The Vacation

by Anonymous

Summary:

Needing a break from his life, Megatron meets a mech online in a similar situation. Swapping homes for a vacation seems like the reasonable choice. If only the house Megatron was staying in didn’t come with a particularly annoying guest.

Notes:

Turn on your suspension of disbelief because we're in rom-com territory today.

Chapter 1

By the fifth time he had to remove his reading glasses from his nose to rub at his optics and reset them manually to make them focus, he admitted defeat. The words he was reading were entirely useless to him, and him to them. Even the clock from further in the hallway that hung over his receptionists desk was begining to drive him mad, and he rarely even noticed it on a normal day. He was running on too little sleep, not enough energon, and not nearly enough motivation to push through it all. He thought about his workload, which truth be told, was barely anything he needed to do because he had more than enough underlings to hand it off to who would jump at the chance to actually do their jobs and prove themselves capable.

He looked at his email to confirm no fires had begun in the time since he was glaring out his window, and with the proof that he really wasn't needed, he gave in. If he had to be here for 5 more kliks listening to that clock, he was going to scream. And kill himself. Or, more likely, kill someone else. 

Probably Starscream. 

Megatron pushed away from his desk, and stretched back in his chair, arms toward the ceiling. 

He was going home. 

A quick comm message to Soundwave (if you don’t hear from me by this time tomorrow, begin my funeral arrangements,) and an email to the other partners at his law firm, (out of office. Do not contact me), he was throwing himself off of his balcony with a quick transformation, and joined the rush of evening traffic. He should have timed his breakdown better, he thought to himself with a slight annoyed shake of his frame. It was so rare he left the office at a reasonable hour that he didn’t think to account for other mecha being out and about. 

He suffered in silence, suppressing his road rage until he finally saw his apartment building, the skyrise a brilliant beacon, beckoning him toward it.

He touched down with a little more heft than he meant to, feeling stuff and graceless. Not that there was anyone else to see the sad display. He punched in the code to his balcony door, and heaved a weary vent as it slid open. 

His pedesteps sounded loud as he walked inside, his apartment was filled with high-end furnishings and utilities, the kinds of things that wouldn't need to be replaced in millennia even though most other mecha who bought similar things were the type to replace it all with the comings and goings of trends. It was stylish and classy and expensive as pit. His interior decorated had done a fabulous job, and aside from the energon dispenser which was always mangling copper shavings to the point where he had to stop stocking them entirely, he couldn't be happier with it. He dropped down onto his couch, and scowled at his surroundings. 

When Starscream stormed out in the late hours of the previous day cycle (again) after a loud, nasty fight (the fourth this month), he’d shot off a parting comment about the apartment. Something about how it was as devoid of personality and joy as the mech who owned it. Not that Megatron had interest in paying him any mind. It was just that…Megatron has perhaps…fallen into a rut in his life. 

Every day felt the same, every evening spent alone unless he was having more ill-advised, angry yet dispassionate sex with his coworker. 

Although, there had been a tone of finality in their last argument. It wasn’t that they broke up. One must be dating to go through a breakup, after all. It’s just that he certainly wasn’t dating anyone else. Or sleeping with anyone else. Or, really, talking to anyone unless he was getting paid to do it. 

And that last part was more than okay with him. He was paid to talk for a living. Silence, in his estimation, was wildly underappreciated. 

He got up and flicked on the tv, before walking to his kitchen where he stored some high grade. He was taking an impromptu day off, something he’d never done before. He might as well enjoy it. And where better than the comfort of his own home?

---

3 groons later and he was sitting on the floor (expensive it may be, the couch was not built for comfort which usually wasn't an issue when he so rarely used it), with his datapads from work scattered across his living room table. Some asinine movie was playing on the tv, not that he was paying it any mind. 

He was technically supposed to be overseeing several projects, none of which were high value enough to require his direct efforts. His controlling and untrusting nature however, made him particularly ill suited to stepping back from a task. 

His comm pinged. 

<<Soundwave: Megatron: Stop working.>>

He scowled, feeling like a sparkling who was caught by their carrier doing something wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have sent those completed files in yet. There was an option to time when things went out for a reason, but if he did that, then his idiot underlings might go and waste their time doing something he already completed. He would never let something as inefficient as that slide.

With a weary ex-vent, he typed out a response.

<<Megatron: I am your boss.>> 

<<Soundwave: Megatron: Off the clock.>>

He huffed and downed the rest of his high grade, not even bothering to enjoy the flavour on his glossa before swallowing. 

He was fond of Soundwave. In fact, the other mech was likely the closest thing to a friend he had. What he didn’t like was his meddling — or his stalwart assurance that he could say whatever he wanted and get away with it. Friendly or not, he was still Megatron’s employee. 

<<Megatron: I’m just finishing a few things.>> 

Megatron frowned at himself even as he sent the message. Maybe there was a reason Soundwave thought he could get away with certain things, and maybe it was his own fault. 

<<Soundwave: .>>

Megatron levered himself off the ground to refill his glass. If he was going to sit around getting judged, he might as well have stayed at the office. Or, worse, invited Starscream back with him. Who didn’t enjoy being left with their spike out during a completely out of left field argument? 

He pushed his datafiles of the previous evening to the back of his memory banks and focused on keeping his current interaction from spiraling into its own argument. 

<<Megatron: Fine. I’m done. I’ll spend the rest of my night enjoying myself.>>

<<Soundwave: Megatron: knows how?>>

Well!

He didn’t bother responding to that, because there was no way to win. And any good lawyer knew when to cut their losses. That didn’t mean he didn’t find his attention straying to the message time and time again as he worked his way through his next two glasses of engex, and finished the movie — only for the channel he was on to start playing the sequel (Primus, he was trapped in a franchise). 

It was likely because of the, unintended or otherwise, challenge in the message, mixed with the muddling of his processor, that he perked up a little at the advertisement playing during one of the movie breaks. 

He had heard about the concept of loaning out your house for a few days while you went on vacation (and in turn, staying at some other stranger's home during your vacation). It seemed awful. Why would you want a stranger in your house? Why would you want to be in a stranger's house? It was a recipe for a house getting totalled and everything of value stolen if he’d ever seen one. Hotels existed already. And, yes, he hated hotels. He had many terrible hotel experiences throughout his life, but someone’s house? 

Driven by curiosity, he searched up the website and began to scroll — for no other reason than to see the types of houses belonging to people who thought this was a good idea. The chance to make outlandish assumptions about people he would never meet was hard to pass up, especially when he was drunk, and…not lonely, but bored. 

Several clicks later, and more than a few pages into the listings, and he found himself rather taken with one house in particular. It was gorgeous, and expensive, and he had absolutely no idea why it was here. Surely it was a scam?

He flipped through the photos with a longing sigh. Secretly, he always wanted a house. A proper one. But living in Vos was not ideal for that; their architecture was built for flight frames, of which he was one (albeit a late addition. And he already knew how people felt about those, thanks). Perhaps it was the core of him that remembered being a grounder that missed the low to the ground buildings. 

In Vos, height denoted status. So while he could technically get a floor suite, they were the smallest rooms, with the worst accommodations, and most importantly: considered below him. He couldn’t lie and pretend the skyrise doesn’t suit him, especially as he wasn’t a grounder anymore. He flew, and he wasn’t exactly small or built for maneuverability. One of those little hovels wasn't for him, and neither was a house such as this. He couldn’t pretend it didn’t entice him though. It even had a home gym. 

He saw that the window for its use was for tomorrow until a deca-cycle from then, and found it hard to believe that someone hadn't already snatched it up. It was in Iacon, after all. So while it wasn’t a busy season for vacations, people were always needing to be in Iacon for one reason or another. 

He clicked on the little message button almost without realizing it. He would blame the engex tomorrow, when he was in the right state of processor to realize how ridiculous this was. 

His message was brief and vague enough to denote interest but nothing more. He reassured himself it was curiosity over why it was still available. 

His attention had strayed back to the movie by the time a response came through. 

<<Or_archive: Hi! I’m so sorry, I’m still trying to figure out how to unlist this. Technology is not my friend and I’ve never used this website before.>>

He raised an optic ridge at the message, feeling a little sorry for the poor mech. This was clearly not the first time he had to turn someone down.

<<Mega-tronus_16: Ah, thanks for telling me. Is it not similar to when you made the listing?>>

<<Or_archive: I wasn’t the one to make it. But the honeymoon is off and now I have to deal with this.>>

<<Or_archive: I’m terribly sorry. I’m drunk. This is stupid.>>

Megatron stared blankly at the screen for a long moment, trying to process. The kind thing would be to leave the poor mech alone. He typed out a response instead.

<<Mega-tronus_16: wedding went that bad?>>

<<Or_archive: No wedding. No conjumx, thank Primus. Dodged a blaster bolt. Now I have two weeks off to deal with every single mech in my life sending me their condolences.>>

<<Mega-tronus_16: you could always go on vacation. Since you have the time off.>>

<<Or_archive: You want my house that badly?>>

<<Mega-tronus_16: yes.>>

<<Mega-tronus_16: that was a joke. I’m drunk too. And thinking of a last minute vacation myself.>>

<<Or_archive: Are you trying to escape everyone in your life?>>

<<Mega-tronus_16: nothing so dramatic.>>

<<Mega-tronus_16: I think I need a change of scenery for a while.>>

<<Or_archive: Well, send me a picture then. I want to see what I’m working with.>>

Megatron felt his face heat up, because that was rather forward wasn’t it? He supposed this mech did just end an engagement, and it wasn’t as though he was taken by anyone at the moment. He took a photo, grateful that self-consciousness was not a personal flaw of his, and sent it to them. 

The long pause between his response and anything back did stir those long forgotten feelings a little, not that he would ever admit it (and who would he admit it to? No one would ever know about this incredibly out of character interaction he was having).

A photo came in, a mech, grey face playing, blue optics, brilliant red and blue paint job from what he could see. He was undeniably attractive, as were the crinkles at the corner of his optics from mirth. It came with a message, immediately answering any question Megatron might have had about what he was smiling at.

<<Or_archive: I meant your house. Which I would like to see if we’re going to trade homes for two weeks. Not that your face is bad.>>

Megatron wondered if he started walking now, how long it would take him to get to the pit of all sparks so that he might throw himself down it. 

<<Mega-tronus_16: that makes more sense. Yes, one second.>>

He wondered if that last glass was one too many. Still, not one to give into embarrassment, he went about flipping lights on and taking photos of his apartment. Because it was smaller than the red and blue mech's house, the task took little time to complete.

<<Mega-tronus_16: this is it. I’m in Vos. I assume you aren’t a flight frame, but that really just means you’ll have practically no traffic, and there is an elevator up my building, as well as air taxis.>>

<<Or_archive: I’ve never been to Vos. Is there much to do?>>

<<Mega-tronus_16: there’s a thriving theatre community, air shows, and archives. It’s the third largest city on Cybertron, so you won’t be hurting for options. That being said, I won’t pretend it’s the most exciting place on the planet either.>>

<<Or_archive: I’ve had enough excitement recently. Ok.>>

Megatron’s spark flipped a little in his spark chamber. 

<<Mega-tronus_16: Okay?>>

<<Or_archive: Ok, let’s swap homes for a deca-cycle.>>

Megatron bit his lip, denta pressing deep into the mesh, a thrill of nerves running through his circuits. 

This entire endeavour was unlike him. He wasn’t even sure how he would get this squared away with work, and he would need to spend all night packing and locking away his things. Soundwave will never let him hear the end of this when he finds out, which will be within the next half groon at this rate. 

He looked at the photo of the mech again, and tried to imagine if he’d called off a wedding (for whatever reason) and the state of the fallout in his personal life. 

He could imagine nothing more Unicron-devised than that.

<<Mega-tronus_16: Sounds Great!!>>

The extra exclamation point was going to haunt him. 

Notes:

I’ve watched this movie once around 5 years ago, and don’t plan to revisit it. That being said, I wanted to write some Megarod and it seemed like a fun bases to build on. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2

Megatron double checked the last message from Orion, the mech whose house he was co-opting for the next deca-cycle, and nodded his head slightly. It was mid day, and he was already feeling more clearhelmed from his flight to Iacon. 

Although, clarity of processor came with the downside of realizing how inane this entire endeavour seems to be. 

Megatron was not a mech prone to whims of fancy. He could be capricious, and volatile, and ill tempered, but never fanciful. Taking time off work was a foreign concept to him — there was a reason he was as successful as it was, and the answer did not lie within a healthy work-life balance. 

Any hope he had when he got up at his alarm this morning that the entire thing might be called off was dashed when he checked his comms to see his entire calendar for his vacation cleared, and several messages from his coworkers wishing him a good break. 

He was a little concerned at how the state of things will be when he returns. Not least because of whatever rumours might already be circulating on why he decided to go on a vacation at this specific point in time. If he returned to a gift card for some sort of dating app from Knockout, he doesn’t think he’ll have anyone to blame but himself. Although, he would do his best to point fingers. 

He landed on the walkway in front of the house, recognizing it easily from the photos. At least it meant he hadn’t been scammed, which made something inside of him ease. He walked up, a little impressed that its location kept the sounds and scents of Iacon to a minimum. 

He’d never grown to love the city — gilded in gold and fraudulence as it was, even with all of his years of visiting for work. He was too aware of the cost of their opulent lifestyle, the drain it had on neighbouring cities, to ever be taken in by the glamour. 

That didn’t mean it didn’t have its benefits. The architecture of the cityscape was unparalleled, for example. The fact that he would never have been left wanting for work almost made him take a move here when he was young, practically a sparkling. The offer from a firm in Vos had come at the most opportune time. His lips twisted wryly. He was able to see the humour in coming here of all places to escape his life. A twisted image of how things might have gone if his choices had been different. 

He climbed the steps to the porch and listed the lip of the mail box hanging on the wall to the right of the front door. Inside, sat a single gold key. Evidently, Orion was a traditionalist. It was rather rare to see an old style lock, but Megatron was not above his own eccentricities. 

He inserted the key and heard the click if the lock unlatching in response. He opened the door and walked in, casting a look around. 

Like the outside, the photos from the website were accurate. The main difference being the pile of boxes and bags belonging to the not-a-conjunx. Last night, Megatron had reassured Orion several times over that he would be more than happy to stand guard and watch as the mystery mech came by to grab their things. It was the least Megatron could do, and it meant now Orion didn’t have to stand there and do it himself. 

Megatron hasn’t had a real breakup since his youth, but his long-past memory of it was unpleasant and uncomfortable. There is no way to do it gracefully in his experience, and he hadn’t almost married his ex. 

The pile of belongings wouldn’t be dealt with for another few cycles, but that was okay. The foyer was large enough to not be cramped even with the additional items. 

He walked himself through a tour, feeling a little strange to be welcoming himself into a home without the owner’s presence. He thought of his own apartment and grimaced. He knew (assumed, hoped) that it would be fine, but it was hard to feel comfortable at the thought. 

Upstairs, one of the doors had a note taped to it with “Megatronus” written in large blocky letters. He smiled a little and pulled it off before opening the door. Stepping inside he found a guest room already made up, a long list of instructions for how various utilities worked, and reassurances that he could make use of any food or items within the house that weren’t enclosed in the main bedroom. 

He relaxed a little as he read over it, reminding himself that he was both welcome here and that he and the other mech seemed to be on the same page — he’d left a very similar note with a long addition of travel guide suggestions and Soundwave’s number. 

With his tour done, and feeling at a loss for what to do with himself, he did what he considered reasonable. He went to the kitchen and helped himself to the impressive selection of engex. 

---

A groon or so later, and he was feeling much more settled in. 

He was reclined on the couch (more comfortable than his, although the pattern of the tarp over it left something to be desired), with a pile of poetry from his incredibly long backlog and a cube of midgrade on the table next to him. He even had music playing in the background because it turned out Optimus had an extensive collection of tapes that Megatron was excited to comb through later. 

His concentration on the prose in front of him was broken at the sound of the front door opening. Megatron frowned and sat up. A text from Optimus had come through not that long ago, confirming his own arrival in Vos without incident so it wasn’t him. 

Before he could call out to the intruder, pedesteps approached, loud and sure. 

“Op, man. You need to answer your com-“

The mech cut off suddenly as he crossed the entry way into the living room. Megatron stared at him blankly. 

He was slim, and shorter than Megatron. Brilliant red and yellow paint, gaudy flame decals across his chassis. The flutter of his spoiler drew Megatron’s optic, used to tracking Seeker wing movements from years of close contact as he was. His voice sounded younger — not young, but younger. Brash and cocky to match the paint job.

He was striking in appearance. 

Megatron blinked his optics, “hello.”

The word came out flat and unimpressed. If this was the ex, Megatron was unimpressed. He couldn’t imagine a worse way to storm into the home you’ve been kicked out of than this. 

The mech who was slowly dragging his optics up and down Megatron’s own frame, a low whistle coming out of his vocalizer, did not help things. 

“Well, hello to you too, handsome.”

Megatron really hoped this wasn’t the ex.

“I came to check how Op was doing with the breakup,” Megatron could only assume Op was Orion, unless Op was the ex? Still he relaxed at the new piece of information. “But clearly he’s doing okay if he's already onto a rebound.”

Megatron knew he needed to put a stop to that train of thought quickly. 

“I’m not a rebound.”

The mech snorted and leered at him a little, “I’m not judging, but yes you are.” He looked around the room, seemingly done with the conversation, “where is he?”

“In Vos.”

That finally got the mech to pay proper attention to him. 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s taking a vacation in Vos. We’re trading houses for the —-.”

The mech’s mouth dropped open. 

“That piece of scrap! He’s avoiding me!”

“I don’t think it was you specifically,” Megatron said with bemusement: 

“No, no. It is. I’m his brother.”

That was a surprise. Not only did they not seem similar (it wasn’t common to have different frame types across siblings, although Megatron wanted to congratulate the parents on turning out two incredibly fine specimen), but more than that, Orion hadn’t at any point mentioned a brother. Let alone a brother with a key to the house and a reason to come by. It seemed like an oversight. Megatron wanted to be frustrated, but he also knew Orion was going through enough things right now, his processor was likely on other things. Furthermore, this vacation was as last minute for him as it was for Megatron. 

“He didn’t mention. If you want to talk to him, you’ll need to keep trying his comm.”

The mech looked greatly put out by this information. 

“That’s rad,” he said, clearly not thinking it was ‘rad.’ “How long are you here for?”

“…a deca-cycle.”

“Ah, scrap. That’s awkward.”

Megatron quirked an optic ridge. This conversation certainly felt awkward, but he didn’t think that was what he was referring to. 

“How so?”

“I lost my lease,” he said. “So I’m staying here until I can find somewhere else to rent.”

Megatron stared at him blankly. 

“What?”

The mech laughed bashfully, rubbing at the back of his neck with a servo. 

“Guess we’re roommates.”

Megatron was willing to give grace to Orion for the whole ‘going through a bad breakup’ thing, but forgetting he had an entire family member coming to stay over was obscene. 

“He didn’t mention.”

The tone must have betrayed his (completely reasonable) irritation because the mech’s optics widened earnestly. 

