holding both his knees with his left hand, lowering his forehead into them and hiding his face from sight as his beast head peeked from behind his legs, growling.

 

Perhaps if he wished really hard, the rodent would leave him alone, he mused as he finally fully sat down, hydraulics shifting and dying in a deafening hiss.

 

---------------------------------------------

With a deafening hiss, suddenly, the door to the brig opened, as Rhinox slowly strolled by, very physically damaged, pink-fresh energon dribbling from the criss-crossed cuts filling his chestplates, limbs and face.

 

Rattrap gaped as Rhinox unceremoniously dragged the bruised and battered Optimus behind, stepping slowly towards the second cell and dropping him in.

 

Megatron, raising his head at the noise of the thud hitting the ground at the second cell right by his side, actually stalled his in-venting, fleeting a glance between Optimus and his previous second in command.

 

Rattrap stuttered trying to formulate the question hovering in the air. Sighing, Rhinox steeled his vocaliser, speaking.

 

“I have taken over the leadership. Come, Rattrap.”

 

“But.. but...”

 

Rhinox squinted at him.

 

“Are you questioning my orders?”

 

Rattrap shut his trap at the veiled threat then, staring once more at the damaged Optimus, following Rhinox behind, glumly shaking his head.

Notes:

The ancient romans used a lead-based sweetener for fancy foods only the patricians and the elite could consume: regular sugar from sugarcane or even beets didn't exist, and lead was easier to come by than honey, a full blown expensive rarity in ancient times.

Lead is a leading (haha! pun intended!) cause for neural damage, and the lead-based sweeteners are thought to have produced many a crazed roman emperor (Nero, anyone?) back then (since syphillis was not around in Europe before the middle ages, but that is a subject for another time!).

So, children, don't eat lead.

Chapter 28: 28 - Run Away

Summary:

Dinobot is less than pleased, Rhinox issues his first orders, Rattrap keeps being an aft, Optimus muses on his life, and Megatron takes matters in his own dino-head and hand.

Chapter 28 – Run Away

 

Shaking his head as Cheetor glumly pretended to play with a datapad game while absolutely-not-stealthily munching on his lead-laced sweets, Rattrap remained very mute, watching Dinobot literally fret.

 

“Now where is that dishonourable purple wonder? I can smell him on my chair!! I can't believe you all just let him sit on my chair! I'll have to decontaminate my chair! Who knows what kind of foreign code he might be spreading!!”

 

Rattrap rolled his optics as Rhinox spoke.

 

“Dinobot. Enough. Calm down.”

 

Physically grounding the saurian by resting a hand in his shoulder, Rhinox made sure to keep the warrior still: Dinobot, just removed of CR, still largely unrepaired down there and in a foul mood, hissed.

 

“How am I supposed to be calm? You took me out of CR after having specifically ordered me to get properly repaired, so forgive me if I'm in a very foul mood! The only thing that would bring me any sliver of satisfaction right now would be finishing that dishonourable lizard's wretched existence for good!”

 

He rotated the spine-blade of his sword in the air as Rattrap facepalmed at the display and Rhinox firmly spoke.

 

“No one is finishing anyone yet. Megatron’s sparkchamber will be removed and put into stasis for the trip back to Cybertron, and we will chip at the predacons one by one until all are captured and we can repair the Axalon and leave as soon as possible.”

 

Dinobot rose the crimson feathery crest in his chestplates.

 

“Stasis??” he snarled “Let it be known I will end Megatron’s miserable existence before he brings any more trouble if I wish so!! You do not give me orders in battle!”

 

Rhinox merely folded arms at the exaggerate display then, squinting, as Rattrap, rolling his optics at the exchange, screeched from his seat.

 

“Yeaahhhhhh… actually, Dinabutt. He does give'ya orders in battle now. Our mean big green here beat da fearlass leadar to a pulp for leadership, and now he owns yer aft in and out of battle.”

 

Dinobot blinked. Cheetor munched on one more crystal. Rattrap shrugged.

 

“Thought ya might wanna know before being stupid, Choppaface.”

 

Dinobot actually moved his lip-plates without emitting any sound, then, stalling and stepping closer to Rhinox, inspecting his obvious, recent visible bruises, fingertips barely grazing the pink congealed energon filling the surface cuts on his both arms and chestplates, the saurian slowly circling him, optics hungrily raking up and down the other maximal’s shell, ultimately stopping.

 

Face to face, looking down right into the other’s optics into a staring match, after what looked like a very uncomfortable minute, Dinobot ultimately averted his glaze, slowly kneeling by Rhinox' feet, faceplates down.

 

“I have been defeated by Primal for leadership before, and you now defeated him in proper combat. The evidence is plentiful, and I have no need of defying you. I thus acknowledge and wholly defer to your authority.”

 

Cheetor fleeted a side glance at the display and blinked in confusion, as Rhinox placed a servo under Dinobot's chin, raising his face up, returning him a crooked smile.

 

Wide-eyed, Rattrap's jaw dropped to the ground at the scene before his eyes, and he just stared.

 

---------------------

 

Megatron stared, from behind the energon bars, at the badly bruised Optimus so close and so far away.

 

“Primal?" he whispered "Are you functional? Can you hear me?”

 

Optimus groaned low, feeling like a very green, huge, hulking mindless monster stepped on him repeatedly: If he didn't know the monster had been Rhinox, he might have guessed it had been Devastator.

 

Distantly aware of a voice whispering for him, he tried to locate the source: squinting, he finally came across the cell right besides himself, where a purple blur was.

 

Megatron repeated his question, the maximal finally managing to sit against the wall.

 

“Rhinox was... even angrier than I expected.” he inspected the strand of congealed energon that had dribbled from his lip-plates, chuckling.  "Remember the time you reprogrammed him into a predacon?”

 

Megatron winced: he had a very good idea on how angry Rhinox could get.

 

“Well. Rhinox told me after he returned to us that what you did... did not work. That he had pretended. That it had been all himself. And that he liked a bit too much to twart your plans from the inside, and that he wanted me to always keep him in check."

 

The predacon blinked: he was not expecting it, but he was not exactly surprised at the revelation.

 

"I suppose me not being the leader he expected, by succumbing to temptation, finally did it. I failed him." he waved a hand at himself and his own damage "I had my twin kukris and he still wrecked me up with fists alone."

 

Torn between feeling proud at being a temptation and actually fearing for their continued existence, the predacon bit on his lower lip-plates: Had the other maximal truly unleashed his chainguns of doom, Primal would by now be gone.

 

Stalling on his thoughts then, Megatron widened his optics: now the maximal leadership changed, neither of them were safe on the brig anymore.

 

And by the looks of it, they probably didn’t have very long to live, if it depended on Rhinox' good will.

 

“Primal.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“We need to enact an escape plan.”

 

“Megatron!”

 

“We do! Look at you! You have been demoted by your supposed best friend. This was not very maximal of him, noo.”

 

Optimus actually stared at the ground then, sight slowly returning to focus.

 

Mind no longer filled with lubricious thoughts or rage, he didn't need to look at himself to know he was a mess, in every sense, and that he had to make some things right.

 

“Fraternisation with the enemy is considered high treason and I must face my punishment.”

 

"As if your scientist had done any better."

 

"At least Dinobot's in the same side." Optimus grimaced in pain, resting his back against the wall "However... Rhinox outranks Dinobot, and I don't believe in true choice when one is hierarchically inferior to the other and has to obey any issued orders."

 

--------------------------

 

Having just issued his first orders, Rhinox retreated to the Lab as Cheetor was left on monitor duty, this time without any promise of candy.

 

Tending the quickest way possible to his most critical wounds, welding shut the energon leaks, he shook his head: he could hardly believe Optimus had attacked him.

 

No matter. His old friend was emotionally compromised. Some time thinking in the brig would help, and then they might be able to resume their friendship.

 

But only after Rhinox disposed off Megatron's spark, keeping the empty sparkchamber, of course: spark failures are bound to happen even during medical stasis, so, it would be fairly simple to explain why they were giving the elders an empty vessel.

 

Afterall, the predacon had already surpassed his limits long ago, and if the maximals had just gotten rid of him back when they returned from the hole the first time, nothing of this would have ever happened.

 

Not to mention the Beast Wars would have ended and they would be back into Cybertron, handing back in a silvery platter no one less than the empty remains of the by then late Megatron.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Megatron remained mute, thinking.

 

No matter Primal's willingness to wallow in self-pity, he had no intention of idly sitting on his aft waiting for execution, and despite the staggering amount of treacherous troops in his ranks, he concluded it might, just might have been better if he had dragged the maximal into the Darkside.

 

At least when someone confronted him, all he had to do was shoot and stomp as he ran over everyone who might even think to protest.

 

Hmmm, shoot and stomp as he ran.

 

Sparing a glance to his faithful dino-head, his best friend just after Squeaky The Rubber Ducky, Megatron raised a conspiratorial optic ridge towards her, a definite smirk in his faceplates.

 

The head looked up to him, chirping: he glared at the wide grin forming in his beast head, smirking slowly, as she nodded back and Megatron aimed to the wall of his own cell, bracing himself.

 

---------------------------

 

...bracing himself against the main console, Rhinox grimaced as staticky-tinnitus filled his audials and the whole ship shook, rumbling ominously, alarms klaxon-roaring and firing from every corner, the autoguns coming down from the ceiling, aiming erratically at the walls and other aleatoric targets.

 

Another sonic boom followed, delicate laboratory crystalware falling from its shelves and shattering on the ground: cursing at the loss of precious samples, Rhinox’ optics shone crimson in hatred as realisation came and he finally squinted.

 

They were being bombed, and he could bet it were the Predacons!!

 

He knew Primal couldn't have trusted Megatron.

 

Truce? HAH! The whole thing had to be a ruse!

 

Yelling from his comms as he ran away and the corridors shook vigorously, energon charge arching through its cracked walls, he called the closest Maximals to charge into battle at the Axalon, now!

 

---------------------------

Now outside the Axalon, tossed through a gaping purple-smoke-filled hole from the wall, a heavy, furry, metallic grey, red and blue shell thumped on the ground, ungraciously, giving an undignified yelp.

 

Quite as quickly, a pair of lightly feathered taloned feet heavily landed, shaking the ground.

 

Before Optimus could finish coughing and start complaining, Megatron grimaced, growled, and with a single fluid move, grabbed the smaller mech by an arm, running.

 

---------------------

 

Running without fully understanding, Primal stalled his in-venting as the robot-moded Megatron pulled him along, beast-head jaws gripping and slobbering on his left arm.

 

Before he could voice any protest, however, the predacon tackled him down, both rolling away behind a boulder, avoiding the surprisingly accurate onslaught of lasers shot by the autoguns firing from the Axalon.

 

Dizzy, Optimus shook his head and stared up at the sky, taking on his surroundings, finally rising up slowly from the ground, fleeting a glance at the purplish-smoking maximal base in the distance.

 

Shaking the dust away and turning to the predacon still sprawled on his back on the ground, Optimus ex-vented, extending him his hand, palm up, followed by a smirk.

 

------------------------

 

A definite smirk formed in Megatron's face as he first squinted, then minutely widened his optics and took on the offered hand, getting pulled up from his sprawled up position on the ground and instantly held by his waist against the maximal’s chestplates.

 

“We have to gain distance fast.” Optimus stared up into the predacon's face, then tightened his grip on Megatron's waist “Are you ready?”

 

Jets roaring online at Megatron's very slight nod, the maximal fleeted a last glance towards the festival of purple smoke and sirens in the distance, finally lifting off and flying away from the barrage of lasers and bullets in the sky.

Chapter 29: 29 - Gone with the Wind

Summary:

The maximals lick their wounds, Waspinator is a good and obedient predacon, Scorponok summons Tarantulus, while Optimus and Megatron begin the journey towards the Darkside.

Chapter 29 – Gone with the Wind

 

The barrage of lasers and bullets filled the sky, wholly missing their target as Dinobot, manning the guns, grimaced and growled while attempting to shoot the fleeing duo from the sky, to no effect, since Optimus effectively dodged every single shot until they could be tracked no more.

 

Shaking his head and groaning, he turned to the new maximal leader, lowering his face down in defeat.

 

In-venting deeply, Rhinox offlined his optics for a click, energon crackling through his seams.

 

Wordlessly, he fleeted a glance at his crew, as one by one every maximal including himself reverted into beast mode.

 

Sitting down on his sizeable aft, he shook his head.

 

“The energon dampeners are down and we have a huge crack in the hull at the brig, so we’ll have to manage on our beast modes, until we can minimally repair things around here and finally reprogram the autoguns and the shields.”

 

Dinobot ruffled in annoyance, preening on his forearm’s feathers with his teeth.

 

“Great, everything we needed, that purple disgrace has effectively escaped, to plunder and scheme one other merry day!”

 

Rhinox sighed: he knew.

 

“Not to mention I have no idea how long any repairs will take, since the CR-chambers don’t work while under energon overexposure, and I’ll have limited time to remain in a form where I can actually use my hands.”

 

Cheetor stretched languidly, raking his non-retractable claws against the wall. Rattrap scratched behind his ears with his left hindleg, finally sitting on his hindquarters and raising both his front paws.

 

“Ya can count’on me, big green.” he puffed up his chest “Da best hacker of Cybertron!”

 

Rhinox nodded, standing up on his four legs.

 

“You may begin immediately then.” he cleared his voicebox “Cheetor, keep monitoring the cameras and contact Tigertron and Airazor. We will need all the help we can to repair everything around here.”

 

Cheetor yawned and stretched, rising up at another computer console, pawing the buttons and managing to open the camera feed, sitting and staring at them as he tilted his head, trying to reach the remaining maximals with his inner comm as he absently licked a paw and cleaned his own ears.

 

Nodding at himself for his superior organisational skills, Rhinox took his time to stare at Dinobot’s beast claws, the avian saurian still absently preening on his feathers, this time at the end of his tail.

 

“Dinobot. There’s a lot of broken laboratory crystalware to recycle, and I could use a pair of dexterous hands right now. Come.”

 

The maximal warrior stopped and glared at the current maximal leader, a single tail feather captured between his teeth, one foot up, the other on the ground with its respective talons clicking down, both arms stretched to the sides for balance.

 

Rattrap, already sitting at the main room's console and starting to type, stole a glance at the silent exchange, squinting and pretending not to pay attention, as Dinobot ruffled the feathers on his back and bowed down his head, following the new maximal commander silently to the lab.

 

--------------------------------------------

 

Silently on his lab, a scurrilous spider scratched his chin, two dark grey datacables latched against his computer’s console, data flowing in decepticon writing, single yellow visor darkening.

 

It has been now a full cycle that Megatron left, to do only Primus knows what at the maximal base, with only the stupid and incompetent Scorponok in command of the Predacons.

 

Clicking his claws together as he sent a third datacable across the lab and captured a glimmering phosphorescent-green vial, shaking it slowly to the level off his optic, he scoffed: Tarantulus had a very good inkling on what might be going on, but he couldn’t care less, as long as it didn’t affect his plans.

 

The only problem is… it did.

 

How was he going to get anything done, if Megatron wasn’t present as he was supposed to, to order the predacons around so they would all be busy elsewhere and just plain leave Tarantulus in peace???

 

“Bzzzzz?”

 

Immediately screeching and flailing all his 5 remaining datacables at the same time, Tarantulus managed not to let the vial break, finally hitting the wasp across the head with one of them.

 

“Idiot!!! Look at what you almost did!!!”

 

Waspinator buzzed dejectedly, leading his hand to his head and feeling for the new dent he just received.

 

“Wazpinator not stupid, Wazzpinator good predacon obeying orders from bossz!”

 

Minutely stalling, Tarantulus flickered the feelers from two datacables together.

 

“Is Megatron back?”

 

Waspinator shook his head.

 

“Scorpi-bot tellz Wazpinator to find spider-bot and bring spider-bot with Wazzzpinator.”

 

Squinting his single optic band, Tarantulus cackled: as if he would come!

 

Waspinator, tilting his head to the right, folded arms.

 

“Spider-bot not obey Princess then?”

 

Tarantulus turned to speak, ready to shoot the other predacon out of his lab, stalling immediately as Inferno grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

 

“Disloyal, spineless drone! I knew you would not obey!” he shook the spider, turning to leave, uncaring about the 2 overstretched datacables currently latched at the console. “The Princess demands your presence.”

 

Unceremoniously walking away, Inferno carried the grumbling Tarantulus, leaving him no option but to recoil all his cables, releasing the greenish vial in the air as Waspinator juggled it around the lab, buzzing all along, until he managed to make it land safely and unbroken on its rightful place at the test-tube rack.

 

--------------------------------

 

At the test tube rack, taking a set of broken tubes and setting them aside to be recycled, Dinobot clicked his talons on the ground as he walked around the semi-destroyed lab, feathered tail moving left and right at each step.

 

“Did I let you down?”

 

Rhinox, mind far, far away in his own thoughts, unable to do anything useful for the moment due to a sheer lack of hands with opposable thumbs, snapped awake at Dinobot’s sudden question.

 

“What exactly do you mean?”

 

“I failed at recapturing them.” Dinobot lowered his face, grimacing. “Your first orders were not fulfilled.”

 

Rhinox shook his head, remembering the instant Optimus rose from behind the boulder with that slagging glitch in arms, jets firing loud, left hand gripping the predacon’s waist, the saurian’s left arm holding Primal’s waist as well and left leg entwined with his own, the maximal’s right hand resting against the other mech’s shoulder as they spiralled out of every single shot, gaining distance and disappearing from sight, steeling himself not to break anything else, in-venting.

 

“It’s not your fault that Megatron is a genius. Slag happens.”

 

“Megatron happens!” Dinobot spat, throwing another broken glass at the recycling bin, growling. “I should have anticipated he wouldn’t just give up.”

 

Rhinox rolled the information in his mind, squinting. “Give up on what?”

 

Realising he had spoken too much, Dinobot rose the feathered crest in his head for a click.

 

“It’s none of your concern.”

 

Dinobot turned his back on the other maximal, trying to evade the subject.

 

“It is entirely of our concern as a team.”

 

Rhinox then reached over the table for a certain purple piece of chassis, kicking it with his horn right at Dinobot’s talons.

 

“Would you by any chance, happen to recognise... this?”

 

The accursed purple chassis spun around its axis, slowly coming to a halt by Dinobot’s feet, as the saurian contemplated it in complete silence.

 

---------------------------------------------------------------

 

Silently contemplating the distant sunset on a forested hilltop, a purple T-Rex and a silverback gorilla stared at the horizon.

 

Once they were far enough, away from immediate danger, although already crackling with excess charge due to energon overexposure, Optimus had managed to descend slowly, releasing the predacon mid-air and transforming as he landed, knuckling towards the also transforming saurian who landed on his talons noisily on the ground.

 

Now what, the unspoken question hovered between them, darkness looming as the night came by, as Optimus finally spoke.

 

“We’ll need to rest under these forms to purge the excess energon for the night.”

 

Staring up at the trees and trying to reach a couple of branches full of leaves, Optimus made three pitiful attempts at jumping to reach them up, as the predacon clicked both claws together, just plain coming closer and unceremoniously shoving his head between the maximal’s legs from behind, lifting his own neck the most he could, raising him up.

 

Holding against the muscled, proto-feathered neck, Optimus grimaced, trying not to fall: fully following the instincts of his beast mode, intent in preparing a nest for the night, he had almost forgotten he was not alone in the wild.

 

Navigating under the trees, Optimus straddled Megatron’s back, quickly breaking as many leafy branches as possible, throwing them in a heap on the ground until he finally deemed the amount of material sufficient, wordlessly asking to be let down with a double tap at the side of the muscled neck.

 

On seeing Optimus craft a very large, comfy, leafy nest, Megatron’s pupils widened as he in-vented once, then approached slowly, circling around the maximal, looming over him.

 

“How long until it is finished, yess?”

 

Raising an optic ridge, squinting at the predacon, Optimus stopped fluffing the leaves up.

 

“Can you calm down? I’m almost done.”

 

Megatron shook his head, hungrily staring at the nest: before the maximal could give it a couple of finishing touches, he shuddered, then stepped into Primal’s personal space, sliding the left side of his body against the maximal’s warm, furry back.

 

“And I am going cold. Either we keep walking the whole night, or you quit trying to make this nest perfect and we just lay down now."

 

Before he could protest that Megatron was being impatient, Optimus rose his right hand into the predacon’s flank, briefly sliding his hand towards the saurian’s underbelly, purposefully avoiding to touch the outer slit to his cloacal orifice, where the predacon was supposed to be warmer, confirming the fact that the saurian was indeed running cold, now that the night fully came down.

 

Recalling how he had awoken wrapped up in his berth-covers on a too warm room, mentally slapping himself in the forehead, Optimus sighed: of course Megatron would be running cold after the sunset: theropods in general could regulate their body temperature, but they certainly had to remain active to produce enough heat.

 

Stepping inside his oeuvre d'art, Optimus sat in the middle of the nest, patting the ground on his right side, as Megatron quickly followed, slotting his left side at the maximal’s back, curling his head towards Primal’s right side and finally resting it against the furry, warm lap, staring up, his tail finally wrapping tightly into the gorilla’s legs and waist.

 

“It will be a very long walk to the Darkside tomorrow, Primal.”

 

He closed his eyes then, wriggling his head on the furry lap, as Optimus sighed, exhausted, staring up the starry sky for a full minute as he petted the proto-feathers in Megatron’s tiny crest, both mechs soon drifting into recharge.

Chapter 30: 30 - Recharge tight...

Summary:

Rattrap has to change every single line of security code in the Axalon, Dinobot tells more than he originally meant to explain and Scorponok tries to keep Tarantulus busy all the while Megatron and Optimus suffer the unpredictable weather.

Chapter 30 – Recharge tight...

 

Recharge evaded Rattrap, as he finished reprogramming Sentinel and the autoguns back online with improved, brave new lines of code: it turned out to be a very urgent need, for every single safety measure previously running under the Big Boss’s control was now moot and had to be scraped and redone from scratch.

 

“So, kiddo, anythin on Tigertron or Airazor?”

 

Cheetor, currently bathing himself, stopped mid-lick and stared briefly at ‘the screen.

 

“No reply.” he licked a paw and used it to clean his own face “The outer cameras show nothing as well.”

 

Rattrap nodded, annoyed, then shrugged: it’s not like Megatron would show up anytime soon, not now that Primal eloped him away, and they probably did not yet reach the predacon base at the lava pits anyway, so he was quite certain no attack would be underway for at least one full solar cycle.

 

The one thing really bugging his circuits though was the change of the command chain that took place, and how Rhinox of all mechs so easily trampled over the boss monkey once he decided to take over, which basically meant the only reason he was not the leader before was because he didn’t want to.

 

Rattrap shuddered at the notion that had Rhinox wanted any of them offline, he would.

 

No wonder Dinobot of all mechs so easily deferred to him, both personally and hierarchically, without even a single ounce of protest.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Without a single ounce of protest, Dinobot fully silenced the moment he saw the chassis.

 

“Well, Dinobot? What can you inform me about this panel found around Primal's dependences?”

 

He dipped his head down, then walked to the offending piece, poking it once with the tip of one claw, turning the chassis around while only minimally touching it.

 

"Was this the only object of this nature found there?"

 

Rhinox then recalled the black and purple scrapes along the ground and at the memory foam mattress, and the long scratch marks of a single, four-fingered left hand littering the ground, grimacing, as Dinobot took it as a yes and kept talking.

 

“This is a valve cover for a coded, bolted-shut mech. It’s painted in Megatron’s particular colours. It is not damaged or scratched, which basically means tradition has been respected in its removal.”

 

Rhinox nods: this much he had inferred, motioning with his horn for Dinobot to keep speaking, as the saurian cleared his organic throat and continued.

 

“I suppose you’ve heard at least in passing about the Tower’s Bolted Wonders. Coveted little things, coded since youth for a passive role only, with a single mech for life, while submitting in sparkbond to generate the future heirs to the upper predacon elites.”

 

Rhinox nodded non-committally, because yes, he had heard about it. He had also read many a datapad with saucy fiction on it: the perks of being one of Blaster’s former cassettibots.

 

“The one-mech-only-shareware cuties weren’t exactly liked... except for the interfacing role they were expected to take. Weak willed, flimsy, luxury-loving, frivolous things. Incapable of intelligent thought, just giggling and partying and wasting resources with shopping, frequently changing their paintjob, filing their uselessly long claws, with servants to do everything from cleaning their household to preparing their energon baths to taking care of their own sparked creations.” Dinobot in-vented “Basically, they were carrying chambers with legs. Little Queens of their own homes.”

 

Rhinox snorted, the irony not lost on him, as the saurian continued.

 

“The richest of the Predacon Upper Classes pay in shanix and/or political favour to have their creations bonded to such kind of coded, future carriers. The poorest of the Predacon Upper Classes make sure their creations became these port-oriented, coveted bolted princesses.” he drawled the last word “Megatron may have his luxurious habits and expensive needs, might love to file his claws even when it's not practical, takes full energon baths, but… weak-willed, delicate, and stupid, he absolutely is not.”

 

Rhinox groaned: he knew.

 

Megatron had been part of the lower upper class, then, meant to be exchanged for shanix or favour, but somehow managed to escape his fate, having apparently decided to make everyone pay for his frustrations and simply become a warlord-wannabe in this backwards planet with its two moons and its absurd amount of raw energon just laying unclaimed all around.

 

“What about this tradition you mentioned?” Rhinox continued.

 

Dinobot then clicked the big talons on his feet on the ground, pretending to occupy himself with inspecting the surfaces in search of broken crystalware, as he spoke.

 

“The bolted shut intimate panels underneath are to be removed by the mech’s new bonded by means of the bolted mech’s own ritual energon blade as key to demagnetise each one of either one or two panels, depending on the model of the outer seal.” he lifted a tiny sliver of crystal, walking to throw it at the recycling bin “By the lack of a spike cover lying around Primal’s former room, one must conclude that Megatron is truly properly coded and has absolutely no interest in spiking unless he’s on the receiving end.”

 

Very aware of how much predacons skewed the mecha that preferred using their valves, Rhinox could perfectly understand them hiding the fact, to the point of enacting fake resistance before they would yield, just like a certain saurian loved to do.

 

“What’s the chance of Megatron having used this whole situation as a ploy to sequester Optimus into the Predacons?”

 

Dinobot shook his head.

 

“I wouldn’t put is past Megatron making the whole thing into a ploy but… this is a very serious matter. I doubt he would have gifted his own blade just for the sake of a ploy.”

 

Dinobot stated mater-of-factly, as if mentioning rite explained everything.

 

“How serious can it be for it not to be a ploy?”

 

Mustering all the self-control he didn’t have, instead of flickering the chassis away, Dinobot closed his organic eyes for an instant.

 

“The magnetic seal is there as placeholder to protect the factory seals. The same seals most mecha no longer have past their sparkling age. There is a certain primitive appeal in being the first to take it.”

 

Rhinox absently nodded, thinking, as Dinobot continued.

 

“Understandably, both my former commander and I had been hiding our preferences. Let’s just say I hid it so well that I had been even offered the blade.”

 

Rhinox squinted then, as Dinobot continued.

 

“...to say Megatron was furious with my refusal is the understatement of the millennia: I had to pick a fight for leadership to leave the predacons once we landed. It was this or confessing, and I would not stand to be humiliated in that matter: the shame of losing the grab for leadership against a much stronger opponent is much more acceptable than the shame of… well. That.”

 

Dinobot then stared at his now Commander deeply, eye to eye.

 

“The whole ordeal is so serious that I wish I had a ritual blade and an unsullied, bolted, coded array to have gifted you, at our very first time.”

 

Blinking twice, Rhinox stared, full comprehension taking a while to kick in, as Dinobot came into whispering distance, extremely lightly running a claw by the side of his snout, continuing.

 

“Yet, despite my lacking, you have never looked at me with pity, not once. You gave me respect without judgement. You could honestly have abused your position way more than I have wanted to be abused. You treated me like your equal even when I overstepped my welcome with my provocations and clearly deserved to be punished, not respectfully held until you were sure it was fine.”

 

He finally offlined his optics, lowering his head into an extremely formal bow.

 

“I am honoured to have given my trust and loyalty to you, way before this unfortunate turn of events forced you to take on our Leadership. My sword is yours, and I shall take on whatever role you deem me fit for, in your life.”

 

At that the warrior actually bunted his beast mode’s forehead against the scientist’s own, purring, as Rhinox rolled the full extent of this information in his systems.

 

At some point it clearly stopped being about loose panels and interfacing roles and somehow it turned into as close as a sparkfelt confession as Dinobot would ever be able to make.

 

He wasn’t asking for anything back, except to keep being respected for the warrior he is… as if it would be unbecoming to wish for more.

 

As if he hadn’t hinted that he wished so hard to have been worthy of more.

 

It was actually sad, really.

 

At the silence that set in, Dinobot dipped is head in a nod, and visually scanned the lab’s surfaces for any forgotten broken crystalware.

 

“It seems my hands are no longer needed for now.” he gave a minute bow with his head towards the hulking mammal “Do you require anything else from me right now?”

 

Rhinox stared for a second too long, until Dinobot turned on his talons, feathered tail swishing on the room as he stepped towards the door…

 

“Dinobot... I will comm you later. Meanwhile... rest. Say you’ll hold me up to this.”

 

Tilting his head to the right, Dinobot stared for two full clicks at the sitting mammal, the tiniest gleam of something reaching his eyes in a respectful nod.

 

“Of course, Commander.”

 

Claws clicking on the ground as he finally left the lab, Rhinox watched Dinobot leave, the Lab’s door automatically closing behind.

 

----------------------

 

Behind closed doors, Scorponok did the best he could with the hand he was given, to keep things together at the Darkside.

 

He had already sent Terrorsaur away to look for Megatron, dimly aware the flier would make a botched job, probably on purpose, but it’s not like he could send any of the other two predacons capable of flight with him for now.

 

Waspinator was a walking accident waiting to happen, and the chances he would be offlined, dismembered, exploded, catapulted away, were so great he would rather the insect remained inside.

 

Now, Inferno was another thing entirely.

 

Despite his insanity bouts and his defective programming, Inferno wasn’t completely stupid, knew when to act on his own, was strong, and very capable of taking care of himself out there.

 

Had Inferno been ordered to look for the Royalty, he would trample through anyone and anything to find him.

 

Doing so however would expose Scorponok to the treacherous spiders, and he knew very well that without Inferno as his muscle he would be easily overthrown, and how would he give Megatron the leadership back if he were overthrown??

 

He clicked both pincers together, looking right and left in annoyance, the remote-controlled cyberbee typing endlessly at Megatron’s left-handed keyboard, as Inferno suddenly barged in with his charge, screeching.

 

“I have brought you the insolent spider as requested, My Princess!”

 

Unceremoniously then, the protesting and flailing Tarantulus was thrown at the current leader’s pedes.

 

Rubbing a claw at his now sore aft, Tarantulus groaned.

 

“What is it you want from me??” the spider spat “It’d better be important!”

 

As he stood up, Scorponok approached, extending him a datapad with blueprints.

 

“Before leaving, Megatron told me to hand you the blueprints and materials to my secret project. He wants it built while he's away plotting.”

 

The spider squinted his visor, turning the datapad in all directions, staring at the blueprints as Scorponok ubsubspaced every single random object from his fake list right into Tarantulus’s palps.

 

“Your project? YOUR secret project?”

 

Scorponok nodded, as the spider rose one of the random items up to his optic band.

 

“Are you aware it’s not so secret anymore now that you handed me the blueprints and the materials??”

 

Scorponok, not having thought things very through, made sure to not face-claw, dipping his head in a nod from his position up in Megatron’s throne.

 

“Now the list of items is complete, the project doesn’t need to be a secret anymore.”

 

Inferno nodded, insanely proud of their Princess. Tarantulus actually flailed a pair of datacables in annoyance.

 

“Gnyahhhhh!!! This is stupid! Is Megatron finally gone insane? Since when he started trusting me to build anything???”

 

“Are you questioning M… the Royalty’s orders?”

 

On cue, Inferno immediately glowered the spider into submission: Tarantulus, not truly wanting to waste more processing power than the minimum required, decided it wasn’t worth fighting for now, and simply promised to build whatever was in the blueprints, quickly scurrying away.

 

Watching the spider go, nodding to himself, satisfied at a job well done (for the colony, for his Queen and for his Princess!) Inferno, keeping his flamethrower raised high, all strong and protective, gave Scorponok a slow nod, followed by a proud, dangerously wide grin.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Grinning wide, Megatron instantly awoke with a loud thunderclap above his head, followed by thick, cold rain heavily hitting and flowing down his back, dripping through his underbelly and pooling down at his folded legs, emitting a low, annoyed growl.

 

Wasn’t it enough to be homeless, now they had to be wet and cold as well?

 

Resigned, Optimus looked up the pouring rain washing them down, the only thing bugging his mind right now being the fact the nest he so industriously built for them would have to be abandoned earlier than expected.

 

Megatron, instinctively standing up and shaking himself to get rid of the water, groaning as it dawned on him the rain was getting worse, finally turned his eyes to the drenched ape, sizing him up and down.

 

The maximal’s beast mode has small legs comparatively to his size: it would take Optimus days to knuckle anywhere, he pondered, taking a glance down his long, elegant saurian taloned feet, wriggling his own claws.

 

Megatron however needed out of the cold now.

 

“Come up, Primal.” he beckoned, turning his giant beast head towards his own back “Will I have to snatch my head between your legs again?”

 

Minutely taken aback as his mind, for a malformed instant, gave him a mental image that burned itself behind his eyes, Optimus was snapped back to reality by Megatron doing precisely what he had threatened to do, effectively bringing the maximal to mount his back.

 

Running through the canopied forest, barely avoiding the trees as Optimus made sure to keep himself low over the predacon’s back, riding him like a racing horse, Megatron dodged down the higher branches and ran over the lower ones, doing his best to leave the freezing cold rain, fast.

 

They didn’t have the luxury of getting rescued this time around, and by now Optimus knew Megatron needed to remain on the move not to become lethargic during the cold hours of the night.

 

“Do you happen to know of anywhere dry close by?”

 

Optimus questioned, Megatron briefly shaking his head as he ran.

 

“This is maximal territory. One should think you had it already mapped out, yesss.”

 

Barrelling his giant beast head against the weakest trees to break them out, making way as the storm streamed down heavy and loud, soaking the ground beneath his feet, Megatron waddled through the muddled soil, made progressively more slippery and unstable at each and every single of his steps.

 

Before Optimus could point out that the rain was getting worse and Megatron shouldn’t be running since he didn’t know the terrain, the predacon suddenly stepped his left talons right through a putrid tree.

 

Watching everything crumble to the Pit and beyond, Optimus widened his eyes, holding for dear life against the predacon’s feathered neck, quickly rolling down and slotting his smaller beast frame underneath the saurian’s.

 

Unable to immediately remove his left foot off the rotten trunk, mid-run, Megatron staggered, beast-head, tail and legs enveloping the maximal in a flurry of limbs as they fell, rolling away while carrying branches and mud, helplessly crashing into the hollow down the hill, as it quickly filled with the deluge raining down.

Chapter 31: 31 - ...don't let the Predacons bite.

Summary:

Megatron undergoes frame-freeze while trying to rescue Primal, Terrorsaur couldn't care less, Blackrachnia challenges Tarantulus and the Maximals finally get help.

Chapter 31 – ...don’t let the Predacons bite.

 

Deluge raining down, the hollow downhill filling up fast as it poured, Megatron suddenly rose his head above the level of water in a jolt, breathing deeply with maws open wide.

 

Half-blind by the rain, going sluggish with the cold, widened beast eyes moving right and left for a click as a surge of adrenaline kicked in, Megatron finished filing his organic lungs with air then plunged back down into the water, this time emerging aft and tail first as he dragged himself backwards, step-by-step, out and away from the margin of the temporary lake with a limp in his left leg, he groaned while hastily pulling the downed gorilla by his giant jaws, trying his best not to be engulfed by the rising waters in the hollow.

 

Noticing his left leg’s middle talon (the one that provided the brunt of the stability) was bent up into an unnatural shape, shin cracked with a sheen of organic plasma dribbling down mixed up with his own glimmering purple circulating energon, Megatron groaned, a full body shudder rippling through his frame.

 

He couldn’t stop moving: the moment he did, his own metabolism would slow down and he would not have the energy to keep going until dawn warmed his shell back up, and by then it would be too late for Primal, incapable of doing the same biological feat his saurian shell could do.

 

Unused to having to care about rescuing anyone else besides himself, he glared down the drenched and passed out ape, for an instant not knowing from where to begin: it would be so easy to just give up, let go and simply limp to the Darkside, then reignite the fight against the maximals, who would now be under the rule of a much stronger and ruthless leader, no one less than Rhinox of all mechs.

 

Another thunderclap rang on his audials for a click as it turned the dark sky alight: contemplating the eerily still gorilla currently getting dragged by his jaws, Megatron slowly limped away from the premises by the rising waters, deciding that given the circumstances, not thinking and just moving would be a much better idea so far.

 

If he thought too much he might eventually conclude he was catching up on actual feelings beyond his wretched code and this was a very dangerous course of action indeed.

 

Afterall, everything was a potential weakness to be exploited: he could not let any of the predacons even remotely imagine there might have been or actually currently could eventually be anything even remotely going on between them beyond “Primal defected to the Predacons and submitted to my rule, and is now my second in command, yess.”.

 

Any self-respecting Predacon would each have very good reasons to exploit the situation, in case they ever knew, and Megatron couldn’t really blame them: he would exploit the situation as well, were their positions reversed.

 

It is just how life as a Predacon is.

 

Not that he cared for their opinions, but he had to be on guard concerning their treachery.

 

Scorponok wouldn’t exactly want to lose his position as SIC but otherwise would end up complying, if anything due to cowardice, just like Terrorsaur: Waspinator was a simple, poor soul honestly just trying to glide through life not getting slagged, and certainly poses no deep threat.

 

Inferno, in his single-mindedness, would either consider the maximal a fertile drone chosen by the queen, and tolerate him, which would be the least destructive outcome… or ultimately decide that HE, Inferno, would be a superior fertile drone to the queen and fight the maximal for the privilege and…

 

...and Megatron has absolutely no intention of dwelling on this possibility: if he had ever had any wish of even remotely having had Inferno ever take on this kind of role, he would never have plunged into the mess he did with Primal in first place, nooo.

 

Shaking the horrifying notion away as he got a positive ping from his systems for being a considerate, honest, faithful mate, Megatron came back to reality as another thunderclap cracked above his head and he now sluggishly managed to gather distance enough from the rising waters, turning the maximal on his back with his snout and contemplating his next course of action.

 

Without finesse or preamble, he promptly dug his talons into the maximal’s ribcage, pushing, once, twice, three times, doing his best to ignore the pain in his broken left leg, growling and pushing, water flowing down his snout and frame in troves, pouring into the furry, drenched shell underneath his foot as the clicks stretched and Optimus did not come back online.

 

Finally transforming and using his tail as a makeshift brace for his damaged left leg, Megatron captured the maximal on his beast-hand, throwing him over his shoulder and staring up the hill, grimacing, then checking on his chronometer to know how long he would have before he would need to revert to beast-mode.

 

He didn’t have much long.

 

Limping uphill, the offline gorilla over his right shoulder, dino-hand holding the maximal by one leg, his saurian frame barely generating heat with his systems straining for movement under the storm, unable to keep himself efficiently warm, he rerouted antifreeze to his peripheral circulation as thick, congealed oil stalled in his central hydraulic lines, every step painful and progressively slower as coldness sept through his seams and for once he cursed his choice of a saurian beast mode.

 

Practically collapsing uphill, he catapulted the maximal out of his shoulder and upwards to the hilltop, crawling the last meters up on his tail-brace, his beast head and knees, dragging his useless left leg along, only stopping once his gyros confirmed he was no longer under risk of slipping and returning back to the freezing waters below.

 

Staring down and grimacing at the very still ape, determined not to give up, aware he still had a couple of clicks left before he would have to revert to beast, being the stubborn fool he is, Megatron actually dragged his slowing down root-moded self over the beast-moded maximal, straddling the currently cold, furry, muscled shell of his companion, and as subtly as a mechabull ploughing through a field of pale-blue spark-flowers, immediately slapped Primal’s beast-face, repeatedly, bellowing all along.

 

“You are not doing that to me, Optimus Fragging Primal!! I expressly forbid you of offlining!! Do not make me believe I did just waste my time and efforts in hauling your sorry aft from down there!! Come back online at once!!! I command you!!!”

 

The maximal’s head limply moved right and left with each hit, as Megatron actually stopped, now briefly using the back of his left hand to clean up his optics and face from the pouring rain, grimacing as he absolutely decided to not even want to acknowledge if the fluids running down his faceplates were truly rain or something else entirely, as he instantly, repeatedly punched the middle of the maximal’s chest in frustration, until that got a reaction and Optimus literally expelled a chunk of slimy green goo right into Megatron’s very purple faceplates.

 

Running his palm down his face and removing the greenish fluids away with his left hand, he stalled as time seemed to slow down and actually stop as his dulled optics stared unfocused at the general direction of the sorry sight currently undergoing a full blown coughing fit and wheezing for air.

 

Unfortunately for Megatron, time did not slow down: having reached his lower temperature threshold and undergone frame freeze, glassy-opticed, he simply collapsed face-first against the crook of the maximal’s beast neck, energon charge crackling through his seams as he finally went offline, a pair of furry hands reflexively rising to hold him safely up.

 

----------------------

 

Holding himself safely perched up on the outside of the predacon ship, Terrorsaur currently pondered on his life choices.

 

Megatron had left them without telling anyone, not even his two loyal idiots, once again, and he, Terrorsaur, apparently was expected to actually locate the purple fool.

 

As if.

 

Obviously, Terrorsaur had no interest in rescuing him: everybody knew that Predacons must be able to come back on their own, or don’t come back at all.

 

No one respected a rescued predacon: supposing he eventually did, what would he get? At best, in a good day, Megatron might show slight recognition for his efforts, but not if it meant showing any degree of gratefulness where it mattered, in public.

 

At worst, he would be slagged for daring to presume Megatron actually required rescuing in the first place.

 

Afterall, the other time that their so esteemed leader had disappeared for three full days, he returned on his own, virtually undamaged and actually threatening every single predacon into obedience, just as expected.

 

It’s not like Scorponok even needed to act as second in command to give Megatron the leadership back: if any mech unfortunately decided taking over… no harm done. If Megatron actually returned he would simply rip apart the poor sod who tried to pieces, and thus retake his rightful rule.

 

Terrorsaur knew very well what happened to usurpers, and once was enough. He wasn’t Starscream, afterall, to keep wanting to take over every single time Megatron so much as tripped.

 

He could actually wait for the purple fragger to offline before trying, afterall.

 

Shrugging as he stared into the darkness above, the fumes of the lava pits fogging the stars, he briefly pondered things could be worse: had Tarantulus decided to take over, every single beast warrior would have very good reason to fear for their lives under the palps of Unicron’s spawn.

 

-----------------------

 

“Unicron’s spawn.”

 

“Witch.”

 

Once more turning the blueprints on the datapad in every single direction he could, Tarantulus didn’t even spare Blackarachnia a glance as she came inside and both exchanged lovely greetings, the black widow scuttering in her beast mode towards the slab where he had actually unsubspaced every single ingredient that Scorponok handed him.

 

Casually lifting an irregular onyx crystal and turning it on one palp, Blackarachnia shifted her many eyes towards the scientist.

 

“So, Legs. Scorponok’s secret project is no longer a secret?”

 

Tarantulus actually lifted the datapad intent in throwing it at her, then aborted the motion, depositing it at his desk.

 

“What difference it makes? There is no explanation anywhere about what this device actually does, much less what the final result will look like, and the ingredients are too random to my taste.”

 

She root-moded, returning the crystal to the slab and now raised a piece of striped hide, actually disgusted by its smell.

 

“So the genius heir of Shockwave’s tech doesn’t know what the device does? You poor, ugly little thing.”

 

Squinting his optic band, Tarantulus stood up, for a click considering breaking the datapad right into the witch’s head: if he destroyed the datapad however, he would have to ask for another, and he wasn’t feeling like leaving his lair anytime soon.

 

“Either Scorponok is a full blown Perceptor and I will have to succumb and request he directs the assembly, or he’s a full blown Wheeljack and pulled both the blueprints and the ingredients out of his aft.”

 

He then walked towards the spider, who swayed her hips right and left, coming at face distance and staring up, placing both claws on the sides of her waist.

 

“Give him some credit, oh Tall, Dark and Gruesome. Sometimes Scorponok actually builds stuff that works, like those little drones, what’s their names? Cyberbees?” she shrugged “Who knows? Perhaps we might be surprised.”

 

She stood on the tips of her pedes then, coming to the other arachnid’s audials and whispering in a gratingly unpleasant voice meant to be sultry, but unable to convey the feeling.

 

“Perhaps the full blown idiot is you. I could bet the full possession of my frame and spark that you can’t build Scorponok’s little device.”

 

She cackled, barely avoiding getting captured by a dark grey datacable, as Tarantulus clenched his palps in hatred watching her flee.

 

In a sudden, thwarting Megatron’s schemes and complying with his own personal covert mission ceased being important.

 

Right now, thanks to the fragging glitch, he had just acquired a much more challenging objective.

 

He would not be defeated by a stupid blueprint with even more stupid ingredients: if Scorponok can devise it, then certainly only Tarantulus will be able to do it.

 

----------------

 

“Do it.”

 

Briefly root-moding, both Rattrap and Cheetor, each a soldering mask in face and a heavy-duty welder in hands, quickly aimed at the sides of the thick, dull piece of plating that Rhinox (currently standing up on his hind-legs) made sure to keep still by his front paws, covering slightly less than a third of the hull breach on the brig, while the two smaller maximals would solder it.

 

He hated having to rely on other mech’s servos: there was a reason why he had been adamant in getting a bipedal mode back then, and this reason still rang truth, so many millennia later.

 

“Needing help?”

 

Raising his soldering mask up, Cheetor beamed, practically gluing himself to the hole and staring down, waving a hello.

 

“Big cat! You’ve got my message!”

 

Strolling in beast mode outside of the ship, drenched up to his syntho-fleshed bones, shaking himself dry and contemplating the damage, Tigertron dipped his head in a nod, jumping right through the hole and turning to face Rhinox.

 

“We were made aware of the… news.” he root-moded, saluting with his closed fist against his chestplates. “Good to see the maximals under your leadership, Rhinox.”

 

He nodded back, squinting as Airazor flew through the hole and perched up in the back of Dinobot’s chair, ruffling up her feathers as she preened.

 

“We were caught in the middle of a storm on our way here, so forgive us not replying earlier.”

 

Somehow managing to convey a dismissive waving of hands with a motion of his head and horns alone, Rhinox assessed the basic soldering work and deemed the repair mesh stable enough for him to quit holding it up.

 

“I’m glad for the assistance. Now that you arrived, I’ll make sure to work in isolating the brig from the rest of the energon-dampening grid, so we can try to have the CR-chambers running finally functional.”

Chapter 32: 32 - 5000 miles...

Summary:

Optimus makes a new nest, Waspinator knows more than he shows, Tarantulus loses control, Rhinox has a promise to fulfill and Megatron is a very stubborn idiot, indeed.

Chapter 32 – 5000 miles...

 

Finally functional, Megatron blinked awake twice at his darkened surroundings, trying to piece together what exactly had happened.

 

Unable to avoid a full-body shudder at the still sub-optimal temperatures gauged in his HUD, marginally aware he was not supposed to be dry, Megatron tried standing up, only to be prevented by the admonishing tone of a commanding voice.

 

“Don’t put weight on your leg. You’ll ruin my soldering patch.”

 

Briefly staring down his left leg, he met a darkened, burnt mesh patch marring his scaly synthoflesh, the voice he now recognised as Primal’s continuing to speak from behind his back.

 

“We’re inside a mountainside crevice, not very far from where we were before. It’s large enough for laying down, small enough to be kept warm by body heat alone, impervious to the rain, and its stone walls and its stone ground are dense enough for us to be able to remain in root-mode and not suffer from energon overexposure.”

 

The maximal then rested his forehead against the predacon’s left shoulder, raising his right hand up Megatron’s lightly feathered back, steadily stroking it.

 

“You diverted antifreeze from your core. You root-moded before your systems could handle the excess energon.”

 

Slowly leaning into the continuous, soothing, warm touch, Megatron suddenly registered he was actually getting lectured for putting himself in danger, by Primal of all mechs, instantly snapping out of it.

 

“Says the master of self-sacrifice, yesss.”

 

Optimus rolled his optics.

 

“I mean it. You could have gone offline, Megatron! What were you actually thinking?”

 

For a split click Megatron squinted, turning his head left to meet the maximal’s optics: he hadn’t been exactly thinking. He had only been trying to get out of the freezing cold rain. Fast. Letting the reptilian brain take over.

 

Not that he would ever admit to that.

 

“Had you properly mapped out your own sector, you would have known about this little dainty crevice here in advance and we would not have needed to spend a night on the outside to be caught up under the elements, in a pitiful fragging nest of leaves!!!”

 

Optimus grimaced then: it had been a damn good nest, thank you very much!

 

“If you hadn’t decided to run blind on slippery terrain whose map you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have tripped in first place.”

 

Hissing, Megatron clicked a single glyph in primal vernacular, to which Optimus growled, then immediately made sure to flip the predacon 180º in his lap, the tyrant now facing him while sitting on his thighs.

 

“Say it again, Megatron. To my face this time.”

 

Megatron squinted, the maximal’s hands holding against each side of his hips, this time drawling the glyph in his glossa with a smirk.

 

He was not prepared to be smacked in his left aft-cheek.

 

Optics going offline, Primal's right hand burning in his plating, Megatron stalled for a full click, in-venting slowly and resetting his voicebox.

 

“What are you actually doing.”

 

Optimus opened a too wide, despite not malicious-looking grin.

 

“Is it my fault you’re behaving like an unruly sparkling and are currently deserving of this?”

 

Megatron was smacked again, for good measure, now in the right aft-cheek, getting a full ping of misplaced arousal from his array.

 

“I do not consider this even remotely appropriate in our situation.”

 

He fleeted a side glance at the maximal, but wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or directly to his own array anymore: Optimus, unaware of the struggle, shrugged.

 

“There’s nothing appropriate in our situation, Megatron.”

 

Finding it increasingly more difficult to ignore the slow dribbling of lubricants steadily building up beneath his plating, as now both of Primal’s hands literally rested atop his aft, and his coding continuously pinged him that yes, getting repeatedly smacked in the aft by Optimus Primal was very appropriate indeed, and that Megatron should just lay on his back on the ground, open up his panels, then fully, completely enjoy it!, Megatron glowered at his own systems.

 

“I do not care! I am not laying on my back on the cold, stone ground!! I have standards!”

 

He scolded his own array: Optimus scratched his head, puzzled.

 

“Do you want then to leave my lap and lay on the ground, as long as it’s not cold??”

 

“Noo!” Megatron winced, getting mind-whipped by his systems “Yess!” he was mind-whipped again. “I cannot deal with that! Decide yourself for Pit’s sake!!”

 

He facepalmed in shame: Optimus stood for a while in deep thought, actually scratching his chin now.

 

“Fine, I’ll decide for you then. I suppose we should be comfortable while laying down on the ground. It’s a good thing then that I brought all the spare leaves.”

 

Giving a quick surprise-peck at the predacon, he simply mechhandled Megatron out of his lap, placing the tyrant at the warm spot he had been sitting previously, then proceeded to build another nest.

 

Blinking, interface subroutines running beneath his plating, doing his best efforts yet failing to ignore the dripping lubricants, Megatron stared dumbstruck at the maximal simply unsubspacing a fragton of leaves.

 

“...why do you have these.”

 

Optimus, slowly weaving the leaves together, shrugged.

 

“I had an inkling we might not encounter another forest on the way to the Darkside, so I subspaced all the excess leaves. Who knows when one would need a nest?”

 

Megatron squinted then.

 

“Have you by any means made me stay put on your lap, when you could have outright done another fragging nest??”

 

The maximal seemed to ponder on the subject for a click.

 

“I didn’t see immediate need of making another nest until now, because you seemed to be comfortable and warm on my lap. Thinking better about it, though, it would be better for us both to be comfortable.”

 

And resumed weaving, as the predacon gaped, reinforcing the command to keep his plates locked.

 

“Just so you know, I’ll make this nest here way smaller, though, with tighter weaving. If it resists us afterwards, I intend to keep it in subspace just in case, since you apparently are too opposed to lay down on your back in the ground, during the trip home.”

 

Caught between the positive ping ordering him to be grateful for having a considerate mate, the almost fuzzy feeling due to the fact Primal apparently just called the Darkside home, and the heady sensation in his array at knowing he was weaving a sturdy nest specifically for his own comfort while laying on his back on the ground, a nest he intended to keep just in case, Megatron sighed.

 

Either Primal is extremely naive or extremely sly and Megatron couldn’t spare the processing power right now, to decide which was the case.

 

Doing his best to keep pointedly ignoring the pooling lubricants behind his plating, miserable and wet, Megatron once again overrode the command to open his array up, then glumly watched the maximal dutifully work.

 

----------------------

 

Dutifully working in root mode at his Lab, Rhinox groaned, excess energon crackling through his seams, listening to his inner system’s warning about the need to beast-mode.

 

It was the third time in a single day he had to interrupt his work on the isolation of the damage Megatron inflicted upon the brig: he honestly had been hoping to accomplish it this time time around.

 

Finally doing that and gracelessly sitting on his aft, he lowered his horns and ears to the ground, recalling how much he gloated back then when everyone had to shift to a smaller shell, on how he would not have to change anything to fit into the new size class policy during the Great Downzising, since he was already a triplechanger, and at the right size!!

 

It came full circle to bite him the aft, though: the new shells were not only smaller but more energy efficient. By not changing, he missed out on the energy efficiency department.

 

It’s not like he would have admitted it back then. Or even now.

 

Because of that, of all the maximals, he had the lowest tolerance to energon-build-up in root mode, which explained why he was often in beast mode outside the ship, making sure not to waste his precious bipedal time.

 

Frustrated by their current predicament, Rhinox growled, deeply regretting not having blasted Megatron when he came up the lift that very first time Optimus brought him in beast-mode, needing replacement of circulating fluids.

 

They wouldn’t be in this situation if he had done as he wished to, instead of following that lovable albeit soft-sparked fool that Primal was.

 

Despite having a lingering one-sided crush (that he vowed to never act upon, no matter what) on his old friend, and rationally knowing this ship sailed long ago, the very moment he failed telling Optimus back then, Rhinox was still baffled with the fact his previous commander had been ensnared by Megatron so easily.

 

He wasn’t even angry with Optimus anymore.

 

Just disappointed with his own self for having given up before even trying.

 

Sighing, he rose up on his four limbs, leaving the lab with heavy steps, intent in calling Dinobot.

 

They had to talk about a few delicate things.

 

--------------------------------

 

“These are delicate things!! Don’t mess them around, you miserable glitch!”

 

Waspinator instantly stalled, centimetres away from touching a rubbery, stinky tentacle one day having belonged to a sea squid, buzzing dejectedly.

 

“Wazzpinator only wantz to help szpider-bot with project.”

 

Without stopping to wrench a few bolts in a plaque of titanium, Tarantulus spat back.

 

“Waspinator next meal if Waspinator not quiet!”

 

Waspinator folded his arms then.

 

“Wazzpinator intellligent bot!! Waszzzpinator haz two degreez!”

 

Tarantulus groaned.

 

“I don’t care about the amount of degrees you have, you’ll always be an idiot! Don’t touch anything!!”

 

Waspinator somehow squinted his multifaceted optics, stepping into Tarantulus’ personal space.

 

“Waszzpinator knowz szpider-bot’z original identity. Autobot Prowl took mechling not-szpider-bot from hizz deztiny as future tape in Soundwavezzz cohort to be sczientizzt in szecret underground noizze-lab-mazzze.”

 

Tarantulus froze for a bit on the spot, as Waspinator stepped closer, at whispering distance.

 

“Wazzpinator wonder if zzpider-bot know where Ozzstaros iz.”

 

He was immediately whacked in the head by a single datacable.

 

“Get out of my Lab or I’ll tell Inferno that because of you the Princess’ pet project is not done!!!

 

-------------------------

 

“Almost done!”

 

Quietly suffering but not going to show it up, intimate panels dutifully closed, Megatron somehow managed to loom over Optimus from a distance, as the maximal merrily announced the nest was practically ready.

 

Now giving his finishing touches in the hard-woven nest, cautiously fluffing it up to make it perfect, the maximal barely noticed the moment he was tackled down into said nest.

 

“Megatron! What did I say about you putting weight on your leg??”

 

Called back to reality and out of his coding's persistent wishes, Megatron blinked, as Optimus pointedly poked the predacon's patched shin to drive the point across.

 

“Do you want to not be able to walk?? If you put weight here before the patch takes it, it won’t hold!”

 

Megatron opened his mouth-plates to defend himself: before he could reply that he was not putting weight on the leg, only on his knees, he shut them down, as Optimus now fully smirked at him.

 

“Of course, that depends if you want to get to the Darkside on your pedes, like the strong, powerful predacon leader you ought to be, or carried bridal-style by me.”

 

Suddenly plagued by the mental image of Optimus Fragging Primal landing in robot mode holding himself on his strong arms and huge, safe hands, bridal style, kicking the Darkside’s main entrance open and strolling before every single predacon while carrying him, smirking all of them into silence and submission, Megatron instantly squelched the dangerous notion away and blinked back to the present.

 

“It won’t do you any good for your command position to be carried inside base and we both know it.”

 

Optimus smiled, as Megatron groaned: the maximal was right.

 

Not that he would ever admit, but by now he knew Primal was extremely intelligent and was certainly going to make a fine second in command, one whose advice he would certainly take, and to whom he would have no qualms against acquiescing both in and out of berth, and…

 

...and he was flipped on his back, the maximal now staring down at him with a sincere smile.

 

“Now you may lay on your back on the warm, fluffy nest.” he nodded “This way you won’t put any weight on any part of your leg, since you apparently have compunctions against staying on my lap.”

 

Resetting his vocaliser to sound the most dignified he could, should he choose speaking, Megatron squinted.

 

It’s not that he had anything against being on Primal’s lap, it was actually a fine, warm, furry, comfy lap, except for the fact he did not exactly chose to be put there in first place, earlier, not that he would have said no in case the maximal offered or actually so much as hinted on the possibility or staying put on his lap, but it’s the principle of the thing that counts.

 

Not to mention that the mere idea of being in Primal’s warm, inviting lap, getting smacked in the aft, was giving his own code bad, bad ideas, making him not-think on doing inappropriate things he should not be doing that soon after he had done them in first place, because he was not yet past the protocol period of rest and reprieve after the unbolting, and just because his array was truly undamaged and considered itself ready for more, it was not advisable and absolutely not proper to simply give in, no matter how enthusiastically willing, and...

 

“How long must I avoid putting weight on the patch, anyway, yessss?”

 

By asking, he was trying hard to deflect his own array’s bad wishes, as the maximal hummed, visibly thinking, apparently oblivious to the fact that the predacon’s only reason not to snap his panels open and beg to be fragged literally until the next solar cycle resided solely in Megatron being stubborn and an idiot that apparently preferred to suffer in silence.

 

“About to a full solar cycle, give or take it. Unless you have a better idea, we’d better rest.”

 

Optimus then motioned with a hand for Megatron to give room.

 

Oh no, the predacon briefly panicked, because he had other ideas, all of them better than resting, but he didn’t want to act upon any of them anymore, and he was no longer sure if he was glad or mad at the maximal that seemed too oblivious to notice his conflict.

 

Once the maximal finally laid by the predacon’s side, Megatron once again suppressed his array’s involuntary request to be opened, groaning and mentally facepalming, staring up at the stone ceiling as he once more spoke to his own systems.

 

“This way we’ll never get to the Darkside.”

 

Optimus shrugged, slotting himself on the predacon’s left side, literally using Megatron’s left arm as a pillow and firmly holding the predacon’s waist with his own left arm.

 

“Of course we will. If I am fully rested for at least half a solar cycle, I can fly us close enough, but you’ll still need to actually walk to the entrance and at least the more or less 100 metres that it takes to reach your personal quarters.”

 

At that Megatron squinted, turning to meet Primal’s optics.

 

“How do you kn… right. Was it Dinobot or the vermin?”

 

“Rattrap, obviously. He had downloaded the Darkside’s basic layout while we pursued you right before you entered transwarp space. Why? Are you going to move out of your quarters and forfeit your lava jacuzzi because of it?”

 

Before Megatron could say he didn’t have a lava jacuzzi, just a lava-warmed CR-tank, thank you very much, the Maximal yawned and just like a huge, giant teddy bear, dug his warm face into the cool crook of Megatron’s neck, offlining his optics, apparently ready to recharge.

 

Slowly creeping his own optics towards the blasted ape, Megatron briefly entertained the idea of pushing the maximal out of the nest simply to be mean and prevent Primal of entering recharge just because he could, but ended up yawning as well because he was not a psychopath despite common belief, then thought better about it, deciding that delayed gratification was a very much needed part of his mental discipline right now, that his traitorous shell would actually benefit from not indulging in anything energy-consuming for the moment, specially not that, and that the warmth radiating from the maximal’s fur-covered self (now slotted on his left), was indeed what he actually truly needed to drift into recharge as well.

 

----------------

 

Well-recharged, curled up on himself in his beast mode over a pile of hides, Dinobot blinked awake at the message he just received with a set of coordinates.