“He didn’t know! I just got the news this morning. I’ve been messaging him all morning. You can even see my message log if you want. This is just bad luck.”

Megatron rubbed a servo over his face. He supposed it wasn’t too late to get a hotel. Or to call Optimus and politely request they put an end to this entire charade. 

“I’ll head out then,” he said. His mouth twisted mournfully. He hadn’t even gotten a proper chance to look at the gym, and he really did want to examine the wall of tapes more. 

“Aw,” the brother said, “don’t be like that. Have you never had a roommate before?”

“Yes,” Megatron ground out, “which is why I’m making the objectively smart decision to leave while I can.”

The mech laughed brightly, “you won’t even know I’m here, promise.” To emphasize this, he bounced into the room and stuck his servo out, pinky digit extended toward him.

Megatron stared at him like it was a threat. The mech wiggled his digit. 

“Come on, you know you wanna,” he said enticingly.

Megatron watched the bright grin falter slightly before locking into place. Megatron thought about having to return to Vos so soon, and how the second he went back to his home he would end up back at work. His spark fluttered anxiously at the thought, which deemed that idea undesirable. Then he considered booking a hotel, last minute and overpriced. The space would be much smaller, and without access to a full kitchen or amenities like the gym. Even the best hotels always felt impersonal which wasn't conducive to truly relaxing. It was one thing to stay in one when he planned to be out and about all the time, but he wanted to relax in a place that felt like a home -- even if he had to outsource the feeling of home to a place such as thing because his own apartment didn't cut it. 

“I don’t,” Megatron said, trying to get the idea across very seriously.

And then he vented and raised his own servo, very, very reluctantly into the air. 

The mech's optics brightened and linked their pinkies together. He gave a firm shake and Megatron's arm flopped listlessly at the movement. He couldn't remember that last time he engaged in something so childish, what was next? Spitting into his palm before a servoshake? 

“Hi, roomie, I’m Rodimus.”

“Megatron,” he answered, sounding put out to his own audials. Their pinkies were still clasped together. He stared at where they were joined apprehensively. “Nice to meet you.”

Chapter 3

Megatron was enjoying himself in the solar room, an old recording of a Polyhexian Opera playing over the speakers when Rodimus made his presence known. 

“Hey, roomie. Do we have a plan for dinner?” He asked, strolling like he owned the place. Brother notwithstanding, Megatron knew he didn’t.

He was flitting around, examining a few of the plants Orion had set up along the windows. Megatron wasn’t even sure why he had them, the concept of caring for such small, useless, biological things was entirely foreign to him.

He knew, distantly, that there was a market for it; plants and animals from offworld being purchased and vaunted by the elite who had the means to care for such exotic things. The plants were particularly egregious because they required solar rays to live, and as Cybertron did not have its own sun, only mecha in Iacon had a reason to bother — the dome over the city providing solar light was not a feature other cities had. It make Iacon glow with a false sense of warmth.

Megatron thought it was a waste of resources (both the fake sun and the care and keeping of biological organisms), but at least with Thundercracker’s dog, it actually provided companionship. The plants didn’t even move unless you reached out and moved them yourself, as Rodimus was doing. 

Megatron paused the song, mournful to be cutting off the singer's melodic timbre. The next time he and Orion spoke, he would have to ask where he got any of the recordings he accumulated. He sat up from the settee he was reclined on and balanced his elbow joint on his knee, propping his chin on his palm. 

“We have no plans.”

“You aren’t one of those dieters are you?” Rodimus asked, making a face. “No offence, but there’s no way someone with your frame type is handling artificial food scarcity well.”

Ignoring the urge to laugh, Megatron looked down at himself and back up, raising an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Rodimus smirked, looking unashamed. It was a trait Megatron found himself enjoying from the few occasions they’ve interacted since meeting the previous cycle.

“You aren’t built for efficient energy consumption, and you’re a big bot. Surely you’re using up a lot…even if all you seem to do is sit around and be boring.”

“I wasn’t aware it was my job to entertain you.”

The smaller mech stuck his glossa out at him playfully, “dinner, what are we doing?”

“I’m not telling you.”

He pouted, lower lip jutting out. “Why not?”

“Because you might invite yourself.”

“I wouldn’t do that”

“You insist on saying ‘we.’” Meegatron pointed out. 

“Ha!” Rodimus barked a laugh, “you got me there. Fine, if you don’t want to hang with me, I’ll get out of your helm. A few of my friends were saying something about going to a bar. You can tag along if you want?”

Megatron gave him a lingering look. He wasn’t used to people insisting on being in his space like this. Typically, a single curt response from him was enough to get anyone to leave him alone for the next vorn at least.

“No.”

“Not a partier?” Rodimus asked, reaching a servo out for the notebook Megatron had next to him. He swatted the offending appendage away.

“No.”

Rodimus smiled at him innocently, “not much of a conversationalist either.”

“I could have sworn you said something about leaving me alone,” Megatron said, recalling their first conversation.

Rodimus blinked at him, optics wide and expression earnest. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

Megatron stared at him, expressionless (never let it be said he didn’t learn anything from his coworkers. No one had a better blank face than Soundwave. It carried the unerring ability to make the receiver admit or give into any number of things).

Rodimus was no different. His shoulders slumped down and he heaved a vent. “Fine, I can tell when I’m not wanted, I’ll leave you alone.”

“I appreciate that.”

“You know, most people go on vacations to have fun? To enjoy themselves? Partying and drinking with strange mecha is the point.”

Megatron thought of how strong his urge had been to get away from his life even for a few kliks. To remind himself there was a world outside of his work (and maybe to remind himself that it was possible to belong in it). The world could wait, he wanted to finish the opera.

“Not to me.”

---

It was late into the night when the front door slammed open, making a resounding thud as it bounced off the hallway wall. Megatron winced, grateful that any damage incurred by the mech would be Orion’s problem and not his. 

Megatron looked at his half gone cube of energon, and the package of rust sticks on the table in front of him and frowned. He wasn’t about to run and hide just to maintain his state of calm serenity. He would not spend the deca-cycle hiding from another mech in his vacation home. Rodimus, who seemed to have an unerring ability to find Megatron wherever he was, even while drunk, sauntered into the kitchen not long after. 

“Hey, buddy. I see you haven’t figured out how to have fun while I’ve been gone.”

“Not yet,” Megatron said, biting into a rust stick, “maybe next time.”

“Cute,” Rodimus said before he was suddenly in Megatron’s space, reaching past him to grab a rust stick of his own. Megatorn flailed an arm at him trying to ward him off. Rodimus dodged with more grace than anyone coming back from a night of partying should have, the entire pack of snacks secured in his servo, which he waved victoriously before taking one from the package with his denta.

So much for his treat, Megatron thought, eating the other bite of the only one Rodimus hadn’t stolen. “How was your night?” He asked.

“Good. It was good, I was originally going to invite a bunch of people back here for an orgy, but I didn’t want to be a bad roommate,” he said, joking (Megatron assumed he was joking).

“I don’t think Orion would appreciate it either,” Megatron said lightly.

“Orio–yeah. Yeah, is that how you know him? How did you even become friends?”

He dropped himself into the chair at the head of the dining room table, folding his legs underneath himself in a way that made Megatron’s hips and joints ache.

“We aren’t.”

“You're staying at his house,” Rodimus said, chomping into another rust stick. He kept chewing with his mouth open, and Megatron despaired for anyone who was actually friends with him. 

“Convenient timing and luck.”

“That doesn’t sound like Op.”

“He’s going through a breakup,” Megatron said, before sipping at his energon. 

“Oh I am aware,” Rodimus reassured him meaningfully, “it’s all anyone wants to talk about.”

Megatron hummed in consideration. He wondered if the partying had gone more poorly than Rodimus was letting on, because he couldn’t imagine it would be fun to spend time with your friends who only want to gossip about your brother. On the other hand, Rodimus seemed like the type to enjoy gossip.

“Can you blame him for wanting to leave for a while?”

“Of course not, it’s just unlike him, y’know?”

Megatron considered pointing out again that he and Orion weren’t friends. That they’d spoken to each other twice ever, and presently, Megatron knew more about Rodimus than he did the mech whose home they were presently residing in. He didn’t bother. 

---

The next morning, Megatron decided to comm Orion while on his run.

<<Megatron: Are you free?>>

<<Orion: Good morning! I am, how is the house going?>>

<<Megatron: A little more crowded than I was expecting.>>

<<Orion: Oh no. Are a lot of people visiting already?>>

<<Megatron: Not exactly.>>

Megatron frowned, his run slowing to a jog, focusing on keeping his vents and fans working at a controlled speed. 

<<Megatron: I’m referring to your brother.>>

The message came through quicker than the others, which made Megatron smile a little in amusement.

<<Orion: He dropped by? He doesn’t usually do that unless he wants to eat my food. I hope he wasn’t too much of a bother.>>

<<Megatron: Have you looked at your messages from him?>>

<<Orion: …no. I know I should. Did he come by angry? I haven’t spoken to any of my family since heading to Vos. I know I need to.>>

<<Megatron: It’s fine. But he is staying here for the time being.>>

<<Orion: Oh Primus. I’ll look at his messgaes right now.>>

With that, Megatron continued his run. It was only as he was walking back to the house once it was done that he received another comm message.

<<Orion: I appologize. I can buy you a hotel. Or him a hotel. Truthfully, you are probably a better house guest than he is.>>

Megatron hesitated. 

<<Megatron: It’s fine. He hasn’t been a terrible roommate to have.>>

<<Megatron: He has a lot of energy doesn’t he?>>

<<Orion: Are you sure? I have the funds. I feel horrible.>>

<<Megatron: If it was a problem, I would have brought it up earlier.>>

<<Orion: He is often the center of attention. He’s much more extroverted than I am.>>

<<Megatron: He keeps threatening to take me out to do activities with him.>>

<<Orion: Consider him your tour guide. Since you were kind enough to offer Soundwave to me.>>

Megatron smiled at that, he wasn’t quite sure anyone would consider that an equal exchange. Especially when, as he was beginning to compose his next response, he had to step to the side, side pressed to the wall as Rodimus slid down the railing of the stairs past him, going far too fast to end well.

“Mornin’ Megs,” Rodimus said, pedes planted on the floor after a rather last minute tuck and roll. Megatron didn’t even bother commenting on the overly familiar address. 

“Good morning,” he said, continuing upward toward his room. He was looking forward to a shower.

<<Megatron: Nothing he’s suggested has been on your list.>>

<<Orion: We are very different.>>

---

After his shower, Megatron made his way back to the kitchen. He was going to eat something, then work his way through another pastry selection. He was also considering if he should post a response on the forum he’d been using the previous night to continue his argument with the dumbest mech he’s ever had the misfortune of seeing an opinion from. It was fine to not like the particular syntax style popularized in Nyon, but to claim every single poem and poet from the area was not worth reading screamed of classism and a closed processor. 

Before he could decide, Rodimus was already there, sitting in the counter and watching a video on his pad. 

“Are you aware there are chairs?”

“Are you aware of how to remove that stick from your aft?” He shot back while pausing the video and subspacing the piece of technology.

“I’m going to make breakfast,” Megatron said, already wondering why he reassured Orion so quickly that he didn’t mind his house mate. “Did you want any?” He tagged on to be polite. 

“Nah,” Rodimus said, “we can get something on the way,” before clapping his servos together. 

“I’m sorry?”

He pushed himself off the counter and clasped a servo around Megatron’s elbow, tugging at him gently as he walked by. “We’re going out.”

“Why do you keep using ‘we?’”

“Megatron, it’s been 2 full cycles and you haven’t gone anywhere. You make me sad watching you.”

He thought of his plans, which were more of the same and couldn’t exactly argue.

“And where are we going?”

The servo still holding onto him squeezed again before dropping away. “Shooting range!”

“Oh?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Rodimus told him, arms folded and hip cocked to the side. Megatron’s optics flit over him quickly before returning to his face. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll come. But only because I was already planning on leaving the house today,” Megatron lied.

“Mhm.”

---

Megatron was good with a blaster. Not phenomenal as it wasn’t a skill he had any reason to upkeep but he was a decent shot and a steady servo. But while he thought it was important to have at least tried several blaster guns in the past, he was finding himself a little out of his element recently. 

“Who even knows how to use energy bows,” he complained, struggling to position his digits in a way that made sense.

“Don’t be like that. Not everyone can be as amazing as me.” Rodimus said from the aisle next to him, posture almost lazy in how easily he was able to slide into position and hit a bullseye.

Megatron released the energy arrow and watched it wobble in the air, but connected to the outer corner of white on the target paper. No hit of the target yet but it didn’t bounce off any walls on its way there which was an improvement for him. 

“Did you take me to do this so you could show off?”

“A little,” Rodimus said, getting two more bullseyes in quick succession. 

Megatron lowered his own bow and walked around to Rodimus’ stall. He eyed him carefully, trying to see how he was making this work. 

“Are you impressed?” He asked, looking over his shoulder with an impish smile as he let loose another arrow. Bullseye. He didn’t even turn his head to check. 

Megatron huffed, “I’m annoyed.”

“Because you’re impressed?”  

Megatron didn’t say anything, and Rodimus turned waggled one servo at him until Megatron handdd him a few of his own arrows. Rodimus drew one, swung his body to a new direction and shot it at the wall, setting off a series of rochochets until it bounced off the ground perfectly into the edge of the bullseye.

“I’m a little impressed.”

“Ha!”

Rodimus did a little happy dance, feet shuffling and hips moving. Megatron stifled a laugh at the display. Ridiculous. 

They ended up staying for another two groons so Rodimus could very patiently coax Megatron through the motions until he could finally hit the outer two circles of the target with some reliability. 

It was fun

---

Rodimus travelled off planet a lot, something Megatron had never done – nor had he desired to do. That didn’t mean it wasn’t incredibly interesting to hear about Rodimus’ travels. The mech was an excitable storyteller, although not necessarily a coherent one. 

Megatron found himself half as focused on following the train of thought the other was traversing as he was paying attention to the details of the story. If he’d had to deal with this at work, he would have either found the mech unbearably stupid, or maliciously insightful. He couldn’t imagine arguing with someone like this in a courtroom after all. Here and now, he oddly found it engaging. Maybe it was because he didn’t have anywhere else to be, and presently wasn’t trying to get through a conversation to achieve anything for the first time in so long. Perhaps Soundwave was right, and he would have benefitted from interacting with people outside of work earlier than this. 

<<Orion: You and Rodimus haven’t killed each other yet?>>

Megatron glanced at the message and ten back at where Rodimus was currently gesticulating wildly about some type of fauna he’d come across. 

<<Megatron: Not yet.>>

“Who are you talking to?” Rodimus asked, leaning up close to Megatron’s face. He lightly reached a servo up to place a digit on his cheek and put him to the side. Rodimus laughed and moved away again, servos clasped behind his back.

“You’re brother,” he said, “he’s checking in on us.”

“Anything he says is lies and slander,” Rodimus said firmly, “he’s probably worried I’m trying to sleep with you.”

“Is that a regular concern of his?”

“No! Or at least it shouldn’t be. I’m a serial dater, and Op hates it. But he’s only ever dated one person, and that’s hardly worked out for him any more than this has for me.”

“You don’t like being single?” Megatron asked amusedly. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, mecha like Rodimus were the type to catch optics and he always seemed to want to do activities with anyone available. Case in point their entire mid-day excursion.

“It’s not like I do it on purpose. I’ve never dated someone I didn’t love. But that’s enough about me, tell Orion that I’m behaving myself, and then you can get back to paying attention to me.”

<<Megatron: Not yet. But it’s still early.>>

<<Orion: Good :) >>

“Okay, what were you talking about again?” Megatron asked. A group of sparklings ran past them screaming and laughing. Two harried looking adult mecha trailed after them, servos clasped together. Rodimus smiled at the display.

“Enough about me, what about you? Any sparklings?”

“Hardly,” Megatron said, “I am perpetually single — by choice. And have had no notions of starting a family myself.”

“You don’t like them?”

“It’s not that,” he said haltingly, “I’ve never really thought about it. My focus is my work.”

Rodimus nudged him in the direction of a street vendor, and Megatron nodded, staying close behind him. The closer they got toward the city centre, where the well of allsparks opened in all its grandeur, the thicker the crowd got, and the greater the number of vendors trying to sell trinkets and food. Megatron couldn’t believe he’d allowed Rodimus to take him to a tourist trap.

“And what do you do for work?” He asked, as they joined the line to get food.

“I work in law.”

“Law,” Rodimus drew the word out long, “of course you do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Megatron asked, already knowing what it meant. Lawyers were rarely anyone’s favourite brand of bot.

“That depends,” Rodimus said, staring up at him, “what type of law?”

Megatron held his gaze, never one to back down. “Corporate.” He refused to feel bad to admit it, it was a good job. A steady job, with consistent benefits and further than that, he was a partner . Most other mechs could only dream of having such a prestigious job considering he wasn’t built for it. 

“Primus, you’re a Unicron spawn,” Rodimus said, hanging his helm back exaggeratedly. Then he straightened up again to step forward, now the next in line. “Unless it’s one of those good companies that are looking into sustainability and never make any real money?” he asked.

“No, not one of those.”

“Scrap,” he said. Just then, the vendor beckoned them forward. Rodimus stepped up, pressing himself up to the stall so Megatron had no choice but to hover behind him. “We’ll take two of the rust sticks, one of whatever that copper thing is there, and an aluminum donut.” 

The vendor positively lit up, because that last order was one of the priciest offerings they carried. As they gathered the food into a little carryout bag for them, Rodimus stepped aside and beckoned Megatron toward the stall. 

“You’re paying,” he said, “you have the funds.”

Megatorn rolled his optics, but stepped forward regardless. He dropped the required shanix on the counter top and accepted the bag of unhealthy snack food from the mech behind the counter. 

“Happy conjunx keeps the planet turning,” they told him jokingly as they handed it over.

“So they say,” Megatron grumbled, and nodded politely. He had to speed up to catch where Rodimus was already treading back toward their path. 

“Are you mad at me now?” Megatron asked, opening the bag to retrieve a rust stick.

“Huh? No. We don’t know each other, what you do when you aren’t on vacation has nothing to do with me,” he held his servo out and Megatron passed the bag over. He pulled out the copper treat, and held it out so the solar rays could reflect off of it. It did look rather good. He took a bite at the corner of it, chewing it slowly. 

“How is it?” Megatron asked.

Rather than respond, Rodimus held it out between them, optics inquiring. Megatron stared at him blankly. 

“Go on, try it. I got this and the aluminium one for us to try.”

“You’ve never had them before?”

“Variety is the chemistry of life,” he said. “I try not to eat the same thing, or go to the same place too much.”

“That seems…”

“Unlike most other good Cybertronians?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Most mecha would,” Rodimus said. He was still holding the dessert out to him. 

Megatron sighed and leaned down slightly so he could take a bite, flavour exploding on his glossa. It was good, the sharp bite of it agreeing with his palette. He always did like copper.

“Good?”

Megatron hummed in agreement. 

Rodimus smiled at him, “you take it then, I want to try the aluminium.”