 

The very set of coordinates he was currently resting on.

 

He had no need to check to know who the message came from, but he checked on it anyway because he was a paranoid glitch, and he would not put it past the vermin to play him a prank: it has happened before, afterall.

 

Just not in this particular place.

 

Maybe not even the vermin would be that cruel and inconsiderate, but there was a reason why Dinobot had survived that long among his predacon brethren, and it was not by being trusting .

 

Listening for the heavy steps, he root-moded, spinning his spine-blade in hands just in case, squinting at the ill-lit entrance, grimacing as readied himself for struggle, the feathers on his scaly synthoflesh rising, his pointed teeth bared, ready to pounce on whoever dare invade…

 

“At rest, Dinobot.”

 

Growling yet visibly relaxing, Dinobot subspaced his sword back, watching the new maximal leader fully step on his beast mode inside the vaulted room, root-moding and walking to a pile of energon cubes in the far corner, unsubspacing ten cubes and adding eight to the pile, finally keeping one for himself then extending the warrior one.

 

“Did you make any progress back on base?”

 

He caught on the offered cube, watching Rhinox flop onto the hides he had been previously recharging on, with his cube in one hand, pinching his nosebridge with the other.

 

“Not really. Unfortunately I can’t physically isolate the brig from the grid from a distance. It would be so much easier to do it if I could just program it from the mainframe here.”

 

Dinobot nodded non-committally, taking in on the awfully tarnian room with his optics: over time, they had managed to make up a small refuge , consisting mainly on an emergency stock of ready to consume, stable, energon cubes, an ever-growing pile of brain-tanned hides Dinobot himself produced from the hides of his many hunts, a mainframe Rhinox repurposed for personal use, a couple of emergency lights, and an energon-line powering the mainframe and the lights, directly connected to the outside, feeding from the very build-up that could offline them on the outside of the natural protection of these granite walls.

 

It wasn’t much, but it was energon-shielded, and it was not really borne out of conscious decision: they sort of simply started bringing in stuff they considered valuable to keep out of other mech’s – mostly Rattrap’s – prying optics.

 

Contemplating the room as well, Rhinox slowly finished his cube, subspacing the empty container to be refilled later, then removed a vial from subspace, extending his hand towards Dinobot, palm up.

 

Raising one optic ridge, halfway through his own cube, Dinobot visually inspected the glowing crimson vial from a distance.

 

“What is that?”

 

“You certainly recall that time I extracted a sample of energon from your own energon lines. Well, I have isolated, then multiplied your own repair nanites in gazelle bone marrow extract, and had them cryopreserved for situations like this. You will have the full benefit of a boost in repairs, and absolutely no foreign body reaction, since these come from your very own nanites. They can be either injected into an energon line, applied directly to the wound or actually ingested.”

 

Dinobot nodded, very much aware of his interrupted repair-sequence. He had no reason to doubt Rhinox’ tech.

 

“What would be your advised method of application considering the nature of the damage?”

 

“Thanks to Megatron’s handiwork, I don’t have the adequate means to apply them intra-energon-line at the Lab right now, and no proper way to have you sitting for the required amount of time into the Lab’s port-o-logical exam chair for the precise topical application. It’ll be better to just ingest the vial’s contents, then wash it down with the remaining energon in your cube, or a new one. Topic application would be more efficient, considering the superficial damage to the lining, but ingesting the nanites will still allow you to undergo repairs faster than leaving everything to nature.”

 

Nodding, he ingested it, exactly how he was told, then flopped by the scientist’s side on the hides as well, both mechs sitting in silence for many clicks, until Rhinox spoke.

 

“Very well. I’ll be extremely direct and blunt. I have too many things to say and I don’t think words will suffice. I’m actually awful with anything outside of science and shooting guns, and I will perfectly understand if you’d prefer to leave things as they currently are, or even end everything between us.”

 

Optics widening slightly, Dinobot tensed and stalled, as the scientist in-vented.

 

“Bond me.” he stared right into the warrior’s optics “Sparkbond me.”

 

Dinobot rolled the info in his processors, snarling.

 

“Is this some kind of sick joke??”

 

Rhinox shook his head.

 

“I’ve never been so serious.”

 

Wary, frozen to the spot, Dinobot kept staring: Rhinox kept speaking.

 

“Your words left me thinking. You said you would be honoured to take in any role I saw fit for you. I am tired of letting real life slip through my servos because of my fears. Take your time thinking now. I’ll be ready whenever you are.”

 

And turned to leave...

 

...getting stopped by a claw gripping on his left servo.

 

Turning to his back, he was immediately met by scorching, blue, blinding light.

Chapter 33: 33 - Eagle's Nest

Summary:

Megatron takes offense at the sunlight, Optimus has to gather something important, and Terrorsaur finds exactly the mech he was truly not looking for.

Chapter 33 - Eagle's Nest

 

Blinded by light, Megatron led his pet-hand to the persistent, stupidly precise sunbeam entering the crevice’s narrow aperture, trying to futilely block it from his sight, with his open dino-head’s jaws.

 

Squinting as his optics got used to the light, grimacing and finding his leg’s inner repairs at 53%, he turned to his left, where the maximal was still recharging, still holding his waist, his left leg half-slotted between Megatron’s own.

 

For the briefest of clicks he actually considered letting himself back into recharge, just basking in the quiet thrum of the maximal’s pulsing spark, until he suddenly remembered this same blasted ape did not receive a sunbeam right in his face first thing in the day.

 

Finding it unfair that only he would be awake at the wee un-Primus-ly megaclicks of the morning, while Optimus Fragging Primal would not, he finally did what he had wanted to do since the previous night, and before he could change his mind, pushed the maximal out of the nest.

 

Jolting awake and almost instantly going into defence mode, both wrist-guns aiming at the offending sunbeam coming from the cave’s entrance for ten full clicks, Optimus slowly blinked to reality, sternly glowering as he turned to the lounging saurian.

 

Megatron, languidly stretching, quietly checked on his systems, to blessedly find that his self-cleaning routines reabsorbed nearly all the uselessly released lubricants underneath his plating, then smirked as he rose his left leg in the air and wriggled all his three toes before the maximal’s face, briefly turning said leg to contemplate the patch on his shin, no longer looking burnt but rather starting to take on a faint sheen of purple.

 

“Your patch is taking, excellent, yesss.”

 

The tyrant spoke, as if he had meant to say it all along.

 

“If only we still had some of the energon water, Primal, we could cut the journey in half and just plain head home.”

 

Briefly roaming his squinting optics at the predacon, Optimus followed the long, thick muscled leg slowly crossing itself over the right one, the memory of the energon geode cave coming back full-force.

 

“I still have your four empty cubes in subspace. Since I’m unharmed and more than 80% fuelled, I could fly there on my own, go down until the lake, fill the cubes, then return. Quick and simple.”

 

Half-propping himself on his left elbow and the base of his pet-hand, Megatron squinted.

 

“Do not bother. It is but wistful thinking, Primal. You said yourself, I will be able to put weight on my leg and properly walk in less than a quarter of a solar cycle. It took us one full day just to leave the underground maze. Time-wise, this is not strategically sound to go there, nooo.”

 

“Granted, but then we’d finally have a sample of the water for us to analyse.”

 

At that, Megatron actually pondered on the subject, then dismissively waved his hand to the maximal.

 

“It is more pressing to return to the Darkside first. One can only imagine what Tarantulus might have concocted in my absence.”

 

“Our imagination is frequently worse than reality, Megatron.”

 

“Not in that deranged spider’s case, noo.”

 

Extending his left hand towards his tail resting on a corner and wriggling his four fingers, Megatron tilted his head with a wink towards the maximal, who sternly squinted.

 

“Nice try, but you’re not walking yet, Megatron.”

 

He rolled his optics at the silverback then.

 

“I just want to see how high this lovely crevice here is, for it to have never been mapped out by your maximals before.”

 

Optimus folded his arms with a smirk: Megatron groaned.

 

“If you will not hand me my brace, then by all means help me stand, Primal.”

 

The maximal then smirked, extending his right hand and gripping the predacon’s own, pulling Megatron’s left arm over his shoulders and holding him by his waist, slowly guiding the limping saurian to the entrance.

 

“Well?”

 

Squinting, avoiding the direct sunbeam and glaring down, propped up on his living brace, Megatron actually reset his voicebox with an audible click.

 

“We are... indeed quite high.”

 

Committing the sight to memory, Megatron contemplated the seeming endless granite wall, down from the crack in the stone they claimed for the time being, until its lower limits, currently blurred by the mist of a raging waterfall.

 

“That would be a nasty fall should you plunge down.” Optimus solemnly agreed.

 

Releasing an ex-venting he didn’t notice he had been holding, Megatron grimaced: if he ever gets one day an upgrade, he’s going for a flight mode. Sounds like a handy thing to be able to do, and it’s not like he can keep counting on the loyal flight-capable crewmembers or even on Primal for aerial locomotion.

 

“Have you seen enough already?”

 

Nodding, he let himself be taken back to the nest, half-expecting the maximal to join, actually puzzled at realising Optimus remained standing up, apparently deep in thought.

 

“I’ll be back in just a few megaclicks. If there’s a problem, you can comm me.”

 

Before Megatron could actually protest or even get angry, then, Optimus sprinted to the outside of the crevice, gave one more glance at the rising sun and engaged his jetpacks, soaring high in the sky.

 

------------------------

 

Sky-high, soaring at the stratosphere, Terrorsaur, unwilling to return to base to simply be handed a new inane task, made sure to bid his time, riding the air currents in a descending spiral, wings open wide, flying by the steep granite walls gaining momentum and speed, descending through the misty waters of a waterfall and finally gliding over the lake underneath.

 

Megatron, currently leaning against the wall of the crevice’s entrance, on his tail and right leg, watched the treacherous buffoon manoeuvre through the sky, for the moment quite glad Terrorsaur apparently was not paying enough attention to the cracks on the granite walls.

 

Had Megatron capable and loyal troops, one might even believe Terrorsaur would be looking for him, possibly having received orders from Scorponok: since this is real life, the intelligent predacons are not loyal, and the treacherous are not stupid, the only possible reason for the screaming idiot to be looking for Megatron would be if Inferno had threatened the coward's pitiful existence or else, afterall.

 

For a brief moment as Terrorsaur once more glided close, Megatron entertained the notion of shooting him out of the sky on principle, just because he could: it would be one easy, underhanded, sneaky shot.

 

The only problem with that is the fact Megatron was completely out of his element, except for the current temporary advantage of his hidden spot, perched up into this stone hole, and he would have at most time for a second and perhaps a third shot: if he didn’t critically hit the escape pilot (that he himself recruited precisely for being a very good one), he would be into a fight he was not prepared for.

 

In between the still healing leg, the recent system crash with frame-freeze, the fact it’s been now over a full solar cycle he had his last energon cube, and the undeniable fact that he did not have a flight mode, he could actually envision Terrorsaur dodging his shots then cornering him up, using his aerial advantage to pull Megatron from the crevice and throwing him out to plummet into a catastrophic demise.

 

Ah well. Better not to let him come close, nooo.

 

Resigned, Megatron remained on his foot and tail, pet-hand also alert and following the spirals Terrorsaur did in the air with her eyes.

 

Slowly petting the little fuzzy proto-feathers on the top of his right hand’s forehead, keeping his battle protocols online not to be caught unaware just in case, he pondered further on his next course of action.

 

He could comm Primal for him to return.

 

He should comm Primal for him to return.

 

He never got to comm Primal for him to return.

 

Dodging down into the ground in a split click as a set of crimson, twin optic lasers shot right through where he had been standing, reaching the closest stone wall, Megatron rolled onto his back, pet-hand squinting then roaring as her eyes went lifeless and with jaws open beyond maximum biologically-appropriate range, he made sure to transform his alt-mode's throat out of the way of his fusion canon, charging it up.

 

Emboldened by a lack of shots, Terrorsaur readied his blaster and landed at the entrance of the crevice...

 

...getting instantly greeted by Megatron’s zimming cannon aiming for his face.

 

“One more step and I will shoot, you lacklustre pseudo-ambitious buffoon!”

 

No matter he was on his back on the ground in a nest of leaves: keeping the most dignified posture he could maintain while aimming at the other predacon, Megatron growled, holding his pet-hand open wide.

 

“Well, well, what a surprise we have here! Mighty Megatron, my so esteemed leader, you’re sorely missed at the Darkside!”

 

He strolled in, promenading at Megatron’s direction, optics roaming through the still recovering skin patch in his left leg, and for a click fleeting at the greenish structure on the ground - Is it a nest???

 

“I can only wonder how you managed to climb up here.” 

 

Grimacing, Megatron kept aiming, but making no true effort to shoot: appearances could be deceiving, and even though this little crevice seemed solid enough to shield from the elements and energon overexposure, it doesn’t meant there wouldn’t be a hidden, unnoticed structural failure that was only waiting for a blast to fully crumble down, and Megatron had enough of a cave-in already in the last months, and absolutely was not looking forward to having another, specially not if his company would be this flying idiot, and...

 

“Is this part of your new scheme? Is this why you put Scorponok in charge, Inferno to protect him, Waspinator to help getting energon, ordered me to gather materials for a secret project, and now tasked Tarantulus to build whatever it is, to keep him busy, and left Blackarachnia with nothing to do so she became bored and helped distracting Tarantulus along, while you are up here doing only Unicron knows what?”

 

Blinking once, Megatron smirked: he did not plan any of this, much less in this exact sequence, but if this treacherous idiot believes all this mess has been concocted and previously devised in perfecction by his superior intellect, well… scheming is a field he excels at, besides… Primal is certainly going to return from wherever he went, so he soon would have a powerful, reliable backup to take the other predacon down.

 

All Megatron had to do for now was to stall Terrorsaur long enough.

Chapter 34: 34 - One more Light

Summary:

Rhinox and Dinobot bond, Terrorsaur speculates, Megatron takes matters in his own hand and both Primal and he can finally go home.

Chapter 34 - One more Light

 

“Took you long enough, Commander.”

 

Chestplates open wide, each half to a side, slivers of spark-blue light leaving the confines of his plating, Dinobot drawled the honorific, not a single ounce of shame, lopsided smirk in face and a glint in his optics.

 

Half-lit optics at the sight, Rhinox watched transfixed Dinobot’s utahraptor teeth open like the petals of a morbid, dangerous flower, the saurian’s organic tongue transforming down and inwards out of the way to reveal the single, barbed datacable pulsing in dark-blue and faded grey, coiled like a constrictor boa shielding the warrior’s spark: the presence of spikes, barbs and other aggressive themes seem to be favourites among the predacons and ex-decepticons, who had no other socially acceptable way to honour their warframe origins.

 

Brought back to reality by a double-clawed fingertip raising his chin, mouthpiece viciously taken by an aggressive kiss that was all pointed dentae. Rhinox literally slammed Dinobot against the stone wall, optics going offline as his own chestplates whirred open with a hydraulic hiss.

 

Peeking down at the opening plates, mid-kiss, the rhino’s lower jaw splitting in half, Dinobot couldn’t help admiring the old-school pistons, segmented cables and switches, with a plain and boring cylindrical sparkchamber rotating its own walls counter-clockwise, revealing the many millions of years old spark.

 

It was common knowledge that Rhinox was old, autobot-old, created many million stellar-cycles before the Great War, as the cassettibot Ramhorn, and part of Blaster’s cohort, while Dinobot himself was a complete nobody, no more than a million stellar-cycles old by now.

 

“Is there something wrong?”

 

Briefly breaking contact, turning his optics back on, Rhinox stared right into the warrior’s face: Dinobot, until then still glaring at the ancient spark rotating within Rhinox’ plating, slowly shifted his optics to meet the scientist’s.

 

“The only thing wrong right now is the fact you aren’t fragging me, Commander.”

 

Raising one hand to viciously grip at the base of Rhinox’ neck Dinobot manoeuvred himself out of the wall, finally bringing him down and over his own self at the pile of tanned hides…

 

...finding himself unexpectedly straddled by the scientist.

 

Raising an inquisitive optic ridge, Dinobot squinted, staring up.

 

“As my senior officer, you’re supposed to take what’s rightfully yours, Commander.”

 

He was interrupted by a thick fingertip against his lip-plates.

 

“Nope. You are still damaged.”

 

Dinobot groaned: he knew, and was wholly hoping Rhinox would have forgotten!

 

“Besides…” Rhinox smirked. “I am taking what I want.”

 

He then moved his hand to the side of the saurian’s helm, thumb grazing the dangerously pointed dentae, his other servo gripping Dinobot’s hand and bringing it to the side of his left hip.

 

“My turn.” he donned the saurian a too wide smirk. “It’s an order.”

 

------------------------------------------

 

In order to reach his objective, following the light, Optimus knuckled down the underground maze very much intent in gathering the energon-water and returning the sooner possible.

 

Flying while undamaged, fully rested, without the burden of carrying a heavier and bigger mech, he managed to arrive in about an eighth of a solar cycle, landing beyond the entrance’s chasm within the tunnel, and immediately beast-moding, striding the fastest he could towards the near-miraculous water’s lake.

 

Yes, near: It might have fixed Megatron’s physical structures, way faster than a CR-chamber would, but it still did nothing to stall or revert the transfusion-incompatibility rejection.

 

If only it could be improved to tackle on the most complex repair sequences, they would finally be able to develop the perfect CR-liquid.

 

For now however, to what Primal intended and Megatron needed, the energon-water would do fine as it was: getting the tyrant on his pedes is the only sure way to ensure his own survivability among the predacons.

 

Of course, Optimus is a dirty brawler also skilled in dual-wielding blades just like his double kukris, in a degree far superior to those of the predacons: he’s very aware though that he will need inside knowledge on every single predacon to outsmart them and not fall prey to their expected treachery, just like Megatron said...

 

...and if there is one thing Megatron is extremely good at, is in treachery and deceit: the predacon is a brilliant genius, extremely adept at coaxing information from many sources, scheming and plotting, having mastered the art of manipulation, all skills fundamental for mecha who have to get by through being underhanded, discreet and pretending dumb, basically the only way to remain in power when you aren’t stupidly strong.

 

Not that Optimus had any intention of taking over the leadership, no matter how strong he may be: far from him taking away Megatron’s royalty.

 

All Primal wanted was to keep himself in a comfortable situation, until he manages to convince both factions to enact a lasting, forever truce, so they could all work together to finally leave this planet alone.

 

Either that or he gives up and embraces the dark side: he was slightly fed up with the holier-than-thou attitude of most maximals, anyway, and if in the end they cannot be convinced to drop the superiority act, well… Optimus might as well help Megatron to tear the corrupt Cybertronian structures apart from the inside.

 

If even his oldest friend thinks he completely lost his mind, and made sure to instantly defy him for leadership, what would the Elders do once they learned of this quaint little thing going on between himself and that stupidly handsome saurian?

 

He would never be able to vouch for anyone when he himself was considered a traitor: sadly, he finally could viscerally understand why Dinobot did not want to return, unless Megatron won and ruled Cybertron, crown and mantle, with a cybertronium fist, afterall.

 

Shaking his head, Optimus briefly conjured up the mental image of Megatron regally crossing one leg over the other while sitting on his throne, a richly embroidered purple mesh mantle flowing down his back, a bejewelled gold and titanium tiara full of amethysts, half-lidded cerise optics and a side smirk, raising his left hand palm up, languidly beckoning with his index for Primal to come.

 

Suppressing a ping from his systems, he cursed his choice of wording, grimacing and now, fuelled by urgency, literally sprinted on his feet and knuckles.

 

Organic pupils contracted to avoid getting blinded by the glowing pillars littering the giant energon geode ahead, he rose a hand to protect his eyes against the light at the end of the tunnel, slowing into a steady pace until he met the border of the lake, stopping.

 

Contemplating the vaulted hall, energon crystals littering the walls still, untouched, he couldn’t help smiling at the fact that apparently both of them did keep the cave a dainty little secret, having never told anyone about such gorgeously exquisite place.

 

He was not here for sightseeing however, he pondered as he unsubspaced one empty energon cube and walked in beast mode to the margin of the lake.

 

Staring at his own reflection at the still waters for a full click, he plunged the energon cube down to be filled, watching the rippling waters ebb away as the last bubbles of trapped air left the now full container.

 

Raising and rotating the glimmering cube before his eyes, Optimus nodded appreciatively to himself, finally subspacing it, then proceeding to fill one cube after the other, until all four were done.

 

Contemplating the waters once more, he led his hand down the liquid and returned with a mouthful, drinking from the lake until he was full.

 

Committing the sight to memory, waiting for the extra jolt of energon to kick in, he was finally ready to go.

 

-----------------------------

 

Ready to shoot at the laid-down tyrant, knowing Megatron was an infinitely superior shoot than himself, Terrorsaur kept aiming his blaster and pointed at the green structure Megatron was currently laying on.

 

“Why are you on a nest?”

 

Megatron tilted his head, smug.

 

“As if I would ever enlighten you on the magnitude of my plans, you treacherous imbecile.”

 

Terrorsaur tried lifting a pede to come closer, but Megatron scowled, literally cocking his right arm, the mouth of the cannon within the pet-hand glowing bright pink in silent warning, as the flier desisted and remained where he was, speaking.

 

“I gathered all sort of apparently random items for Scorponok’s stupid project. I could have gathered leaves. Alas, I’m impressed. How did you even manage to weave it with only one functional hand?”

 

Briefly recalling his alt-mode’s organic tongue can double as a chemical analysis tool and prehensile organ (thus serving as makeshift hand), Megatron decided not saying anything at the inappropriate mental image his coding supplied, then squinted with a side smirk.

 

“You would love to know, would you not? Yesss, I do believe you would.”

 

Terrorsaur grimaced, now shaking his gun for emphasis.

 

“C’mon, we’re in the same team! You can tell me everything! I can even help gathering more leaves!”

 

He was dying to get into the thick of the secret: he had no idea on what Megatron was thinking, but it had to be a mighty, convoluted, grandiose scheme. Megatron’s wicked, wicked intellect certainly was plotting.

 

There’s no way he’s just recovering from whatever injury he had, comfortably laying on a fragging nest. Of leaves. Freshly green leaves. In a secluded crevice no grounder is supposed to be able to reach, at a steep mountainside that did not have a forest nearby, with a patch in his leg no older than a full solar cycle.

 

“Was it Inferno who flew you up here?”

 

Because that would have made slightly more sense than Megatron climbing up here on his own. Who knows if Inferno didn’t leave the ship when no one was looking? It could be possible.

 

Megatron did not reply, taking note of the idea, finding it very logical, enigmatically smirking, as Terrorsaur pursed his lip-plates, going mute for a full click, cogs whirring, until...

 

Oh no.

 

“Are you laying eggs?”

 

He widened his optics, as Megatron squinted in confusion.

 

“I am what??”

 

Taking the incredulous reply as an implicit yes, Terrorsaur now was the one to smirk, finding the mere thought of his beloved leader laying eggs in a mountainside crevice absolutely wild and he couldn’t avoid prying further.

 

“Did Inferno fly you up here to shield you from the other predacons while you lay eggs?”

 

Megatron stalled for three full clicks then, as Terrosaur continued..

 

“If you’re laying eggs, who is the sire?”

 

Megatron now gaped, still mute.

 

“Is it Inferno???”

 

Blinking twice, the saurian tried to roll the whole trainwreck of this conversation trying to see when it devolved into insanity, finally snapping out of it.

 

“I am not laying eggs, you blubbering moron!!!”

 

AAHHCK!!!, thought Terrorsaur, getting immediately tackled by an outraged saurian, both mechs literally catfighting and rolling at the ground.

 

“How dare you even suggest I might be laying an egg like a pitiful organic beast!!!”

 

Megatron, overpowering and now straddling the other predacon, closed his fist and attempted to hit Terrorsaur down, who evaded the punch and elbowed him back, right up in the chin.

 

“No one told you to take on a female beast mode that can actually lay eggs like an oversized hen!!”

 

Briefly crooking his neck right and left and grimacing, Megatron now headbutted the other Predacon’s forehead, both mechs going dizzy as he growled.

 

“My choice of beast mode is not under discussion, obnoxious glitch!!” he gripped the flier’s neck with his left hand, “What part of I am not laying eggs you did not understand, yess?”

 

Lifting Terrorsaur’s head off the ground and hitting it back into the ground repeatedly at each syllable he spoke, Megatron, furious, finally transformed his alt-mode’s throat to hide his fusion canon back in place, the dino-hand returning to life with a vengeance, gripping the other predacon’s head between her jaws as the flier screeched for mercy and the tyrant slowly and almost delicately picked the rifle from that idiot’s hands.

 

“Excusez-moi.”

 

Subspacing the rifle, a slow smirk creeping up in the tyrant’s faceplates, Megatron watched satisfied his pet-hand dribbling thick, slippery saliva right into his opponent’s face, lowering his face the closest he could and whispering.

 

“Now, give me one good reason not to chew you down right now, Terrorsaur, yessss.”

 

Disarmed, disgusted, disoriented, locked under the bigger predacon’s grasp, Terrorsaur stared wide-opticed in alarm, raising one hand and pointing behind Megatron at the crevice’s entrance, where a shadow crept in, the sound of engines dying, followed by steady steps.

 

“There’s a maximal behind you!! Release me so we both can fight him, before it’s too late!!”

 

Fleeting a glance behind, Megatron tilted his head, staring back at the flier with a dangerous smirk.

 

“Me, needing your help? I think not.”

 

He then closed the jaws fully around Terrorsaur’s head, literally ripping his head out, the other’s optics fading offline as he entered stasis lock and his neck line’s mech-fluid pooled into the nest.

 

Optimus, coming by slowly, contemplated the scene, shaking his head and folding his arms.

 

“I leave for a couple of megaclicks and what do I return to? Couldn’t you just knock Terrorsaur unconscious, did you really have to behead him? Look at this mess. The nest’s ruined!”

 

Releasing the saliva-slobbered head right besides the body and muttering a brief yuck at the pooling fluids, Megatron left the flier’s lap and shifted on his right knee, sitting out of the now disgusting nest and finally staring up at the maximal.

 

“You left me perched up in a mountainside crevice with a nest just like one of those organic birds waiting for her partner to return with nourishment while she incubates her eggs, knowing that I cannot fly out of here! What if you did not return??”

 

Blinking twice, torn between laughing at the mental image and actually feeling guilty for leaving Megatron without means of getting away in an emergency, he sagged.

 

“You’re right. I'm sorry.”

 

He then unsubspaced a cube full with the miraculous energon-water, kneeling down by Megatron’s side and swirling its contents before the predacon’s face with a sincere smile.

 

“At least now we can finally head home.”

Chapter 35: 35 - Royalty

Summary:

The maximals make progress, Megatron names a new second in command, Optimus earns his place and every single predacon is displeased.

Chapter 35 - Royalty

 

Home, sulphuric home.

 

After having literally abandoned Terrorsaur’s stasis-locked self by the very margins of sector 12, at the limits of the territory where the Darkside was, Optimus returned to the hilltop overshadowing the lava pits, the same one where he first left Megatron when the mess between them begun, after both were rescued from the underground maze.

 

Landing the most silently he could and beast-moding on his way down, Optimus made sure to knuckle towards Megatron, leg now fully healed, waiting for his return in his beast mode.

 

“You’ll send someone to retrieve Terrorsaur, right?”

 

Waving a tiny arm dismissively, Megatron absently nodded, rolling his eyes.

 

“Unfortunately, I must. Most probably Waspinator. Better to have this treacherous idiot plotting under my optics than scheming anywhere else, yesss.”

 

Wriggling his toes, he stretched his now healed left leg, then shook his head, slowly walking to the trail leading down and closer to the lava pits.

 

“Make sure to keep the two remaining cubes in your subspace at all times, Primal. Do not allow even a single drop to befall under Tarantulus’ palps. As soon as possible we will be running chemical analysis until we find a formula or the formulae in this substance, yess.”

 

Optimus nodded, knuckling after the predacon.

 

“Speaking of which… how do you actually intend to analyse it without involving Tarantulus?”

 

Smirking, the predacon replied.

 

“I do own my own Lab, yesss. How do you think I actually cloned Dinobot? Certainly not with that spider’s help.”

 

Optimus bit on his lower lip then.

 

“I was under the impression you had no scientific training.”

 

At that the tyrant nodded.

 

“I indeed had no formal training, Primal, noo. Everything I know is self-taught. Had I been allowed to choose, I would have undergone the scientific pathway.”

 

Donning Primal a side glance, the Darkside coming close, Megatron stopped walking as soon as the humm of autoguns thrummed in the air, waving with a tiny claw for the maximal to keep back as he broadcast his comm-link’s audio for them both to listen, speaking aloud.

 

“COMPUTER! Status report!”

 

Raising one optic ridge, Optimus stalled, frozen to the spot as he heard the sound of the distant sniper-autogun locking to shoot, the red dot hovering at his own forehead, for once getting worried as time seemed to slow down to a halt.

 

“Maximal unit Optimus Primal within range, locked to shoot.”

 

What if it had been a ploy all along and this is truly how Megatron planned to win the Beat Wars?

 

“Starting automatic sequence in three, tw..”

 

He still had time to send one distress signal before being vaporised. No matter how angry Rhinox had been, they had to be informed just in case it ended up to be a trap… right?

 

“Override, voice-code Megatron, yesss.”

 

“Voice-code Megatron, acknowledged: automatic shooting sequence: overridden.”

 

Blinking twice, Optimus watched the red dot fade to nothing, the nearly-inaudible thrummm of the autoguns dying into deafening silence in the distance as the predacon clicked his tiny arms’ claws together in visible glee.

 

“Excellent, yesss.” he preened “Now. Computer! Acknowledge: Maximal Unit Optimus Primal – new status.”

 

“Acknowledged: awaiting for input. New status: impending.”

 

Megatron then fleeted a glance at the still, reactionless, beast-moded maximal, finally winking.

 

“Predacon unit Optimus Primal: current status: my Second in Command.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Very satisfied with himself, Megatron nodded, finally transforming to his robot self and with a flourish, waved his left arm towards the predacon base.

 

“Be my guest, Primal.”

 

The maximal blinked back out of his paranoia into reality then, shaking his head, root-moding as well and following in.

 

------------------------------------

 

Following Rattrap’s instructions, Tigertron, Cheetor and Airazor finally managed to physically restore the integrity of the hull, soldering thick plaques of cybertronium (cannibalised from unused sectors of the Axalon) at the breech.

 

Hardlined in root mode into the command room’s mainframe, Rattrap watched the lines of code running before his optics, as Cheetor, in beast mode, sat by his side.

 

“Can you restore the shields without Rhinox? Shouldn’t we call for him to come?”

 

Rolling his optics, Rattrap shook his head.

 

“Yeaaaaahhh... nope.” he typed on the keyboard a long sequence of glyphs. “Da big green will come’by whe’he come’by.”

 

“What about Dinobot?”

 

Frustrated as the screen flashed in red twice, he punched the keyboard once, squinting at the scout with a dark glower.

 

“Kiddo. I need ta’do’it while I still can’use m’hands. Why dontch’a go for a nap? In yer room. No leaving da’ship.”

 

“But…”

 

He pointed to the corridor, silently, as Cheetor sagged and left: Tigertron, currently curled up over the main table in beast mode, merely shifted, rolling his organic eyes.

 

“Cheetor’s a good kid, and he has a point. We should have everyone here helping.”

 

Rattrap groaned: he knew.

 

“Den go yerself summon our new boss.”

 

He pinged Tigertron a set of coordinates to a nearby mountain then.

 

“Dey are dhere. In’their’cave. Good’luck not’bein’shot.”

 

Raising one eyebrow, Tigertron silently pondered, fleeting a glance at Airazor, who opened a single eye back at him, ruffling her feathers.

 

“I believe we should let Rattrap work in peace.” she spoke, flapping her wings twice “We will keep watch outside for you.”

 

Dipping his head in a brief nod, Tigertron donned Rattrap a last glance before sprinting towards the elevator, Airazor flapping her wings right behind, as Rattrap watched them go once the elevator went down.

 

Sighing, shaking his head, he once more cursed at the keyboard, deciding to try his hand at reprogramming the shield for as long as he could: there’s no way he’s calling for Rhinox right now.

 

Afterall... he was a rat, and rats had a very big sense of self-preservation.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Had he no sense of self-preservation?

 

Promenading besides the predacon towards the slowly approaching Darkside, at the same speed, Optimus patientily listened to Megatron’s last instructions.

 

“Display your weapons, glower and scowl.” ordered the predacon “Show no weakness or hesitation. All your actions should convey clear intent, no matter what you do, for being weak warrants them the right to strike.”

 

Nodding as the Darkside’s gates whirred open, Optimus watched Megatron literally school his face into a dark, neutral demeanour, walking inside with calculated steps, as the distinctly feminine voice of the predacon Computer spoke aloud through all speakers.

 

“Predacon Leader on site. All predacon units to the bridge. Failure to present yourselves will result in punishment.”

 

Optics darting right, left, and up, Optimus heard the scuttering of many organic pedes coming from all corners, as Megatron stepped right into a sequence of hovering platforms leading to his hanging command chair.

 

Taking seat as he led his only hand to the one-handed keyboard at his left armrest, Megatron kept his neutral face as the predacons transformed, immediately readying their weapons, all optics turning between Optimus Primal and the Predacon leader.

 

“You must be asking yourselves what the Maximal Commander Optimus Primal is doing here, unharmed, at the Darkside.”

 

Chin raised, kukris in hands, shoulder-guns ready, wrist-guns glistening, canines bared in a scowl, unable to let go a snicker, Optimus watched with satisfaction Waspinator gulp and subspace back his sting-gun, stepping away as he did his best effort into pretending to be a fixture at the wall.

 

“Could it be I am possibly mistaken? Have you no questions at all?”

 

At that Tarantulus raised his hand.

 

“Now that you’re back, Mighty Megatron, do I still have to build Scorpnok’s secret project???”

 

Briefly squinting, Megatron suddenly remembered: that fake project.

 

“Obviously, you treacherous oaf. Go back at it as soon as our little meeting is over, yess.”

 

Tarantulus briefly cursed then, as Blackarachnia chuckled and Scorponok stared in mute confusion while clattering his claws together for three full clicks, before remembering the fake project as well, finally standing to attention and giving one acquiescing nod to their leader.

 

“Very well then, my good predacons... since you apparently have no more questions… may it be known that the maximal leader has submitted to my rule, and from now on he shall be my Second in Command.”

 

Immediately and without warning, Optimus aimed one wrist-gun at Tarantulus, the other at Blackarachnia and shot: both spiders, making sure to evade and instantly make themselves immobile and silent, watched the whole débâcle as Megatron absently checked on his left hand’s claws and Scorponok actually looked hurt for a brief instant at the news.

 

“Scorponok, now that you are my faithful and reliable Third in Command, tell me. Where is Inferno? Why is he not following you at all times like he is supposed to?”

 

Immediately standing to attention, scratching his head with a claw, for once not finding the loyal soldier right behind his own pedes, Scorponok actually searched left and right, truly puzzled at Inferno’s absence.

 

“He was right behind, My Liege..!”

 

Before Scorponok could think further, however, Inferno, sputtering in rage, coming from the darkest corner of the ship, bellowed as he ran towards the maximal.

 

“The Maximal Queen!!! Invading the Colony!!!”

 

Heeding his position and his pose, kukris in hands now, Optimus contemplated with immobile panic the approaching berserker, knowing he would be scrap if Inferno had his way.

 

“BUUUURNNN, maximal, burn!!! For the Royalty!!!”

 

As the maddened soldier locked his flamethrower to shoot and Megatron watched the incoming fight with a calculatedly neutral glare, Optimus squinted: he had only one chance of securing respect among the predacons, and it would determine his foreseeable future, but he had to do something now.

 

As such, as if suddenly conjured up on the spot, one of his kukris flew past Inferno's right wrist, chopping out both the hand and the flamethrower away, the loyal soldier screeching bloody revenge while falling to his knees.

 

The predacons stalled their in-venting as Inferno clutched against his wrist, pinching his main circulating fluid lines closed, in an attempt to prevent further mech-fluid loss, glaring in full undiluted rage at the ape, who held himself high against the whole group, collected his kukri back, and stood to attention, nodding once to Megatron, who very slightly nodded back.

 

“I need not say that the maximal commander responds to me only, and is under my express orders to defend himself against your treachery and your misguided, futile attempts against his life.”

 

Scorponok, faceplates unreadable, nodded, as Megatron visually scanned the room, laying his optics on Inferno.

 

“Inferno, my dear, well-trusted, unwavering loyal soldier. I do believe you learned your lesson. Please retrieve your flamethrower and your hand, then get yourself into repairs.”

 

Inferno stood to attention then, saluting with his stump, collected his pieces and left.

 

“Excellent. Now, everybody else, make yourselves useful and go!”

 

Before all the other predacons scattered, Megatron cleared his voicebox.

 

“Not you, Waspinator. You have a mission, yess.”

 

Buzzing dejectedly, Waspinator practically dragged himself the closest he could to the predacon leader without getting into a hovering platform, staring at his own pedes as he spoke.

 

“Wazzpinator ready to be szcrapped, bozz-bot.”

 

“Oh, nothing like this, nooo. Your mission should be simple enough. Here are the coordinates to Terrorsaur’s stasis-locked scraps. Make sure he is put in a CR-tank. His sniper rifle is under my possession. Once he is repaired, I will personally return him his weapon.”

 

Buzzing as he transformed and left through the ceiling hatch, Waspinator made sure to go before his mission really resulted in himself becoming scrap by Megatron’s servo and pet-hand, as the tyrant commanded his hovering command chair to the ground, finally motioning with a raised optic ridge for Optimus to follow behind.

 

------------------------------------------------

 

Behind the dug-out corridors buried deep down the soil within his lair, Tarantulus cursed profusely as he buffered his superficially scorched plating: Primal’s presence was not expected, even though he was not surprised, considering what he had already gathered and inferred from Megatron’s behaviour since the first time he disappeared for three full days and returned safe and sound.

 

Recalling the way Scorponok was demoted into TIC and based on how he minutely displayed his sparkbreak, he knew by now the loyal predacon had no idea this was coming as well.

 

Neither Inferno, apparently: having either more courage or less sense (or both) than Scorponok, faceplates naturally unable to convey even the slightest sliver of whatever he might be feeling, Inferno couldn’t be properly read, thus could not be properly predicted, for no one could truly gauge what he was really thinking about the shift in command. Most certainly displeased. Very displeased.

 

Even though Tarantulus highly suspected Optimus Primal would have a hard time to uphold his position, he also knew the maximal was a capable, strong fighter who happened to own a powerful processor, able to outsmart anyone around, even Tarantulus himself.

 

Cursing as he glared down the fragging datapad containing Scorponok’s idiotic blueprints for the project he apparently is fated to somehow build, shifting a glance at the pile of illogical ingredients atop one of his slabs, he contemplated the organic samples he had to store in cryogenic vats before they became even more rotten, sputtering in rage.

 

Even with the purple idiot having returned, he still gets no break from the general stupidity contaminating every single mech in this dustball!!

 

Cleaning the organic drool off his mouthpiece with the back of his left arm’s palps, recalling how Blackarachnia challenged him into building that moronic project anyway, he finally turned back to the datapad and walked to his workstation, to continue his soldering work as he volleyed his frustration at nowhere.

 

-------------------------

 

Nowhere nearly frustrated, Scorponok reached his own quarters, locking himself in as he rose his right claw and a cyberbee landed atop it.

 

He knew better than to question Megatron aloud, before the other predacons, so he sent a ping to his leader, asking for clarification on the shift of command.

 

“Yess, Scorponok?”

 

He was not expecting a quick reply.

 

“My Liege! I…”

 

“What is it you wish to ask, that you could not do before everyone?”

 

“I… I’d like to know if I had been demoted because of something that I did. Or I did not do.”

 

A silent click passed between them.

 

“No, Scorponok, I am not displeased, noo. I do believe however you understand the maximal commander could not be given a position beneath his station. Know that both times you took command you did acceptable work, yess. Consider your new title not a demotion, but an opportunity for you to finally follow up with your true projects without fearing attempts against your life. Historically, no one tries to take a third in command out. If anything, this new command position ensures you are now safer than before.”

 

Scorponok, relieved, nodded to no-one at his own room.

 

“Alas, congratulations on keeping Tarantulus busy in my absence. I will make sure your ruse is not discovered by him. Far from me to undermine your loyal efforts, noo.”

 

Immediately swelling with pride, Scorponok actually smiled.

 

“Do you wish to ask for anything else, while I am in a giving mood?”

 

Scorponok pursed his lip-plates at the mental image of Megatron in a giving mood, shaking his head in a no then recalling Megatron couldn’t see him, finally replying out loud.

 

“No, my Liege. Thank you.”

 

“Excellent, yess. Megatron out.”

 

-----------------------------

 

Out of the main room, Inferno decided first going to his own quarters, before heading to a CR-tank for repairs: it’s not disobedience if you fully intend to follow the Queen’s orders once you’re done with whatever else you still have to do before it, right?

 

As such, confident in his obedience, even if it’s through loopholes, Inferno took his time sitting on his own berth, his face absolutely not betraying the way he felt.

 

He knew such thing would eventually happen, since the first time his Queen had arrived smelling like the Maximal Queen.

 

Hummmmm.

 

Clusters of data falling in their places slowly under the fog of his damaged processors, Inferno squinted and grimaced at nowhere, the effect undermined by his scantily movable facial features, getting to a conclusion.

 

Maximal Queen, Inferno snorted: such a forgery, a mockery of a queen!

 

Optimus Primal was no queen. Had never been. The maximal flier has always been a fertile male drone, cleverly disguised, all along!!!

 

A drone that managed to fertilize The Royalty during the nuptial flight she sneaked out to take, if his organic sensorial organs were even remotely right.

 

Even though Inferno considered himself a far superior choice, far from him to question the Royalty: if his Queen says the maximal Queen is now part of the Colony, so be it.

 

Ah well. Biological diversity, he supposes: the Queen knows what she’s doing. Hybrid vigour and everything.

 

What is done, is done, and eventually new Princesses and drones would follow.

 

As soon as his Queen started laying her fertilised eggs, however, he maximal drone would no longer be needed, and Inferno would make sure to dispose of the useless usurper of resources with his own hand and stump.

 

Scrambled logic circuits momentarily satisfied by his faultless, perfect logic, for once missing the momentary rule of their Juvenile Queen Scorponok, the current Princess, Inferno, finally at peace with the situation, for now, biding his time, saluted to no-one and nowhere, turned on his heels, caught his hand and weapon in his other hand and left.

Chapter 36: 36 - Habitat

Summary:

Optimus sees the lava jacuzzi, Megatron is amused, Waspinator is glad to remain whole, Tigertron and Airazor confabulate, and Blackarachnia decides some things are certainly more than meets the eye.

Chapter 36 -  Habitat

 

Left hand typing a lengthy access code at his room’s door, Megatron made sure to ping the maximal the new password he just programmed for him, into his private quarter’s door.

 

Silently watching the door open with a hydraulic hiss, Megatron dipped his head in a nod as the maximal stepped inside.

 

Once the heavy door locked behind them, finally Optimus released the in-venting he had been holding.

 

“That went... well.”

 

Megatron absently nodded, faceplates still nigh-unreadable, not having yet let go of the kind of schooled facial expression Optimus by now recognised as his “dealing with treacherous morons and not showing what I think” face.

 

“Indeed. That was an impressive display of cunning and strength, most definitely. Had it been staged it would not have gone that well, noo.”

 

The tyrant strolled further inside, then, going for his desk as Optimus followed the slim-waisted, long-legged predacon with his optics, taking mental notes on their surroundings.

 

Megatron’s room, surprisingly, was less luxurious than he expected: in his mind, he was going to find a richly constructed throne, exquisite decoration, fancy curtains, old cybertronium armoires, maybe even a standing replica armour of a generic mid-vosian-class aerial-defence-soldier holding a halberd of sorts on a corner.

 

He didn’t know what to think of an apparently not-extra room. It had a normal, appropriately-sized recharge berth for a mech of Megatron’s size-class (although extremely comfortable-looking, littered with many layers of differing shades and tones of purple mesh-covers and memory-foam pillows), a private energon dispenser (besides which rested a cupboard containing various jars, cups, flutes and even plain, regular cubes for energon consumption), a reclining chair (where med-grade energon-line cables hung from the ceiling apparently ready to start an in-line infusion whenever needed in an emergency), one of the walls filled with open shelves holding all sorts of knick-knacks, and a slightly cluttered desk with a regular looking office chair, where a replica of Starscream’s head dutifully served as paperweight atop a pile of datapads.

 

“Had I needed to shoot Inferno into submission in your name, you would be in for some even more unpleasant threats and attempts against your life.”

 

Optimus stalled then.

 

“Even more??”

 

Isn’t it over already?

 

Releasing the datapad he had picked back into the desk, Megatron actually cocked his hips to the left, left hand resting on the top of his hip-side kibble with a smirk.

 

“It is a daily effort to keep oneself on top and in command among predacons, yess. They will keep trying to find your weaknesses. You must know how to control each of them. Terrorsaur and the spiders are notorious traitors and should never be trusted, period, and they can be usually controlled through fear and by handing them objectives far more enticing than your own self. Scorponok is loyal but sadly for him, a coward, so making sure he feels safe is the way to keep him tame. Waspinator mostly wants not to be scrapped. Both can be controlled with a sense of physical safety and general praise.”

 

“What about Inferno?”

 

At that Megatron in-vented.

 

“Inferno is… undeniably loyal. By design. By beast mode. By default. By defect. One could say he has… obsessively imprinted in me, will always obey, but I must never leave anything open to his interpretation. I have seen him exploit loopholes, never to harm me though, so… well. He is as reliable as a predacon watching for the interests of The Colony and The Queen can be. The problem happens when he starts thinking he knows my needs better than I do.”

 

Optimus nods absently, thinking, as Megatron continued.

 

“So. When I instated you as my second in command, I also revoked Inferno’s rights to input his emergency code into my door, to prevent surprises. Trust me, you do not want to come out of recharge seeing his faceplates at extremely close range, first time in the daily cycle, obsessively checking if you are in-venting and generally still functioning, nooo. I can actually deal with that degree of insanity, but I do not guarantee he will not find a perfectly logical loophole to offline you in your recharge.”

 

Blinking twice at the mental image, Optimus shook his head: considering Inferno will probably believe he remains a threat to his Queen for a long while, perhaps even permanently, better to be safe and not wake up with a flamethrower pointed to his face, he supposed.

 

At Primal’s meditative silence, Megatron briefly led his left hand into his own neck, crooking it right and left, recalling how Terrorsaur elbowed him in the chin earlier: the energon-water removed the damage and the misalignment of his struts, but did nothing to make him feel clean after having brawled with that unsightly imbecile.

 

“I need a through cleanse and repair sequence in my private CR-tank. Who knows what hidden damage there might have been during the journey home, yess.”

 

Optimus squinted for a click, realisation hitting him.

 

“Oh. The infamous lava jacuzzi.”

 

Having turned on his heels to walk towards the closed door at the other side of the room, Megatron stopped, door half-open, slowly turning his neck to stare at the maximal, a side smirk in face.

 

“Permanent access to a bath is a requirement for every bolted mech. How do you think I managed to keep clean at the locked shut parts? The side railings were not a fashion statement. They existed for a reason, yess.”

 

Optimus for a click cycled his optics’s lens wide at the memory evoked, as Megatron squinted his right optic, tilting his head to the same side.

 

“Considering the exclusively utilitarian qualities of your Helexian hygienic facilities back at the Axalon, I suppose it would be unbecoming of mine to not show you my Tarnian bath.”

 

Optimus blinked twice: show me?

 

“You cannot possibly expect to partake of my parlour and chambrays with the outside world’s dust and muck sticking to your fur, noo.”

 

Could it be Optimus was possibly being invited to...

 

“Come.” the Predacon turned on his heels and led his left hand to the door handle.

 

He was! He was!

 

“Computer! Prepare automated CR sequence number two.”

 

Oh my.

 

“Acknowledged. Cleanse and Repair tank ready on presets.”

 

Briefly taken by mute panic, Primal resisted the urge to fill his organic lungs, puffing his chestplates and simply beating the anxiety away with his closed fists, then silently reset his voicebox, as the predacon gave the maximal a once-over..

 

...opening for him the door without getting inside the CR-tank’s room.

 

Peeking inside, expecting a lavish bath full with fountains and sculptures, he was underwhelmed by the presence of a regular CR-tank, the very same from where usually Megatron takes his calls, with a tiny floating ducky ebbing alone in the CR-liquid, the solvent slowly getting poured inside trough the four side taps within the bath, bubbling and steaming.

 

“Very well. Make sure to take all the grime, yess. Meanwhile, I have treachery to watch for.”

 

At that Optimus squinted.

 

“Am I going there alone??”

 

Megatron squinted, visibly thinking, then finally tapping his front teeth with a fingertip.

 

“I… see. Yess, indeed.”

 

Now Megatron donned him a too wide smirk.

 

“You must be thinking this is a convolute ploy of mine, to throw you in a corrosive bath in a closed off room from where poisonous gases will come through the airlock, yessss. I knew you had it in you, my dearest Primal.”

 

Blinking twice, he fleeted a glance between the bath and the predacon: if he wasn’t thinking about being in danger before, now he was.

 

Visibly amused at Primal’s conflicted expression, Megatron finally rolled his optics and just like this, unceremoniously pushed the maximal inside the tank.

 

Flailing both arms as he literally tried standing up and failed three times in a row, finally Optimus managed to raise his right hand out of the CR-tank, ready to grip on its border, getting instantly pulled up by Megatron’s pet-hand, both the head’s eyes and the predacon’s optics locking on his own.

 

“It is good for your continued existence among predacons that you start exercising some degree of paranoia. I have no intention of offlining you, nooo, but you still must always beware. It keeps the wits sharp, yesss.”

 

Before the maximal could actually protest, then, Megatron gripped him by the top fur patch in his chestplates, bringing him up into a possessive kiss.

 

Optics wide, flooded with error messages from his unexpected dunking, pedes dangling in the air from being raised up, Optimus finally recovered enough from his shock, smirked and with both hands made sure to pull the predacon towards himself and into the CR-tank.

 

At the impact, the innocent and yellow rubber ducky got carried out in a wave out of the bath, bouncing on the ground with a squeak and repair-liquid and solvents splashing everywhere, as Megatron simply plunged down and the maximal made sure to avoid being crushed underneath the falling behemoth by flipping their positions midfall.

 

Gripping one hand onto each of the predacon’s shoulderplates as they landed, he squinted, grimacing.

 

“ENOUGH!” he then gripped on Megatron’s chestplates with both hands, hitting the predacon’s head and back once at the CR-tank’s border for emphasis “Don’t do it again! Why the slag did you push me??”

 

Squinting at the maximal with a dangerous glint in his optics and an extremely wide smirk, Megatron minutely rose his neck to meet him up at touching distance, face-to-face.

 

“Why, for you to have definite proof that the bath would not harm you, since you were so hesitant to get in, yess.”

 

Optimus blinked then.

 

“You do realise that pushing me without you touching it first, after pointing the possibility of poisoning and corrosion, is not the way to make me trust your word?”

 

At that the predacon winked.

 

“I could have just dipped my hand or wriggled a couple of toes into the liquid, in a good-natured show of faith, yesss.” he lifted his left hand up, ghosting his fingertips at the maximal’s right shoulder, finally holding it behind his neck. “But what would be the fun in that?”

 

Grazing the maximal’s lower lip-plates with his own then, he purred, bright-ruby optics locking into Primal’s as he spoke.

 

“Now. Unfortunately, business before pleasure, yess. While you take your bath, I must review logs and make sure there is really nothing treacherous taking place. A quiet spider is a scheming spider and I happen to have two hanging around.”

 

----------------

 

Hanging around the coordinates to Terrorsaur’s scraps, Waspinator buzzed to himself, quite happy to see no threats, no maximals, no geysers of lava on his way, and no black-holes opening in thin air and sucking him away into another universe.

 

Just the plain remains of a be-headed, stasis-locked Terrorsaur.

 

It seemed easy enough, just like Megatron said it would be.

 

It looked almost too easy.

 

It looked suspicious.

 

Hovering in beast-mode above the scraps and thrice more scanning the area, he root-moded and actually scratched his head as he walked closer and inspected the damage.

 

Considering Megatron told Waspinator the exact coordinates, he logically concluded that most probably it had been Megatron himself who apparently avulsed away his head.

 

Well, either Megatron or Primal did it, and given the situation, recalling how Rhinox trashed through the whole Darkside during his brief time among the predacons, Waspinator had absolutely no interest in knowing who actually did it.

 

Better terror-bot became szcrap than Wazzpinator.

 

Still glaring right and left scanning for threats or traps, finally convinced that apparently this time the world was not hating him, he beast-moded, captured the remains between his thin wasp legs, very much intent in returning home, and flew away in the night.

 

-------------------

 

Flying in the night, around the coordinates to the cave Rattrap sent Tigertron earlier, Airazor landed into the middle branches in a nearby tree, staring intently at the naturally camouflaged entrance of the mountainside, a lot of growth having taken place during the last rains.

 

Waiting for Tigertron to catch up, she tilted her head and preened on her feathers, thinking.

 

She was most definitely grateful at Rhinox for having managed to fix her stasis pod from within his own databanks before its life-support critically failed and she went offline… but she wasn’t sure he was the best commander for the maximals.

 

He looked calm and pacific enough, until he’s properly riled up, at which he turns into a green-hulking brute with a very bad mood, not exactly qualities required for a leader.

 

Even though she was not personally fond of Rattrap, he was certainly the best substitute for Primal: even though he hates and actively tries to get away from all duties, he knows when enough is enough, and when he has to do something to prevent bigger problems… like now.

 

Hearing the muffled steps of a predator, she tilted her head from her perch, glaring intently at the approaching Tigertron, chirping.

 

Replying with a chuff, Tigertron sat on his hindquarters, staring at the entrance of the cave, taking notice of the glowing energy cable emerging from a crack in the granite and going all the way in.

 

“Here we are.” Airazor turned to face him “Do you still want to summon Rhinox? Your last chance to give up.”

 

Squinting, Tigertron stared up.

 

“Rhinox is the leader and must take responsibility. The Axalon needs its dampeners back up, should the predacons attack, specially now they have Optimus on their side.”

 

Airazor sighed. She knew it would be a trainwreck the moment Primal had called for rescue, bringing no one less than Megatron along: he was a bit too worried for her taste, and her most improbable suspicions eventually showed themselves true.

 

She couldn’t see Optimus Primal letting himself go like this. Whatever had happened was probably meaningful enough for their previous commander to have done so, however... it still did not justify Megatron simply botnapping him on his way out back to his own ship.

 

Was he just collecting a new, valuable asset in their stupid war, exploiting Primal’s goodness added to the weaknesses of the mesh?

 

Can he actually feel anything beyond a narcissistic sense of possession and the need to control?

 

“Do you honestly think Optimus lost his mind?”

 

Tigertron hung his head low then.

 

“I think he had his judgement clouded by whatever happened to make him see something worth pursuing, even if it is only physical.”

 

“I don’t think Primal can actually do only physical.” she ruffled her feathers.

 

“And I don’t think Megatron can do anything except that.”

 

--------------------

 

Except for the fact that Blackarachnia truly didn’t give a frag about what Megatron does or does not do with his life, she couldn’t simply deny that he managed to amass a slightly unexpected addition to the predacon ranks.

 

She could perfectly understand why Megatron would have undergone through whatever troubles he did to ensnare no one less than Optimus Primal to his side.

 

She couldn’t stop wondering however how exactly he did manage pulling that feat.

 

She tried hacking Megatron's quarters for ages, just to discover the paranoid tyrant had physically removed every single camera and audio capturing device that is not linked to the screen located before his private jacuzzi.

 

Obviously, being the tech-savvy glitch she considered herself to be, she had managed to reverse-hack the screen before the purple idiot’s lava jacuzzi, and could actually witness, although in low resolution and without colours or sound, everything happening at the bath-room, even if she could not listen to what was being said…

 

...until about to three days ago, that is.

 

How big wasn’t her surprise when she tried to access the feed to finally see with her own optics exactly whatever might be taking place or had taken place within Megatron’s bath, only to find every single connection nullified.

 

Damn paranoid glitch!

 

All Blackarachnia was doing was taking a harmless peek. Who could blame her for wanting to watch?

 

Afterall, Megatron had a rather fine rack with thighs to kill for, the voice vibrators derive their subsonic rumbling from, the luscious lip-plates and perfect set of teeth, the chiseled face…

 

...the only thing apparently lacking to make him perfect to be manipulated by her, would be he actually liking females.

 

At least Blackarachnia (and actually every mech else on planet) was certain of this fact: she absolutely couldn’t believe any appreciator of the female shell could resist her charms, so…

 

Ah well.

 

A pity. If she is even remotely right, she would have loved to watch the evidence that seemed so obvious unfold itself, live.

 

Deciding that certainly there was more than meets the eye going on here, Blackarachnia smirked: apparently, to further her investigation, she would actually need to look for the maximals, afterall.

 

-----------------------------------

Chapter 37: 37 - It's what you do...

Summary:

Rattrap brings the shields up, Rhinox and Dinobot return, Waspinator muses, Megatron thinks, Cheetor worries, and Primal's too noble to do anything.

Chapter 37 – It’s what you do ...

 

After all that had been going wrong with the maximals, after all of the frustration, after all of the anger and the work, he finally did it.

 

Stretching on his chair, relief coursing through his systems, a very satisfied smirk in face, Rattrap cracked his neck and knuckles, requesting the ship’s report.

 

“Physical integrity of hull: restored. Dampening grid: online. Energon Shield charge: complete. Autoguns: operational. Restoration Chambers: fully functional.”

 

Alone at the captain’s chair, he nodded at each description, all of them music to his ears: feeling safe for the first time since the slagging purple idiot breeched the brig’s hull on his way out, finally able to organise his own thoughts, he activated Sentinel and every single surplus defence system online, triple checking everything, to be certain that there would be no failure.

 

Who needed Rhinox anyway?? Not Rattrap, nope. Choppaface could keep him, yeah, and he was sincerely wishing that the stinking’lizard’lips choked on the Big Green’s spike, and also managed to bite it off with those pointy teeth while they were at it, right now! That would learn them for sure.

 

Rattrap was, after all, his own one-mech symphony, and needed no one! He was the second best hacker of the whole Cybertronian History, only staying behind Soundwave, who had long ago disappeared from registry and was absolutely non-traceable, having erased not only his own spark-frequency but also the spark-frequency and databanks of all his former tapelings that had not been located and imprisoned by the Autobot and Maximal authorities, back then, and currently, they could be anywhere, and they were certainly plotting.

 

It’s not like a small group of conspiring former cassetticons would ever manage to conquer their home planet, or even a single mech would ever be able to capture everyone’s sparks to stand as the single consciousness functioning in the whole Cybertron, right?

 

That was too much paranoia even to Rattrap, the king of we’re’ all’gunna’die.

 

Shooing the bad thoughts away, in-venting deeply and exhaling slowly as he relaxed in the now secure base , Rattrap made sure to inform Rhinox that the energon shields were back up and they now could come out of their cosy li’l cave.

 

-----------------------------------------------

 

Cosy in their cave, two beasts rest in deep slumber over a thick pile of hides, the empty shells of a couple of energon cubes stacked against a wall.

 

Organic eyelids opening slowly, Rhinox received Rattrap’s message, nodding approvingly.

 

He had a deep distaste of being forced to remain in an alternate mode where he could not use his servos: he always had to rely on other mechs to do stuff for him back when he was a fledging cassettibot, and he had gone through a lot to finally acquire his bipedal mode, on top of retaining the rhino and the tape mode.

 

Turning his head to the left, watching the still recharging saurian, currently curled on himself, Rhinox actually snorted: Dinobot was an extremely reluctant and unwilling pillow-top , so obviously it had been up to himself to do everything.

 

And everything he did.

 

Fully seizing the rare treat, ramming himself into Dinobot’s rigid grill structure, rocking and rolling, back and forth, counter and clockwise, establishing a punishing rhythm, he rode like his life depended on it, he rode like it was proper, those pointed teeth leaving marks on his neck’s protoform, energon trickling down his plating and getting hungrily licked before even a stray droplet went down, a clawed hand lazily stroking up and down his fully pressurized spike in between them, both chestplates open wide, sparks on display.

 

Shuddering at the memory of the rotating sparks orbiting one another in between their now joined chestplates, like a binary solar system’s whose stars will slide close but never crash one into the other, Rhinox closed his organic eyes.

 

Sharing memories, feelings, worries, pure charge and copious amounts of lubricants and transfluid into a series of mind-numbing physical and spark-derived overloads, one feeding into the next as both sparks rotated and spun one around the other culminating into a so full, so complete and so deep merge that for an amount of time neither of them could tell, they had indeed become one.

 

The cave could have collapsed and they would be none the wiser: perhaps even getting shot would not register, and they would have offlined in absolute bliss.

 

It would have been a nice way of dying, enveloped in the light of your chosen companion as you fade, instead of offlining in a puddle of mech fluid in a dark night on your own after dishonourably losing a fight.

 

Shaking the notion away, Rhinox grimaced, correctly realising that this particular kind of intrusive thought could only have come from one source.

 

“Good morning to you too, Dinobot.”

 

Snarling as he uncurled from his recharging position, Dinobot immediately stood up and actually clutched his beast-head with both claws, contemplating the absolute wreck of their aftermath, traces of faintly glowing transfluid droplets and streaks coating both their beast-modes, the hides over the pile, and the ground around.