Megatron accepted it, and took another bite. He wasn’t one for treats, the rare times Starscream or one of Soundwave’s cassettes came around with confections, he refused to partake. But he was on vacation, as he kept reminding himself, and as such was allowing himself simple pleasures. 

Rodimus took a huge bite of the donut and immediately made a disgusted face. 

“Oh, ew,” he said as he gagged around the bite. Swallowing with effort.

Megatron was taken aback. “Do you…not like aluminum?”

“Never had it,” he said. “That’s nasty. No wonder why it’s so expensive, it’s to save poor little sparklings from poisoning themselves.”

Megatron took a bite of his (delicious) copper treat.

“That must be it.”

“Give me that one back, I want to wash the taste out of my mouth.”

Megatron lifted it high above his head, far out of reach of the shorter mech. “No, it’s mine.”

“It is not! They’re to share!”

“I paid for them.”

“Megs!” Rodimus whined. He waved the donut in his face, “don’t you want to try this one?”

“Not with your reaction I don’t.”

Rodimus shot him a betrayed look. 

Chapter 4

Megatron made it 4 groons into the following morning before he finally gave into his curiosity and started walking around the house. He began from the top floor, circled every room on the main floor, went outside to check the pool and the gardens, and finally admitted that Rodimus was nowhere to be found. 

He knew it was suspiciously quiet, but he figured the other mech was sleeping in. However, that did not seem to be the case, especially as he never missed an opportunity to annoy Megatron in the kitchen. It was only cycle four, and presuming to know the other mech’s schedule made little sense. But they had spent all the previous cycle together, and it seemed odd that any plans might have not come up.

He reminded himself that this was what he wanted, a large empty house to himself, and set about finding some way to entertain himself now that he had it.

He did make a reminder to ask Rodimus for his comm code the next time they saw each other, as it was a rather large oversight to not have asked earlier. What if he needed Rodimus to grab something from a shop while he was out and now couldn’t?

He shot off a comm to Orion. 

<<Megatron: What are you doing today?>>

<<Orion: Soundwave is taking me to an art show.>>

Megatron furrowed his optic ridge. He’s known Soundwave for hundreds of vorn, and never had they ever gone to an art show, nor had Soundwave ever mentioned an interest in the arts. He was unfailingly pragmatic typically.

Megatron snapped a photo of the giant open space in the foyer next to the stairs. 

<<Megatron: I hope you find a giant statue that can fit here.>>

<<Orion: I’ll try my best.>>

<<Megatron: The balance of space is atrocious.>>

<<Orion: It’s only right that I fill it.>>

And then a photo of Megatron’s own hallway came pinged in their communication log. Specifically, the emptiness of the wall. 

<<Orion: I’ll find you something good to go here while I’m at it.>>

Megatron smiled a little. If, at the end of this entire experience he came away with it having made a friend (or two), he would consider it a pleasant but welcome surprise. Not least because it would get Soundwave to stop the nagging about going out and joining clubs or a sport to meet other mecha. 

<<Megatron: Much appreciated.>>

---

Megatron was in the gym working through a few kata to stretch out his frame. As much as he found himself enjoying the experience of working with the light bow the previous cycle, it did make the tightness of his shoulders and arms evident. His spinal strut also ached a little from the ways he’d been twisting himself around. Going through the old motions of his exercises from his days as a gladiator were helping ease the tension build up.

When he got back to his apartment, maybe he would finally resign up for his gym membership. It wasn’t as though he disliked working out, and keeping in shape was a personal pride of his. It was just that he spent such long hours in his office chair, and his time to work out decreased as he worked harder and harder. He kept up with his long morning runs, and ensured his diet was strict to offset the change in his physical regime, but the harder workouts, the ones from his youth had fallen to the wayside. 

“We should spar,” a voice said, breaking his concentration as he shifted between forms 4 and 5 of the Prima kata.

Megatron stepped out of the form and turned to the entryway, where Rodimus was leaning against the arch.

“You spar?” Megatron asked, trying not to sound too excited (at the prospect, and the others' sudden appearance).

Rodimus pushed off the wall and walked in a slow circle, “does this frame look like I sit on my aft all day?” He smiled easily, “I like the Solus style myself.”

Megatron shook his helm, “I’m not actually a Prima stylist,” he explained. Prima was an elegant style, but hardly one befitting a mech of Megatron’s strengths. “But I believe it's important to know the moves of all kata for a well rounded defense.”

“Lawyer,” Roodimus said, as if that explained it. “So what? Megatronus then?” he asked impishly.

Megatron wished he could refute him, but knew he couldn’t. Sometimes he wanted to go back in time and throttle his younger self for picking the name he did. It hit a point where it did become a little sparkling-esque to shape your life around the mech you had posters of on your wall growing up.

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Rodimus repeated, optics dancing in amusement. “Well, now we definitely need to spar.”

---

Rodimus, Megatron was finding out, was an aggravating sparring partner. Their styles were directly opposite to each other, and while Megatron was large and fast (far faster than his size would suggest) and each hit, rare as they were, were powerful enough to lay someone down at his pedes, they did have to connect first. Rodimus typically didn’t stay still long enough for that to happen. Luckily, he was cocky enough to occasionally mismanage himself, and Megatron was getting into the groove of catching him out when such a thing occurred. 

“Where’d you learn to fight?” Rodimus asked, bounding up and down on his pedes lightly, optics dancing as they tracked each twitch of Megatron’s frame.

“Kaon.”

Rodimus paused for the briefest of moments, which Megatron used to dart forward and swing a kick at him, which Rodimus dove under.

“Kaon?”

“It’s where I’m from,” Megatron said, bringing up an arm to block a hit.

“I thought only miners were from there.”

He wasn’t wrong. While the actual populace of Kaon was broadly diverse, it being a low income city where mecha down on their luck often found themselves in, the purpose of the city had been as a mining colony. You were either a miner or a migrant.

“You’ll never guess what my first job was,” Megatron joked as he managed to get a firm grip on Rodimus’ shoulder plating to flip him up and over. His frame slamming to the mat below them spoiler first. Rodimus wheezed, but rolled to the side, legs kicking up to ward Megatron away long enough for him to slip into the opening position of the Vector kata. 

Megatron watched him consideringly. Clearly, he was not the only one to bother broadening his horizons. 

“How does a miner become a lawyer?”

“Not easily,” he said and threw himself forward. 

In the end, their sparring ended 4-5 in Megatron’s favour. He thanked Primus that he was sturdy enough to make taking him down difficult, because losing would have been embarrassing. He clearly did need to get into shape better, because being out of the gladiatorial rings for so long did not necessitate he embarrass himself against a rich mech from Iacon of all places. Even if the mech in question was quite impressive in his own right.

---

“So what was the situation with your brother and his ex?”

Rodimus shrugged, attention on the massive tv while he flicked through the vast selection of movies at their disposal.

“There’s not much to say.”

“You didn’t like them?” Megatron asked. 

“It’s not that.” Rodimus stilled the cursor over The Gladiator for a moment too long and Megatron shook his helm in the negative. He continued scrolling. “They were together since highschool. They were going through the motions but I don’t think they actually want the same things. It meant they argued all the time – not in front of most people, but it was hard to miss. I don’t think either of them wanted to get married.”

“So it was mutual?”

“Big time. It’s not as though Elita is bad, she’s great actually. But they made each other miserable.”

“So why propose in the first place?”

“Everyone thought they were meant to be.” He paused on some type of action movie Megatron never heard of. It looked ridiculous. “It could be fun to make fun of,” Rodimus pointed it. Megatron nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

Rodimus smiled at him and pressed play, “all of Sentinel’s movies are pretty bad, which makes for a good viewing experience with the right crowd.”

“And I’m the right crowd?”

“You complain about everything, you’re definitely the right crowd.”

The opening credits began to roll, and Rodimus adjusted the volume.

“Anyway, there were a lot of expectations.”

“For Orion and Elita?”

“Yeah. So it’s good that one of them finally put their pede down and called it off. But it was pretty big news in certain circles.”

Megatron gave himself time to digest that. “Well, she’s dropping by the house in the morning.”

Rodimus twisted in his seat, one leg curling under himself, and his back against the arm of the couch they were sharing. “Why?”

“To get her things.” At Rodimus’ confused look, Megatron continued, “the bags in the foyer Rodimus.”

“Oooh,” he said, facepalming. “Yeah, right on.”

“You don’t think there will be any problems when she gets here?”

“Nah, it should be pretty lowkey.”

“That’s good.”

Rodimus nodded, “so are you talking to Op pretty regularly then?”

“Not regularly,” Megatron said, thinking about the series of increasingly ugly paintings the other mech had sent him from the art show earlier. “But more than I was expecting us to.”

“That’s good, because he definitely isn’t talking to me, or even really Ratchet or Jazz.”

At Megatron’s confused look, he explained they were Orion’s best friends, and as such the ones he should have been talking to about his feelings.

“He probably doesn’t want to talk about the breakup.”

“No one ever wants to talk about the breakup…unless they want everyone to tell them they were right, in which case they never shut up about the breakup.”

Megatron snorted. “Speaking from experience?”

Ridimus shook his head confidently. “Not exactly how my breakups go down, no.”

An explosion happened on the screen, but neither he or Rodimus bothered to look at it. At this rate, Megatron wouldn’t even learn what Sentinel looked like, busy as he was watching the mech next to him as closely as he was.

“And how do your breakups usually go?”

“Really good.”

Megatron laughed. “What does a good breakup look like?”

“Well, they tell me how great I am, and how much fun they’ve had with me, before admitting that they want to start looking for something different.”

“And that’s good?”

“I have stayed friends with every mech I’ve ever dated.”

“Everyone says that.”

“But I’m telling the truth. The next time I get invited somewhere with my friends, you need to tag along. I can prove it.”

Megatron examined him and found no hint of dishonesty or conflicted feelings about the fact that apparently he got broken up with on a semi regular basis. 

“Okay,” Megatron agreed, “next time. Just so I can meet the poor mecha.”

Rodimus first pumped the air, and turned back to the screen. He snapped his digits, calling Megatron’s attention to the screen. “See? That is not what falling physics look like.”

Megatron groaned at the poorly done fight choreography on display.

“Please tell me this was low budget.”

“No, no. Most expensive movie in the last deca-vorn I’m pretty sure.”

“Primus, some mech have too much money.”

Rodimus laughed. 

And then something caught Megatron’s attention. He leaned forward in his seat, optics squinting. 

“Rodimus.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Rodimus, are you in this movie?”

He turned his helm to stare incredulously at the mech next to him, as a very familiar voice came from the tv. 

Rodimus biting at his lower lip, the corners of his mouth curved up. 

“Don’t say scrap about the quality of the movies I'm in, Megs. It pays the bills better than the good productions.”

Megatron looked back at the screen trying to incorporate this new information into his reality matrix. He hasn’t felt this out of touch since the last time he had to babysit Rumble and Frenzy.

“So it’s pretty obvious I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“First thing I noticed about you,” Rodimus confirmed, and then laughed. “Well. One of the first things.” Megatron caught Rodimus looking at him coyly, “It was up there.”

“You aren’t Sentinel are you?”

“No!” Rodimus said loudly, “Primus, no.” He even sounded offended at the question. “That guy sucks,” Rodimus said with a lot of feeling. The he pointed at the screen again, “Sentinel is the blue and gold one there.”

Megatron followed the direction of the digit to the mech in question. He was attractive, if you ignored the smarmy look on his face. He was also unbelievably shiny for a character who’d supposedly just driven out of the top floor of an exploding building carrying two civilians on his back while being shot at.

“You want to hear all the juicy stories from the set?”

Megatron gave up on paying attention to the screen (even if he was more interested in watching it now that he knew Rodimus was in it) and turned himself to match Rodimus’ pose. Their frames completely turned toward each other from either end of the couch.

“Absolutely.”

---

It was long past when Megatron should have gone to berth. It wouldn't be long before the artificial solar rays would begin cresting over the hill if the chronometer on the wall was anything to go by. Instead of saying anything, he continued insisting that Rodimus put on the episode of a sitcom he mentioned guest starring on. 

"It's so bad. I play an uncle that's never been mentioned before or since."

"I can't wait."

"I help Blankwheel get ready for her school play."

"We definitely need to watch it then," Megatron insisted, "how else will I know how the play goes?"

Rodimus laughed, rubbing a servo over his face, "fine. Fine. Whatever, you'll hate it," he warned, even as he began to flick through the subscription service they were on to find it.

"So you make good money doing this," Megatron said, as Rodimus started scrolling through the seasons with practiced ease. There were 154! What show needs 156 seasons?

Rodimus found the correct one, as evidenced by the screenshot of his face next to a sparkling taking over the screen.

"I do okay," he said noncommittally.

Megatron could assume how other mecha might react to him — although he wasn't sure how everyone seemed so unphased by him as they walked around Iacon the previous cycle. He would have to ask later. Right now, he had more important concerns.

"Why are you still leasing apartments? And how exactly did you lose your last one?"

Rodimus groaned, even as the slight tension in his plating fell away.

"So about that."

Megatron held up a servo to halt him just in time to watch the Rodimus on screen appear to a cheering and hollering live studio audience.

Rodimus kicked him in the thigh lightly, "go on. Clap for me."

The larger mech watched the scene play out, the dialogue left something to be desired, and the audience kept making noise after practically every sentence. 156 seasons of this, he thought again.

He looked at Rodimus who was curled up in his corner of the couch, much more relaxed and lazy than earlier. "Not until you impress me."

Rodimus stared back at him, face serious in the dim light, "I'll hold you to that."

They watched each other in silence, a tension building the Megatron knew was a bad idea. The brightly lit scenes of the TV was the only source of light in the room, and it was casting long shadows across Rodimus’ face. His sharp nose, and the shape of his cheek plates in high contrast.

Megatron cleared his vocalizer. "So the apartment?"

Rodimus blinked.

"I travel for work, and when I'm not in the middle of a production I like going off planet. You already knew that," he pointed out. Megatron nodded in agreement. "So buying a permanent residence seems like a waste."

"That makes sense."

"My ship is getting refitted, so it's out right now. And I've been staying in this apartment in Iacon."

"Did you trash the place? Surely you didn't skip on rent."

"Ah," Rodimus said, ducking his helmet shyly, "so there's a story about that."

Megatron gestured for him to continue.

“I purposefully lost the lease.”

“What?”

“Optimus was going through a break up and he’s not the type to ask for support or even accept it when it’s offered. I figured if I made it seem like he was helping me then I could help him.”

Megatron gaped at him. "You...why didn't you just tell him you lost the apartment rather than actually lose it?"

"He checks things! And he tries to fix things. He would have called my landlord. Honestly, he probably still did. I needed to cover my bases."

“That’s so stupid," Megatron said at a loss for words.

They both turned back the TV and watched Rodimus give a sparkling advice on stage fright. It was charming in a lame way.

“Aft," Rodimus said softly.

“It’s also very sweet,” Megatron admitted.

“Yeah?" he asked as the screen faded to black, signalling where a commercial break would go. His voice was growing thick with exhaustion.

The first rays of light were starting to keep in through the window.

“You care about your brother a lot. I respect that.”

“We didn’t always get along," Rodimus said honestly. "I felt like I was stuck in his shadow a lot, but he’s a good person and it’s not his fault that everyone else looks up to him so much.”

"That seems common for siblings."

"You don't have any?"

Megatron yawned, and wiggled deeper into the couch.

"No, it was just me growing up."

On screen, a large family (two parents, 5 sparkling) were all watching the sparkling Rodimus had been helping from the crowd, the sparkling was standing up on stage dressed like a star. The camera panned to Rodimus standing at the side of the stage mouthing the lines along with her.

"People think it's less lonely when you have siblings," Rodimus said after a yawn of his own. "But that's not always the case."

Chapter 5

It had been a late start to the day for them both after they stayed up far too late watching Rodimus Prime’s greatest hits. When Rodimus once again left the house for a while to do whatever it was he did when he wasn’t bothering him, Megatron relaxed by the pool. There was an alarm set to remind him that Elita would be by soon, and after that he reassured Orion that he would comm him about how it went. In the meantime, he began to look into any markets or events being hosted in Iacon for the next few cycles that he could capitalize on. 

He was debating if a museum on the history of Cybertronian warfare would interest or bore Rodimus when the mech in question got home. He seemed to have a foundational knowledge of old weaponry based on the comments he and Megatron vollied at each other during their first movie last night cycle, and most mecha with a background in any katas generally did research into the theories and practices behind them. On the other servo, Rodimus did not seem like the type to find a museum engaging. 

The telltale sounds of him dropping things all over the place and closing the front door too loud behind him made Megatron shut the computer and make his way down stairs. He might as well ask.

“Good news,” Rodimus said cheerfully when he made optic contact with him, “if you want to meet my friends, I have a super duper fun and interesting task for us.”

Megatron squinted at him suspiciously. 

“My ex boyfriend is moving in with his fiance tomorrow.”

Primus, maybe he wasn’t lying about staying friends with everyone if he was this casual about hanging out with an ex and their fiance . 

“Are you inviting me to their housewarming party?”

“Uhhh…” Rodimus made a mix of a grimace and smile, his servo tilting back and forth, “kind of.”

No amount of glaring made Rodimus explain what he meant. Unfortunately, Megatron was deeply intrigued to meet someone who dated Rodimus and to get a vibe for what that entailed because it seemed so different from Megatron’s own experience with his interpersonal life. 

“Fine. But we’re going to a museum the cycle after.”

Rodimus perked up at his easy acquiescence, his spoiler fluttering in victory. “You wanna go to a museum?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not really my bag,” Rodimus said, “but sure.”

---

Pulling up to an apartment the next day to see several boxes were on the walkway gave Megatron an idea of what their housewarming gift was. 

“Rodimus, are we helping your ex move into his partner’s home?”

“We sure are, big guy.” Rodimus patted at Megatron’s broad chassis and beckoned him forward. “So this is Drift,” waving at the mech who was leaning on the balcony railing above them. Drift appeared to be quite striking in his own appearance, of a similar frametype as Rodimus. “I told you I was getting us help,” Rodimus directed up at him.

“Welcome,” Drift called down, waving a hand, “thanks for coming.” 

Megatron stared longingly back at the train as it rolled away. He should have stayed home. Or better yet, gone out for the evening by himself. There was no reason why he had to spend all of his time with Rodimus. He just kept saying yes when he suggested something. There were two trailers sitting nearby, and Megatron, under Rodimus’ direction, began to load things onto them – putting more effort than Rodimus was into balancing the weight as he did. 

Drift came down from the apartment carrying another large crate. 

“This is the last of them,” he said, lifting it up slightly for emphasis. 

While Drift and Rodimus began debating who was going to pull what (and really, neither were built for load bearing at all, Megatron wondered why he was even invited to this. He certainly wasn’t a carrier plane. Just then, two ambulances (lights and sirens off) rolled up the side of the road to them. 

One turned out to be Ratchet, which Megatron was pretty sure was the name of Orion’s best friend. The other was named First Aid who, like Megatron, seemed to have been dragged into helping. 

He and First Aid ended up staying close together out of lack of something else to do. The last few crates got loaded into Ratchet’s ambulance form, and Megatron secured the trailers to both Rodimus and Drift. Somehow, this led to them being in charge of picking up the food for the party while the others headed across Iacon to Ratchet’s house. 

“So, how long have you been friends with Ratchet?” Megatron asked, optics lingering on the pile of confectionaries in the shop they were sent to. 

“He was my mentor when I first joined Iacon General Hospital,” First Aid said. “Ratchet runs his own clinic now, but we stayed in touch.”

“That’s a good job,” Megatron said, because everyone knew Iacon General was the crowning glory of Cybertron’s medical advances, “do you like it?”

“It’s good. I can see why Ratchet wanted to pare down though, it’s hard to give every patient a high standard of care when you get a new page every few kliks. What do you do?”

“Corporate lawyer out in Vos.”

“Oh I couldn’t be a lawyer. I’ve gotten better at arguing with people but it’s a work in progress.”

“It’s probably what I’m best at.”

First Aid laughed, “so how did you meet Rodimus?”

Megatron weighed his options, and went for the shortest version of a weird story. “Through Orion.”

“I’m sure he loved that – you dating his brother.”

“We aren’t dating,” Megatron said, collecting the box from the cashier once Ratchet’s name was called. Before they left, Megatron did buy a copper tart that he wrapped up and dropped into his subspace. For later. “We’re house sitting for Orion while he’s away.”

“You aren’t dating Roddy?” First Aid asked, surprised. The two began to make their way outside.

“Nope.” Megatron nodded his head in thanks when First Aid held the door open for him.

“Well if you want to settle down anytime soon, maybe you should consider it,” he said, joking in tone. 

“I’m sorry?”

First Aid looked flustered at having to explain his own joke, “it’s not a snipe against him, he’s great. But there’s an ongoing joke in a few circles that anyone who dates him settles down right after.” The two walked to the road, Megatron balancing the box in his arms while First Aid shifted back into an ambulance, the doors at the back swinging open for Megatron to set the box down inside.

Megatron raised an optic ridge, “how many times has that happened?”

“With Drift added to the tally, I’d say… 5?”

Megatron shifted and allowed First Aid to lead the way to the house seeing as he’d been there before, and was more familiar with the overly complex road system of central Iacon. He turned the comment over in his processor. He knew Rodimus mentioned something similar already, but it seemed like an odd thing to become an in-joke for a group of friends.

---

After carrying the vast majority of Drift's things to their designated locations by himself, Megatron understood why he was invited. First Aid at least didn’t mind following after him, keeping him entertained with nightmare patient stories (carefully dodging any issues of Doctor-Patient confidentiality, which Megatron’s lawyer brain could appreciate). Rodimus was in charge of setting up the kitchen, Drift cleaning the living room, and Ratchet had disappeared onto the back porch to take a call.

“I hear Elita came by yesterday,” First Aid mentioned as they stepped into the living room.

Drift straightened up and looked inquiringly at Megatron as well, “how did that go?” He had a lightly accented voice, which Megatron placed as being from the Altihex.

“Fine,” Rodimus answered before Megatron could, lightly shoving Megatron toward a seat, taking the one next to him. “It’s Elita, she was very professional about it all.”

Megatron hadn’t been sure what to expect from Orion’s ex, but she seemed nice enough. Truthfully, she seemed like someone he would like to spend time with himself, appreciative of a good no-nonsense personality as he was. He didn’t quite understand why Orion considered losing out on her as dodging a bullet, but Rodimus remained non-plussed about the entire ordeal. 

“I still can’t believe they called it off,” First Aid said, “I thought they were made for each other.”

“No one ever really knows what’s going on in someone else’s relationship,” Ratchet’s gruff voice said. He stepped around Megatron’s legs to sit on the couch at Drift’s side, leaning against him slightly. 

Megatron cut a glance at Rodimus to see how he handled the show of affection, but he didn’t seem bothered at all.

“That’s true, not everyone can be you two,” First Aid responded.

Ratchet huffed, “now if he’d come back to Iacon already rather than wherever he fled to…I’m worried about the kid.”

“Megs is basically the only mech he wants to talk to anymore,” Rodimus said, “he finds the rest of us old news clearly.”

“I think he only talks to me for tips on how to hit on my friend.”

Ratchet coughed and Drift’s optics widened. 

“You’re joking!” First Aid said, louder than he intended based on the way he cleared his vocalizer after.

“I’m exaggerating, but he does keep asking me about him.”

“Alright!” Rodimus said, sounding genuinely thrilled, “good for him!”

Megatron couldn’t even be surprised considering the first time they met, Rodimus had been equally happy when it was him he thought Orion was ‘facing with.

“Tell us more,” First Aid said. 

“Do not tell us more,” Ratchet demanded. “He’ll be furious if he finds out we’ve been talking about him.”

“Surely he knows that’s all anyone wants to talk about,” Drift murmured to him. 

The door rang and Ratchet groaned, looking prepared to get up.

“I’ll get it,” Rodimus offered, climbing to his pedes, “no one gossip while I’m gone.”

“Does he usually answer the door at other mecha’s homes?” Megatron asked.

“Yes,” was the immediate response from everyone else in the room.

“He likes to couch surf, so if he isn’t making himself at home somewhere, you can assume he actually hates you,” was the addition from Drift.

The rest of the night went by smoothly. The group of friends featured a healthy mix of overly-loud personalities and those more content to sit quietly and observe or talk amongst themselves.

Megatron was also able to meet almost all of Rodimus’ exes through the experience, and to his own bemused surprise, they did all seem to genuinely enjoy each other's company. First Aid was not the only one to ask him about his own relationship status in conjunction to the mech, however, and Megatron was beginning to feel like maybe he was the one in the wrong by the end. 

It was late but not overly so when Megatron and Rodimus said their goodbyes and escaped out to the overly filtered air of Iacon. 

“Not too bad, eh?” Rodimus asked knocking his shoulder against Megatron’s arm. 

“It was fine,” Megatron admitted. “I’m surprised they didn’t wait until Orion was back to do this,” he added, thinking about how often Ratchet would frown off at the empty seat next to him where he was clearly expecting his best friend to be. 

“Drift said they didn’t want to push their own Conjunx Ritus in his face. That it would be rude.”

Megatron hummed, but didn’t comment until they were back at the house. Rather than go inside, Megatron agreed to follow Rodimus around to the pool.

He sat on the ledge, legs in the water and watched Rodimus dive in. He waited until he popped his head back up before broaching the topic he'd been wondering about for most of the cycle.

“Can I ask when you and Drift broke up?”

Rodimus laughed awkwardly, “a vorn ago? I mean, longer if you’re talking proper break up, a vorn and a half probably. But we were still doing the friends-with-benefits thing until a vorn ago when he got with Ratchet. Officially, I mean.”

“They’re moving a little fast aren’t they?” Megatron said with some trepidation. He thought about the couples behaviour over the course of the night, at no point had they seemed to be a newer couple, uncomfortable and flustered around each other, still trying to impress each other the way most newer couples were.

“It’s a long story. They’ve been dancing around it for a long time.”

”Do you like Ratchet?” 

“I wouldn’t hang out with him on my own and he only likes me some days, but he’s really good for Drift.”

“First Aid said something-” Megatron was cut off by Rodimus groaning long and low. He dove under the water of the pool again, before coming up and swimming to the edge, propping his forearms on the ledge. The stillness of the water broken by the occasional kick of his legs. 

“You and First Aid seemed to get along pretty well.”

Megatron was a little surprised that Rodimus had noticed that even after the others arrived — he and the doctor had often remained near each other, but Rodimus was constantly making rounds.

“He was nice.”

“Nice, he says,” Rodimus said under his breath, “you said you’re single by choice. No one is actually single by choice, so what’s the story there?”

“There is no story,” Megatron said, a little confused by the change in topic. When exactly had it become about him? “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

“Mecha only say that because they don’t want to make the time.”

Megatron lifted an optic ridge, “and you know so much about how I spend my time?”

“I would if you told me more about you,” Rodimus said. “You don’t go out of your way to do it, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“There’s not much to say.”

“Why are you single?”

“I’m emotionally unavailable and married to my work,” Megatron ground out, repeating the things Starscream often yelled at him.

“I can see that.”

Megatron scowled at him, wanting to say then why ask but stopped himself. “Your turn.”

Rodimus groaned but did admit, “I’ve been told I’m a bit much… and also not enough. I’m the fun person — usually a rebound — that people date before dating the love of their life.”

“Is that right?”

“People like the idea of someone who’s fun and exciting. Dating me makes it pretty clear what people actually want. Or so I’ve been told.”

Rodimus looked away, down the valley where the lights of Iacon’s nightlife could be seen. Megatron's spark flipped in sympathy. 

“And what do you want?” Megatron asked.

His voice came out firm and sure, which was the most impressive thing. “I want them to be happy.” Megatron couldn’t imagine he would be the same if it was him. He remembered Rodimus telling him that he’d never dated anyone before that he didn’t love, and tried to imagine going through that 5 times.

“You aren’t even a little jealous? Or pissed off?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“I am genuinely happy for everyone.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Rodimus glared at him. “I’ll stop asking about your love life if you shut up about mine,” he said.

Megatron shrugged and pulled the dessert from his subspace out, ripping it in half and offering one part of it to Rodimus.

“Deal.”

“Deal,” Rodimus confirmed, reaching out with a servo still dripping in pool water, lightly grabbing it from him and popping it into his mouth. He grinned at Megatron even while he chewed, crumbs getting all over the perfect tiling at the end of the pool.

Megatron bit into his own, and found that while it was good, it wasn’t as good as the one from the street vendor.

Chapter 6

Megatron woke to a comm message from Orion, which made sense considering he’d sent him one right before dropping into recharge about having met his friends.

<<Orion: How was Ratchet’s?>>

<<Megatron: Good. You need to answer your comm more often. People are overinflating my importance.>>

<<Orion: I’m on vacation.>>

<<Megatron: I’m going to start telling them horrible lies about what you’ve been up to. Rodimus would back me up on anything I say.>>

<<Orion: That’s unnecessarily mean of you.>>

Megatron smiled, and then stifled a bark of laughter at the next message that came through immediately after. 

<<Orion: Soundwave tells me you usually are kind of mean though, so I should have expected this.>>

<<Megatron: Soundwave called me mean?>>

<<Orion: Not with those exact words. But I could tell that’s what he meant.>>

<<Megatron: I’m going to fire him.>>

<<Orion: He also tells me that he’s too valuable to you so you’re never mean to him.>>

<<Orion: Not in those words though.>>

<<Megatron: I wasn’t aware you can function as his translator now.>>

Megatron hopped into the shower while waiting for a response. The solvent washing away the oil build up between his joints. He did wish there was a better selection of oils and soaps here, because for all that the house was wildly expensive and well maintained, the oddest things did not receive the same amount of attention and care. He hoped Orion, who was using his own framecare products, might be learning a thing or two from his stay in Vos.

After toweling himself off, he checked his messages, seeing one very ominous message.

<<Orion: He says a lot if you know how to pay attention.>>

Megatron was caught between wanting to enjoy this: Soundwave was less likely to partake in romantic excursions than he was, and the sheer enjoyment of watching such a thing occur – even in such a hilarious secondhand way was difficult to pass up, on the other servo, Orion was freshly single from an engagement, amiable or otherwise. It was a recipe for a broken spark (for who, he wasn’t sure).

<<Megatron: And I take it you’re paying attention…>>

<<Orion: Not like that! He’s nice.>>

Megatron decided the best way to handle it was to not handle it.

<<Megatron: He has sparklings to consider. I won’t give you a shovel talk, because I trust his judgement.>>

<<Orion: I’m not going to date a mech I met on vacation. And you definitely just gave me a shovel talk. Anyway, I’ve met his kids already.>>

<<Megatron: I just said it wasn’t one. And you haven’t been scared off yet?>>

<<Orion: The threat was implied. There’s nothing to scare off! We’re friends.>>

He was tempted to hand the conversation off to Rodimus, who might be more equipped for this kind of thing. It would be rude to send a voice note of him laughing at the mech who’s house he’s staying in wouldn’t it?

<<Megatron: Of course.>>

<<Orion: I liked you more when you’re drunk and hitting on me.>>

Megatron headed downstairs, following the sounds of Rodimus singing loud and offkey in the dining room. His face plates were a little heated up from remembering his uncharacteristic drunkeness their first night talking. He really hadn’t been hitting on him. He was just going along with the conversation and didn’t question the request for a photo. It was different. It’s not like he sent him a photo of his spike.

<<Megatron: I wasn’t hitting on you. I misunderstood your message.>>

Orion was kind enough to not continue with that argument, likely for both of their sakes.

<<Orion: How are you and Rodimus doing?>>

<<Megatron: Fine.>>

<<Orion: Do I need to give you a shovel talk? He loves hard and fast and breaks his own spark more often than not.>>

Megatron frowned at the message and looked at Rodimus, ignorant to the conversation happening. It wasn’t that he disagreed with Orion’s take, because he didn’t. It matched pretty well with Megatron’s read of him, but also, it wasn’t Orion’s place to tell him something like that. There was no way for him to know that Megatron already knew this after all. Protective older brothers, Megatron chalked it up to.

<<Megatron: No, you don’t.>>

<<Orion: Okay. Good. I have to go, I'm meeting with Soundwave for breakfast.>>

<<Megatron: Have fun.>>

“Your brother seems to be in a good mood.”

“He doesn’t do ‘good moods’. He does vaguely amiable contentedness,” Rodimus said without looking up from his datapad.

“I was serious about him and my friend. Should we be worried about that?”

“Why should we be worried? He’s dated one person his entire adult life. Let him get his charge off with whoever he wants, unless your friend sucks. Is he a lawyer for Big Evil Corp too?”

“Yes, but that’s not the problem. He had 5 sparklings.”

“Oh, Primus,” Rodimus said, putting his datapad down. “Even I know better than to mess with a family unit.”

Megatron joined him at the table and gently pulled the datapad closer so he could see what Rodimus was working on. It turned out to be apartment listings.

”It will probably be fine.”

”Famous last words,” Rodimus snarked, leaning forward on the table to watch Megatron flip through the photos on screen.

“Have you found anything good?”

“If you’ve seen one Iaconian apartment, you’ve seen them all. I don’t even know how long I’m going to be here, so I don’t know if it’s worth finding one.”

“Why not stay here with Orion?”

“Because he hates living with me.”

Megatron frowned at him, “why?”

“We’re very different. And he likes his privacy.”

Megatron wanted to point out that he liked his privacy too and he didn’t mind Rodimus hanging around but refrained. 

“We can look at a few after the museum if you want?” He offered, flipping through one of the options Rodimus had bookmarked.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll call a few of the realtors and set something up.”

---

“Do you like your job?”

“Why does this keep getting brought up?” Megatron asked, turning on the water faucet in the bathroom of the apartment they were looking at.

“Because you keep saying that your work is your life. Ergo, I should know more about your work. What are you doing?”

“It’s really not exciting to talk about,” he said, “and I’m checking the water pressure.”

“Why?”

“Because no one wants to live somewhere with bad water pressure? Or drainage for that matter. A lot of apartments have that problem.”

“I’m going to be so honest with you, Megs. It has never occurred to me to check that.”

Megatron turned the water off and looked at him judgmentally. “What do you usually look for when apartment hunting?”

Rodimus shrugged, “location, price, that kind of thing.”

“But while you’re living somewhere, you don’t sometimes wish some things were different?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.” He took a second to laugh, “one place didn’t have a single working light fixture, but they were also strict about tenants doing any upkeep on their own, right? So I put in a service request and it took them so long to get around to it that I was already looking into moving to Kaon for a job by the time they showed up.”

Megatron threw his servos up in the air, “then why don’t you add those things to a list so you know what to consider for the next time?”

Rodimus looked at him in confusion, “why does it matter if I’m not planning to stay for long?”

They didn’t go with that apartment because unlike Rodimus, Megatron did have an extensive list of things to look for. He’d gotten fragged over too often in his youth when all he looked at were the prices to be so easily swayed by the skyline view of an Iaconian apartment.

“Did you always want to go into corporate law?” Rodimus asked as they walked across the street to the last apartment viewing they booked for the day.

Megatron wasn’t even surprised at the topic coming back. Rodimus, he was finding, could be easily distracted, but he always wound his way back to the topic he wanted to be on. That didn’t mean he wanted to get into it, the fact that for the few several vorn post getting his job he used to avoid looking at himself in the mirror, feeling like a massive sell out. That he did have other aspirations once about fighting for worker’s rights. Get involved in some Unions maybe, and make life in Kaon better.

That just wasn’t where life lead him and he got over it with time. But telling anyone about that wasn’t something he was comfortable with. It was easier if they thought he’d never wanted more for himself at all.

“It’s secure, and the opportunity presented itself to me so I took it.”

“And job security is bangin’,” Rodimus agreed, ignoring Megatron’s optic roll with practiced ease, “but is it the type you wanted to go into?”

“I didn’t really care,” he said. And it was close enough to the truth that it didn’t taste like burnt oil in his mouth to say it.

“Well, do you like it?”

“I’m good at it.”

Rodimus pushed the door open to the apartment building and waved Megatron to stay back as he made his introductions to the apartment employee waiting for him. Megatron left him to it. The entrance of this one was nicer than the last, slightly less gold panneling, although the high quality of the location was still evident. There was a wooden bookshelf against one wall, and wood was impressively rare on Cybertron (afterall, why bother with a less sturdy export?). Still, none of the paint on the walls was peeling. 

They were in the kitchen where Megatron was examining the quality of the cube dispenser when Rodimus picked the conversation back up. Megatron nodded to himself at the cube in his hands, and passed it over to Rodimus.

“Do you like the people you work with?” he asked, lifting it to optic level and observing the lines for any impurities in the code.

“I have no opinion on my coworkers. I am not the type to go out drinking with them after work.”

“How are you so bad at having work be your life?” Rodimus asked, “do you do anything when you’re at home?” Then a pause, “do you go home?”

Megatron swallowed, feeling this conversation was getting a little too close to the problem. While being on vacation, he’s had time to pick up old hobbies, and go outside and explore, has enjoyed himself spending time with Rodimus (he didn’t even mind the housewarming party). But that was him on vacation. He did not live like this regularly, not the way Rodimus seemed to.

“Why did you become an actor?” He asked, sidestepping the questions.

Rodimus set the cube down and walked close to Megatron, the light heat radiating off of him brushing over Megatron’s plating. Megatron looked down at him, and allowed Rodimus the chance to examine him. Eventually, he stepped back and nodded toward the living room, the two walking there together.

“My entire family is in the entertainment industry in one way or another.”

“What does Orion do?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

Rodimus snorted and rolled his eyes. “Orion is Optimus Prime. Please don’t tell me you’re so out of the loop that you don’t know who that is.”

Megatron froze in shock. Of course he knew who Optimus Prime was, he was the best modern playwright and novelist to come out of Iacon in millennia. He was also wildly private. 

And Megatron has been living in his house. 

“You’re joking,” he said flatly. 