 

“Such waste of your fluids when they should have been inside me. You owe me a very thorough eating and pounding later, commander.”

 

Chuckling at Dinobot’s enraged face, Rhinox sat on his hindquarters and absently watched the saurian start preening on his tail feathers.

 

“There will be plenty of opportunities for that: Rattrap managed to fix the dampeners.”

 

At that Dinobot stopped preening, then spat.

 

“About time the vermin showed himself useful!”

 

Yawning and turning to his now bonded, Rhinox stood up.

 

“Let’s get back to base. Now that the shields are on, I can use my hands again, and it’s our turn to work. The others deserve a break.”

 

Growling, Dinobot once more contemplated he mess.

 

“Are we just leaving all this evidence behind for the vermin’s delight, then?”

 

Rhinox shook his beast-head.

 

“Do you honestly think Rattrap doesn’t know about this place already?” he tilted his head, smirking “Besides, whoever snoops in here completely deserves to trip on any fluids, don’t you think?”

 

At that Dinobot snorted, watching Rhinox finally start walking, taking one last glance at their mess, finally following behind.

 

-----------------

 

Behind a thick bush, hiding, Tigertron watched Rhinox leave the cave with Dinobot in tow: Airazor, perched up high, squinted at their retreating selves, focusing on the faintly glowing stray streaks, silently smirking to herself.

 

Once they were far away enough, she came down to land into a low branch right besides her companion, whispering.

 

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t interrupt? Now they left apparently in a very good mood, instead of being angry at being summoned during private time.”

 

Tigertron shook his head.

 

“I’ll call you later. I need to hunt. Alone.”

 

-------------------------------

 

Alone at the repair bay of the Darkside, Waspinator quietly sat, nurturing an energon cube as he watched the CR-tank where he put Terrorsaur in, thinking.

 

He had not been exploded in a very long time. He had not even been damaged recently, and this lack of normalcy in his life was literally making him antsy.

 

“Drone! Why are you idle instead of gathering food for the Colony?”

 

Speaking of ants.

 

“Wazzpinator having energon. Wazzpinator can’t work hungry.”

 

Tilting his head to the right, Inferno finally nodded: the worker drone was right.

 

“Then while you do that, I shall go into repair like the Royalty commanded.”

 

He rose the flamethrower with his hand still holding it: Waspinator very slightly squinted his giant bug-optics.

 

“Wazzpinator hasz exzperience in getting szcrapped. Wazpinator can fix ant-bot really quick, and then Wazpinator and ant-bot can gather energon outside.”

 

He offered: afterall, it was good to remain in Inferno’s company and in his good graces.

 

“Wazzpinator will get anaestheticzz then return.”

 

Finishing his cube and subspacing the empty container, Waspinator jumped out of his perch, very much intent in leaving..

 

.. getting instantly stopped by Inferno, who swiftly dropped his weapon to the ground and captured Waspinator’s head between his claws.

 

Buzzing in worry, Waspinator stared at the other’s inscrutable face, imagining the myriad of ways he would be scrapped.

 

On his side, Inferno pondered on the subject of getting repaired, shifting his glare between the drone, the repair tank, and his flamethrower currently on the ground, his amputated hand still holding it.

 

Since the Queen brought her fertile male drone in, and soon there would be eggs, might as well ante up their energy reserves.

 

“We cannot waste time with painkillers, drone! The pain is my friend! Just do it immediately! The royalty commands!!”

 

He saluted with the stump, releasing Waspinator on the ground with a thud.

 

Shaking his head, buzzing, Waspinator stood back on his pedes: briefly inspecting the flamethrower and the avulsed hand on the ground, he removed it from the weapon’s handle, taking a good look at the wrist connections where they had been cleanly severed, then extended his hand palm up to Inferno.

 

“Ant-bot now put sztump in Wazpinator’z hand.”

 

Inferno tried and failed to squint, doing exactly what he was told.

 

Producing a hand-welder and a small set of pliers, first soldering the sensory and charge connections, then finally un-crumpling the energon-line, from where Inferno’s mech-fluid started flowing free once again, Waspinator immediately soldered it with the hand’s counterpart.

 

Watching as his claw recovered the glossy, healthy tone of living mesh once the energon flowed back in, Inferno nodded approvingly, flexing his three-fingered claw-hand as Waspinator now finished soldering the outer plating, deeming his work done.

 

--------------------------------

 

Done working on the arduous task of keeping on top of all the treachery running loose among his troops, Megatron, having left Primal on his own at the CR-bath-room, currently sitting before the mainframe within his quarters, finally physically plugged it off, then led his one hand to the back of his neck, cracking it right and left, optics off.

 

He had been tempted, very tempted to simply straddle the blasted ape and shamelessly have his way with his connector there and then: he had to override his panels three times, and quickly retreat before he engaged on something stupid before making sure there was nothing amiss at the Darkside.

 

Not to mention the fact he found out literally three days ago that someone had rigged the video feed of his CR-bath-room’s wall-mounted screen.

 

 

As an emergency measure, he was forced to physically disconnect the screen’s camera and microphone while he finds a more permanent solution, otherwise he will have to leave them permanently unplugged, like he already does with his mainframe, only turning the connections on when a call comes in, which will be mightily inconvenient and certainly whoever managed to hack their way in to spy on him bathing will most definitely pay!

 

He’s not here to feed people’s fantasies, nooo, and did not appreciate the idea of being ogled, no matter how physically appealing he knew himself to be, with his spark-bearing, wide chestplates over a slim waist, and well-proportionate, long legs and full thighs with his thick hipside-kibble framing him at each side.

 

Turning his optics back on, he shifted a glance to the closed CR-bath-room door, then focused on the energon dispenser, standing up.

 

Picking an empty cube and leading it to the dispenser, he absently watched it automatically get filled with the local brand of volcanic-derived energon he learned to appreciate, then headed to sit on his berth with it in hand, thinking.

 

He had not planned any of this to have happened, and now that he brought the ex-maximal in, he still did not know how everything would go from now on.

 

He doubted Primal would simply agree to even harm, much less offline, the other maximals, and Megatron knew very well that a tyrant should never give an order that he knows will not be followed through.

 

The best solution would be the one he appreciated the least: it would entail convincing all the maximals and the traitorous Dinobot that they had to join the predacons then return to conquer Cybertron... under his own rule, obviously.

 

He was not willing to make Primal have to even think on taking a decision like returning to the maximals just because Megatron had decided to attack his former comrades, so for now he would need to keep up with the truce, only attacking them in the event the Maximals, now under Rhinox’ rule, decided to attack his ship.

 

Something that he could actually see happening, considering that apparently the traitor and the new maximal leader were an item.

 

Shaking his head, snorting at the mess currently going on in his life, and feeling for the sulphur undertones in his glossa as he sipped, Megatron finally wolfed the whole cube down, subspacing the empty container and throwing himself on the right side of the berth, on his back, offlining his optics for now.

 

Maybe if he wished really hard, a definitive solution would come by, he pondered as he was claimed by recharge.

 

-------------------------

 

Recharge evaded Cheetor, currently on his root mode now that the shields were back up, sitting cross-legged on his berth and indulging on the lead-laced crystals Rhinox had paid him for taking on his shift.

 

With the Big Bot gone to the preds, there was no one to forbid him of having some, right?

 

Sighing, he shook his head, actually missing Optimus’ speeches and lectures, taking one more crystal and subspacing the bag with the rest, throwing it to the air and capturing it in his mouthpiece, slowly munching it as he offlined his optics.

 

Rhinox was OK as a leader, he supposed: big, strong, intelligent, with the biggest and meanest chainguns he had ever seen, perhaps only rivalled by the ones owned by no one less than the Autobot Ironhide, and pretty much capable of single-handedly trashing through the whole Darkside.

 

It would only be a matter of time before Rhinox decided upon striking the predacons while they weren’t paying attention: even Cheetor knew the Big Green was good but not nice, and would not hesitate in crushing them down, so they all could finally go home.

 

Slightly unwilling to have to fight Optimus the moment this depressing event came by, he sagged, deeply hoping they could convince Optimus to return home before it would be too late.

 

--------------------------------------

 

Late to the party, Optimus stepped out of the CR-bath-room, completely dry, taking on his surroundings.

 

Apparently, he took too long and from what he could see, the predacon was already under recharge.

 

Who could blame him, though?

 

No wonder Megatron takes calls in his bath. The warm CR-liquid and solvent were extremely soothing, not only repairing him but relaxing his synthofleshed muscles and struts: he had to struggle not to fall asleep, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the predacon would sometimes even recharge right there as well.

 

As soon as Megatron extricated himself from underneath him to stand up and leave the bath so he would watch for treachery, Optimus had been tempted, very much tempted to simply pull the predacon back in by one talon, then proceed to pound him senseless with slow, deep and calculated hip rolls against the CR-tank’s side wall, making sure to bite and suck on those thick lip-plates as he trapped his legs wide open with one hand on each knee.

 

Reigning himself in, though, overriding his plating locks although unable to control the way his transfluid-tank had filled at the very mental image evoked, he finally decided to simply let the idea and the predacon go, and actually take a proper bath.

 

Which led to him where he was now: staring at a deeply recharging Megatron, haphazardly thrown on the many purple mesh blankets, his beast-head hanging from the side of the berth and also profoundly asleep with her eyes closed.

 

Should he wake him? Should he just join? Should he simply proceed to inappropriately touch him until he woke up?

 

Shaking his head, Optimus shooed the last thought away: he had no consent to make advances on the recharging predacon, so he would not do it.

 

Not only it was wrong, but it could also result in him being justifiably shot, or worse, having his spike ripped of just like Terrorsaur’s head had effortlessly been, and he was quite fond of remaining whole down there, thank you very much.

 

He would certainly have to ask Megatron later, though: the mere notion of such scenario was very welcome, to the point he had just overridden his panels once again, finally taking a decision and going for the energon dispenser, filling two cubes and wolfing them down one after the other.

 

Slightly grimacing at the presence of sulphur at the energon, unsurprised due to its volcanic origins, he returned the empty cubes to the cupboard, walking to the berth and throwing himself on the left side, on his stomach, slowly drifting down into sweet, sweet dreams.

Chapter 38: 38 - Sweet Dreams are made of Lead!

Summary:

Terrorsaur dreads for the future, Rattrap does too, The spiders get traumatised, Optimus cannot believe himself and Megatron has plans.

Chapter 38 – Sweet Dreams are made of Lead!

 

Sweet dreams (not to say the opposite!) filled Terrorsaur’s mind as he lunged out of of the CR-tank’s bottom and desperately held himself against its border: acutely reliving the painful, traumatising event of Megatron actually biting his head off, cog-by-cog he took on his surroundings, spark slowly returning to its usual spinning frequency as he calmed himself down.

 

Logically coming to the conclusion he had been rescued and put into CR, he winced the instant he received a pre-recorded voice message from no one less than Megatron.

 

“Terrorsaur, my dearest, favourite, most incompetent, pseudo-treacherous moron:

 

Allow me to remind you that you are a full-fledged self-conceited idiot who is wholly incapable of grasping the full extent of my plans, and of comprehending the depth at which my scheming goes, and you know it, yess.

 

For your information, the maximal you unwisely tried to obtain my help in disposing of, is no one less than the ex-commander of the Maximals, Optimus Primal, who had submitted to my rule and is now my second in command, responding to me only, and thus fully expected to retaliate with lethal force whenever required against any of you treacherous lot, as he well should.

 

Had you properly behaved in his presence back then at the crevice, instead of being the customary imbecile you are, you would have retained your empty head on its due decorative place and would have been spared the suffering of coming online to the phantom pain of such seldom used appendage getting excised off your frame.

 

Apropos, be very thankful I have kept your rifle under my utmost care, from the goodness of my spark, exclusively to make sure it would keep safe in my one hand: who knows what would happen should it have befallen the wrong servos.

 

I will thoroughly enjoy personally returning it to you, first thing in the daily cycle, into your slithering, perfidious claws, once you report for your habitual morning debrief, with me and my new subcommander.

 

Delighted at the prospect of seeing you very, very soon,

 

Your esteemed, most considerate, cherished Leader, Megatron.”

 

Groaning, Terrorsaur hit his forehead a couple of times against the border of the CR-tank.

 

I’m doomed.

 

Utterly, completely, totally doomed.

 

Every single time Megatron has ever sent such a lengthy, flourished, personal missive, exalting his best qualities , specially after confiscating his main weapon and promising to return it in person, Terrorsaur ended up back at the very CR-tank he had just crawled out from.

 

Only now remembering he had no need of clutching against the border of the CR-tank, he let himself dive back down, this time coming up already on his pedes as the tank’s grill lifted up from within and Terrorsaur cautiously stepped away and headed the most silently he could to his own quarters.

 

Locking the door behind himself and diving underneath his mesh covers, leaving only a tiny folded pathway to allow for the exchange of fresh air, he slowly finished rebooting his systems, actually starting to be able to properly think.

 

Now a couple of things started making sense.

 

Obviously, it had been Optimus who flew Megatron up there: Megatron had probably been injured in whatever happened during their departure from the maximals, and since gorillas build nests of leaves to sleep on, that part of the mystery is explained as well.

 

The only thing not making sense is how and why Optimus actually left the maximals for the predacons to submit to Megatron’s rule.

 

Had the maximal been unwillingly sequestered and brainwashed into the predacons?

 

Had Primal willingly done so?

 

If yes, why ???

 

It’s not like Megatron has a noble cause to sway Optimus Primal into, or actually possesses a great personality or anything that could appeal to a goody-two-pedes maximal : in fact, he’s the most hedonistic, self-centred , conceited, narcissistic tinfoil tyrant he had ever met, and the only things he actually has of even remotely redeeming value are his truly superior, privileged intellect added to his remarkable upper-processing power... and his aft .

 

That so happens to be a fine aft.

 

No matter how fine, thought, just like an exquisite, poisonous thing, it is something best admired from afar.

 

Preferably with a Geiger Counter in hand and a hazmat suit on.

 

No one on his right mind should ever really want to get under Megatron’s plates (Scorponok is just stupid , and Inferno is delusional , and they don’t count): Terrorsaur had very good, very valid reasons to not get involved with mechs crueller, bigger and stronger than his own self, because should things go south, he actually liked the idea of being able to escape and survive with most of his limbs at least partially intact.

 

Just like Dinobot did, with barely a scorched aft. Smart dude.

 

He could truly understand the primitive appeal of tapping such a dangerous, predatory aft, however, but it was extremely difficult to even imagine Primal as someone actually prone to change his own allegiance just to frag the predacon leader.

 

Yes, frag.

 

D espite being small and liking delicate maximal things like peaceful solutions for conflicts and picking flowers , the ex- maximal leader gives off a totally top vibe, and Terrorsaur remembered very well the way the ex -maximal leader went berserk and demolished every single predacon down while under the effect of Scorponok’s latest stupid virus .

 

Speaking of stupid, also suddenly recalling every single strange thing he brought for that extremely bizarre and senseless project , he grimaced.

 

What if that stupid list of stupid ingredients for that even more stupid project is exactly that??? Nothing but a stupid, fake list?

 

Squinting at nowhere while briefly remembering all the slag he went through to acquire some of the items , like the squid , he groaned, feeling deceived.

 

That conniving, misleading pillow-Queen could only have done so to divert everyone’s attention while he left to execute his plan of capturing Primal for himself , all along!!!

 

There’s no way sea squids, onyx crystals, venomous platyhelminths, titanium ore, gold and silver, snail shells, trilobit es , trace minerals in quartz clusters, vegetable weaving fibres, a full archaeopteryx fossilised egg, a rotting striped zebra hide, a set of african buffalo horns, chunks of beehive with hallucinogenic honey from the Himalayas filled with rhodhodendrum Grayanotoxins, amber-preserved mosquitoes and cochonilla beetles ( not to mention so many other strange stuff he couldn’t even remember now) could actually be combined in anything useful.

 

Considering however the staggering amount of bizarre and improbable things that they had ever collectively happened to them since they crashed in this slagging mudball , Terrorsaur wouldn’t be surprised if against all probability the project was actually real and produced anything not meant to stink and rot, in which case he would have to truly commend their Queen’s former second in command for its elaboration.

 

Afterall, Terrorsaur did get it wrong that Megatron was laying eggs at the crevice, right?

 

Who could however blame him for thinking so??

 

Everyone currently online on this planet, including the maximals, knows the tyrant willingly chose a female T-Rex for beast-mode, allegedly for its superior size and strength, and as such, no one could actually blame Terrorsaur for concluding that Megatron, as a creature fully biologically capable of laying eggs, could indeed be doing so in a nest of leaves within a mountainside crevice, afterall.

 

At the idea of eggs, he briefly smirked: even under the influence of his beast-mode’s instincts and fully delusional, Inferno somehow got it right when he just plain started calling Megatron his Queen, and frankly in Terrorsaur’s humble opinion, that purple idiot should just own his title instead of being angry and complaining.

 

He brought it on himself, afterall.

 

Leave it to Megatron of all mechs to actually get offended at people mentioning the discordant gender he himself chose as beast-mode and making it be everyone else’s problem!

 

No matter what he thought about anything concerning Megatron’s privates, Terrorsaur was very aware he was going to be slagged at dawn anyway, so it was no use wasting his time worrying: might as well undergo recharge while he still could take his chances.

 

------------------------------------------------

 

Taking her chances, Blackarachnia silently scuttered to the outside of the Darkside, climbing up the hull until she came close to the upper cloister where the three private rooms that form Megatron’s quarters are located.

 

She had hacked through and disabled the external surveillance cameras located outside of their base, opening the pathway to link a direct wiretap, to in the least listen to things, as last-resort measure before truly going for the maximals for information.

 

Avoiding the one-way window just in case the purple imbecile would be staring through there, she scuttered to the communications hub of the disabled autoguns, transforming the tip of one organic leg into a datacable and plugging in.

 

------------------

 

Plugging into his personal mainframe, Rhinox, just recently returned to the Axalon, had made sure to repossess his Lab then force Dinobot back into a CR-chamber before heading to a most urgent task .

 

“Rattrap. Please report to my Lab. Now.”

 

Getting the positive ping back, Rhinox squinted to himself, joining his right hand’s and his left hand’s fingertips together, intently staring at the door, until it hissed open and a visibly tired Rattrap stepped in.

 

Before the maximal spy could ask why he had been summoned though, Rhinox spat.

 

“Since when?”

 

Mentally stalling, instantly understanding , Rattrap gave no indication whatsoever, lazily resting against the doorframe, folded arms.

 

“Since’ wat, Big Green?”

 

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Rattrap. Since when did you know about Optimus and Megatron’s mess?”

 

Rattrap instantly faked his best confused glare.

 

“Cheszzz, ma’mech. Nope. Was shock’d to learn it as ya and da lizard-lips.”

 

Pulling a data-stick from subspace then, Rhinox threw it into Rattrap’s servos, who, puzzled, reflexively caught it before it fell on the ground.

 

“Then you actually want me to believe that this footage of Primal leaving through the one-way window in his former room with the royalty in arms that I have located at the deleted files under your stratospherically displaced quantic signature is fake?”

 

Squinting at the new maximal leader, he stared down the datastick.

 

Aw slag.

 

Aw damn fraggin’ scrappin’ heap’of slag.

 

Rattrap mentally cursed, having completely forgotten about the fact that now Rhinox was indeed the maximal leader and had full security clearance on every single log, video and sound feed, existing or deleted, ever recorded in every single device currently physically connected within the ship.

 

Recalling the way Rhinox literally demolished Optimus down when they fought for leadership, Rattrap, for once fearing for his existence, made sure not to let it show, faking confidence and rolling his optics as he simply finished walking inside.

 

“Ya see, Big Green, I honestly thou’t back den da former boss was doin’us a big favour in taking ol’Megsy away, so...”

 

Still squinting, Rhinox glowered as Rattrap walked around and finally jumped up sitting at the slab , wriggling his feet back and forth.

 

“Me, frankly I had no’idea dis thing between dem was dat deep. Ya know I’d have’told’ya if I knew it’d be such a wreck, Boss.”

 

At that the scientist held his in-venting: this had indeed been the only deleted footage he came across, and even though he tried locating any video and sound feeds from Primal’s former quarters, Rhinox found out nothing, because nothing was ever recorded , just displayed live, so regrettably whatever other evidence there might have been ended up irremediably lost.

 

Very much certain Rattrap was not telling the whole truth, but unwilling to press for now, Rhinox donned him a stern glare.

 

“It appears both of us have committed the mistake of trusting words instead of actions, Rattrap.”

 

Watching the hulking scientist turn to face him, Rattrap inwardly stalled but kept his outer cool, as Rhinox spoke.

 

“I expect that to be the first and the last time I find your quantic signature where it does not belong.”

 

Taking his cue, Rattrap jumped out of the slab and quickly went for the door, raising both thumbs up and winking, followed by Rhinox’ hard, squinting stare.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Squinting hard and staring right into a crumpled lavender pillow-mesh, on his stomach, the exact way he had laid down earlier, Optimus Primal awoke in a jolt at the sudden impact of a hefty weight being unceremoniously flung onto his back.

 

Before he could even think , his left leg was immediately captured between a pair of thick, full, sinful , interlocked purple thighs.

 

What?

 

Stalling at the deafeningly quiet click of opening panels echoing in his audials, followed by the unmistakable grind and slide of a dripping wet valve into the furry patch at his left thigh, Optimus slowly turned to his left, meeting Megatron’s very offline optics, in his very purple, very obviously recharging faceplates, flushing hot as he received one more agonisingly slow grind against his trapped thigh.

 

Unable to hold a snicker at the fact that apparently Megatron was some kind of somnambulist… fraggambulist? ? …or whatever, Optimus actually snorted : at least this situation answered one of the questions he actually intended to ask once the predacon woke up.

 

Valiantly suffering one more grind in amused silence, he couldn’t avoid reflexively grinding down against the memory mesh berth and its many covers, optics minutely going offline as a thick stream of transfluid dribbled, heady and scorching hot down into his underplating.

 

D eciding enough is enough, and that by now, consent be damned, he would frag the predacon’ s struts loose whether he wanted it or not, Optimus concluded it would be impossible to do so before he actually got free , moving out and away from the slowest, most powerful, strongest and filthiest leglock of his whole existence.

 

Trapped and now extremely horny , he had no options left, but to scream.

 

“Megatron!!!”

 

----------------------------

 

“Megatron!!!”

 

Rubbing her chelicerae together in glee, Blackrachnia commemorated the first actual word she managed to decipher though her hacking datacable and personal wiretap.

 

Yes, first word, because before this particular word, being the excellent écouteuse et voyeuse she considered herself to be, she had been very keenly attuned to the slightest of sighs, shifts of movement between scales and protofeathers into wet fur and mesh, with her extremely active imagination making out quite a load of very colourful, interesting mental images for a couple of minutes already, from the moment Primal apparently awoke in shock, going through what could only be Megatron’s admittedly discreet (albeit rhythmically hitched) in-venting, until the moment the maximal’s shushed, husky and strained voice denounced how much he could no longer stand whatever the royalty was actually making the poor maximal suffer through, and he finally protested out loud calling for the predacon leader’s name.

 

Remaining extremely still and silent at the unexpected display, Blackarachnia waited patiently for whatever action that had been taking place to be resumed: she was wholly prepared to listen for Primal’s hushed growls, to a series of dramatic yesssses , the many ooks followed by the repeated beatings of closed fists against the airsacks of a dominant silverback, and even the final roar of a climaxing saurian echoing in the room.

 

The only thing she was not prepared to receive was utter and absolute radio silence, followed by a private, personal comm, ringing deafeningly low right into her own stunned neural processors and now very still and extremely scared mind.

 

-----------

 

Scared out of his mind at having his mouhthpiece forcibly and instantly physically shut down between Megatron’s thumb and index on his one functional hand, Optimus watched absolutely transfixed the predacon’s cerise optics intensely focusing on his own, showcasing his personal comm into the room, allowing both to enjoy a most lovely exchange of pleasantries as the predacon leader spoke.

 

“Miss Arachnia, how delighted I am to see you, you kinky, treacherous arachnid. Do you have a good reason to have reverse-hacked by bath’s screen, or must I suppose you simply like to watch?”

 

Frozen to the spot, Blackarachnia was about to simply disconnect and flee, precisely the moment another message came through.

 

“You will not disconnect yourself until I command you to.”

 

Uttering a staticky bleep, she stalled, with the predacon leader now holding a full, devious smirk in place as he motioned with his index for the maximal to remain completely silent, then simply returned to slowly and shamelessly slide his very wet, very purple, and very ready valve, up and down at the ex-maximal’s furry thigh.

 

“Since you are not admitting you like to watch, then should I presume you like to listen?”

 

Delighted at her releasing another involuntary panicked blurt, Megatron made sure to lick a hot, continuous stripe of oral lubricant from the maximal’s neckline up into his luscious lips , finishing in a slow, languid and extremely, theathrically loud kiss as he let go of the maximal’s leg and making sure to produce a lot of noise as well, unceremoniously flipped him on his back and simply straddled him, still speaking as if he were not doing anything untoward at all, extremely amused at Primal’s visibly flustered faceplates.

 

“Would you prefer to guess with your wicked, privileged imagination, what I am doing right now, Miss Arachnia, or would you rather I told, you in richness of details, every single despicable thing I am doing and intend to do to this poor, unwilling, weak, fragile ex-maximal that is absolutely and completely unable of defending himself?”

 

Helplessly horrified enough, perched on her beast-mode and still physically latched atop the Darkside through her hacking datacable, the female spider literally broke then, going silent and standing completely defeated.

 

“Miss Arachnia? Are you still with us, yess?”

 

Radio silence: Megatron squinted at the ceiling as he also gave a too wide grin, finally dipping his head into a single nod, and just like this, leaving the maximal’s lap, clicking his panels back closed and walking to the one-way-window, opening it and peeking outside, letting go a snort.

 

Horrified enough himself with the whole situation, albeit too curious now to avoid not taking himself a peek, Optimus jumped out of the berth, squinting as he stared at the seemingly shell-shocked arachnid.

 

“...you broke her.”

 

The predacon solemnly dipped his head down in a single nod then.

 

“It looks like so, indeed. How awful of mine, employing dirty psychological warfare tactics like this.”

 

Optimus blinked , then.

 

“Why.”

 

At that the predacon tilted his head to the right.

 

“If I had merely threatened her or shot her or even be-headed her, it would not have had the same effect. She is not Terrorsaur.”

 

He briefly checked on his left hand’s claws then.

 

“Now that I had dealt with her the correct way, she has completely lost the will to ever wish to even remotely want to imagine what I do or do not do with whomever happens to be here, with me, anymore, ever again… and without touching a single strand of chitin from her exoskeleton, I must add.”

 

Dramatically waving his left hand to the outside of the window and staring back at the still horrified himself Primal, Megatron donned him a side smirk and rose his left hand to the left side of his face.

 

“Tarantulus? There is something outside of my quarters that I believe must belong to you. Would you please be a dear and come remove your sidekick out and away? I cannot properly get repeatedly fragged by my virile subcommander with her shell-shocked, ugly mug, latched on the outside of my one-way window, hanging by.”

 

At the horrified yelp coming from the other side of Megatron’s comm line, followed by the obvious sound of many broken crystralware falling on the ground, Optimus, horrified enough himself already, simply shook his head.

 

“Why are you like this.”

 

At that Megatron cackled .

 

“Now that wretched spawn of Unicron thinks he knows more than he needed to, and will never want to eavesdrop as well.”

 

Briefly tapping the left side of his head twice with his one normal hand, Megatron simply walked to the maximal then, bit his left hand with his pet-hand and pulled him out of the window, commanding it automatically closed and locked.

 

“Now. I might have been under recharge and not completely conscious a few moments ago, but now I have been left with… a predicament. The very same one you also has, if my right hand’s biochemical olfactory analysers are even remotely correct, and they are, yessss.”

 

Gaping, Optimus simply let himself he helplessly pulled back, then pushed down into the berth: he shouldn’t, but he was still shocked with the obviousness of the fact that yes, Megatron could indeed smell everything that had happened down his underplating, right back when they had been stranded in that fateful cave-in.

 

Watching the predacon literally crawl into the memory mesh and over his legs until he was improperly seated astride, overriding his lower plating command’s to open, he groaned.

 

“How can you even be in the mood after all of that??”

 

He was obviously talking to his own spike.

 

Unaware of the maximal’s struggle, Megatron wriggled himself comfortable and clicked his own panels back open, detachedly watching a puddle of lubricant falling in strands over the maximal’s fur.

 

“How can you not?? Blackarachnia has probably been traumatised for life, I managed to disrupt whatever Tarantulus was doing to make him take her away while also traumatising him for at least some time in the process, neither of them will ever want to personally know what happens here ever again, I’m extremely wet, as you can see, and although you may think I should not know, I do know your transfluid tank is full and dripping. From my point of view… all I can see are advantages, yessss.”

 

Latching his left hand into the maximal’s furcula and pulling him up, both face to face, he dimmed his optics low then.

 

“Now, my dripping, virile subcommander. Frag me until the sun rises and make sure to give me fairly indelible transfers that only a proper full-day-cycle CR-sequence can fix. I fully intend to traumatise Terrorsaur as well when he comes early in the morning to retrieve his rifle and for his mandatory daily debrief, afterall.”

Chapter 39: 39 - Do you suffer from long term memory loss?

Summary:

Terrorsaur never slept, Tigertron gets summoned, Blackarachnia awoke-except-not, Tarantulus is pissed, Inferno plots and Waspinator has an epiphany.

Chapter 39 - Do you suffer from long term memory loss?

 

After all the anxiety, after all of his dreading of the incoming sunrise, having futilely tried to undergo recharge, unable to not loop his thoughts into the instant he would first be mentally tortured, then shot with his own blaster, maybe even by the ex-maximal himself this time, Terrorsaur mentally reviewed the almost comfortable daily routine they had established since the fateful day the predacon flier thought he had scrapped his boss for good, only to find him repaired, whole and justifiably pissed later on.

 

Every single day of his life from this episode on, Terrorsaur was expected to daily debrief with Megatron, only to receive an inane, personally tailored daily task, getting reminded all along that he was a moron, that he should be thankful of his continued existence due to Megatron’s infinite benevolence , and on the good days things usually would end right there and then.

 

Today, however, would not be a good day.

 

Why not ?

 

Apparently, Terrorsaur was supposed to have simply known that the maximal had submitted to Megatron’s rule and he was not supposed to offer to offline the fragger: he had also received the longest message ever since they crashed, and to make things worse, Megatron confiscated his rifle while speaking Old Vosian.

 

In-venting deeply, he crawled from under his mesh covers, standing up and onlining his optics, turning to the door.

 

Maybe if he marched to the gallows's scaffold by himself this time, of his own volition, instead of waiting to be summoned, Megatron might be slightly lenient, just for a change.

 

-----------------

 

For a change not escaping to hunt on his own, blatantly lying to Airazor, Tigertron made sure to make himself scarce as soon as he could.