“I’m really, truly not.” Rodimus fidgeted, his fingers tapping against the headrest of one of the chairs (the apartment was pre-furnished, not Megatron’s favourite but it worked for Rodimus). “You didn’t look me up online even once? It’s rare for anyone to talk about me without mentioning him.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because… mecha are nosy. You haven’t wanted to know about me?”

“Anything I want to know I’ll ask,” Megatron said honestly. 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t know the importance of research and background checks. He never stepped into a courtroom without knowing every detail of his opposing counsel or the judge presiding over the case. Knowledge was power, and Megatron bartered in power. It’s just that he never even considered doing that with Rodimus. It felt… invasive. 

Rodimus ex-vented loudly, and put on an overly friendly tone, “now you know, I guess.”

Megatron figured it wasn’t the time to bring up his relationship with his brother, they’d been left alone in the apartment to look it over in peace, but this still wasn’t the ideal venue.

“And your family being in the business meant you had to be? Or just that you wanted to be?”

“One of Op’s scripts was being made and someone backed out at the last second. I stepped in as a filler until they could re-hold a few auditions and ended up never leaving. It’s not that I dislike it, but I was being honest when I said the money is good. It means I can work relatively infrequently, and do what I want the rest of the time. It works for me. I know that makes me sound spoiled.”

“I think it makes you pragmatic,” Megatron said, “it's good that you know how you want to live your life and have figured out the best way to achieve it.”

Rodimus smiled at him gratefully.

“When I was younger I wanted to be a freight ship.”

Megatron snorted at the imagine that conjured. With more honesty than he tended to bother with, he admitted: “I wanted to be a lot of things.”

It wasn’t long after that the building manager came by to ask how it was going, a sparkle in their optic at Rodimus. Rodimus made a few non-committal comments and hums, throwing in a compliment or two, and then he and Megatron were on their way.

“Did you not like it?”

”It’s not that,” Rodimus said, “I’m just waiting on a few call backs for some jobs, and while one would keep me here, the other would take me out to Nyon. I probably won’t get it so it doesn’t even really matter but…” he trailed off, picking at a loose grate absently as they walked past.

Megatron noticed more mecha giving him looks, and was a little surprised that he hadn’t noticed it before.

”Is that the job you want? In Nyon?”

Most mecha avoided Nyon, even more than they did Kaon. Sister cities of disrepair. And more than that, “I doubt that’s a Sentinel kind of job.” 

Rodimus shrugged, “it’s not like I’ve gotten it or anything.”

”Well, if you do end up in that area, I have a contact that can lease you a place.”

”You are so weird,” Rodimus said instead of saying something normal like thank you or that’s sweet of you to offer. “What are you a drug dealer?” Rodimus dropped his voice in a poor imitation of (what he could only guess) was himself, “I have a contact for that. Just say friend.”

”If I meant friend, I would say friend,” Megatron said flippantly. He scowled at someone surreptitiously trying to take a photo of them. “I have people who owe me, or people who would like for me to owe them.”

Rodimus squinted at him, “this is not making you seem less like a drug dealer.”

”No, my old life of crime had nothing to do with substance abuse. Have you noticed people staring at you more today?”

”Huh?” Rodimus looked around and shrugged. “Seems normal to me. Did you actually have a life of crime?”

”I’ve seen multiple mechs taking your picture today.”

”No more than usual. I mean, maybe a bit more because we’re hanging out and at this point they probably think we’re confirmed dating now. But it was like this when we were by the Well of Allsparks.”

”I would have noticed.”

”Evidently not,” Rodimus said pleasantly, “I’m sure there are some good photos of you online by now. Which might be bad considering your life of crime, which I would like to hear about.” He poked at Megatron’s waist with a digit, “just saying.” 

Megatron thought hard about their previous excursions. He definitely didn’t notice anything of the sort when they were in at the city centre, but then again, most mecha were taking photos of everything. Tourist traps meant everything felt like the centre of attention — and therefore, nothing did. And he’d been pretty focused on Rodimus besides. 

“It’s also an Iacon thing, most famous people live here. Who cares unless you’re like really interesting.”

That, Megatron could understand.

“Do you really think people think we’re dating?”

”Probably. But I’m like…firmly C lister territory so it’s fine, I promise.”

”I’m not worried.”

”Not even for your hit-man past?”

”I wasn’t a hit-man.” Although it was a closer guess to underground gladiator than drug dealer was.

”Cult leader.”

Megatron tilted his head in consideration, “that’s a missed opportunity. I would have been good at that. But no.”

Rodimus pouted at the dismissal. ”I hope you sold fake IDs out of the back of a van.”

”Because fake IDs require a two mecha operation,” was Megatron’s dry response.

”It could! I wouldn’t know.”

”Because you’ve been too busy with your lucrative smuggling business,” Megatron suggested.

Rodimus grinned, looking a little like a turbo fox after a successful hunt. Always so pleased when someone bothered to play along with whatever bit he was running with.

Megatron could understood why mecha might want to take his photo — even if he wished they wouldn’t.

”I guess we should combine our criminal enterprises then.”

Chapter 7

Megatron was in Orion’s (should he still be calling him Orion?) library, examining the selection of books and plays and scripts with new optics. He had assumed, perhaps foolishly, that he was just a fan or some type of archivist or professor who amassed such a selection through vorns of work. It wasn’t as though Megatron didn’t know he was rich, a look at the house was enough to dissuade him of thinking he might live within simple means. That being said, Optimus Prime. Megatron wondered if he could wheedle Orion into giving him an early copy of his favourite play. 

His comm started ringing, and Megatron paused where he was dragging his digits over the spines of a beautifully preserved collection of works by Alpha Trion.

He felt nervousness build in his tanks at the sight of Soundwave’s comm code. They messaged often enough, but talking to him on the phone was rare.

“Hello?” He answered.

“Megatron: Vacation going well?” Soundwave asked.

“...Yes,” Megatorn said slowly, “very relaxing.”

“Soundwave: Glad.”

Megatron narrowed his optics, walking to the window to stare out at where the library overlooked the backyard. Rodimus was already down there, enjoying the day by doing laps around the small circuit that Megatron could only assume had been put in for him.

“And how is Orion?” Megatron asked.

“Megatron: Speak to Orion recently?”

“Probably no more recently than you.”

He wasn’t even done speaking the words when another call came in, this time from the mech in question.

“Hang on, I have another call.” A quick affirmative from Soundwave and Megatron was switching the channel to accept the call. “Hello?”

“Megatron, hi!”

“Hi,” Megatron said suspiciously, a clear idea of what was going on already building. 

“Have you spoken to Soundwave recently?”

“Would you believe it if I told you he was on the other line right now?”

“Oh!” Orion said, sounding surprised and a little pleased, “how is he doing?”

“Fine, I imagine,” Megatron said, fighting down a smile.

“Did he mention me at all?”

“Give me one moment,” Megatron said, and pressed the button to switch the channel over. “Are you insane!? He just left a long term relationship where he was about to be married! It’s only the eighth cycle and you’ve already ’faced with him?”

“It’s still me,” Orion said.

“Scrap!” Megatron swore, looking at the comm ID and confirming that it was indeed Orion still. He pressed his forehelm to the window. Rodimus locked optics with him and waved. “Sorry,” he said to Orion while miming a blaster to his helm for Rodimus to see.

Rodimus started miming something indecipherable at him. There was a lot of limb flailing involved, and he was unclear on if he was being asked to join a marathon or perhaps a turbofox hunt.

Orion laughed in embarrassment, the sound filtered directly into Megatron's audial through the inbuilt comm system. It reminded him to focus on the matter at servo so he pulled his attention away from the window. Turning so his back was leaned against it instead -- but only after waving at Rodimus, trying to emphasize don't worry about it at him.

Orion's next words sounded a little muffled, like he had buried his helm in his servos. “If it makes you feel better, this isn’t some sort of rebound situation.”

Megatron vented loudly, knocking the back of his helm against the glass, a quiet thump that Orion could likely hear.

“Regardless of what you think it is, you are sleeping with the first person you’ve spent time with since you dissolved your engagement.”

“That's not true," Orion said, joking, "I spent most of my drive to Vos travelling next to a really nice transport truck and I didn't interface with him before parting ways." At Megatron's judgmental silence, he groaned. "It’s unlike me,” he admitted softly, “but it seems like it’s unlike him too?”

“It is.”

“Do you really think it’s a terrible idea?”

“Orion, we don’t know each other at all. I can’t tell you what I think about your love life.”

“Then you should tell me what you were going to tell Soundwave, because I think you’ll be much more honest with him.”

“I don’t want to get involved. I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I also think both of you are smart enough to know why I would think that.”

Neither of them said anything, so Megatron listened to the soft vents from the other mech. A glance outside showed that Rodimus had disappeared, likely on his way up to nag Megatron about what sort of phone call he was on.

"Instead of worrying about why it's a bad idea, why don't you tell me why you did."

“I like him and I enjoy spending time with him. I haven’t spent time with someone who doesn’t know me, or think they know me, in longer than I can remember. Is that wrong of me? Am I betraying Elita by doing this?”

“You don’t owe her anything,” Megatron said, of this he was sure. “She would probably be happy for you.” He thought about the brief conversation at the party the other night, how no one had argued with Rodimus saying he was happy at the possibility of Orion taking an interest in someone new. “I think your friends would be more understanding than you might expect.”

A gentle knock against the door, and Megatron pulled himself away from the window to wave at Rodimus, pointing at his audial to signify he was still on the comm. Rodimus dropped onto the reading chair in the corner of the room to wait. Or not, seeing as a comm message popped up on his HUD immediately.

<<Rodimus: What’s going on?>>

"He and I need to talk about a lot of things. To figure out our expectations. He had to go into work before I woke from recharge, but if he called you is that a bad sign? Or a good one?"

<<Megatron: Orion and Soundwave.>>

Rodimus’ spoiler wriggled in excitement, Megatron’s optics caught on the movement, although less to read his emotions and more because he was finding himself drawn to it more and more often as the cycles went by.

To Orion, Megatron said, "I think he is worried about how you're doing, like you are him."

“Tell him to use protection,” Rodimus whispered, sounding thrilled. “We don’t need a sixth sparkling so soon.”

“I’m not doing that,” Megatron muttered back. 

“Well at least tell him to-"

Orion cut in, “is someone there with you?”

Megatorn winced, “um…”

“Please tell me Rodimus isn’t there,” Orion said, sounding strained. 

“I can’t do that.”

Rodimus was grinning at him, which wasn’t helping matters. Clearly pleased that he'd gone and gotten Megatron in trouble.

“Megatron!”

“He’s cohabitating with me!” Megatron exclaimed, going so far as to wave his servo in Rodimus’ direction as if Orion could see him, “he’s everywhere!”

Rodimus got up and sidled up to Megatron’s side, trying to drag Megatron down to his height so he could get closer to his audial.

“Unbelievable,” Orion was saying, unaware of the awkward tussle Megatron and his brother had fallen into. “Fine. Tell him I know what I’m doing.”

“Op,” Rodimus said loud enough for him to be heard clearly through the comm, “good for you.”

“Really?” Orion asked. Megatron pushed Rodimus away and put the line on speaker so he couldn’t have to deal with Rodimus attempting to climb him like a tree anymore. 

Rodimus rocked back and forth on his pedes, pleased that he’d been given the go ahead. “Of course. You should explore what else is out there. I want you to be happy.”

“Thank you,” Orion said, sounding far more emotional than Megatron has heard from him before.

Megatron was about to offer he transfer the call to Rodimus' comm and leave them to an emotional conversation that he didn't need to be present for when Rodimus ruined the moment.

“So, how’s the interface?”

“Rodimus!”

“Megs won’t show me any photos. Not that I haven’t found one from the firm's website anyway, but a professional portrait isn’t the same as a candid.”

“I’m hanging up,” Orion said, “and don’t stalk him!”

“I'm going to anyway! Bye,” Rodimus sang.

“Bye,” Orion grumbled.

“Bye,” Megatron added before the call disconnected. Rodimus opened his mouth to speak, but Megatron slapped his servo over his mouth firmly. “Hi, Soundwave. Sorry about that.”

Rodimus’ optics widened, and Megatron could feel the movement of his lips against his palm as he tried to speak. One of his servos came up to grip Megatron’s wrist loosely. Megatron didn’t have time to think about the touch and did his best to ignore it.

Soundwave didn’t say anything, an expectant silence.

“He seems to like you, for what it’s worth,” Megatron admitted, Rodimus nodded his head emphatically from Megatron’s grip. “But also, I cannot believe you.”

Soundwave ex-vented loudly.

“Yeah, yeah. You already know. Comm me when this blows up in your face,” Megatron said, before ending the call.

He dropped his hand, although Rodimus didn’t let go of his wrist. 

“Not much of a chatterbox is he?”

“Compared to you and Swerve, is anyone?” He shot back, thinking about one of the more expressive guests he'd met at the housewarming party. He couldn't help but wonder how Rodimus would manage one of his work parties, mingling around Megatron's own coworkers.

Rodimus stuck his glossa out at him, and Megatron found it hard to look away from how the sunlight through the window glinted off of his plating.

Notes:

I know the movie itself is split pretty evenly between the two couples, but I really just wanted to focus on Megarod. That doesn't mean the other two aren't still living their best rom-com life off screen.

Chapter 8

Megatron was not going to interface with Rodimus. He was at no point going to do such a thing, he reminded himself. It was something he’d promised himself that first night when he kept thinking over the looks Rodimus had given him when they met. This was both because he was just coming off of proof that casual sex was never as casual as it should be, and also because the last thing he needed was complications. 

He knew even more that he wasn’t going to sleep with Rodimus when he got to know him and Orion better, and he learned that he liked them. Both relationships, as different as they were, were things he would like to keep going when he left. He wasn’t sure how it would actually go once he went back to work, but he wanted to give himself a good chance. Sleeping with Rodimus was the easiest way to offline that idea.

The fact that Orion and Soundwave were apparently making poor decisions together now meant, more than ever, that he had to remain clear headed. Either they would make it work, in which case Megatron was about to be seeing a lot of Orion, or they weren’t, in which case he was going to have to double down on his support of Soundwave.

So: no complications.

It did not matter how pretty Rodimus was, or that he made Megatron laugh. It definitely didn’t matter how enticing he looked, sprawled out on the sparring mats of the gym, “stretching” he claimed, but really lazing around.

Megatron was not going to be another in a long line of mecha who date Rodimus looking for fun. Their lifestyles were incompatible, and managing such different schedules would be nigh impossible.

And now he was thinking about the specifics of dating him rather than just interface. Primus damn it all. If he wasn’t being watched right now, he would be facepalming right now.

Megatron wasn’t even sure how, but Rodimus had gotten him onto a particularly long tangent on his favourite poetry. Not that Rodimus seemed to have any idea what he was talking about, but he wasn’t cutting him off or changing the subject so Megatron found himself rambling. When was the last time he rambled? Evidently, Rodimus had the unerring ability to get him talking. It was dangerous. 

Eventually, he trailed off, feeling a little embarrassed at how long it’s been since Rodimus last spoke. He looked over at him, actually performing a stretch for once (and Megatron was realizing it was better when he was just lying there), blue optics still trained on him.

“Am I boring you?” He asked. His tone came out far more flat and unimpressed than he meant it to. 

Rodimus didn’t seem to mind, “nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ dramatically. “I have no clue what you’re talking about and I can’t offer my opinions on any of it, but you can keep going.”

He didn’t even sound like he was lying or being polite which was the worst thing. He barely managed to keep the judges’ attention on him when he really got into the minutiae of a topic when on the stand.

He rolled his shoulders and dropped himself to one of the weight lifting benches.

“How do you not have any interest in it?” He asked, because honestly it was at least related to his job. “Orion-”

“Shut up about Orion,” Rodimus said, settling into a regular sitting position on the sparring mats facing him. “If you want to talk to him, you can go back to Vos. He may or may not be in your berth as we speak.”

Megatron smirked at the unnecessary hint of jealousy he detected.

“I have a guest room, I don’t think you need to worry about anyone in my berth.”

Even as he was saying the words, the little voice in the back of his processor was demanding that he stop.

Do not hit on him. And furthermore: he falls hard and fast, the words pulled from his memory files. 

Orion warned him, and even if he hadn’t, Megatron knew that Rodimus was looking for someone who was going to stay with him. He deserved someone to stay with him. Megatron wasn’t that bot. Not for him, not for anyone. 

“You can’t tell me there’s no one casual waiting on you.”

“Not anymore,” he said, thinking about Starscream with a little guilt. They certainly never would have worked, but it wasn’t as though Starscream hadn’t once tried. It’s just that Megatron didn’t even notice he was trying until he stopped.

“Are you going to finally tell me what’s wrong with you to warn me off?”

His spark fluttered at the directness. Maybe he wasn’t being as subtle as he had hoped.

Rodimus tapped his pede lightly against the mat, leaning back with his arms propping him up. 

“I already told you I’m emotionally unavailable.”

“Is that all?”

“I’m an aft, and I’ve been told I don’t know what I want.”

“Who does?”

“I’ve also been told I have the personality of a thermostat.”

Rodimus’ optics crinkled. “Sounds terrible.”

“By all accounts it is.”

“And the interface?”

“Rodimus-“

“Any complaints there?”

“No,” he said confidently. He knew how to focus on his partner’s pleasure enough to never hear complaints about that, regardless of how selfish he could be in other facets of his life. He vented, “Although…”

“Although what?” Rodimus asked sitting up better, seemingly excited at the possibility of a story.

“I might have lost focus a few times to think about work. And might have paused in the middle to answer an email once.”

“Just once?”

“It might have been more than once,” Megatron admitted.

“Oh Primus,” Rodimus was laughing now, perfect rows of denta on display. “Have you walked out of the room before?”

Megatron made a pained noise. “And not come back after because I forgot, yes.”

Rodimus wheezed, “oh no.”

“I’m glad you’re finding this funny because he sure didn’t.”

“You really are terrible,” Rodimus said, the words suffused with warmth.

“I am,” Megatron pressed. Wanting him to understand that. If only so Rodimus would be the one to put an end to this, because he wasn’t sure he could anymore.

“Just so you know,” Rodimus said slowly, “I like having attention on me.” He arched his spinal strut for emphasis and Megatron swallowed.

“I’ve noticed.”

“You answer one comm while you’re in me and you’re getting stabbed.”

“Now you sound like my…” 

“Your ex?”

“Not my ex,” Megatron insisted.

“Are you going to call me by his name? I might even let you the first time.”

Megatron vented in amused annoyance, “Rodimus.”

“It’ll make it easier for me to find him online,” he said, probably only half joking.

“Rodimus,” Megatron said, not even pretending to be resigned about this turn of events. His voice came out gravelly and low as he beckoned, “come here.”

Rodimus’ optics widened the slightest bit, the surprise showing through his confident facade.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He pushed himself to his pedes smoothly and walked to where Megatron was sitting on one of the weight machines. The slightest uptick in his fans further emphasizing that his own excitement might be matching Megatron’s.

He walked into the cradle of Megatron’s thighs, their plating sliding together, smooth and hot and there.

“Hi.”

Megatron reached his servo up to cradle Rodimus’ jaw, his thumb rubbing over the smooth plating of his cheek. “Hi,” he responded, swallowing thickly.

He felt like he needed to remind him one last time that maybe they shouldn’t. He’d only made it half way through the words before he was interrupted.

“This might be a worse idea than–”

“Stop talking about my brother,” Rodimus said and then closed the gap between them, slotting their mouths together. 

Megatron groaned into the kiss, sliding his servo around to grip the back of his neck, leaning up to deepen it. Rodimus was a good kisser, because of course he was. His servos were everywhere, sliding over Megatron’s plating, trying to touch everything at once. 

He flared his plating a little to give more space for those wandering digits to press in closer. He shuddered at the contact to his protoform underneath the armour, fans kicking on.

His own servo went to the spoiler finally in reach, sliding over it before catching the end of a wing tweaking it. It earned him a very pleased moan. Megatron took that as a chance to lick into his mouth, their glossa tangling together. 

The voices telling him that he would be back in Vos soon were very firmly shut down. He was on vacation, he was allowed to enjoy himself.

Rodimus climbed onto his lap, legs spreading around his waist and Megatron’s servos dropped to his aft to steady him, to pull him closer. Rodimus’ engine revved, the vibrations pushing against Megatron’s front where they were pressed together. 

Any other concerns fell neatly away.

---

Megatron woke up to a line of heat along his side. Seeing as he could not remember a single time he’s woken to someone in still in his bed, he couldn’t stop himself from tensing. 

His EM field, which had spread out in the night, curled close to himself again, but the whisps of contentment from the other mech lingered. It didn’t take him longer than to online his optics to remember who it was.

Scrap. 

He was too old to bother with the panic building in him. The interfacing had been good. Very good. Fun. He didn’t usually have fun during interface, and it had felt natural to curl around the other mech after, making jokes at each other late into the night. 

Before he could decide a course of action, Rodimus’ EM field flared alive, blazing in intensity until he locked it down. Megatron was a little taken aback at the strength of it: he’d noticed it by round 3 or so, when Rodimus was lost in pleasure enough to lose his hold on it. Still, EM fields were something you learned to control as sparkings because it was rude to throw your feelings around (or to read others). And while Megatron lacked the close relationships that would lend itself to relaxing and opening up fields together, he could still recognize that Rodimus’ was particularly strong.

Rolling onto his own side, He dropped a servo to Rodimus’ thigh, dragging slowly along the perfectly polished plating.

“Keep it up,” he said, voice raspy with sleep. 

“Mmm?” Rodimus hummed, stretching himself out in little increments as his systems slowly came back online. 

Megatron’s hand slid up to cover the protective plating of his tank, dragging him across the scant inches of berth between them. 

“You’re EM field, keep it up,” he explained. 

Rodimus twisted around, ignoring Megatron’s complaints until they were facing each other. Rodimus propped himself up on one elbow.

“My EM field?”

Megatron lightly trailed one of his digits up Rodimus’ spinal strut to his spoiler mount. He took the time to scratch lightly at the base of it and before moving back down. “Too forward?”

“No,” Rodimus said, and then Megatron was enveloped by it again. Heat and excitement and the vestiges of sleep. “You like it?”

“Yes,” Megatron said, watching each twitch and flutter of the spoiler from his lazy exploration. Cataloging them all now that the hyperfocus of want-need was gone. Settling into something softer even with the low-level thrum of anxiety buzzing through his circuits. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow aren’t you?” Rodimus asked, watching into the touch. 

Megatron’s mouth twisted, because the answer was yes which meant stretching this out would only cause problems down the road. 

“After mid-meal,” he confirmed.

“Guess we should make the most of it,” and then Rodimus was climbing on top of him, one servo already going to the bunch of exposed cables at his throat to pinch them. 

Megatron’s engine rumbled pleasantly. He pulled him down to kiss him, burying himself as far into the inviting EM field as he could get.

---

“So what do you want to do today?” Rodimus asked between sips of his morning energon. He was sitting on the counter again, which Megatron didn’t bother complaining about. Music was playing quietly from the radio, something fast and upbeat because Rodimus picked it.

Megatron suddenly remembered the list from Orion, told Rodimus to wait for him, and jogged up the stairs to the berth room to grab it from where he’d left it in the drawer of the bedside table. Returning downstairs, he waved it in the air. 

“Look over this, I think I should do at least one of these in case Orion asks.”

Rodimus swiped it from between his digits aggressively in a joking manner, and read over it carefully. Megatron propped his hip against the counter near him, close but not touching.

“We’re not doing an Opera, I’ll tell you that much,” he said almost immediately.

Megatorn rolled his optics, “count me surprised.”

“What do you want to do?” Rodimus asked, leaning back against the wall, helm turned to him. 

Megatron nodded at the list, “whichever of those is least offensive to you.”

Rodimus frowned at him, and Megatron pushed himself forward, servo curling underneath the joint of his knee. He used his hold to drag the leg to the side, opening up a space for him to slot himself between.

“Why are you frowning?”

“Because it’s your last propper cycle here, and I want you to enjoy yourself. What do you want to do?”

Megatron weighed the words, optics tracking the movement of his thumb on the delicate mesh and plating at Rodimus’ knee.

“What if I really wanted to see an opera?” he murmured, tilting forward into Rodimus’ space and press his lips against the sculpted metal of Rodimus’ cheek.

“You’ll have to work really hard to keep me entertained during it,” Rodimus said his other leg winding around Megatron’s waist to pull him closer. “D’ya want to see the opera?” he asked curiously, although the words were hard to hear over the uptick in Megatron’s fans – focused on the feeling of digits massaging at the underside of his helm. He was sensitive there, which Rodimus had noticed quite quickly the previous night. Rodimus was focused and considerate in berth, and seemed to like proving he knew what he was doing. Megatron was more than happy to let him. 

“We can compromise, how do you feel about musicals?”

Rodimus laughed, and jabbed into a sensitive spot rather harshly with one of his digits causing Magatron to jerk forward, their interface array rubbing together at the movement. “Just tell me what you want to do and we’ll do that,”

“I want us to enjoy ourselves,” Megatron said, “and I don’t even like Iacon, so it’s not like there’s a million things I wanted to do that you’ve derailed.”

“Tell me where you want to go and I’ll sort out the tickets for tonight. And as a thank you, you can take me back to berth and show your appreciation for my charity.”

Megatron groaned, and kissed him, feeling warm at the feeling of the mouth against his fighting back a smile. Megatron generally didn't care to micromanage things outside of work, but he wasn't immune to positive reinforcement. If Rodimus wanted him to pick something, he could pick something. He pulled away, looked down at the list and read out the first one he saw. 

“Deal,” Rodimus agreed, and then pushed himself off the counter so all of his weight was anchored on Megatron, who shifted his servos to hold him up. 

They made their way to the living room because the trek upstairs to the berthroom seemed a little pointless. They'd make their way back up there eventually. Although, maybe not before they had to get themselves ready to leave the house.

At least the plans for tomorrow included a lot of cleaning.

Notes:

I *think* we have three chapters left after this one.

Chapter 9

Megatron landed on the balcony of his apartment, switching into root mode in time to watch who he could only assume was Orion trip over his own pedes and stumble gracelessly in the middle of his living room. Megatron pushed the door open and leaned against the frame, an optic ridge raised.

“With moves like that, no wonder Soundwave is so taken with you.”

“Yeah, okay. Thank you,” Orion said visibly flustered. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he added defensively as he rightening himself, shaking his leg loosely.

Megatron considered offering the piece of knowledge that most mecha not used to him got a little surprised at his alt form. He wasn’t the most quiet, and his speed was impressive for his size. All together it often had the effect of startling them if they weren’t expecting him. In a crowded location it was less obvious, this high in the sky, it was a little like you were about to hit by a train — or so he’s been told.

“Hi,” Orion said into the silence and stuck his servo out. Megatron stepped away from the door to take it.

“Nice to meet you properly,” Megatron said genuinely, “your house is beautiful.”

“Your apartment is…an apartment.”

Megatron laughed, “I can’t believe I never connected the dots to who you are. You speak so eloquently.” Orion’s optics crinkled happily at the joke, unperturbed by the light rubbing. “You did get the short end of the stick with our deal.”

Orion smiled shyly, “I can’t complain.”

“So, a deca-cycle out of the house, how’d it go for you?” Megatron asked, genuinely curious. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve actually taken time off, someone should really start giving mecha a helmsup that a vacation is good.”

“I really think we’re onto something,” Megatron agreed, “we could turn it into a business.”

“I have this idea for something that no one’s ever thought of before. I’m thinking of calling it a resort.”

“Free engex I imagine.”

“Oh, certainly,” Orion confirmed. His looked shyly past Megatron’s shoulder before admitting, “It was good. I have plans to come back already, although I won’t be needing your guest room.”

Megatron felt a shock of surprise jolt through him. Evidently, he and Soundwave were both seeing a future here. “Wow. Seriously?”

“Is it so shocking?”

“I’ve never known Soundwave to not be serious, especially when it comes to his personal life. If you two can last until your next trip out here, then I’ll be happy to see you.”

“He’s a good mech,” Orion said defensively. Of Soundwave or the relationship, Megatron wasn’t sure.

“He is.”

Orion nodded and relaxed again.

“Anything exciting happened on your end?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Megatron said blandly. Let anything Orion learn be from Rodimus directly. It was his brother, and Megatron didn’t want to overstep. He did kind of wish they thought to discuss that, but it wasn’t as though the information wasn’t on the internet in Orion wanted to look for it.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you faceplate to faceplate. I don’t know what I was expecting, although you’re taller than seekers usually are.”

“Not a seeker,” Megatron said immediately. Every seeker Megatron knew (and there were many) would lose their entire processors at the mere suggestion. “I just fly.”

“Well, if Soundwave and I make it, we should spend a cycle out together. I’ve combed through your poetry so I know we have shared areas of interest.”

“I..would like that, yes.”

It didn’t take long for Optimus to take his leave, having his own life and home to return to. And not least several friends ranging from concerned to curious about his wayward adventures. 

One his gues was gone, and really Megatron was sure this was the most use his elevator has ever gotten in all the years since it was built, he collapsed onto his own berth.

He might not watch many movies, but there was something to be said in every piece of media about the hero returning to their home and falling into their own berth to settle them. Some type of comfort everpresent in the enclosed space of one’s recharge station. 

He laid there for several kliks waiting for any of those suposed feelings to make their presence known. A reminder that while he enjoyed his time away he was happy to be back to his life. 

It didn’t happen. Which wasn’t to say he was unhappy or anything of the sort. It’s just that he was feeling a little more unmoored than he expected. The house seemed awfully quiet.

Maybe distance doesn’t make the spark grow fonder after all. 

He pulled up his message thread with Rodimus, not that the thread was very long — new and ineffectual when you could just raise your voice a little to get the mech’s attention. 

He hesitated for a long moment. He’d never been a very good texter. And more than that, they’d just seen each other that morning. He didn’t want to see…indulgent or cloying. Still, he figured something neutral might be useful. To open the channel of communication between them for the future.

Nothing commital.

<<Megatron: Made it home.>>

There. A simple status update, plenty of people informed their friends of their safe return after travelling.

There was no immediate answer, which was hardly a concern. Still, with no conversation partner present, there was little reason to laze around for the rest of the afternoon. 

He went into the kitchen to check his energon reserves, pleased to see that Optimus had everything restocked for him because it meant he had been right to insist he do the same (despite Rodimus’ arguments that it was unnecessary). At the same time, he was a little sad because it meant he didn’t have to go to the store today. He would need to find something else to do with his time. 

He considered sending a photo of the food reserves as a “told you so” so Rodimus. But then he would be double texting and that did feel like it would be showing his cards a little. Not that he was even sure what the cards were saying, but he didn’t want to scare— oh Rodimus responded.

Megatron stared at the notification and then began to worry if he should wait a relatively similar period of time before responding. But that would be stupid. If he waited too long, then Rodimus might start another task, and what a strange way to -what?- punish him for not being immediately available? 

This was stupid. He was being terribly stupid. He hoped Soundwave was experiencing something similar, although he’d never ask to confirm.

He opened the message.

<<Rodimus: in one piece?>>

<<Megatron: As far as I’m aware.>>

The dots signifying that Rodimus was responding right away made him relax a little. He realized he was standing in the middle of his kitchen paralyzed in indecision all this time. He moved himself to the couch.

<<Rodimus: you should probably send proof then. so I can confirm.>>

Megatron smiled at that. Even Rodimus’ refusal to turn his letter capitalization on didn’t annoy him.

He took a photo of himself with his datapad, consciously not overthinking the angle of his frame’s positioning on the couch or his facial expression. Rodimus already knew what his faceplate looked like, he hardly needed to impress. 

<<Megatron: Is this serviceable?>>

Now that he was sorting he realized he missed the opportunity to send a picture of his energon reserves. He didn’t want to get up again so he left it.

<<Rodimus: im going to let that opening for an innuendo go. because you had a long morning. say thank you for my restraint.>>

Megatron bit at his lower lip. His immediate response, and his response if they’d been in person, would likely have been along the lines of did I ask for restraint? Which would lend itself to another opening for interface. Megatron wasn’t entirely sure that was an avenue he wanted to try via comm so soon. 

<<Megatron: You must really like me then.>>

He hit send before he could really process his own message and groaned in regret. That was probably worse. It could lead into them talking about their expectations for this moving forward, a topic they’re both carefully been skirting around since falling into berth together.

<<Rodimus: was that unclear this morning??>>

At least Rodimus seemed to be in agreement that such a conversation wasn’t ideal. Even if he did keep sending things in a particular direction. Megatron weighed his options but it wasn’t as though he had anything interesting to talk about presently.

Megatron ex-vented and made himself comfortable. Fine, comm sex it was. 

<<Megatron: You could have been clearer.>>

<<Rodimus: is that right? What should I have done?>>

The flaw in this plan was clear. He knew what to do when someone was in front of him. He knew how to do the “come over” message. He was less clear on this. His hesitancy (and multiple versions of what amounted to the same message) went on long enough that before he could bring himself to hit send, Rodimus was already sending something. 

<<Rodimus: ah, pit. i have to go. glad you made it home!!>> 

Megatron dropped his helm to the back of his couch and groaned. Clearly, it was for the best that he’d taken too long to send anything. He couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of Rodimus reading something and then going “oops, gotta go.” At least this way, Megatron was more inclined to believe he actually had something else to do. 

Still, with no plan for the evening, he grabbed his primary work data pad and turned it on. He might as well figure out what sort of mess he was about to fly into tomorrow.

---

His first day back at the office, he arrived 2 groon early as was his standard. The mech at the front desk greeted him non-plussed and pleasant in the way someone who went about their day on autopilot did. He could relate. On the other side of the sign in counter, he joined his assistant who was waiting patiently ant the elevator for him. He accepted the cube of energon and sipped at it idly as they rode the elevator up. The entire way to his office was spent listening to him recount everything that happened in the office in his absence. No mention of any gossip involving Megatron.

As was to be expected, aside from the welcome backs and the how was your time offs, things proceeded as normal. With every passing klik he felt his relaxed vacation self shed away from him like a frame he’d outgrown.

Unsurprisingly, there were more than a few issues he had to throw himself into. By the time he hit midmeal, he was questioning why he ever thought it was reasonable to leave for a deca-cycle like he had. 

There was a quick rap of knuckles at his door before it was sliding open and Megatron grunted a greeting, not bothering to look up from the mess of a form Novastorm gave him earlier. 

When a cube of energon was not placed on his desk, he finally dragged his gaze away to glare imperiously at the mech who was not his assistant.

“How was your vacation?” Starscream asked, only half a step into Megatron’s room, the door forced to stay open rather than provide privacy. 

“Relaxing,” Megatron said firmly. Leave, hung in the air between them. 

“Not too relaxing,” Starscream offered, “you seemed quite busy.”

“What do you want?”

“Me? Want? Nothing! Nothing…” he trailed the last word out, smiling impishly, not hiding his delight. “When are we going to meet your new…partner?”

“Don’t start with this,” Megatron groaned, staring at the open door. The last thing he needed was to be the centre of gossip. Although, with a vague concern growing, he probably already was. Everyone else was probably too scared to ask him directly. He looked at the door again. 

Starscream tracked his optics and huffed, stepping into the room proper. The sensors on the door finally allowed it to close. 

“I can’t believe you went for a ground pounder,” he complained, “and a minor celebrity at that. You didn’t have a processor break down did you? A hardwiring to change your entire personality?” His optics glinted at that, like he would, perhaps, like such a thing to occur. 

“I was on vacation and who I spend time with off the clock is no one’s business.”

Starscream lifted the data pad he’d been holding loosely at his side, flipping it around to show off a paparazzi photo of Megatron and Rodimus kissing…aggressively. Aggressive kissing.

He shuttered his optics for a second.

He knew it was from their first (and only) real date, the two of them sitting through a ballet-musical hybrid that Megatron spent the majority of explaining the plot to Rodimus who was mainly entranced by the dancing aspect rather than the music. And maybe they’d gotten a little carried away toward the end of an intermission but they’d been alone in their viewing box. Megatron hadn’t really thought much of it at the time. 

He obliged his optics again and stared Starscream down.

“Clearly not everyone agrees,” Starscream said wagging the data pad back and forth. He flipped it back to face himself and stared at it. “Did you two even have things to talk about? He’s never given the impression of someone worth the vocalizer spent on him.”

Megatron felt anger flutter through his circuits. He knew Starscream wasn’t doing this to be cruel or even really to antagonize Megatron. They often enjoyed the chance to talk negatively about other people together, as well as question each other’s life choices. So actually: yes, it was to antagonize Megatron but no more than normal.

Even knowing this, he had to make a conscious effort not to puff up his plating.

“You don’t know him,” Megatron ground out, digits clenching on a forms little too hard, the soft creak of a datapad crumpling under this thumb loud to his audials. 

“I’ve seen most of his movies,” Starscream argued.

What?

“Since when?”

“Since always,” Starscream said flapping his servo dismissively. “Unlike you, I do go out and see movies with friends. Thundercracker wrote one of his scripts actually.”

Now that Starscream mentioned it, Megatron was pretty sure he remembered that. Not a mention of Rodimus specifically, but Thundercracker’s palpable excitement that one of his scripts was not only getting made with a good budget but that actual stars were getting attached to it — quite the difference from his regular work on that tv show of his Megatron never watched. He’d bowed out of going to the premiere with Starscream and his trine at the time.

“Right.”

“He’s a car. I thought Soundwave blew some internal wiring recently but this is worse. At least he got the smart sibling.”

“I hardly married him,” Megatron pointed out. 

“I hope the interfacing was good, because I’m never letting you live this down,” Starscream reassured him, “you had a midlife crisis and you ran off to test drive a new, shiny car.”

He was laughing now, clearly not even upset about it: a point in Megatron’s favour. He clearly reached the conclusion that this was a ridiculous tryst of his, little more than working off some energy and reminding himself he could he desirable. Megatron wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that he liked Rodimus as much as he did. That the interface hadn’t been planned or for any reason other than he wanted to, (and for some reason Rodimus wanted to) and so they had. he and Starscream weren’t friends. It was no one’s business but his own.