 

As usual, as a good people-reader, she was right.

 

As usual, as a good loner, Tigertron was wrong.

 

So, literally licking his wounds, bathing alone in beast mode atop a snowy mountain top, he was wholly surprised the instant he got a single data-burst literally bounced off the bigger moon with a set of coordinates and absolutely no explanation, from no one less than Rattrap.

 

Squinting to himself, despite wholly believing Rhinox was the best Leader for the Maximals, recalling how the rodent had been extremely unwilling to summon Rhinox earlier and knowing the scientist was now their leader and certainly all communications were running under his clearance, Tigertron decided for once to simply sprint towards the coordinates the maximal spy sent, not questioning how or why.

 

--------------------

 

Not questioning how or why, Blackarachnia came back to the world of the living hooked up to spark-support machinery within Tarantulus’ known lab.

 

“You owe me, witch.”

 

Blinking twice slowly and stupidly, she lethargically turned to face the mad scientist, who held both palps and a pair of datacables folded before his chest, squinting.

 

“I what you what???”

 

“You, witch. You owe me. You owe me big.”

 

She shook her head, truly not understanding: before she could blink though, Tarantulus whacked her head once with a third datacable from his rotating back hub.

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your stupid prank, you stupid glitch!!!”

 

He mentally grimaced as she didn’t even react to getting hit in the head, hating to admit that Megatron was a frigging genius who managed to invent then use his very own personal brand of wireless brain bleach on her circuitry, doing an even better job at fully breaking her mind than his own cortical psychic patch ever did.

 

The only reason why Tarantulus himself was not catatonic at Megatron’s descriptive message is precisely because he has seen and done worse .

 

Even being an evil ex-decepticon himself, Tarantulus was still doing the whole Universe a favour by remaining on this dustball to make sure Megatron will not succeed in his wicked plans.

 

Were Tarantulus not here to thwart him around, he was certain that by now the purple wonder would have managed to return back to Cybertron already, plenty of energon in hands, only to rule an empty planet full of vehicons as a giant floating head that transforms into a simulacra of the Darkside, hunting every single stray spark until all became one under his sole command.

 

Extremely glad that this horrifying scenario will never happen, Tarantulus returned his attention back to the semi-catatonic she-spider sprawled up on his slab, tired of having her around.

 

“If you don’t leave my slab now I will proceed to rip away your underplating to invade every single orifice with my eight datacables and find out the true colour of your biolights.”

 

No reaction: Tarantulus sighed.

 

Usually this kind of threat is extremely efficient because no normal mech (except for carrier-hosts, who are extra and do not count) has more than three official interfacing ports of any kind, thus the threat of eight datacables works wonders and she sprints away, leaving him alone.

 

It’s not that he didn’t already know her colours , he did, afterall, he made her, even considering they had never interfaced, unlike common belief, but that’s beyond the point: he wasn’t even willing to do anything to her, he was simply tired of trying to decipher Scorponok’s blueprints, he just wanted to have some peace, and it would have been nice not to have to rescue her from her own awful mistakes and extremely bad choices in life.

 

Like wiretapping Megatron’s room.

 

To listen to things.

 

Things she knew would be happening.

 

The exact way they were happening.

 

Things she wanted to be happening the exact way they were happening.

 

Things she was truly willing to listen to!

 

Then the instant she did listen to the very things she was fully expecting to listen, and the things were indeed the very same way they were supposed to be, she goes and breaks????

 

“Fine, suit yourself then. Stay, go, whatever. I’m undergoing recharge up in my corner. Don’t disturb me.”

 

Giving up and beast-moding, cocooning himself into a gleaming-blue energon-web at the most distant and angled corner of his Official Lab, he closed his many organic eyes, wriggling himself comfortable and powering his systems down.

 

---------------------------------------------------

 

Powering down his optics to protect them from the excess light coming from the unstable energon clusters all around, Inferno watched Waspinator’s silhouette as he spun around his own axis in eights, all the while literally munching the crude energon crystals for a while, only to produce from subspace a perfectly stable, empty, standard-blue energon cube shell, with a very slight sheen of outer purple, filling it afterwards.

 

He had no idea how the worker drone did it: apparently every other mech in this planet either had to feed on organic things to directly obtain energy, or take the unstable energon to be processed back into their respective Colonies.

 

At each single cube produced and piled-up on his back, Inferno, processors idle, could not avoid thinking about the myriad of ways he’s going to depose the current male flying unit of the Colony, once his usefulness was over.

 

Obviously, he could not do it at his Queen’s presence: unless she expressly commanded the execution, the risk of the royalty deciding against all logic to forbid Inferno of offlining her service top was too great for him to even try doing anything in the open.

 

The male unit’s full and permanent disposal will have to be a very quiet and well-constructed endeavour. As nature dictates, a true Queen is big, strong, and plentiful, and intelligent, so Inferno will at some point have to lure the then useless drone out and away from his extremely brilliant and intelligent Queen first.

 

No matter the maximal drone was small: that is the nature of things. Fertile male units are a smaller-sized, living source of CNA with legs, ready to fertilise the one true Queen and then die, leaving her with a sizeable, permanent stock of coding to lay her eggs with.

 

For life.

 

Thus rendering the male unit useless.

 

Optimus Primal is too intelligent however to simply let himself be lured away anywhere where Inferno might execute him: he would not get a second chance, because if he failed the first attempt, his Queen would certainly order him to no longer do it, which would lead them back at the beginning.

 

With Inferno being prohibited of offlining the drone.

 

One more cube bounced on his back as Inferno blinked back from his thoughts, staring briefly up as Waspinator absently hummed and slowly filled the pinkish-shelled empty cube he produced from subspace with standard-blue energon, a slow rusted gear rolling in his own processors.

 

Waspinator was a very good, reliable, hardworking predacon drone, whose loyalty so far could never be questioned.

 

“Drone.”

 

Spinning in an eight, the now half-full purplish-wireframe cube resting between his spindly legs, Waspinator stared down with a tilt of his head as Inferno spoke.

 

“When I say so, you shall lure the male fertile unit out of the Royalty’s presence and into my claws.”

 

Buzzing reflexively, Waspinator would have blinked his compound eyes if he could as Inferno continued.

 

“As our Queen’s Head of Security, it is my duty to eliminate the usurper of resources once his usefulness is over. Your aid will be paramount to the task!”

 

In a single half-click, Waspinator rolled in his mind the very, very, many occasions where he had been used as bait and flattened down, shot at, dismembered, exploded, and just plain insulted with every single Cybertronian curse ever existing or to exist, finishing to fill the cube in his legs.

 

He was not looking forward to returning to the routine of being the universe’s chew toy.

 

“...Wazzpinator can aszk question to ant-bot?”

 

Inferno nodded, valiantly receiving another full cube in his back.

 

“You are a good, loyal drone. You may ask!”

 

Spinning once in an eight in the air, he shook his head, resetting his voicebox.

 

“Why ant-bot thinkz maxzimal will not be uzzzeful anymore?”

 

As if it were obvious, Inferno stared up, tilting his head to the right.

 

“As a worker-drone, obviously you do not know how a true Colony functions. Once the Queen is fertilised enough and has retained a sizeable sample of fertile male material, she keeps it for life to fertilise all her future eggs from then on. Once it happens, the maximal will be of no use anymore.”

 

Buzzing in worry, recalling the day Optimus tore through a wall and literally captured him from the other side under his rage attack, Waspinator produced another empty energon cube shell and slowly started filling it, a couple of tiny, concerned gears rolling in his mind.

 

“Iz Mega-bot laying eggz then?”

 

Inferno nodded solemnly.

 

“We shall soon have enough soldiers, drones and maybe even a juvenile Princess or two, to vanquish the maximals for good. I see nothing wrong in starting by eliminating the by then useless male unit!!”

 

At that, something clicked in Waspinator’s mind, and he actually smirked, deposing the newly filled cube onto Inferno’s back and getting some more crude crystals to munch upon.

 

He had just found the perfect way to never , ever, get scrapped anymore.

Notes:

I like mashing G1, the Comics, Beast Wars and TFP together.

I hate Beast Machines. Megatron was no longer funny, Optimus started having mushrooms and seeing things, Inferno was not there to call Megatron his Queen, Waspinator didn't have a happy ending... What the frag was that show. No one needs Beast Machines.

Except for Beast Machines, I mostly follow the official canon, but I make sure to mix it up with my very own personal headcanons, and I'll leave you to decide which is which!!!:

1 - Waspinator, added to his two Astromechanics degrees, has the inbuilt ability to produce purplish energon-cube-shells and fill them with refined energon he processes after chewing through crude crystals.

A rare ability. Just a few mecha could do it back then in G1. Hummm.

It's such a shame they made him a wasp and not a bee. I bet it has been done so because Bumblebee exists. Waspinator should have been a bee!

2 - Tarantulus has one datacable for each of his eight legs in his rotating back-hub, serving both as tools, weapons and hands.

He had been mind-wiped right before he was captured by the autobots: no one found the records of his spark-frequency anywhere, and he himself had no idea on who he had been as well.

He used to meet up with Ravage for kicks, before he joined Megatron's crew at the Tripedacus Council's command.

3 - Rhinox hates tape-moding. It robs him of both his hands and the ability to move. Poor Ramhorn is a well of trauma and self-hatred because of this, and for being presumed dumb.

4 - Sometimes I think Beast Wars should have been called Tape Wars.

5 - Big mecha, and mecha with higher mass, have an increasingly higher chance of getting sparked than smaller ones. Sometimes once is all it takes for the big ones.

And last....

6 - Archaeologists discovered that avian dinosaurs ready to reproduce develop medullary bones that quickly mobilise calcium to form the eggshells without causing fluctuations in its levels at the bloodstream, preventing brain seizures and cardiac arrhythmia and sometimes even full arrest.

This particular type of bone lasts for about to 4 weeks during the reproductive period after an embryo get first formed and before the egg actually gets oviposited, and is never present otherwise.

So, eggpreg is a real thing.....

Chapter 40: 40 - I can't remember!

Summary:

Terrorsaur regrets, Dinobot complains, Rhinox insists, Airazor stalks, Rattrap comes by, and Cheetor arrives at the Darkside.

Chapter 40 – I can’t remember!

 

He never wanted to ever, ever, volunteer to the daily debriefing anymore.

 

Getting to the Darkside’s upper cloister was uneventful enough until the moment he sat before the tyrant’s door, back against the corridor, patiently waiting to be summoned in his comm, so he could then stand up and present himself to his daily torture.

 

As the clicks stretched and no comm came by, he started paying attention to the background noise.

 

That just so happened to be a continuous, dull, muffled thump.

 

Of something repeatedly crashing against the metal walls and door, more vibration than sound.

 

Before he could fully process anything further however, the noise stopped, and his beloved commander’s main entrance whirred open, the sound of the two inner ballast-doors getting dragged out of the way as the outer layer opened right and left, followed by eerie silence, and gloomy darkness.

 

Standing up carefully, squinting, he peeked into the darkened room, slowly cycling his optics open wide, finding nothing absolutely amiss, except for…

 

“Perfect timing as usual, yessss.”

 

Shifting his face to the left, Terrorsaur squinted as the room’s lights came online all at once: slowly adapting to the sudden illumination, he finally found Megatron regally sitting on his desk’s rotating chair, left leg crossed over the right one, left hand resting against the armrest and absently holding his rifle, pet-hand resting on his lap and intently squinting back.

 

“Are you missing your weapon that much that you could not wait to be summoned?”

 

Briefly scanning the sniper rifle in Megatron’s hand, finding it 100% functional and charged as expected, Terrorsaur watched transfixed the moment the predacon leader uncrossed his legs, minutely darting his optics to the sight of the fully scratched, dented, no-longer-purple outer plating of both Megatron’s outer panels and the inner surface of his thighs, scraped bare to its metal and… are these canine marks?

 

Stalling in mute panic, he blinked.

 

“...should I have waited to be summoned?”

 

At Megatron’s sudden, extremely wide smile, he grimaced, watching the tyrant stand up, rifle in his left hand and pointing to the ground as he slowly promenaded the room and the screechy flier was unable to not stare at the clear, visible, drying dribble of what could only be transfluid coming down his inner thighs.

 

Oh scrap .

 

He had interrupted things.

 

Of all the days he had to chose to come by early.

 

Gulping at the approaching tyrant, anxiety overwhelming his systems, the memory of hundreds of beatings coming up with full force, he finally fell into his expected role and sunk down into his knees and servos, staring at the ground, as at the periphery of his vision he watched the two purple, clawed feet stop centimetres from his two hands, about to speak…

 

“Do you want to know what your problem is, Terrorsaur?”

 

Clicking his vocaliser offline, he stared up from his humbled up position, once more his optics focusing right into the soiled, damaged panel.

 

“You are a full-blown idiot. Whenever you try to think, you always get it wrong, and it always returns to bite you in the aft every single time.”

 

Kneeling down to meet the flier’s face at ground level, Megatron continued.

 

“Just like back at the mountain, yessss.”

 

Offlining his optics and fully expecting to be beheaded once more, he was surprised to see himself still functioning as Megatron simply stood up and captured his right arm with his pet-hand, raising him up to optic level.

 

“Who do you think you are to presume I wanted to see your ugly mug earlier than the moment I had actually intended to have you summoned?”

 

Before Terrorsaur could truly flip and start screeching, promising to never think anymore and beg for forgiveness, he was unceremoniously thrown down back into the ground…

 

...this time right into a pair of dark-grey pedes.

 

Slowly raking up the almost featureless feet and the furry patched leg as he took notice of the red pistons located mid-shin, Terrorsaur stopped staring, returning down to glare at the ground.

 

He had seen more than enough with Megatron already and was rather unwilling to commit the sight of purple and black scratches and transfers to memory right now.

 

Smirking wide at the knelt down flier, Megatron simply extended Optimus Primal the rifle.

 

“Optimus Primal, my dearest Subcommander. Do the honours, yessss.”

 

Having reflexively caught up the rifle in hands, he briefly grimaced, staring down, right hand’s index grazing the trigger for three full clicks before he spoke.

 

“Terrorsaur. Stand up.”

 

Offlining his optics, the predacon in-vented deeply, then did.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Terrorsaur also did, for a moment staring up before remembering who he was talking to, angling his face down until he met Primal’s best stern, lecturing face.

 

“This time, this time only, I’ll let you go with your weapon and your head in place.”

 

Terrorsaur blinked, Megatron absently checked on his left hand’s claws, and Optimus instantly yanked Terrorsaur down with his left hand,

 

“Do you have any idea why?”

 

Terrorsaur, pupils cycling wide and minutely taking the sight of a quite blasé Megatron absently petting his pet-hand, in a great show of not paying attention at what has taking place (knowing very well the tyrant was faking it), worriedly focused on the sheer size of the ex-maximal’s hands, who instantly bared his canines right into his face and growled.

 

“From now on, whenever you even think of threatening Megatron’s existence or his command position, or mine, you’ll have to face not only him but also me.”

 

Before Terrorsaur could react or reply, he was headbutted with his own weapon hard enough to dent, then got actually yeeted away nose first into the nearest wall.

 

“...and trust me, you do not want that.”

 

Optimus then also yeeted the precision, sniper rifle right into Terrorsaur’s head, the flier helplessly watching it break into a couple of pieces as it clanged out three times while dismantling itself into the ground.

 

“Now go.” the ex-maximal pointed to the door “Don’t make me change my mind.”

 

Shaking his head as he blinked back from his gun’s scraps into reality, Terrorsaur hastily tripped on his own pedes, collected his trashed rifle and assorted broken pieces, mumbled profuse thank you’s to the ex-maximal, a couple of won’t happen ever again, Sir’s to the predacon leader, and immediately, gratefully left.

 

----------------------------------------------------

 

Grateful for being left to rest, now fully repaired and immediately stepping out of CR, Dinobot watched the chamber’s walls rotate closed once he left, snarling to himself as he absently turned to preen on his left forearm’s feathers, taking on his surroundings.

 

No one on monitor duty, no Cheetor around, no Rattrap on sight.

 

Getting to the correct conclusion once he searched his very spark, he headed to his private quarters, opening its door only to find Rhinox sitting on his desk and contemplating his open notebook.

 

“A major security breech was physically originated from your portable notebook.”

 

Red crest risen in annoyance, Dinobot squinted as the scientist still spoke.

 

“Do you remember that day when Primal took Megatron back home?”

 

Snarling, Dinobot stepped closer to the screen.

 

“Don’t tell me the reason there was nothing officially recorded back then was because the vermin has deleted the video feed.”

 

“Rattrap has deleted the video feed.”

 

“I told you not to tell me that!!!”

 

He root-moded then, sitting cross-legged on the ground, back against the wall, arms folded, as Rhinox snorted, closing down the notebook’s lid and rotating the chair to face the sulking saurian.

 

“Apparently Rattrap thought Optimus was doing us a favour taking the predacon leader away. You can see how much I believe his word in this particular matter stamped on my face.”

 

Squinting from his corner, Dinobot spat.

 

“Well, what are you waiting to deal him his due punishment then?”

 

Rhinox sighed.

 

“Rattrap was admonished not to delete anything again.” he rose an index up, shutting Dinobot’s words before the saurian even thought of speaking “I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no. Rattrap is the best wild card we have, we are too few now that Optimus defected, and I can’t go too though on him for that, so I’ll have to let it pass.”

 

Snickering, Dinobot tilted his head to the right.

 

“Barely in command and already having to think like a predacon, Commander?”

 

Rhinox rose the left corner of his mouthpiece up then, in a lopsided smirk.

 

“Like a Decepticon, you mean.” he stood up, walking to the doorway “Except I can use that to aid the right side of the War this time.”

 

Staring down at the sitting saurian and giving him a once-over, sending him a single databurst through the raw, wide open, newly-formed sparkbond, he rested a hand at the doorframe.

 

“I have changed your passcode to something harder. Not that Rattrap would have difficulty in breaking any password, but I firmly believe he won’t try anything under my servos anymore. He’s not stupid, and he knows I’m watching.”

 

Filing the new passcode under his systems, Dinobot grimaced at his desk, shaking his head.

 

“I still don’t understand how I never smelled his pestilence in my room!”

 

At that Rhinox opened a too wide smile.

 

“As you and I know very well, he’s extremely intelligent and he belonged to spy-corps. Of course he knows how to mask his tracks, both electronically and physically. Besides… how would you even smell him in your stuff when you have barely been here? You and I know very well where and how you have spent most of our time.”

 

Unable not to furiously flush energon-pink in his blue faceplates, he facepalmed with both claws in shame as Rhinox openly laughed.

 

“Not that I am complaining.” he extended a hand down, palms up. “Now come with me.”

 

Slowly re-routing his energon-line circulation from his face until it was back into its habitual blue, he reset his voicebox, glowering at the hand as if it personally offended him, in outraged silence.

 

Rhinox in-vented, insisting once more and moving the hand closer to the saurian’s face.

 

“As my greedy little glitch that refuses to admit when too much is too much, you know very well that getting damaged to the point of undergoing a full CR-sequence every single time you demand to be brutally taken is counter-productive time-wise, and I think it’s fairly obvious that you must have a few upgrades for greater resilience down there where it matters, so you may keep being the strong warrior that you are.”

 

Dinobot grimaced and spat.

 

“I like to feel all the burn and all the pain you deem me fit of being graced with, as your sturdiest and strongest warrior. I am not relinquishing into repairs just to appease your maximal sensibilities on not bringing me harm!”

 

At that Rhinox shook his head with a lopsided smirk.

 

“I don’t really care for your sensibilities if you feel pleasure or pain or both as long as it’s your express wish and you get out of it satisfied and not too damaged afterwards, Dinobot. The only thing that matters right now is, some degree of pain is fine, but full-on damage and trashing that takes too long to repair, or worse, may lead to deactivation, no. No matter how fun, we can’t afford to be brought out of commission in this crucial moment. A step wrong and everything may turn into a full-on disaster and it certainly will come back to bite our afts at the worst possible moment.”

 

At that, getting tired of waiting for Dinobot to take on the offered hand, he finally captured his hand and rose the predacons on his peeds, now staring up and nearly face-to-face at him, grimacing.

 

“So, either you want it or not, you are due the full substitution of constricting valve calipers and replacement of lining down there with sturdier materials. This has been delayed for too long, and I refuse to accept any more of your unwise negatives in this matter.”

 

-------------------------------

 

No matter how unwise Optimus Primal had been, no matter how much he deserved or not to be taken out of his command position, not a single mech could deny that Rhinox was finally on his way to become a budding despot.

 

Making sure to run the fastest he could to meet Tigertron, Rattrap was sincerely hoping the long-range scout and part-time-infiltrator-plus-field-medic had understood and simply came to the meeting point.

 

He had been long ago tasked by his very own great-aunt Arcee with the duty of keeping little Ramhorn (one of the youngest of Blaster’s many tapelings) on check, since the day made a deal with no one less than Astrotrain and got his paws into the most powerful decepticon triplechanger’s CNA, getting actively aided by the fairly amoral autobot Scientist and Sniper Perceptor (who just so happened to be his sire, to make things better) into acquiring his bipedal mode.

 

No one knew exactly the kind of monstrosity that Ramhorn might eventually become because of this, should he finally throw his already cracking morals to the wind: all the powerlessness and rage the tapeling ever felt for not being respected and simply presumed dumb was bound to one day finally do it, and whenever this moment came by, there would be Hell and Mayhem to be paid, in a series of well-placed, sequential chaingun-shots.

 

-------------------------

 

Well-placed, sequential gunshots filled the flat surface of a rock as Cheetor practised outside of the Axalon, gut-gun in hands.

 

He wasn’t particularly worried about predacon attacks: as far as he could gather, it’s been almost two planetary months that there has been no conflict between the factions, except for the Big Boss’ defection and the destruction Megatron caused on their way out.

 

Other than that, utter, complete radio silence.

 

Sagging, he shifted a glance at the direction from where the smoke of the lava pits rose, far away, fogging the sky.

 

He couldn’t risk sending Optimus a message, no matter how much he missed him. Rhinox was certainly monitoring communications and his message would not go unnoticed.

 

..unless…

 

...since they were under a truce and everything...

 

It couldn’t hurt paying Optimus a tiny visit.

 

In person.

 

Right?

 

Who nows? Cheetor might even be lucky!!! What if he managed to convince the Big Boss to return???

 

Smiling at his brilliance, also knowing that for him going to the Darkside and coming back would be barely a sprint and that he would certainly not be missed, taking a decision, Cheetor finally left his private shooting range, beast-moded and ran.

 

---------------------------------------------------

 

Running to the meeting point, Tigertron stopped, contemplating the desolation of the northern Siberian fields, camouflaging at the snow banks overshadowed by the pines in sector Tunguska-One, waiting.

 

It wasn’t long until he was hit by a diving bolt, claws gripping into the fur on his back, followed by a whisper against his organic ears.

 

“I see no prey here. Were you expecting to fool me?”

 

Groaning, Tigertron stared up to meet the aquiline beak and feathery face.

 

“I said I would hunt, not that I would be successful.”

 

Tilting her head to the right Airazor squinted: she would never confess, but she was not a good people reader.

 

She was a good mind reader.

 

“I’ve intercepted Rattrap’s databurst. Thought I might come and check.”

 

At that Tigertron minutely stalled and silently cursed, but pretended to keep his chill, as she continued.

 

“I know, old habits die hard.” she flapped her wings. “I should know better, but... not my fault carrier gave me gifts.”

 

Tigertron, as former adopted tapeling, stared at the ground then.

 

“Are you going to tell on me for treason?”

 

She shrugged.

 

“We are free agents. We no longer have Carrier to report to.”

 

Glumly nodding, Tigertron chuffed once, as Airazor flew up to settle into the lowest pine branch, feathers ruffled, organic eyes and beak barely keeping out of the warm air pocket bubble she created to herself, zooming into the approaching gray creature as Tigertron stepped out of hiding.

 

“Did you have an eventful journey into my chilling homeland?”

 

“Ha-ha, ya’very funny, Glitch.” he root-moded, clattering his teeth and hugging himself. “Dontch’a hav’a cave or sumthin’ where I can, dunno, not-freeze??”

 

Tigertron squinted then, grimacing and showing his fangs.

 

“What did I ever tell about you deadnaming me, Rattletrap? Leave my old self in the past where it belongs.”

 

Rattrap dismissively waved a paw upwards.

 

“Chezz, everyon’s too jumpy dese days, mech.” he stared up at the nearly completely shadowed falcon “Yo, Airlaser, come down ya too. I knew ya’d not resist an’get ma’message not meant for’ya. W’all need’ta talk.”

 

------------------------------------------------

 

“We need to talk, yess.”

 

Optimus, just watching the ballast doors ram closed inside Megatron’s room, stalled as the tyrant spoke.

 

“You were supposed to shoot Terrorsaur into pieces, not to let him go with no more than a few dents. What were you thinking?”

 

Optimus rose his right index to Megatron then.

 

“You gave me free reign to do as I please. From my point of view, Terrorsaur was traumatised enough already by the idea of getting completely scrapped, and I even made sure he will think twice before trying anything against either of us.”

 

He then pointed to Megatron’s quite damaged outer interface panel, as opposed to his own, pristine and clean like it had never been even opened.

 

“Even I am horrified with the result of your insistence on me going extremely rough, and these outer marks were only my nails, hands and teeth. That’s going to figure on his fluxes as well. Just like you wanted.”

 

At that Megatron snorted.

 

“Terrorsaur fully deserves everything that comes on his way, I assure you, yesss. Do not pity him.”

 

He then walked past the ex-maximal, lowering his face down to meet him optic-to-optic.

 

“Despite the lack of scrapping, not bad for a first-time command predacon-style, Primal. Now that every single predacon knows in person what you are capable of, they will not try anything too forward against you, nooo. Except maybe for Inferno.”

 

Optimus minutely widened his optics.

 

“Trust me, simply ordering Inferno not to offline you is not enough. He will find a way of having you offlined by any other insidious, indirect means, if he so wishes. Do not go anywhere alone with him. Just a suggestion. He has faulty programming and is obstinate, but he is not as stupid as people think.”

 

Before Optimus could open his mouthpiece to speak, his comm rang.

 

Squinting, Megatron stared at the ex-maximal as the comm rang once more, and Optimus finally checked on it.

 

Recalling the times Megatron displayed his personal comm for both of them to listen and very aware of how predacons think, Optimus did so, projecting his interlocutor’s voice at the room.

 

“Big Bot?”

 

Blinking twice, Optimus glanced at the predacon leader, who minutely rose his chin up, signalling for him to talk.

 

“Cheetor?”

 

--------------------------------------

 

Cheetor, hanging outside the predacon ship, out of its autogun’s range, nearly squealed once he got the reply.

 

“Big bot!!! So you really are with the predacons! How’re you doing?”

 

“What are you doing here, exposing yourself to unneeded danger, almost at range of the predacon autoguns?”

 

At that Cheetor, in his beast-mode behind a boulder, sagged.

 

--------------------

 

Sagging, Optimus listened to the hard, slow in-venting that was followed by the reply.

 

“I miss you, Big Bot. I wish you were still with us.”

 

Optics going wide as Optimus visibly deflated, Megatron reset his voicebox, and before the ex-maximal could say anything, the predacon leader spoke.

 

“Hello, pussycat! Your beloved ex-commander is being very well-treated, I assure you. If you promise to remain in good behaviour, I will disable the autoguns only for your spark-frequency and grant you temporary access, yesss.”

 

Cheetor instantly replied with a positive ping and Megatron cleared his voicebox.

 

“Computer! Grant access to maximal unit Cheetor as long as he remains non-hostile.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

Just like this, then, Megatron stretched, unceremoniously walking to his lava jacuzzi’s room, as puzzled, Optimus captured his left hand and arm, preventing him of leaving.

 

“That’s it?? No questions? I can just bring Cheetor here??”

 

Tilting his head to the right, Megatron briefly glanced to his own damaged outer panels.

 

“As my Subcommander and former Maximal Leader, I entrust you the leadership for the day. I am not exactly presentable.”

 

Gaping, Optimus blinked , as Megatron continued.

 

“I trust you can go to the entrance and retrieve the little pussycat without me, yesss. Your frame may be in a passable state, and Cheetor may be oblivious enough not to fish for the small details, but the amount of visible damage on my interface panels is not something appropriate to show around to young, naive maximals that did nothing to deserve it.” he winked “Just in case you need me, I’ll be taking calls from my CR-tank.”

Chapter 41: 41 - Blast from the Past

Summary:

Terrorsaur gives up, Rhinox gives Dinobot a choice, Optimus makes a request, and Rattrap assembles a team.

Chapter 41 – Blast from the Past

 

CR-tank on sight, Terrorsaur sighed as he threw, piece by piece, all the scraps from his sniper rifle.

 

Even though he escaped without being dismantled and tortured, somehow this felt worse than being shot.

 

He received what counted as a slap in the wrist for a predacon, and Megatron apparently wholly approved of the method, instead of taking over the exchange and simply shooting him to pieces.

 

With Scorponok and Inferno as eternal loyalists, and Primal with a personal interest in Megatron’s continued existence, even if it’s just to frag him, Terrorsaur knew he had no chances of ever offlining his leader ever again, and it basically meant he had to not only keep in line, but to appear to be in line.

 

So, just finished throwing his rifle’s scraps into CR, very much intent in getting back to the main command centre then reach his own quarters, Terrorsaur barely managed to take a single step out of the Medbay, only to spot no one less than a beast-moded Cheetor sprinting inside the ship, root-moding and literally jumping into no one less than Optimus Primal’s arms, both spinning in a rotating hug.

 

Watching the scenario above, Terrorsaur blinked stupidly for a full click, then finally did the sane, expected thing.

 

He stepped back and dove right into the CR-tank where he had just thrown his broken weapon’s scraps.

 

He’s not going to assume the maximal invaded the ship, he’s not going to offer to offline him, he’s not going to shoot, he’s not even going to acknowledge his existence: unless expressly commanded so, he’s not going to even leave this CR-tank for the foreseeable future.

 

Besides, he was supposed to have ended up here anyway after today’s debriefing: no one’s going to miss him for the rest of the day!

 

For a click fully understanding why Waspinator sometimes willingly got into CR for no apparent reason besides a loose strut or something equally stupidly simple to repair, appreciating the peace and quiet while he was fully submerged into the liquid, he actually cradled the rifle’s skeletal structuring in his lap, sitting cross-legged at the bottom, over the tank’s grill, simply feeling for the nanites finally doing their work.

 

------------------------------------

 

Feeling for the nanites finally doing their work, Dinobot, optics stubbornly locked into the ceiling, half-reclined at the med-berth, pedes up in stirrups, growled.

 

“Me, a great warrior, subjected to this!”

 

At the foot of the med-berth, just finished extracting the whole valve canal, Rhinox ignored Dinobot’s complaints and focused at the frail, almost see-through lining weakly encasing the disproportionately fragile calipers, pointing to the visible energon-line running through a grossly bent caliper that apparently the CR-chambers had been unable to repair for a long while.