“At least it wasn’t Sentinel,” Starscream admitted once he stopped laughting, “apparently he’s an aft.”

“So I’m told,” Megatron agreed and watched Starscream walk out, his assistant slipping through the door the second his wing disappeared from sight. 

He looked at the cube of energon and felt his tanks churn. He wasn’t particularly hungry anymore, but didn’t say anything as it was set down at the corner of his table. 

“Did you need anything else, sir?”

Megatron shook his helm, a silent dismissal and stared at some of the scribbled notes in the margins of a paper from Hook (trying and failing to desipher what any of it said). Once he was alone again, he opened his message threat to Rodimus. 

<<Megatron: They’re all useless without me. This is why I never take time off.>>

No immediate response, not that he was expecting one or anything. He returned to his work.

No point in feeling disappointment over things he can’t control.

---

For all that Megatron and Rodimus’ friendship seemed riddled with stops and starts (and statistically, how were two people’s schedules so at odds with each other?) Soundwave and Orion didn’t seem to face the same challenges. 

“Can you get into touch with whoever is running the legal team up on Luna 2 and get these numbers for me by midmeal tomorrow? They hardly send us any of the information we ask for, and when they do it’s all organized so nonsensically to be practically worthless.”

“Soundwave: has next 3 cycles off.”

Megatron paused his typing and swung around to gape at him. 

“3 cycles off? Now!?” He demanded, “move-“ he pointed at him for emphasis, “-whatever it is you have planned. This is more important.”

“Soundwave: cannot rearrange his schedule. Optimus: arrived in Vos this morning.”

“Already?” Megatron asked, “that’s not supposed to be for another…” he realized he had no clue what cycle of the year they were on. “For another while,” he finished lamely.

“Optimus: on schedule. Megatron: works too much,” Soundwave admonished. 

Megatron cleared his vocalizer, losing the wind under his wings that might have kept him annoyed and demanding Soundwave stay at work. It was hardly Soundwave or Optimus’ fault that work didn’t end when their cycle did. And maybe he was thinking a little mournfully about how many times he had to blow Rodimus off, or how the last time they’d spoken on a comm call together, Rodimus had been getting ready to go out with his cast members for some type of dinner.

The way they kept running out of things to say to one another entirely. 

He couldn’t begrudge his friend the chance to have something. Not everyone wanted to give up the chance at a life for momentary work productivity like he did. And Soundwave was noticeably happier since meeting Optimus — Megatron’s vacation seemed to have a possitive effect for someone at least.

“You’re sure he can’t just..sit in your office while you work?”

Soundwave leveled him with a deeply judgemental look and Megatron deflated. 

“Yes, I hear myself. Who else can I use to ferry messages between myself and the idiots then? It can’t be someone who will get pushed over,” Megatron warned. He’d already tried that — Misfire had returned in tears and with less paperwork done than he’d left with.

It didn’t take long for a list of options to appear in Megatron’s email from Soundwave. Anticipatory of Megatron’s needs as ever even when it wasn’t his job to be.

Soundwave set his servos on his hips, showing that he was about to make a request of his own that he expected Megatron to pay attention to.

“Optimus: has invited Megatron to spend time with us while he is here.”

Ah. 

Megatron grimaced. If his time for Rodimus was severely undervalued, then his time dedicated to building a friendship with Optimus was even less so. He remembered making the promise to the mech to spend time with him when he visited next but the promise had been made foolishly. He was busy.

“I don’t have time for that. That I’m not barring the door so you can’t escape is already more grace than I would bother with if it was anyone else asking. Enjoy your time off. I’ll see you in 4 cycles.”

Soundwave frowned at him. Not that Megatron could see the frown, but he knew a frown when it was directed at him. 

“Megatron: work too much,” he reiterated and left.

He thought about comming Optimus directly to apologize for flaking on him, or Rodimus for an excuse to hear from him at all. But if he opened his messages to Rodimus he would have to open the last thing the mech had sent him: an innocuous reference to a his upcoming movie premiere. The one Megatron had been too nervous to open or respond to. He knew if Rodimus asked him to go as his date, Megatron would end up busy that cycle, like he is now for Optimus. At the same time it was possible he hadn’t even thought of inviting him. At which point he would have to acknowledge that he’d so horribly failed at whatever this was that it was truly offlined by now. 

Rodimus hadn’t tried to message him again and Megatron kept coming up with excuses to comm other people so that the notification fell further and further down his list of conversations so as to be out of sight when he opened the app completely.

In the end, he opted to not message Optimus either on the off chance he’s spoken to Rodimus about any of this. Megatron might very well get stabbed if that was the case.

Notes:

King of the fumble 🙏🙏

The plan was to do a chapter about their date and then a chapter like this but the other chapter wasn’t working for me.

Sorry for the wait, this month has been ridiculous 🙃

Chapter 10

The firm was hosting their massive Prime’s Day gala as they did every stellar-cycle and for once work was slow enough that Megatron didn’t even have an excuse to arrive late to the festivities for once.

Optimus, reclined on his couch watching him polish his gauntlets (they always ended up with more marks on them than the rest of his frame and thus required extra maintenance), tapped his pede on the floor. 

“Why aren’t you getting ready with Soundwave?” Megatron asked his interloper. 

“Because this seemed like the only way to hang out with you,” Optimus said unphased. They’d been having a pleasant and meandering conversation about metal symbolism in Trion’s work, Megatron was having more fun than he’d had for at least 2 quartex and Optimus seemed to know it. 

“I’m sorry,” Megatron vented, recapping his bottle of polish and leaving it on the counter to be put away later. “I’ve been busy.”

Optimus huffed to denote how unimpressed he was with the excuse. 

“Everyone is busy, Soundwave is busy. I’m busy. We still find time to visit each other.”

“How is that going by the way?” Megatron asked to change the subject. 

“Good, I’m thinking of doing the Conjunx Ritus with him. The idea doesn’t even stress me out. You’re avoiding me.” He said each point without a single change in inflection across them. Fact, fact, fact.

Megatron hummed at the information, not surprised per say because anyone willing to babysit another mech’s sparklings for cycles at a time without their carrier around was clearly in it for the long haul. Still, good for them.

“Good for you. I’m not avoiding you,” he said because Optimus was clearly winding up to throw a pillow from the couch at his helm if he kept dodging his points. 

“Then why haven’t we gone out to the opera together? Or a walk around the park. Or to get energon treats from a street vendor for 5 kliks on your break. I’ve spent more time with Soundwave’s other coworkers than I have you and I’ve known you the longest.”

Megatron went and joined him at the couch feeling guilty for being called out so thoroughly. 

“How’s Rodimus doing?”

“Stop changing the- oh.” Optimus leveled him with a considering look. “Did he do something? He didn’t make things weird did he? I know I told you not to interface with him but it’s fine that you did. Mecha usually do.”

“He’s not shareware,” Megatron said, perhaps more aggressively than he meant to. 

“I know,” Optimus said quickly, “I know. Loves hard and fast, he can’t help it and he’s very attractive. Mecha get taken in by him, that’s all. Are you two going to be a problem?” He asked looking concerned.

Megatron shook his helm which Optimus appeared to accept before he continued.

“He’s doing well, he’s busy too. Honestly, I’ve barely seen him since I got back to Iacon. He ended up staying with Drift and Ratch for a few cycles and then moved out to Nyon. He’s doing a play, you know. A good one even, although I don’t know why he had to go to Nyon of all places for it. He could have gotten a part in one of my plays and it would have been just as good.”

Megatron digested that for a while. He couldn’t believe Rodimus never mentioned that he’d got the part. He thought back to the message about the premiere (he had opened it, finally, although never responded) and while the date had been far off in the future (although by now it was in the past) he couldn’t remember it referencing exactly what it was for. He should have asked. Even if he hadn’t planned to go, there was no reason why he couldn’t have asked. Or before that, when they had spoken, Rodimus never mentioned where he was living or what job he was preparing for. He talked about his cast mates and the energon dispensers and the producers. But not the job. Maybe Rodimus should have been the lawyer instead of him, he was awfully good at controlling a conversation.

“You and Rodimus didn’t grow up close did you?”

Optimus smiled awkwardly at him.

“No. I was the accident sparkling. Our parents had me young and conjunxed because they wanted to give me a stable life. They were very…doting. Then when I moved out, I think they realized they didn’t have much to keep them together so…”

“Fix-it sparkling.”

“Exactly. Not that he fixed much.” At Megatron’s questioning look he further explained, “they ended up divorcing when he was still young. He shuffled between them a lot and even stayed with me and Elita once. But we butted helms a lot since we had pretty different parenting styles used on us. He was very… flighty. Still is, seeing as I can’t get him to buy a house to save my life.”

Megatron thought about Rodimus and tried to incorporate this new information into what he already knew. It was a little funny in hindsight, to see how both brothers seemed to worry after each other and yet never see optic to optic on how to do it.

he wanted to asked more because he hadn’t exactly been spoiled for choice when it came to talking about the mech, but he already guilty for asking what he did — hadn’t he been the one to tell Rodimus that if he wanted to know something he would ask him directly?

“Have you been avoiding me because of Rodimus then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know why I do most of the things I do.”

“Do you regret-“ Optimus frowned uncomfortably, “-you and him?” He asked the question like it pained him to voice it.

“No! I do wish I’d done it differently.”

“Do you want my permission to date him? Because he’d hate that and it’s weird.”

Megatron kicked at him lightly.

“Hardly.”

It wasn’t as though Megatron was in the habit of asking for permission in any facet of his life, and he was pretty sure both of their parents were alive and well so it would make more sense to ask one of them if he was. Ultimately, Megatron would have to ask Rodimus for permission to date Rodimus more than anyone else, which was far scarier. If that was something he even wanted to do that is.

“Then are you going to stop avoiding me? It would make the wedding a little weird if a member of the wedding party keeps running away.”

“I’m not going to be in your wedding party,” Megatron laughed in thrilled amusement at the idea. 

“Soundwave’s going to want you in the wedding party,” Optimus said. The serous tone of voice threw Megatron off. 

“…No he won’t.”

The smile slide off his faceplate leaving he and Optimus staring at each other gravely. Unfortunately, by this point in time, Megatron could only hope that Optimus would know the absent mech the best out of the two of them by now.

Megatron was going to need to rethink his relationship with his coworker.

Optimus snapped his digits, “also, Rodimus is coming to the gala tonight.”

Megatron dropped his helm into his hands. 

“Why would you bury the lead like that?”

---

Megatron did end up arriving to the gala proper well after everyone else started mingling.

While he’d been present for the opening speeches, one of which given by himself, he’d made quick work to disappear with one of the firm’s original partners, retired now, to talk. If he’d spent much of those speeches staring at Rodimus, it went unnoticed because so were several others.

Used as they were to Optimus, his brother they were not. Megatron wasn’t overly worried, Thundercracker himself was far too normal an appearance for anyone to think much of other public figures. If anything, it was the old gossip of Rodimus’ relationship with him that was drawing so many wandering optics. 

“He’s awfully handsome in person, isn’t he?” Black Arachnia asked him while stealing some of his rust sticks off his plate. He couldn’t believe that over the last stellar-cycle he had begun to waste him time getting to know any of these mecha (far later than anyone else did, but it was the thought that counted).

“Who?” Megatron asked innocently, daring her to press the point. 

She smirked at him, lips curling knowingly but left it alone. She wandered off not long after.

Now if only everyone else was so willing to leave things alone.

Rodimus was talking to Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp by the stage.

“Megatron: worried?” Soundwave asked moving to stand next to him.

“No,” Megatron said.

“You look a little worried, boss,” Rumble said from his other side. 

“Who’s worried?” Optimus asked, Lazerbeak sitting atop his smokestack. Megatron was a little surprised although he shouldn’t have been. Lazerbeak was very particular with the company she kept, but Soundwave wouldn’t be considering the Conjunx Ritus without the full support of his entire brood.

A chorus of ‘Megatron’ sounded from the gathered group, including some people who shouldn’t even be listening in on the conversation. Megatron shot a nasty glare at Long Haul who shrunk in on himself and shuffled away.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” Optimus asked.

Megatron could understand how Soundwave and Optimus managed to have such a healthy relationship. They were both remarkably straightforward about everything. 

Megatron grunted, attention focused on how Starscream was poking at Rodimus’ spoiler. 

“What the pit are they doing?”

Skywarp caught him looking and waved wildly at him, beckoning him over. Rodimus turned to see who had caught the black and purple seekers' attention and raised a ridge at Megatron when they made optic contact. 

Accepting that gracefully skipping away to hide in his office was no longer an option, he strode forward to the group, hearing the scattered steps behind him telling him he was being followed by everyone else. 

“Megatron,” Starscream purred, “you’ll never guess who showed up to our humble little party.”

Rodimus blinked and looked back at Starscream. Probably trying to figure out what he’d stumbled into — a normal reaction to interacting with the seeker.

Thundercracker swatted at Rodimus’ arm happily but directed his words to Megatron, “you aren’t going to keep him for yourself are you? I have some things I’d like to show him.”

“The night is young,” Rodimus laughed and then ducked away from them to brush past Megatron’s arm, “but I do need to steal him for a klik.”

Megatron turned without hesitation to follow after the speedster, mindless to how most people in the room were watching him curiously. His optics kept trailing down the lines of his spinal strut to watch the movement of his hips. 

Ridiculous. 

Rodimus led him to the table of mid-grade, swiping two cubes and offering them up to Megatron to pick one. The handful of associates in the area helpfully dispersed to give them space. Maybe they weren’t as hopeless and Megatron always assumed them to be.

Megatron grabbed the cube from his right servo and took a sip, optics locked to the shorter mech. 

Rodimus stared back just as intently. 

“Did you want to talk to me?” Megatron asked. 

“I wouldn’t have third wheeled those two otherwise,” Rodimus snorted. His optics flicked to the group they’d abandoned. Megatron figured of most early stage couples, there were worse options than Optimus and Soundwave who were hardly the most affectionate. However, seeing as Megatron spent quite a lot of time avoiding spending time with the two of them himself, he wasn’t going to argue. Rodimus drummed the digits of his free servo idly on the refreshments table. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

Megatron downed the rest of his drink in one go. He’d gone for the drink Rodimus selected with a more orange hue. It was sweet, and he couldn’t tell if it was good or not. The flavour lingered in the back of his intake.

“I know.”

Rodimus gave him a conspiratorial look. 

“If you give me the gossip on everyone in the room I might find it in myself to not take it too personally that you left me on read.”

Megatron felt relief wash over him, happy at the reminder that they did enjoy each others company. Being away from each other meant overthinking things, but the second they were faceplate to faceplate it felt unfairly simple. Megatron looked around wondering where to start. He wanted to make Rodimus laugh.

He knew letting himself be pulled into the gossip mill (ever so slightly, thanks Skywarp) would benefit him.

---

“How have you been?” Megatron asked softly, eyes tracing Rodimus’ outline in the low light. 

Rodimus, Megatron found, was better suited to Iacon, where the artificial rays of light could glimmer off of his paint job. Still, there was much to be said about the distinctive sharp turns and points of his plating among the shadows. Each curve made more dramatic for it.

The two of them had slipped away from the party to an open balcony, separated from prying eyes by the loose, wispy tarps draped across the doorway. They fluttered delicately whenever someone walked too close.

“Good, busy. But you knew that,” Rodimus replied. He was facing away from the city, toward Megatron and doors.

“I assumed,” Megatron said drinking him in. “Me too,” he added, because he felt like he should even though it went without saying.

“You warned me,” Rodimus grinned, not a flicker of dishonestly on his face that might counteract the smile. Like maybe it didn’t bother him at all that they stopped talking properly as quickly as they did.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been better at staying in touch,” Megatron admitted. That Rodimus had been so willing to make light of it eased a lot of Megatron’s stress about seeing him.

“Me too, but that’s life right?” Rodimus said magnanimously, leaning back against the barrier of the balcony at his backstrut. 

“Optimus tells me you’re in a play that’s doing well.”

Rodimus laughed in embarrassment, “yeah, I am. The gig in Nyon I mentioned. It was just this little limited run thing — funding and all that. But I got the lead part and it’s been going well and now we’re being shopped around the Iaconian theatre scene. So, y’know, fingers crossed we might make it big.”

“Good for you.”

“Good for the rest of the crew, it’s not like I needed the boost. But they’re good people.”

“Good for them too,” Megatron allowed, “but still. Good for you, I’m glad you’re enjoying it — you are enjoying it aren’t you?”

“I am. I thought I’d try something a little different. Very different, actually. If we make it to Iacon, you should, um, try to check it out. It’s more up your alley than my movies are if nothing else.”

Megatron didn’t know how to admit to him that he’d go out of his way to watch a movie if Rodimus was in it regardless. That he’d been using his filmography as background noise around the house when he was home. That he generally stopped what he was doing to focus on a scene if Rodimus was in it. It was embarrassing, but he figured Rodimus would find it charming. 

“I like your movies,” he said eventually. 

Rodimus rolled his optics, clearly not taking him seriously. 

“Whatever. The play. You should see it.”

“I…” his glossa stilled, scared to make a promise he might not keep. “I’ll try to make my way out for it when it gets to Iacon.”

“If it gets there,” Rodimus corrected. 

“I’m not worried for your chances.”

Rodimus ducked his head as if to hide his heated faceplates from Megatron. He didn’t call him out on it. 

“So aside from that, how have you been?”

“Nothing to write home about.”

Megatron kept staring at him, and then felt bad about how heavily he was doing so. He wondered if Rodimus was pretending not to notice. 

“Nothing at all?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. 

He hauled himself up onto the barrier properly, his legs idly kicking into the air. Megatron wanted to touch him. He hadn’t spent enough time making himself at home in the ‘v’ of the other mech’s thighs when the option was still on the table. He’ll add it to his list of life’s disappointments. 

“What about you?” Rodimus asked, circumventing that line of thought. “Are you dating and madly in love with anyone yet? Figured out what you want from life?”

At Megaton’s blank stare he raised one shoulder pauldron toward his audial. 

“I know we didn’t actually date,” he said softly, “but I thought maybe it was close enough for you to get your happy ending.”

Megatron cleared his vocalizer, feeling ill. 

“No,” he finally pushed out, his mouth tasting ashy. 

He knew they’d never put things into words, and as such they’d never had to break up, but Megatron always figured he would know if -when- the breakup happened. It seemed a little dumb in hindsight. 

“There’s been no one…else. After you.” He wanted to impress upon Rodimus that even if it hadn’t worked, he had considered them something. Had wanted them to be something. When would he have had time to fall in love exactly? He was too busy working and watching Rodimus Prime’s greatest hits before recharge. His life was maybe not going super well, thriving career or not.

Rodimus was staring at him and he cleared his vocalizer again. 

“The next time I see you,” Megatron promised, “be it at the Soundwave-Optimus wedding or your performance, I’ll let you know if that’s changed.”