 

“You, such a great warrior, literally just three centimetres away from having this major energon-line ruptured and offlining in the middle of a frag.”

 

Dinobot then clenched a fist, rising it up and glowering at the ceiling, his chestplate’s bright-red crest also rising, proud.

 

“It would have been worth it!”

 

Rolling his optics, Rhinox stood up from the stool he was sitting at, walking to his storage armoire, hand resting at the handle.

 

“It would have been stupid and you know it.”

 

Opening the door and taking an un-marked box from within, he pulled the stool from between Dinobot’s stirrup-ed legs, sitting closer to his face and lifting one object from inside.

 

“Now, I’ll show you what I have here and you get to choose. Ok?”

 

Dinobot squinted for a click, then stalled.

 

“...is this a collection of valves??”

 

Now being the one to squint and stall, Rhinox reflexively released the valve canal back into the box.

 

“This is a medical supplies’ box of spare parts, Dinobot.”

 

Dinobot peeked into the box then.

 

“It still looks like a collection of valves.”

 

Rhinox sighed.

 

“Yes, these are spare valves and spare valve canals. Stored together. As in organs from the same anatomical classification. Where else should I store these if not in a box of their own? With the legs? The hands? The T-cogs? The spikes??”

 

Dinobot blinked.

 

“...do you have a boxful of spikes???”

 

Can I see them?

 

For a brief click the saurian could actually visualise Rhinox owning a whole collection of false vibrating spikes and getting the biggest one into Dinobot’s newly repaired inner structures , finally shaking the notion away after he got a HUD error for inability to produce lubricants due to lack of a connected valve canal.

 

On his side, snapping out of stupor at Dinobot’s vivid mental image getting unwillingly transmitted via bond, Rhinox shook his head with a grimace.

 

“Regrettably, for us, I do not own this kind of toys. These organs are properly recycled and sterilised, having been labelled as reusable assorted medical-grade parts. From our deceased comrades who decided donating their shells for parts to be used in the Axalon Mission instead of having them melted out.”

 

At that, Dinobot widened his optics.

 

“Does it mean then that the remains of my old, excised valve canal will be thrown into the box with all the other valves to one day become spare parts?”

 

Rhinox groaned as Dinobot suddenly reset his voicebox, getting to a conclusion.

 

“…if these are spare parts come from the deactivated, then it means you are you replacing my original set with a disgusting, used one????”

 

Patience increasingly waning, Rhinox caught a random, bright-yellow and pink valve canal, shaking it right into Dinobot’s face for emphasis.

 

“Used, yes, disgusting, no. I have sterilised every single organ in the spare parts pantry myself! I’m a professional!!!”

 

He threw the awfully-decorated valve canal back into the box.

 

“Now, as your medic, I give you two options. Either you accept the replacement with a set whose resistance and quality I will chose, and I’m even letting you choose the paintjob and biolight’s colours, or I will seal your whole valve array off, leaving only the outer node working and your spike fully functional.”

 

Dinobot blinked twice.

 

“...no valve? What kind fragging choice is that.”

 

Rhinox smirked.

 

“It’s not a fragging choice. It’s a choice of fragging. Or not fragging. I don’t care what you chose. I can perfectly live the rest of our lives only taking your spike, but you and I know what you like best. So, yes. Your choice.”

 

-----------------------------

 

“Your choice.”

 

Optimus nodded.

 

“You chose to become a predacon under Megabutt’s command.”

 

Optimus couldn’t avoid chuckling, then: atop the Darkside’s upper cloister, having come out through the one-way-window in Megatron’s quarters, under the illusion of privacy (because obviously the tyrant was listening) Optimus finally managed to superficially explain to the maximal’s junior scout what was going on.

 

“Then you’re never going back to us?”

 

How was Optimus going to convey that his systems no longer register the predacon leader as enemy, that Megatron conceded him much more freedom than he ever imagined he would receive, to the point of making him second in command, leaving him officially in charge for the day, and continuously providing information on how to keep alive among the predacons?

 

Megatron had also diverted antifreeze from his core just to rescue him from the rising waters, something even Optimus found hard to believe once he woke up and found the predacon frame-frozen over himself, a few steps from stasis-lock.

 

There’s no way Optimus would simply leave back to the maximals, afterall.

 

Not under Rhinox’ command.

 

He didn’t want to fight his old friend again for the position.

 

First, because Optimus would lose.

 

Second, because he would be obliterated , most probably offlined for good this time.

 

Third, it would certainly break their fragile truce, a truce Primal had all intention of keeping for as long as he could.

 

For the while though… better being subcommander at The Pit than a demoted , lowly servant under The Matrix, and Primus knew Optimus had no intention of simply submitting to be accepted back.

 

Even Megatron gave him room to speak and argue. He was yet to be backhanded against the wall for displeasing the tyrant with an unpleasant observation, something Rhinox so easily did the moment he snapped.

 

Shaking his head, Optimus rested his left hand atop the cheetah’s organic fuzzy head, focusing his beast-mode’s eyes on Cheetor’s.

 

“I'm not coming back with you, Cheetor. I’m sorry.”

 

Cheetor sagged, silence stretching between them.

 

“Can I at least stay for the day before going back tonight?”

 

Stalling, Optimus turned wide-eyed, as the feline continued.

 

“I’m on patrol duty until sunset, then camera duty until the next sunrise. No one’s going to miss me before sunset.”

 

Opening a wide cheesy smile, he tilted his head to the right, hopeful.

 

At that, Optimus bit on his lower lip-plates, opening a comm-link to Megatron, speaking.

 

----------------------------------

 

“Megatron speaking.”

 

Soaking within his very own private CR-bath, nearly completely immersed in CR-liquid up to his optics, Megatron leisurely let his ducky float, briefly contemplating with satisfaction the physically disconnected cabling of his currently turned-off jacuzzi’s screen.

 

“Megatron? Optimus Primal speaking. I would like to make a request.”

 

“Yess?”

 

---------------------------

 

“Yess?”

 

Optimus shifted a glance to Cheetor, clearing his voicebox.

 

“Cheetor wants to spend the day here.”

 

Instant radio-silence: after three full clicks, the fading sound of a squeak being submerged in CR-liquid bubbled in the ex-maximal’s audials.

 

“I do not personally mind the pussycat’s presence, however… I do not suppose the new maximal leader will believe that he spent the day here of his own volition, nooo.”

 

“Today he has patrol duty. Outside of the Axalon. For the whole day. He will be back before night falls. Besides… he’s my legal charge. Before leaving Cybertron, I was personally entrusted with his apprenticeship. I can’t simply ignore him.”

 

Listening for the annoyed splash of CR-liquid back and fort, Optimus in-vented, speaking further.

 

“If he can’t stay for the day, then I’m afraid I’ll have to join him while he pretends to patrol outside.”

 

---------------------------

 

Outside of the CR-tank and visually checking to see if at least the worse of his outer-plating’s damage was over, grimacing at still finding patches of scales and protofeathers missing, Megatron groaned as he paced to his quarter’s energon dispenser, filled the empty energon cube in subspace, then three more, subspacing them and finally taking a fifth, filling it and quickly returning to the CR- bath ‘s room, resting the cube at his jacuzzi’s border and pinching his nosebridge, optics offline.

 

Forget fearing Rhinox invading and trashing the Darkside.

 

If there was one single thing capable of swaying Primal back into the maximals, no matter how much the blasted ape professed not willing to return, it would be Cheetor.

 

From what Megatron understood, apparently the spotted idiot was legally entrusted not to the Maximal Captain, but to Optimus Primal himself , who so happened to be his legal guardian.

 

No wonder they were close. In a non-creepy way.

 

Suddenly plagued with the mental image of a tiny Cheetor sparkling bouncing up and down at the Darkside as he bellowed for him to return and not fall into the lava pits, feeling very much like a step-carrier, he shook the notion away with a grimace, optics turning back online.

 

Rather unwilling to see Optimus Primal leave and return back to the maximals because of this, then, Megatron readied himself to speak, in-venting slowly.

 

-----------------------------

 

Slowly, Optimus released the in-venting he did not know he was holding as the sultry baritone spoke in his audials.

 

“Far from me depriving you of your charge’s company for the day, nooo. Make sure to offer him some energon, and just generally keep him… safe and out of trouble, yesss, preferably within quarters. It will be a while before I finish my repairs and may join you both, yess.”

 

Opening a sincere smile, Optimus rose his thumb up, as Cheetor jumped up and down in circles, both finally returning into the room through Megatron’s windowsill, neither noticing the single, silent and immobile Cyberbee quietly latched on the outside.

 

--------------------------------------------

 

Latched outside Tigertron’s personal cave, Airazor landed at one of the makeshift windowsills, hopping in.

 

Visually inspecting every near-flat structure, contemplating the sheer lack of stuff except for a few piled up bones and a load of hides at what could only be called a den, she finally perched atop a nearby rock, waiting.

 

It wasn’t long before the sound of transformation and footsteps echoed in the vaulted room.

 

Rattrap, root-mode, shivered, shaking the cold away as Tigertron followed in, beast-mode, sitting on his hindquarters and asking.

 

“Very well, Rattrap. Why did you disturb our peace?”

 

Airazor nodded from her perch, tilting her head to the right.

 

“What is it you wanted to talk so much about, that had to be said in person?”

 

Squinting at both Tigertron and Airazor, he finally rested against a stone wall and crossed one pede before the other, arms folded.

 

“Lil’ Ramhorn flipped.”

 

Tigertron showed his fangs.

 

“Rhinox. You know how much he hates this stupid nickname. Show some respect to your leader.”

 

Waving a hand dismissively in the air, Rattrap started walking in circles.

 

“Yeaaahh, and da Big Green’s first mistake in charge was fightin’ da Munky Boss and sendin’im strait’into da Megabutt’s valve.”

 

Tigertron sighed.

 

“Are you sure Megatron didn’t somehow brainwash him?”

 

At that Rattrap snorted.

 

“More like valvewashed, yup. Except not. No brainwash, nope.”

 

Airazor squinted then, as Rattrap continued.

 

“Let’just say I was late to da movie, but in’time to da closing titles.” he shook his head “After… after. Da Megabutt could’ve offlined da boss, but nope, he put da munkybot in da berth and tucked him in da meshcovers. Den he was actually behavin’. Den Cheetor happened. And ohhh, Rhinox was mad, and I can’t blame da Megadolt fer tryin’ to delay da day he’d meet’up da Slagmaker. Den he dragged da boss away, and now we’re here. In dis mess.”

 

Airazor nodded: she knew there had to be something more than merely interfacing happening.

 

“What do you think we can do about it?? It’s ultimately Primal’s choice.”

 

At that Rattrap squinted, donning them a lopsided smirk.

 

“Dat’s da part where yer two come.”

 

He then found a flat spot in a nearby rock, sitting on it, both pedes dangling in the air, back and forth.

 

“Yer going’ back to yer evil decepticon spy days.” he wriggled all fingers towards them, in a clawing motion “Dis rat here needs info to make a plan. Da powertrip’s gettin’ to da Big Green’s head.”

 

He pointed at Tigertron.

 

“Ya get in da predacon’ship and plant spycams, wiretaps, don’tcare how, do’it.”

 

He then shifted to Airazor.

 

“Ya, ya go to da Axalon and hover by da boss. He likes ya. If only he knew who ya used ta be!!!” he shook his head “Give’im yer support. And find’a’way of knowing wat he’s goin’ ta do next.”

 

At that Airazor shook her head with a grimace.

 

“As soon as I even try accessing Rhinox’ mind, be certain, Dinobot will know. Do you forget they bonded?”

 

Rattrap smirked then.

 

“Ya two will do’it and dat’s it. Things must’ge’back ta normal an’ I’ma not takin’ a no from ya. Aren’t ya two da best of Ol’Sounder’s spies? Aren’t ya, Airlaser, da one dat can mindread just like carrier??”

 

Tigertron shook his head, as Airazor pursed her lip-plates: she could mind-read to an extent, not full on thoughts however, and certainly not in a verbal way. Literally owning a photographic memory, she couldn’t directly translate people’s thoughts into words, receiving them as images that had to be later interpreted.

 

It used to be Soundwave’s work to do it, and since he disbanded then ordered his personal creations and all adopted tapelings to live their lives as they so wished, protecting them as he could (changing IDs, facilitating escape, name it, Soundwave was an obsessed carrier-host ) as a parting gift , Airazor had to learn to interpret on her own.

 

Something she didn’t have much time practising, for they volunteered to the maximal mission: Tigertron simply wanted to escape somewhere no one knew him, live his life away from fighting, away from people getting killed and damaged and him having to fix them, and Airazor…

 

...Airazor just wanted to forget.

Chapter 42: 42 - Forget-me-not

Chapter 42 – Forget-me-not

 

Forget peacefully spending his repair-spa day while Primal and Cheetor spend their day however they would wish at the other side of the door.

 

That would have required Megatron not being at the Darkside.

 

And Megatron not having a private CR-tank in his own room.

 

“Ultra Gear, you have your own swimming pool!!”

 

Darting through the unwisely left unlocked door , Cheetor literally dive-bombed into the CR-tank, throwing Megatron out with most of the CR-liquid right into the nearest wall, the rubber ducky squeaking away.

 

Shaking his head twice as he sat on the ground and almost getting ready to shoot , Megatron instantly stalled as he saw who was now playfully splashing CR-liquid up and down his private-tank, instantly aborting the fusion-charging sequence and finally resting his pet-hand atop his thighs, hiding the still not-totally-repaired pelvic plating.

 

Puzzled at the fact he did not get proximity alerts that would have warned him of the maximal’s scout presence, he mentally facepalmed: he had granted him temporary immunity from the automated security systems, including all proximity alerts.

 

Before he could comm for Optimus to come get his kid back, however, the blasted ape’s squinting, stern face peeked from the open door.

 

“Cheetor! What did I tell you before I turned on my back to fill your energon cube?”

 

At that Cheetor stopped splashing CR-liquid, stalling .

 

“To sit quiet and to not bother Megatron while he gets repaired?”

 

Optimus nodded, finishing to enter the room and crouching to optic-level with his charge .

 

“And what did you just do?”

 

Cheetor sagged.

 

“Sorry, Big Bot.”

 

At Cheetor’s extremely sad face, Instantly overwhelmed between the urge to blast the maximal scraplet, and the need to cradle the spotted moron in arms like a sparkling, Megatron grimaced, shaking the intrusive thoughts away as Optimus spoke.

 

“It’s not me you have to apologise to.”

 

He then waved a hand towards the predacon leader.

 

Pursing his lip-pates, Cheetor gave the squinting predacon a nervously wide smile, and before he could say anything, Megatron pointed his left hand’s index to the door.

 

“Apologies accepted. Now leave me alone and get out of my bath!!!”

 

Cheetor then stared at Optimus for a split click, raising both arms up and getting removed of the CR-tank right into the maximal’s grasp.

 

Plagued by the mental image of Primal raising a newly protoformed newspark up, Megatron actually reset his voicebox not to whine , helplessly watching Optimus place Cheetor back on the ground, then pushing him out of the room.

 

In the briefest instant their optics met before Optimus left the CR-room, the predacon couldn’t help the stall his own spark gave at the huge, most sincere and pure smile he had ever gotten from the maximal so far.

 

Now truly alone in the room, door properly locked this time, his CR-tank refilling with liquid to replace what has been splashed, Megatron slowly stood up from the ground, taking his rubber ducky in hand and sitting back into the bath .

 

He could barely wait for that idiot to finally leave so he could consider his day over, afterall.

 

---------------------------------------------

 

After all the clustered, unrefined energon crystals were over, megaclicks later, the daylight finally fading in the sky, Waspinator deemed his work done.

 

Inferno was loaded with cubes almost to his full carrying capacity, that happened to be immense due to the fact he could lift 50 times his own weight when in beast-mode: Waspinator, holding the last cube he filled between his spindly legs, hovered before the other predacon.

 

“Wazzpinator done.”

 

Nodding, beast-coding extremely satisfied by the huge energy reserves he was carrying to the Colony, Inferno turned towards the rising smoke at the darkening sky, getting dutifully followed by Waspinator and the single cube he carried not to have to carry anything else that would be heavier or more dangerous than an innocent, regular energon cube.

 

It wasn’t even high-grade.

 

It wasn’t supposed to explode.

 

And it didn’t.

 

Yet.

 

Which greatly annoyed Waspinator.

 

But it eventually would.

 

And he knew he was bound to be damaged and exploded anytime.

 

Just like Earth is due a major solar flare for a long while already, to knock all the power grid, cell-phones, communications, satellites down, Waspinator knows he’s due his scrapping.

 

As they approached the Darkside, uneventfully getting into the official boundaries of Predacon Sector Alpha so far, he barely avoided the barrage of shots that came from the autoguns, hiding behind a boulder as a beast-moded Cheetor darted out and away from the Darkside, cackling as Megatron’s voice echoed a litany of curses in Old Vosian, then finally faded into silence as the autoguns’ zimm died out and only the bubbling lava remained as background noise.

 

Frozen in place, Inferno barely twitched an antennae as he watched the barrage of shots missing him by a few metres only, very much aware about the humongous size of the atomic mushroom that all the energon cubes would do if they so were hit.

 

Not that he was afraid of being exploded or anything: he had long come at peace with the undeniable fact of life that he is bound to die in battle for his Queen, or if he were so chosen one day, by being sacrificed for the good of the Colony after filling up her reserves with enough male unit material to produce fertilised eggs for life.

 

It so happened that losing all those cubes would have been a waste of a very fruitful day of work, and the worker-drone Waspinator worked very hard indeed.

 

“Drone? Do you still function?”

 

Waspinator, slowly coming from behind the boulder somehow keeping the single cube in his legs intact, buzzed.

 

“Wazzpinator izz.” he subspaced the cube “Wazzzpinator think ant-bot and Wazzpinator should go back to the Colony to store cubez before tragedy happenz.”

 

Nodding at the drone’s brilliance, Inferno resumed his walk towards the Darkside, six feet scuttering as Waspinator followed behind and the sunlight finally faded in the horizon.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sunlight fading in the horizon, Cheetor finally got into the Axalon, displaying the superficial scorches of his fake escape from the Darkside.

 

Recalling how Megatron eventually left his private swimming pool at some point of the evening and actually elaborated in minute details the plans for him to leave back to the Axalon without raising suspicions, he snorted.

 

No wonder the Big Bot was smitten . The mech was smart .

 

Pretending Cheetor invaded and managed to actually reach his own quarters, Megatron orchestrated his escape and manned the guns so that not a single shot critically hit him, at the same time making sure to give him residual scorches that absolutely could not be faked otherwise, furthering the credibility of the plan.

 

Should anymech ever come across the security files from the Darkside, all they would see is Cheetor running away from an outraged Megatron who did all he could but failed to capture him back.

 

As such, once Cheetor returns to the Axalon, smelling like the lava pits and scorched by the autoguns, no one would be able to tell he had been treated like a special guest.

 

Cheetor had even been given a single piece of a great traditional predacon candy, a Cobalt-based, solid energon treat, sprinkled with sparkling blue Caesium: Megatron said he had more, but he wouldn’t let him leave the ship with any, because they couldn’t risk Rhinox finding a single piece of it in his subspace, should he ever decide checking things up, just in case , afterall, despite the fact it had been a simple enough, believable plan, Rhinox still could doubt it and demand to inspect his subspace.

 

Briefly stopping to rest before his last planned sprint back inside, he smirked as he recalled the Big Bot’s optics literally locked into the predacon’s direction as a visibly delighted Megatron schemed Cheetor’s underhanded, sneaky escape.

 

And scheme he did.

 

He started out slowly, step by step, optics gleaming and a smirk in face, meticulously detailing the sequence of planned events as he walked in circles and opened both arms wide, left hand in a sweeping motion across the room, about how he would best escape his own ship and evade his own guns, after having eavesdropped in and out, with a narrative simple enough to appear believable and above all, in character , specially considering Cheetor’s natural tendency to being impulsive and generally not obeying orders and putting himself in danger, afterall.

 

The best part was being allowed to dive-bomb a few times and just play into the private pool : he had to remove all traces of Optimus’ scent and any stray fur potentially sticking to his frame before leaving.

 

Impressed with Megatron for having thought out even this small detail that he certainly would let pass (but Dinobot’s beast nose would not ) , Cheetor sighed, finally spotting the Axalon’s antennae and autoguns in the far distance, in-venting and sprinting home.

 

All in all, it had been a good day.

 

The only thing he actually regretted in the end was not being allowed to hug the Big Bot goodbye .

 

--------------------------------------

 

Goodbye, Cheetor.

 

Remaining in Megatron’s quarters, for he felt unable to convincingly even fake-shoot Cheetor, Optimus made sure to watch live everything recorded by the security cameras spread around the ship.

 

As soon as Cheetor darted, on cue, from Megatron’s room, in beast mode, the predacon minutely turned to face him with a wide, immensely satisfied smile, donning him a wink before beast-moding himself with a roar and running out of the room, bellowing for the maximal to come back.

 

Listening to the fading booming voice, having summoned three floating screens, Optimus watched transfixed the whole scenario unfold.

 

As previously combined and exactly the way Megatron planned, Cheetor reached the command room and made sure to root-mode, shooting him in the right knee.

 

Wincing at the slightly too convincing howl of pain and subsequent Blast!!! that Megatron directed to his charge, Optimus watched how the predacon root-moded, then grimaced and shot three times at Cheetor’s direction, missing all three shots as the scout beast-moded back and ran, finally limping to his command chair from where he took full control of the defence system.

 

As the excellent shoot Megatron is, he masterfully missed every single shot (except for those meant to superficially scorch the maximal’s fur and make the ruse convincingly believable), all the while preventing any of the autoguns of hitting the escaping maximal on his way out.

 

Obviously, being the drama queen he is, Megatron also continuously cursed the escaping maximal, promised to offline his spark for good the next time they met, and taunted that he would never see Optimus ever again (and it stung! Primal’s spark to hear so), only to finish in a lengthy Primal Vernacular hiss, as the predacon leader finally deemed the deed over and actually punched his left handed keyboard in visible frustration.

 

Megatron acted so convincingly , even though there were no predacons present to witness the escape, that had Optimus not seen the tyrant literally planning every single detail he method-acted on (just the way he said he would and not once betraying the ex-maximal’s trust), he would actually believe Megatron was lying all along and truly trying and miserably failing to recapture the fugitive.

 

Relieved knowing Cheetor was on his way home, sending the three floating screens away, Optimus finally left his sitting perch at the middle of Megatron’s berth, going to the one-way window and watching the foggy sky darken, the twin moons disappearing behind the rolling smoke rising from the lava-pits as the night came by.

 

-------------------------------------------

 

As the night came by, Cheetor approached the Axalon expecting to be interrogated, surprised at finding the ship empty except for the logged-in presence of both Rhinox and Dinobot into the Lab.

 

As soon as he came up the lift and found no one on sight, keeping the ruse, he root-moded, taking his due place in monitor duty and sending Rhinox a message.

 

--------------------------

 

A message popped in Rhinox’ audials, mid- procedure .

 

“Big Green?”

 

Once Dinobot finally decided to stop complaining and actually chose a quite sturdy-looking organ, Rhinox made sure to put him under medical stasis: he had no need of a masochistic saurian trashing in the middle of his operation, only to convert an easy, regular replacement of an organ with a convenient opening to the outside world, into a full blown-open´´plating laparoscopy where he would be fishing for the damage literally against the clock.

 

Without stopping to reconnect wires and solder mesh, then, he replied.

 

“You’re late for monitor duty.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry. I came across some preds.”

 

Stalling, barely avoiding to puncture the recycled valve canal with the soldering iron and mentally cursing at the near-miss, he grimaced.

 

“Did the predacons ambush you?”

 

Because that would have meant war . No one attacks his maximals unpunished. He’s Rhinox, not Optimus Saint Primal.

 

Silence for a full click. Cheetor cleared his voicebox.

 

“More like I came after them in the lava pits and actually managed to enter the Darkside.”

 

Going into a full stop, Rhinox turned the soldering iron off, rose from the stool, removed his mesh-gloves, in-vented slowly and briefly checked on Dinobot’s vitals before starting to pace around the slab.

 

“Let me guess. You were missing your legal guardian.”

 

In a deflated voice, Cheetor continued.

 

“I’m sorry. I wanted to see if the Big Bot would want to come back with me.”

 

Because that was true, and Cheetor knew better than to outright lie, something he was not good at.

 

At that, Rhinox sighed.

 

“Did you manage to get to him?”

 

Cheetor replied a negative ping.

 

“I managed to get to Megabutt’s floor, thinking the Big Bot was there, only to find Megatron in beast mode.”

 

Cheetor then detailed his escape, enthusiastically, managing to rip a chuckle from Rhinox as he mentioned he shot the predacon leader’s knee, nearly not getting to escape with his spark whole and his hindquarters barely scorched.

 

Snorting, Rhinox shook his head: Cheetor, impulsive as always.

 

And unwavering hopeful.

 

-----------------------------

 

Hopeful that this conversation would end soon, Cheetor absently shifted the viewport of the cameras at the screen.

 

”Are you in need of repairs?”

 

Briefly glancing at his own reflection in the wall, optics shifting to the scorched patches, he smirked.

 

“Nah, I’m fine. I can do it in the morning.”

 

“Very well then, Call if you need anything. Rhinox out.”

 

Unsubspacing his little bag of lead-laced energon treats and taking one, Cheetor wondered when he would have the opportunity to see the Big Bot again, as only the whirr and beeps of the ship’s systems ran on the background noise as silence reigned around.

 

---------------------------------

 

Silence reigning around the upper cloister, only the whirr and beeps of the ship’s systems reached Megatron’s audials as he slowly limped back to his room.

 

Cheetor had shot him for real, which was the planned outcome all along, and now his right knee’s struts were loose and energon mixed with techno-organic saurian blood trailed down his shin and toes, leaving footprints on his wake.

 

He knew he would need to once more undergo a CR-sequence, which usually was an endeavour he would not complain about, since he loved his bath , but that he wasn’t looking forward to right now, not after having spent near the whole day in just to fix his outer interface panels and inner thighs.

 

Snorting at the memory of the spotted idiot squealing at the sight of the traditional predacon Cobalt Delight , he briefly recalled how carrier used to have it made for him often, and instantly shook his head, shooing the memory away. He had no cobalt to work with right now, and no Caesium was discovered lying around this planet, yet .

 

Note to self, send Terrorsaur to search for the ingredients: it would keep the flying buffoon both busy and out of his way at the same time, prospects that always bring him unwavering joy.

 

Stopping by his door, he stared down to contemplate the dribbling fluids reaching the ground and making a tiny puddle, as he slightly lifted his clawed foot up, splashing it down once, then turning to see the energon-and-blood trail he left.

 

The more evidence, the better, as he had masterfully calculated, and he couldn’t really blame the foolish feline for something Megatron himself told him to do, to better keep their little ruse.

 

At least everything went as planned, and the spotted moron should be back whole and home by now.

 

And most importantly, out of his ship, just like Megatron wanted and ultimately his meticulously planned escape achieved.

 

Extremely pleased at his own brilliance, he smirked, turning to his door’s entrance and typing his code, detachedly watching both the outer entrance’s door sliding open and the two ballast-doors dragging themselves to the wall, finally stepping inside the darkened room.

 

Squinting as the ballast slid back behind himself and the room locked up again, he barely had time to adjust to the darkness before he was tackled on his back at the ground.

 

Optics wide, pet-hand roaring and fusion cannon reflexively transforming into view, magenta-pink light glowing from within and zimming , he came to a tense halt the instant his face was captured between a pair of strong, furry hands and his lip-plates taken in a deep kiss.

 

Recognising the thick, warm thigh slotting itself between his own and lazily sliding up until their pelvic plating met, recognising the grounding weight of a mech far heavier than his size should imply, Megatron tried to protest but only managed to emit a sad whimper, to which Optimus actually chuckled, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead against the predacon’s.

 

“Thank you.”

 

He gave the predacon one quick, chaste peck.

 

“You were nice to Cheetor.”

 

Not expecting the strong, furry hand suddenly reaching the edge of his pelvic lower plating, index digging at the lateral seam, Megatron minutely stalled as Primal grazed his fingertip at the manual override lock, growling.

 

“You deserve a reward.”

 

-------------------------------------------

 

He deserved a reward!

 

Leisurely returning back to base, after having to blackmail two former, albeit admittedly tame and long subdued cassetticons , Rattrap took his time travelling the land.

 

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting to the Axalon right now, so he made sure to make the journey home extremely long, in an attempt of delaying the inevitable.

 

Technically, even if all of the remaining maximals teamed up against the power couple , there was no chance the four of them would win against Dinabutt and the Big Green, not only together, but to make things harder, bonded.

 

On the bright side, if they managed to take one of them down, the other would go. Since we’re talking about real life here, most probably they would feed on each other’s skills and abilities, making them nearly completely invincible, two hulking brutish behemoths with both high processing power, physical strength, artillery, fighting skill and obviously, the good old hard fists added to the mix.

 

Glumly trying to calculate the potential combinations of the team required to down them both in a non-lethal way, in face-to-face combat, he got to the conclusion that not even putting that crazy ant and the Megabutt in the mix would help.

 

He isn’t even going to consider the possibility of including the Boss Monke y : he’s a good fighter, but he lacked the sheer size required to fight these two particular foes, and most probably still cared too much about them to have the bolts to simply go and offline any of his former comrades.

 

Since Terrorsaur, Waspinator, Scorponok, Tarantulus and Blackarachnia would never be swayed into this fight, and Cheetor, Airazor, Tigertron and himself would be simply humiliatingly defeated, he shook his head.

 

He needed short of a miracle to set things right.

 

Which lead him to have to take actions he was not willing to take before.

 

He was a good spy. The current best of Cybertron. So of course he knew.

 

The two moons never fooled him. The stellar coordinates check.

 

The predacons brought them all into a primitive version of Planet Earth.

 

Only morons would take on beast modes from animals that clearly belong or belonged to Earth’s past , still wondering where the slag they managed to land!

 

Morons or not, however, it was Rattrap’s duty to find a way out of this mess, and the only thing he could think of right now would be simply getting into the volcano where the Autobot Ark had managed to crash.

 

-------------------------------------------------

 

Crashing down in bliss and arching his back, veils of pure energon charge crackling in his frame, with a pair of brutish hands keeping both of his knees forcibly apart (and preventing Megatron from crushing the ex-maximal’s helm), he floated in the haze mid-overload, left hand gripping a set of lavender meshes, pet-hand foggy-eyed, mouth slack and tongue hanging slightly out, exhausted.

 

He didn’t think he could stand one more round, not after getting it three times, but oh he was wrong.

 

In thinking that all it took to be treated like the Pillow Queen he deserves to be, all he needed to do was being nice to Cheetor.

 

Note to self, invite the pussycat more often, yesss.

 

Before Megatron could crash in yet another overload once again, his talons and legs utterly weak right now, Optimus Saint Primal stopped and the predacon groaned, upper node pulsating alone and forgotten, as the ex-maximal stared up with a mischievous grin, the pinkish lubricants coating his chin.

 

Before he could reset his voicebox and ask why did he stop , Optimus resumed his attention by ignoring the node for now and filling the slick, waiting valve with a pair of thick digits, crocking them up and getting an immediate reaction as the predacon nearly jumped out of the berth.

 

“Look at yourself, so ready, so desperate to be filled, clenching hard on my fingers alone!”

 

Not having the energy to spare in bickering, being kept on edge, Megatron simply nodded, optics offline, spreading his thighs the most apart he could, a sliver of light seeping from the middle seam in his chestplates, in wordless invitation.

 

If only that blasted ape stopped talking and simply started pounding , that would be great.

 

Obviously, Optimus being Optimus, he simply removed the fingers from within, watching the quite disappointed array clench hard on nothing as Megatron instantly glowered at him, and the ex-maximal proceeded to lick his fingers clean, slowly with the swirls and curls of his glossa, optics intently focused on the predacon’s own, spike cover clicking open and instantly displaying a tall, blue and white vanilla member , pre-fluids oozing from its tip.

 

Staring transfixed, systems pinging extremely positive and his lower lip-plating slightly slack at the sight, a sliver of his glossa licking the corner of his mouthpiece, the predacon barely noticed the moment Optimus approached his face with his lubricant coated fingertips, raising the predacon’s chin up with his free hand, staring deep down those cerise optics and angling down into a deep vosian kiss, all glossa and canines, the tangy undertones of the predacon’s own intimate lubricants reaching his taste buds full force.

 

Undecided between hating the tartness of his own parts and relishing on the fact the maximal apparently loved it , the Predacon once more rose his hips up, trying to make contact with fingertips that were no longer there, rational thought having fully abandoned his actions by now, coded protocols taking place instantly as he offlined his optics and simply abandoned himself to the feeling, just like expected, before the dominant display, stealing a glance then openly gawking as Optimus extremely slowly stroked his plain, un-modded, regular, vanilla spike , with a thin, continuous string of pinkish pre-fluid dribbling down from his fingers into his legs and towards the ground.

 

Before he could complain about the blasted ape taking too long to begin, he was in one single brutish move filled to the hilt by said fully pressurised spike, lower lip-plating mercilessly captured between the ex-maximal’s canines, immediately getting treated to a hard, deep and thorough pounding, with a steady, punishing rhythm that would have broken the hipjoints of weaker mecha yet was actually perfect for Megatron’s frametype if only for a small thing.

 

“Tell me if I’m getting too rough.”

 

The predacon, until then in a numb haze, charge building steadily into a thundering overload, instantly came back to reality with a grimace against Primal’s lip-plates, groaning.

 

He was too close to simply stand up and abandon the ex-maximal to his own stupid misguided impressions: this promised to result in a full-on, very good overload, if only Optimus stopped trying to be nice and actually proceeded into doing the only thing that his coding needed for him to feel good right now.

 

Even if it meant letting his own standards go and begging to be pounded against the ground instead of at the plush meshes.

 

Since Megatron’s do not beg, they conquer , concluding he would never get to his promised treat as it was, with the maximal worrying too much, the tyrant hazily pondered on how to best remedy the situation.

 

He could have bitten out the maximal’s glossa and chewed it down, either ingesting or spitting it out (if only to make the infernal inappropriate questioning go ), then immediately proceed to rip the still stiff spike out and simply bring himself into overload there and then.

 

And he would.

 

Hadn’t his own coding instantly mind-slapped him at the mere idea, though, because how dared he even think of rejecting such attentive and caring mate?

 

Unwilling to be further admonished by his own code, briefly asking hi m self if this was what carrier went through every single time , he finally gave up fighting and took the only non-conflicting course of action available under the circumstances, locking both clawed feet behind the maximal’s lumbar struts and silently urging him to let go.

 

 

No longer taken by any semblance of rational thought then, Primal dimmed his optics down, nearly offline, gripping one hand on each of Megatron’s hipside kibble and simply dragging him up to the middle of the berth, kneeling between his widespread legs and hungrily contemplating the dark-purple glistening valve where not a moment ago both his glossa and fingers had been, not missing the sliver of light seeping through the slightly-open sparkchamber before his optics.

 

For a brieft click pondering if a sparkmerge would be wise, he instantly stopped thinking the moment their optics met, ancient, primeval hunger filling the predacon’s cerise optics so bright they shone like beacons, pulling him into action, decency and propriety be damned.

 

Almost the same instant Megatron rose his hips up to meet the leaking spike, Optimus was absolutely unable to avoid immediately filling the valve in one go, all mirrored sensor clusters going alight as he took on a hard-paced thrust, lowering his lubricant-coated lip-plates and underchin towards the predacon’s, a sliver of light now showing in his own plating as he first bit the predacon’s lower lip-plates then angl ing for an open vosian kiss.

 

Edged enough, crashing mid-overload, optics offline, Megatron’s chestplates finally completely opened, dark-grey spiked datacable un-worming itself from before the well-guarded sparkchamber, revolving its petals wide open as the maximal’s own perfectly spherical sparkchamber also rotated its walls in itself, both sparks getting released between the confines of the wide-open plates and orbiting one around the other like a binary solar system until they collided with a thunderous flash of light.

 

It was not planned, expected or even anticipated: th is sparkmerge turned into a full blown, crashing bond as flickers of spark-light released tendrils one towards the other, the ex-maximal making sure to briefly let the luscious purple lips go and simply bite hard his canines into the main energon line running at the left of the predacon’s neck, who offlined his optics in a full-body ripple and buckled up with barely a whimper, taloned feet fully locking behind the maximal’s aft and literally sheathing the leaking spike all the way in, mirrored cluster nodes flaring alight at once and now triggering a sequence of rippling valve overloads.

 

Not prepared to be milked dry to the last drop yet , Optimus crashed right behind, mouthpiece slack open, hilted and trapped as the constricting callipers did all the work his legs no longer could, the predacon’s left hand reaching behind his neck, lip-plates locked in a seemingly endless kiss.

Chapter 43: 43 - Memories

Summary:

Scorponok remembers, Blckarachnia remembers, Rattrap remembers, Optimus taunts Megatron, Dinobot feels Prime, and Waspinator has plans!

Chapter 43 – Memories

 

At the seemingly endless kiss, Scorponok shut the thankfully soundless feed that the surveillance cyberbee latched on the outside of Megatron’s room provided him with.

 

He’s not masochistic enough to want to suffer any more than he already did: he was certain Megatron had no idea about the quiet, discreet cyberbee he planted specifically for security matters.

 

Like Cheetor and Optimus Primal having their little chat.

 

It was never meant, however, to have eavesdropped and captured such a show, yet it did, and despite not exactly surprised (because why else would he have been demoted if not for the good old predacon habit of taking on a second in command you either fully trust or actually intend to frag?), but even though he knew he was chosen for his loyalty, not his fragability, he couldn’t help feeling slightly jealous for a click.

 

Afterall, he had to concede Megatron had excellent taste in mechs: the maximal is hot.

 

And good.

 

And now he couldn’t stop thinking he would have liked very much to be exactly in his leader’s place.

 

Not that he would ever admit it.

 

First, being a willing predacon bottom is extremely frowned upon: all mecha must be aggressively dominant and will only concede to the passive role after getting at least mock-defeated.

 

The only predacons truly allowed to blatantly and happily be bottoms, and openly display their preference for the passive role are exactly the bolted shut coded ones.

 

Why?

 

Because it was never their conscious choice. They were technically programmed by their own sires and carriers , who chose this destiny for them, so they are not to blame for being extremely willing bottoms.

 

Obviously, for it to be a respectable outlet however, it must be done through the traditional unbolting: coded mecha are also coded not to stray, to the point of obsession with whoever caught their optic first – poor Dinobot.

 

Shaking his head with a sad smirk, Scorponok replayed in mind the memory : apparently, with the maximal being of he same size class as himself, he was certain the ape would give him a very fulfilling experience, with himself underneath the ex-maximal leader and getting roughly mech-handled like he weighted nothing, literally devoured by those fanged lip-plates and filled to maximum capacity u ntil literal stasis lock.

 

An experience that would never take place, though, because Scorponok is a sad coward who would rather dig his head in the bubbling lava and go offline of his own volition before even thinking of saying anything.

 

Not to mention he had no intention of getting offlined by an extremely enraged Megatron should his leader even imagine he had even remotely harboured such thinking.

 

Ah well. If only he had proper hands.

 

------------------------

 

If only she had proper hands, she might have gotten free of Tarantulus’ medberth’s bindings earlier, but it suited her well to pretend dumb and shell-shocked so far, so she let the ruse go.

 

She was one of the older autobots, properly corrupted by no one less than the Capricious Matrix that shared the Prime’s shell and fed directly from his spark, when he chose Ironhide and let the until then official autobot consort fall behind into a den of spiders long ago, the very day she had to choose between offlining as a Honda Civic SI or taking on a new shape.

 

A spider shape.

 

No wonder they tried erasing her spark-deep memories and self, placing her in a blank-slate protoform meant to colonise new worlds.

 

The Prime had finally decided upon taking his guardian Ironhide as his single bonded, so the only thing left for her was to have their sparkbond medically severed by no one less than the genius autobot medical officer Ratchet, as last punishment devised by one one less than Prowl.

 

Because sparkbonds were not only supposed to be sacred, but also permanent.

 

Whatever happened would suit Prowl and the Prime well enough: Ratchet would have committed sacrilege big enough to be sent out of the way permanently, giving space for First Aid to be officially granted the title of Chief Medical Officer.

 

If Ratchet failed and the Prime offlined in the process, it would be on him, and he would get capital punishment and be properly offlined as dictated by protocol

 

If Ratchet succeeded, the Prime would be free to sparkbond his new intended, and right after that, Ratchet would be properly executed for having severed a sacred bond and to make things worse, fraternised with Strongarm, Shockwave’s slave drone that just so happened to harbour the half of the Matrix that contained the spark and soul of Solus Prime, who once freed from the influence of the decepticon scientist’s codes, took full control of the Strongarm shell, returning to life free from the biddings and obligations of being a Matrix-spark-bound Prime, and finally left.

 

Nothing of this had been completely unexpected. Prowl had calculated with precision Strongarm was a liability, Ratchet took his chances, got the short end of the stick, ended up being punished to break a sacred sparkbond and would have been offlined right then and there, as fully expected...

 

...until the moment Ratchet spoke out loud for anyone to listen that he was sparked and had the right not to be offlined before the sparking cycle (that could last hundreds of vorns) was over.

 

Not a single autobot believed it at first: no one expected the second oldest autobot (After Kup – the long deceased Alpha Trion does not count) to still be capable of getting sparked.

 

Obviously, Prowl asked who was the sire, Red Alert wholly agreed with the question, Jazz squinted a line of cyan blue light in his visor, Ironhide actually growled, Elita-One snorted and folded arms, highly amused, First Aid blinked his visor on and off multiple times fidgeting with his hands and Blades hugged his shoulders harder than required, Perceptor merely removed his monocle and cleaned it up slowly and meticulously, absolutely uncaring about the situation, Blaster pursed his lip-plates because he was a sparked carrier-host as well and couldn’t help feeling the empathy, Wheeljack stood eerily still the whole time, and finally everyone turned to the Prime in silent request about what to do next.

 

Beneath his mask, Optimus could his hide his true feelings to an extent, aided by the masking EM-field of the real Autobot Matrix, bidding his time to think on the next step.

 

He was the Prime, supposed to care for all Life, and this was an innocent life, a rare and potentially fruitful newspark, no matter its carrier’s sins or it’s sire’s identity.

 

For the sparklet to have a healthy development, there would be need of frequent sparkbonding, and for that Ratchet would eventually need to confess who the sire is.

 

Or was , in which case there would be need of a spark-compatible donor, basically meaning the identity of the sire could not remain a secret.

 

Before Optimus Prime could voice his decision of having the medic fully scanned however, Wheeljack stepped ahead, taking responsibility.

 

Yes, Blackarachnia was at the same time amused and not-surprised: it was no secret Wheeljack and Ratchet were close, but they never gave bonded vibes, not even any couple vibes, and every single mech knew they were simply amica, long therm friends.

 

Theoretically, they could have been having a friends-with-benefits relationship , even considering the more than obvious infatuation Ratchet had with Strongarm and the plentiful suspicion from Red Alert’s part that they probably regularly interfaced.

 

No one had the right to interfere in no-one’s relationships except for the Prime, who could accept of prohibit them according to Prowl’s stern recommendations on the amount of risk for the Autobots if certain mechs related to certain mechs and…

 

...and Blackarachnia recalled the awkward silence, the minutely startled and relieved brief glance Ratchet gave the clumsy scientist, instantly knowing in her spark what she deep down already knew, nodding in approval and clapping hands at the happy couple (she was not yet un-bonded and still had full rights as the Prime’s official consort).

 

“Congratulations at the newspark.” she turned to the Prime “I’m afraid Ratchet’s execution will have to be postponed for let’s see.. hundreds of vorns to come. Until the sparklet’s ready. Am I right, my Prime?”

 

Briefly squinting at Elita-One, fleeting a glance at Prowl, Optimus Prime in-vented, stepping ahead and clasping his hands behind his back.

 

“Ex-medical officer Ratchet: you have fraternised with the enemy, and thus should be punished accordingly: in your estate, however, it would be unfair to the newspark, whose sire revealed himself so promptly.”

 

He turned to them, still sternly squinting as Wheeljack made sure to pull the medic by his waist, bringing themselves closer and the Prime sighed.

 

“I thereby order you both into exile, as soon as a few loose ends are adjusted among our ranks. First Aid! Perceptor! ”

 

Black optics fully closed as the memories surfaced, Blackarachnia recalled in a blur the next sequence of events, her last memory being the moment she was put into medical stasis so her sparkbond to the Prime could be permanently severed and...

 

...and the rest is history.

 

-------------------------------------------------

 

History rested quietly behind the stone that separated the Ark from the outside primitive Earth, as Rattrap contemplated what he was supposed to do.

 

He didn’t have the codes and required permissions to get into the Ark, not to mention it would take him ages to even drill through the stone without help.

 

Lil’ Ramhorn had always been a hard-headed tapeling; by refusing to change shells during the Great Downsizing, he retained the tape mode he swore to never use anymore, and made sure to display his newly acquired bidepal design proudly as he strolled among every single downsized autobot.

 

No longer able to properly dock into carrier, namely Blaster, who lost all original docks where his creations used to fit, Ramhorn had to undergo regular sessions connected to his recharge berth to ensure full system defrag, and Rattrap had a slight suspicion the new boss had not been undergoing these as frequently as he should, otherwise he would be better regulated.

 

Had he so, perhaps, just perhaps he might even have not decided to take over the leadership that made the Boss Monkey walk away.

 

Rattrap had to find a way of doing this without raising Rhinox’ suspicions; so far the only mech he knew that could dig underground to get in would be no one less than Inferno, and he doubted the crazed ant would do such thing, unless expressly ordered by his Queen.

 

Squinting for a click, Rattrap briefly entertained the notion, then dismissively waved a paw in the air, shaking his head.

 

Too risky. He suspected Megatron had no intention of harming Optimus Primal for obvious reasons, but he could not warranty the tyrant would not see the Ark right there as an irresistible opportunity , so the idea immediately went to the basket of “last resource things to do in case of utter despair”.

 

He sagged: what was the point of knowing where the Ark was, knowing how to make Ramhorn go back into sanity, and having no way of getting there by himself because they were all fragging sealed away beneath a volcano that is bound to erupt only 4 million years in the far future?

 

By then either Rhinox and Dinobot defeated the predacons, both returning to Cybertron where the new maximal boss will have to choose between allowing his bond to be broken (and risking going offline in the process), letting Dinobot be punished according to the Law, between keeping the bond and both going offline of their own volition (as if!), or worse, the hulking behemoth will finally completely abandon even the slightest sliver of his waning morals go and wage instant war against all Cybertron to keep Dinobot alive, even if it means they will imprison every single spark and only the two of them and their eventual descendents would remain online for the rest of their lives.

 

Shuddering at the idea, Rattrap rose the left corner of his lip-plates, irked: shaking his head at the fact he was momentarily stuck, he could only hope his newly bribed spies were properly doing their job.

 

-------------------

 

Properly doing his job and taking the last stable energon cube from Inferno’s back, piling it up with the others at the Energon Storage Center (a series of previously unused rooms located at the lower and middle levels of the Darkside), Waspinator finally deemed his work done, as Inferno root-moded, both hands in his hips, staring up and nodding approvingly.

 

“You have done admirable work, drone. In the name of our Queen, as the Colony’s most experienced soldier, I thereby allow you shore leave to do as you please, as long as it does not endanger the Colony or the Royalty.”

 

Buzzing in surprise at the rarely given compliment, Waspinator also root-moded, fidgeting with his hands as he stared up the crazed ant.

 

“So Wazpinator get the day off?”

 

Inferno nods, still contemplating the pile of cubes.

 

“A Colony’s job is never finished. Even though we should be going out to gather more and more, I understand you require rest. I shall undergo some rest and repair as well.” he briefly massaged the claw Waspinator fixed earlier, feeling for the still sore spots. “I must be fully repaired to tend to the royalty’s needs, specially now.”

 

Already turning to leave, Waspinator stalled.

 

“What does M… the Queen needs now?”

 

As if it were obvious, Inferno grimaced down at Waspinator.

 

“My environment sensors capture the Queen has been active with her male unit very recently. Just a few more times and her reserves will be full enough for us to enact the male unit’s disposal. Until then, rest and be ready.”

 

He then saluted at nowhere and left, leaving Waspinator behind.

 

---------------------

 

Behind locked ballast-doors, Megatron nearly not-awoke, energy levels gone extremely low: lethargically turning his optics towards the energon dispenser, he made an immense effort to minimally raise his left hand in the air, for once missing the obsessive presence of Inferno promptly handing him a full cube as soon as he so hinted the need…

 

...and he was not disappointed, getting a full glimmering cube extended into his hand.

 

Blinking stupidly for a click, he followed the furry hand (these were thankfully not Inferno’s claws) up until he met the warm optics and the large smile of no one less than Optimus Fragging Primal.

 

Squinting as he brought the smiling face in and out of focus, he watched the moment Primal simply gave up on getting a proper reaction and suddenly mech-handled the tyrant into a sitting position with a single hand.

 

“Drink it.”

 

Before Megatron could compute the fact there was a full-cube of glimmering cave-water in hands, a cube they were not supposed to use for anything but For Science, the ex-maximal spoke.

 

“There’s still one full cube in my subspace.”

 

Letting his mouth open and close without a sound for a click, Megatron contemplated the cube down.

 

“So, this is it.”

 

He talked to the cube, as the ex-maximal squinted.

 

“I take you are not exactly thrilled at the prospect of our sparks being bound for life?”

 

Because Optimus was, but he had more than an inkling about how grim Megatron’s thoughts really were, with a flash of confuse situations where all manners of offlining from dismembering to spark torture and shell corrosion showed up in colours, one after the other, until the predacon finally spoke.

 

“If either of us is mortally wounded the other will simply go, and you know it, yess.”

 

Optimus nodded.

 

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way. What’s the point of keeping online once your bonded is gone?”

 

Megatron squinted for a click: he could actually see many advantages in keeping online no matter his bonded lived or not: yes, he absolutely would not mind outliving Optimus for vorns to come and remaining a happy, alive and properly contrite widow, if he could, and he knew the ex-maximal knew it, and was at peace with his opinion, so he merely shrugged and instantly wolfed the cube down, optics flickering off for a click.

 

“If not for yourself, then at least for the sake of my continued existence, you will not engage into any heroic, self-sacrificing nonsense, do I make myself clear?”

 

Feeling for the predacon’s energy levels going instantly up, knowing via bond the cube’s water had just begun Megatron’s inner and outer repairs, Optimus spoke, raising a dramatic hand up to where his spark rested beneath his plating.

 

“Fine, I promise to do my best to not let myself be offlined, specially by Inferno.” he tilted his head to the right “Happy now?”

 

As the mental image filled his mind, showing Inferno vaporising the ex-maximal while Megatron's own spark guttered and died in grievous agony, the tyrant, now much more energised, in a single move stood up, giving two unsteady steps forward towards his infuriating bonded, ready to raise an index right into the ex-maximal’s face, but finally capitulated and rested his hand against the wall, optics offline, grimacing.

 

Smirking at the sight of the tyrant stopping, pondering for a very slow click, then giving up and sitting back on the berth, Optimus simply folded his arms, a giant and extremely satisfied smile in face.

 

“What, did I overdo your treat? Can’t the Great Megatron walk? Do you need help or would you actually want more?”

 

Squinting, a wave of anger mixed with shame flowing through the recent, crude bond towards the ex-maximal, Megatron closed his left hand in a fist.

 

“Wipe that telling smile out of your face and make sure those morons do not explode the ship while I check up on my still weak knee struts.”

 

Shifting a brief glance at the visibly repaired knee of his drama queen, Optimus did his best to avoid smirking, silently appreciating the indeed amazing power of the energon-water and nodding to himself, in between proud for having exhausted the predacon and worried he would have to herd cybercats as a consequence, the ex-maximal turned to leave without looking behind, typing his personal code and watching the two ballast doors whirr open, followed by the now steadier, grave baritone speaking.

 

“Predacons knowing about all the fragging is not a big deal and already out in the open. Since I was bolted and properly coded against my will no one can even mock the situation, but I need not saying that not a single mech can learn about the sparkbond, for it will be exploited, and certainly not to our benefit, noo.”

 

For once not in a mocking way, Optimus dipped his head in a serious nod, seeing the visible relief course for a tiny click through the tyrant’s face, leaving the room without a word.

 

------------------------------

 

Without a word, Dinobot slowly returned back from anaesthesia, feeling everything reinstalled and properly working.

 

He was not with a foggy mind, he was not lethargic, he wasn’t even berth bound.

 

Knowing what it meant, he shifted his usual glower to the left, finding the only tape slot of the Lab filled with a green and grey shape, the whirr of machinery running on the background, as Rhinox’ voice boomed from every speaker.

 

“I am running a full defrag cycle in tape mode. You’re in charge for the day. Refrain from attacking any predacons unless absolutely necessary. Find where Rattrap disappeared to. Relieve Cheetor of duty and take his place. But before anything, refuel. The operation has been a full success, but it will take time before you can actually make use of your newly updated structures.”

 

Snorting as he nodded, knowing the unpleasant symptoms he was not feeling were being diverted by the Axalon’s support system via bond through Rhinox, Dinobot for one gave to nowhere a brief, sincere smile.

 

“As you command, my Liege.”

 

He briefly bowed his head down, immediately receiving a warm feeling of approval with a very positive ping.

 

Maybe this bonded thing wasn’t so bad afterall. So far he had no ill effects, he was given a respectable outlet for his natural inclinations, he was truly respected for his skills, he was even expertly repaired with sturdier stuff, and to make things better he knew what awaited him once the inner repairs were fully done and they had proper time to enjoy the upgrade.

 

If the price to pay was a long defrag cycle from Rhinox (who he never had seen before assuming the tape mode he so thoroughly despised) before anything, he was fine with that: the maximal had a mean, eager glossa and a primeval hunger that drove him into full bliss many times, a filling, almost perfectly matched spike, and the occasional drive to switch, which matched Dinobot’s own very occasional drive to indulge, so everything was fine and balanced.

 

Maybe they could even subdue and eventually capture every single predacon and go to Cybertron, without killing any of them, not even that dishonourable purple idiot, a fate he never seriously considered before.

 

Bonded to a maximal, the hero who not only captured the rogue predacon Megatron and managed to bond and properly subdue Dinobot himself, he actually had a true chance of a respectable life, as long as he remained bonded, a predicament he absolutely would not mind, where the maximal truly respected and wanted him, no matter if the outside world thought he had been enslaved.

 

Better to be a living, fake slave-bound consort, than a stupid hard-head predacon who followed an idiot into the most stupid errand in the universe, like he did before.

 

The future burning bright before his optics for the very first time, he didn’t even check on his newly transplanted organ: better let the anticipation of the surprise for the right moment, and the right moment would rise, even if he had to pull the tape-moded maximal out of slot and rewind him with a huge pencil before transformation took place.

 

He was ravenous and horny, and he was extremely eager to wait for the right time to come.

 

---------

 

The right timing would never come, unless Waspinator made the move himself.

 

He had the choice to dive into Terrorsaur’s CR-tank and join him in misery, but he was not damaged enough for that now, and he had a much more pressing matter for the time.

 

Finding Optimus Primal leaving Megatron’s private floor, visually scanning for the discreet scratches and transfers of intense interfacing, and feeling for the connected EM-fields of both sparks, Waspinator instantly knew the bond had happened.

 

Not all mecha could feel for a sparkbond between unrelated people: this was one of the departure gifts he received by carrier before his decepticon cassetticon’s cohort has been officially disbanded.

 

Being an immortal point-one-percenter, Waspinator was given by no one less than carrier the mission of protecting the predacon Megatron with his very spark, a promise he intended to keep, which only suited his plans even better than before.

 

For once, he had the chance of following his secret life-mission, with the bonus of never getting slagged anymore, and he now had the perfect means to accomplish both: if it would be already easy to have it done without a bond, with the sparkbond between commander and subcommander, he knew exactly how to enact his plan.

 

Confident in his abilities, he puffed his chest and bravely stepped up before the ex-maximal, as soon as he came down one level and entered the lower cloister, instantly folding his arms and resting against the wall, taking up the all the space of the corridor and preventing Primal from proceeding.

 

Having received orders to herd predacons until Megatron was up to the task, the ex-maximal stopped with a dominant stance, arms folded and a squint.

 

Before the maximal said annything, Waspinator unconsciously fidgeted with his hands, staring ahead and finally taking the courage to speak.

 

“Munky-boss?”

 

Sighing at the title, Optimus donned him a tired stare.

 

“That would be me.” he shifted from his left to his right pede, the hydraulic pistons in both legs changing pressure at the movement “What is so important that you could not expect for me to reach the Command Centre and you felt the need to find me here, just out of the royal chambers?”

 

The irony not lost in the wasp, he tilted his head to the right.

 

“Waspinator has seriouz news for new predacon Second Boss Munky.” he nodded gravely.

 

Squinting, Optimus strenghtened the fold in his arms , puffing up his chest the most he could.

 

“As in?”

 

Waspinator tip-toed then, coming to the ex-maximal’s audials in a whisper.

 

“Ant-Bot thinks The Queen iz building up reservez of transfluid for life to lay eggz.”

 

Before Optimus could actually protest at the mere, absurd, notion of eggs (afterall, even if Megatron could lay them, being a female T-rex and everything, he as a male mammal could not exactly fertilise saurian oocites, because different species, so...), then lower his head down in shame, or even get angry at the idea, Waspinator continued.

 

“Wazpinator szmart bot. Haz two degreez.” he nodded, proud. “Ant-bot not know thiz sztoring not possible, so Ant-bot planz to eliminate munky-bot once “reservez are full”.” he rose both hands and fingers up for emphasis “Wazpinator knowz that’z not how thingz work with cybertroninanz.”

 

Rolling his gears in mind and squinting even further, the ex-maximal lowered his face to the level of the predacon’s one.

 

“I am aware Inferno wants me offline, and I am certain I can offline him with my bare hands as soon as I want him gone. It’s not a delusional mech that will outsmart me.”

 

Waspinator nodded gravely then.

 

“Ant-bot more sly and more szmart than anyone can think. Ant-bot tazked Wazpinator to lure munky-bot out of the way so Ant-bot can offline munky-bot in secret.”

 

Squinting, rolling a gear in mind and knowing Inferno will immediately desist offlining him as soon as he knew Megatron and him had bonded, Optimus also knew predacons do nothing for free, so to better keep the ruse of the lack of a bond, the next question was unavoidable .

 

“And what would Waspinator want as payment for this invaluable piece of information?”

 

At that Waspinator actually stared down to his own pedes and fidgeted with his hands.

 

“Wazpinator know munky-bot strong and has good-natured spark.” he stared up with his big, hopeful bug optics then. “Waspinator only azk for protection from other predaconz and maximalz.” he sagged “Wazpinator really tired of being szcrapped and being Universe’z favourite chew-toy.”

 

He then briefly glanced right and left, then up, finally stepping the closest he could to the ex-maximal without invading his EM-field or getting too close and risking enticing Megabot’s mercurial temper, whispering.

 

“Bozz-munky protect Wazpinator from everyone, and Wazpinator not tell anymech about sparkbond?”

 

Minutelly shocked, asking himself if the signs of the sparkbond were that obvious, Optimus stared slack-mouthed at the predacon for a click, as Waspinator tilted his head to the right.

 

“Wazpinator haz two degrees and special szkillz. Wazpinator know szparkbond happened, but no other mech doez. Wazpinator szure Mega-boss not want it revealed, so Wazpinator willing to convince ant-bot that munky-bot’s role iz not temporary, that reservez not built for life, and that Mega-boszz needz conztnt accessz to Munky-bot’s fluidz. For life. So munky-bot haz too keep online and never be offlined by ant-bot.”

 

He then extended his hand to the maximal.

 

“Wazpinator and Bozz-Munky have deal?”

 

In-venting slowly at being blackmailed by no one less than Waspinator, relieved to know the wasp wants nothing sordid in return, actually feeling sorry since the mech only wants physical protection and to not be slagged (Just as Megatron said when he first debriefed him on how to deal with each predacon!) and actually delighted at the prospect of seeing Inferno’s enraged reaction at learning he will never be able to offline him since Optimus, unsure if he was proud or ashamed of the fact that apparently he is Megatron’s permanent source of transfluid, the maximal finally lowered his hands down to his hipplates, then extended Waspinator his right hand.

 

“Very well. Convince Inferno I am never supposed to be offlined by any means so I can keep Megatron happy, and he actually must make sure I remain alive and well, and I’m taking you under my jetpacks for life.”

 

Beaming, Waspinator nearly squealed, and Optimus couldn’t help remembering Cheetor for a click as the Predacon suddenly hugged him tight.

 

“Waspinator very very much happy! Wazpinator hopez munky-bot and Wazpinator can one day be true friendz.”

 

As soon as the effusiveness and warmth was there, it disappeared, and Waspinator instantly made himself scarce, leaving a very puzzled Optimus behind.

Notes:

This started as a very privately indulgent NC-17 E-rated/R-rated ficlet, inspired by a quite distinct lack of Megatron/Optimus Primal (Beast Wars) -among the fandom. It's disturbing, involves colourful descriptions of bodily damage, a lot of dub-con, and was supposed to be only one chapter long.

I got carried away and it sprouted chapters, much like a gremlin should not be fed or wetted after midnight, leaving a beautiful mess on its wake.

I'm sooo guilty.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Transformers - Old Prompts