“I’d like that,” Rodimus grinned, “and it’s the Optimus-Soundwave wedding.”

“Great,” Megatron said faintly. Was this it then? 

“Great,” Rodimus agreed, still looking at him like he wanted to say more. 

“I really did want to text you more.”

Rodimus straightened his spinal strut immediately, caught off guard at the admission. 

“Did you? I was worried I would annoy you so I didn’t start conversations sometimes.”

Megatron felt something bubble up in him, humour at his own shortcomings perhaps. “Me too, I told myself I had to have something to say before I hit send.”

Rodimus giggled, “aw man. We were awful at this, you should have messaged more. And I should have messaged more. The person you date after me better get so many texts, like…all the time. Enough they need to mute you so they can go about their day cycle.”

“I don’t think I have enough to say for that.”

“If you like them enough maybe you will.”

Megatron bit down firmly on his glossa. Rodimus had clearly drawn a line. Broken up, or something like it. And even if Megatron couldn’t bring himself to ask if Rodimus has had any luck falling in love he could at least offer him what he’d been wanting to tell him since before they’d ever interfaced.

“Rodimus. I want you to get your happy ending too.”

Megatron didn’t know how to feel about the possibility of Rodimus showing up to events with some bot on his arm, happy and present and available (That’s a lie, he knew how it made him feel). But the fact of it was inevitable and Megatron would hope the next bot he got photographed making out with on a theatre balcony would be better for him.

Rodimus’ optics softened, the shine of them catching the light of the lanterns by the door in just the right way to make him look like he might cry. 

“Thanks, Megs.”

---

Rodimus was back to charming crowds with rowdy stories. Megatron was seated in the corner of the room, chin propped into his servo and lazily answering his email backlog rather than admit to moping.

Naturally, Starscream decided to join him. 

“Who voided in your energon?”

”Gross,” Megatron muttered. 

Starscream prodded at him with his pede. When that didn’t get an appropriate reaction he started up a quick rythym. Thump thump thump thump.

”What?”

“Your fancy little sports car is here and you’re moping. It’s pathetic. What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You must have done something. You’re an atrocious person to date. Have you tried apologizing to him yet?”

Megatron stared at him incredulously. 

“Are you trying to help me right now?”

“No. I’m trying to find out if I’m ahead in the bet I have going with Black Arachnia.”

Megatron searched the seeker’s face. He was cunning and annoying and rude, but just as often those things were used to hide any of his good traits. Traits Megatron really only knew he had because he’d seen him do kind things for others — but only when he could feasibly mask it under the guise of helping himself. 

“I’m sorry I was never receptive to you as a partner,” Megatron said softly. “You had far more patience for it then you had any reason to.”

Starscream gaped at him, his wings wiggling to show that he was flustered and uncomfortable. Finally he cleared his vocalizer and pointed a long, dangerous digit in Megatron’s face. 

“I said try apologizing to him. I don’t need to hear anything from you.”

“Neither does he,” Megatron said, maybe not at peace with knowing but also definitely more comfortable now that the uncertainty was over. “We’re both very single.”

“We’ll that’s ridiculous,” Starscream huffed, “you’re half in love with him.”

Megatron hummed, and looked at a curious email from First Aid of all mecha that had been buried in his “not urgent” inbox.

“He can do better.” Then, because regardless of what Starscream might say, he did think he owed him this much, “so can you.”

Starscream’s wings fluttered again, this time in pride. 

“I always knew that. But I’m glad we’re on the same page now.”

They both turned to look at Rodimus who was still flailing about dramatically, clearly deep into a story that everyone else was finding outrageously funny. Or maybe deeply concerning. Honestly, the looks of the group were mixed.

Rodimus didn’t seem to notice them watching, which served Megatron fine.

Notes:

Are they both pining over a relationship they never technically started *or* ended? Yes. Yes they are.

Can you guys tell that the second I write something I feel the need to post it immediately? I could never follow an update schedule. You get it the second I have it 😂

Chapter 11

Megatron wove through the bustling frames of the crowded street wondering why Iacon was the way it was. He was a big mech, he took up a lot of space and tended to command attention — he’s had a lifetime to learn how. When he walked through Vos, rare as it was, he hardly ever had to deal with crowds. Walkways weren’t overly common, and flight frames were built for speed and agility so it was not usually he who was expected to move aside when he did end up in a situation of having to share limited space with a group. 

Iacon meanwhile, particularly the part of Iacon he was in, was populated with over excited young mecha running around getting their first taste of a big city and the freedom such a locale provided. What was better than the endless opportunity that the City of the Solus represented? Apart from the practically-sparkling crowd, there were the couples and families looking lost and harried (likely late for the shows they paid way too much shanix for). Together, it made for a hectic crowd of frames going in every direction. The older couples, polished to the nines, who probably came weekly with their tickets pre-arranged and the timing down to a tee were practically non-existent although if that was because they were already seated by now or because they went on less busy nights, Megatron wasn’t sure. He should have taken into account factors such as these, but he hadn’t and now had to suffer for it.

A rowdy crowd of very drunk mecha stopped directly in his path to scream at each other excitedly. One of them smacked Megatron with the back of their servo and didn’t even turn to apologize to him (or acknowledge the contact happened at all). Megatron waited because the stream of mecha on either side of him wasn’t slowly down at all and he didn’t want to force his way into the current, but when the group appeared to have no plans to move, he huffed and awkwardly shuffled his mass through them shoulder first. 

He ignored the colourful language they shouted after him as if he was the one disavowing basic mecha decency and social queues. He rolled his optics and continued on, the lights of the sign to Rodimus’ play blazing out at him in the sky.

---

Megatron looked around at the mecha still lingering. He could pick up snippets of conversation ranging from the play itself to what the rest of a group's evening might entail. He didn’t want to loiter for so long that someone might ask him what he was doing. Any answer he gave would have been far too akin to a crazed fan. As unsure as he was about how to approach, he also wasn’t about to leave without seeing the actor.

He should have told Rodimus he was coming so that this part would have already been sorted out. Optimus had reassured him that the play was quite good, as if Megatron’s reluctance to get a front row seat and give Rodimus a helms up was so he could beg ignorance about the quality if he was ever asked but that wasn’t something he was overly worried about. Truthfully, he wanted to see the play without Rodimus knowing because he didn’t want Rodimus to try to impress him. Megatron liked watching him when he was merely doing his own thing, and he didn’t want to throw that off. 

Ultimately, he’d settled on getting a seat half up the auditorium – not so close as to risk being noticed but not so far he’d be losing a good view. The play had been good, and Rodimus was stunning. But now he had to figure out a non-weird way to inform him that he had come and was hoping to see him (as if he didn’t have better things to do after a show). 

Before he could decide his best course of action, a notification appeared on his HUD.

<<Rodimus: Have you left yet?>>

Megatron humphed. That, he supposed, answered the question of if they’d actually locked optics toward the end or if it had just been a trick of the lighting.

<<Megatron: No.>>

This made his life easier and he was happy to believe Rodimus initiating contact meant he was receptive to Megatron’s presence. Not that he had any reason to think he wouldn’t be but it was hard to know. It didn’t matter what Optimus and Soundwave (and First Aid and Ratchet) told him, what did any of them know really?

<<Rodimus: You want to come backstage? I can show you around.>>

Apparently enough to be right.

<<Megatron: I would love to.>>

<<Rodimus: I’ll send someone out to grab you. Stay by your seats.>>

Megatron furrowed his optic ridge, nose scrunching in a little in confusion at the use of a plural there. Megatron was very firmly alone, single ticket, single seat. It was another thing that made him stand out a little with the crowd. 

Probably a typing mistake.

Megatron made his way from the hall he’d been lingering by back into the auditorium and down the stairs toward his seat. He watched a member of the crew dart out from behind the heavy curtain and look around until they noticed him. They raised a servo and made a ‘come here’ gesture at him. Megatron continued forward, hoping the twist-swirling of his spark in its chamber would calm itself by the time he saw Rodimus faceplate to faceplate again. Now was not the time to let anxiety still his glossa. He had his things to say, and however Rodimus wanted to proceed he would accept happily. But being glossa-tied certainly wasn’t going to help his case in selling it.

“Hi, Megatron!” The mech said once they were within a reasonable distance from each other, “it’s nice to meet you! Roddy’s waiting in his dressing room if you wanna follow me?”

They were clearly from Nyon, accent subtle but recognizable. There was often a certain way of shortening the vowels they all had.

“Please,” he said nodding, “lead the way.”

The mech offered their servo down to him but Megatorn ignored it and climbed onto the stage without help. He was twice the mech’s size and hardly needed any to get up. They smiled patiently and turned on their heel to push the curtain aside again admitting him into the backstage area. Megatron glanced out at the auditorium one last time noticing the handful of stragglers all watching him curiously (probably trying to figure out if they’d missed their own invitations or if he was perhaps someone important) before he stepped through and the curtain fell back into place.

“How did you like the show?” the mech asked politely as they wove through the personnel dealing with sets pieces and costimes, arguing with each other with practiced familiarity. 

“It was good,” Megatorn said. He was never one for effusive praise, and whatever effort he was willing to put into trying to be was reserved for a different mech than this one. “How have you been enjoying the transition to Iacon?”

“The crowds are less fun. Or…that’s not true. They’re different. When it’s mainly tourists it can be pretty similar, but for the regulars, they’re all very…” they trailed off at a loss for the correct term. 

“High end?” Megatron asked.

“Sophisticated?” A beige mech tried, their voice purposefully haughty.

“Snooty,” someone else carrying a massive sword prop threw out.

“ Polite,” his guide settled on. “No one yells at us unless we do something really wrong. And they even clap politely when it ends. I haven’t heard a single yell about interfacing even once.”

“Is that good or bad?” Megatron asked as he used a servo on the wall to guide himself down a set of dark steps. The space wasn’t build for someone of his size in mind, and he was a little worried he’d slip and take his guide down with him.

“Neither. Just took some time to get used to it. I thought they hated us at first but the reviews keep being good.”

“They’ve been glowing,” Megatron agreed and received a bright smile for it.

“We’re here,” they said coming to an abrupt stop at a door, a gold star with Rodimus’ face was taped to it crookedly. They raised the back of their servo and rapped their knuckles against it firmly. “Special delivery for the Rodster!”

“Yeah, yeah,” came the muffled response and then the sound of several things getting shoved around before, finally, the door opened to Rodimus. Half of his show paint was stripped off his face and the rest smeared around in muddled swirls as if he’d been fighting with it. “Thanks, Nailbit.”

The mech, Nailbit, made a joke back and they spent a few kliks tossing comments back and forth with Rodimus, although Megatron wasn’t paying any attention to it, busy surveying Rodimus up close as he was. The kibble from his performance was already off of him so his frame was back to the familiar contours, but his helm was slightly different from the last time Megatron had seen him.

Rodimus glanced at him briefly from the corner of his optic and the edges of his lips curled up. Nailbit finally made their escape “to do my actual job, Roddy, which you keep distracting me from” and Rodimus pulled away from the door back into his room.

“You came!’ He exclaimed, speaking directly to Megatron for the first time that evening. He walked backwards until his knees hit his chair at the vanity and he dropped himself down to sit.

“I told you I would try and see you perform,” Megatron said surveying the room.

It was in a state of disarray, the discarded kibble stacked on tables or hanging from some hooks along the wall – there were three costume changes for Rodimus, one for each act and while none were too intricate, there were enough pieces to necessitate the space. The shelf to the left of Rodimus’ vanity was stocked full of temp-paint. The bottles were in his character’s signature purple and blue. 

“I’m glad you made it, but you should have told me. I could have gotten you better seats.”

“I considered it,” Megatron told him, “telling you that is, not the better seats. I liked where I was.”

“The third row is the best,” Rodimus said immediately. 

“Not the first?”

“The front row is a hazard zone,” Rodimus said grinning, “which is great for most mecha, but you’d hate it.”

“I’m not one for a sudden new paint job, no.”

“No,” Rodimus said, still smiling. He picked idly at some of the purple paint on his greave. “Where’s Starscream?”

Megatron blinked his optics. And then did it again for good measure as he tried to figure out the non-secquiter.

“At home, I assume,” he responded, confused.

“He didn’t want to come to Iacon with you?” Rodimus asked, also sounding confused.

“Why would he want to do that?”

“Because it’s weird to let your boyfriend go see his kinda-sorta-ex’s play in a whole other city alone?”

Megatron blinked again. It still wasn’t helping.

“Starscream and I aren’t dating,” he finally said, “did someone tell you we were?” 

“No, I just assumed,” Rodimus said now looking uncomfortable. “I realized pretty quickly at the gala that he was the ex, and Thundercracker confirmed it for me when I asked.”

Megatron pursed his lips in annoyance – he knew Starscream going over to talk to Rodimus that night had spelled trouble. He should have guessed he was going to…what? Imply they were getting back together? He’d been the one to tell Megatron to try and mend things with Rodimus later, so what purpose would that serve? Had it been some plan to orchestrate Megatron embarrassing himself in front of everyone if he had tried that night? But no. He and Starscream were doing better now, and the seeker hadn’t even gone out of his way to be annoying when he’d heard that Megatron was buying a ticket to the show – the closest sign to approval he would likely ever get from him. 

“He was the ex, yes,” Megatron confirmed slowly. His optics flicked back and forth between Rodimus’ faceplate and where he was still picking at the dried paint, scraping it off with his digits rather than grabbing the solvent and towel he’d clearly been using before Megatron got here.

“And you two were talking together toward the end of the night. And you both left at the same time. You won’t hurt my feelings if you just tell me the truth.”

Megatron huffed. He and Starscream had left the gala around the same time, but only becasue if neither of them were the centre of attention and/or had a goal to work toward, they didn’t often care for those types of parties. If there was something to be gained, then they would be the last to leave, but otherwise? 

And yes, that was why they first interfaced – leaving a work dinner early and deciding to continue the night elsewhere together had been natural, and so Megatron couldn’t fault Rodimus for thinking something untoward happened. But it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t again. 

“Merely circumstance,” Megatron told him. 

He wished there was somewhere more natural for him to stand or sit, but with the costuming taking up all the space he had been left standing in the middle of the room. He couldn’t even cross his arms across his chassis without giving off the impression he was blocking himself off or something. Rodimus tended to pay attention to frame language, and Megatron wanted to keep his open. 

“You didn’t get back together with Starscream?” Rodimus asked, his digits finally stilling.

“I did not.”

“And you’re here alone?”

“I am.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“I didn’t want you to focus on anything other than the show,” Megatron said, his voice a low rumble. 

Did he sound conceited ?

“You think being around would distract me so much?” Rodimus asked, although the tone was light and friendly. 

“I wasn’t sure.”

Rodimus’ optics scanned over him slowly and then he shrugged, spinning his chair to face his desk properly. He poured some more solvent on his rag and began to rub at his faceplate roughly, smearing the colours around more.

Megatron walked up behind him and leaned over, resting against the back of the chair. He’d always made it this far, and detouring into Starscream or not, he was on a mission tonight. 

“I thought the play was very good.”

“Did you?” Rodimus asked, opening one optic while the other was hidden beneath the rag. 

“Yes,” Megatron said confidently, “the lead actor was incredible.”

Rodimus dragged the rag down his throat, helm tilting back to extend it for easy access. He kept his optics locked on Megatron’s through the mirror. 

“You think so? I heard he only got the part because he has good connections.”

Megatron tore his optics away from the mirror and looked down at the mech sitting in the chair in front of him. He waited until Rodimus tilted his head back just slightly and flicked his optics away from the mirror to look at him directly as well. The back of his helm was brushing slightly against Megatron’s arm still resting on the helm rest. Rodimus didn’t shift away so neither did Megatron.

“He was the best part of the show.”

Rodimus looked up at him, optics wide at the earnestness in his voice.

“You have to say that,” he finally said dropping his helm back down and returning to scrubbing at the paint on his cheek, “we’re friends.”

“I don’t believe in unearned praise,” Megatron said undeterred. He was getting into the rhythm of it now, and any anxiety he thought he might feel was gone. “While the entire play was quite good, the standing ovation I gave wasn’t exactly for the script.”

The words had an immediate reaction as Rodimus flushed and fumbled, the rag falling from his digits to his lap with a sad plop . Megatron walked around the chair to his side and took the rag before he could dropping it into the bin containing other used rags that would be to be cleaned and grabbed a clean one, focusing on dipping it in the solvent and wringing it out so it wouldn’t drip to give Rodimus time to collect himself. 

He turned around and offered the rag up, servo holding it loosely between then and Rodimus stared at it, lower lip caught between his denta before looking up at Megatron in challenge. 

Megatron raised the rag up and gave a firm but gentle swipe with it along his jaw where he’d missed a patch.

“I didn’t get back together with Starscream, but I do think I’ve figured out what I want.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve known for a while, but I had some things to sort out.”

Megatron let the conversation die briefly as he focused on cleaning off the entirety of his delicate chevon, it was a relatively popular addition to one’s helm, although Megatron had never had one. Rodimus shivered beneath his touch and Megatron’s servo stilled, worried that even with his extra care, he’d been too clumsy with it and caused Rodimus discomfort. 

“Keep going,” Rodimus said – although if he was referring to the conversation or the touch, Megatron wasn’t sure. Megatron took it to mean both and continued his cleaning.

He cleared his vocalizer, and said, “I want to date you, properly this time. I want to try to make this work with us.”

Rodimus didn’t say anything and Megatron moved to cleaning the rest of his helm, easier now that there were fewer delicate areas to focus on. Rodimus raised his servo and clasped it around Megatron’s gauntlet. Megatron stopped working and looked at him properly. He dropped his arm down but Rodimus didn’t let go.

“You’re serious?”

Megatron nodded.

“It didn’t go very well the first time,” Rodimus pointed out.

“Neither of us communicated properly about what we wanted then,” Megatron shifted his weight shyly, “so I’m here now, telling you what I want.”

“Which is me,” Rodimus said, somewhere between a statement and a question. Like he knew what Megatron was saying, but couldn’t quite trust it.

“Very much so,” Megatron said without hesitation.

“Long distance is hard,” Rodimus argued, “it’s not just the communication. We have lives that demand a lot of us.”

“That was one of the things I had to figure out before coming here.” 

Megatron kneeled down, because standing while Rodimus sat was causing an annoying strain on his neck, and surely an even worse one in Rodimus’. Rodimus still hadn’t let go of his gauntlet. 

“I’ve been in Iacon for a while now, helping First Aid out with a patient of his and a legal situation. It’s been…good. Not the legal situation, obviously, but the helping. I don’t know exactly what I want to do moving forward, but I have already started the process of pulling back from my firm. Ratchet said he could also use me, if I’m willing to work pro-bono.”

There was a swirling mess of emotions flickering across Rodimus’ face, as if he couldn’t quite decide on which one he should be feeling.

“There isn’t much of a plan right now, which for me is…discomforting. But I thought,” Megatron stopped. He looked down at Rodimus’ servo and tried to gather his thoughts.

They never actually dated, and they didn’t know each other well enough for there to be a real sense of security to any of this. But Megatron remembered being young and desperate for stability above all else and how that meant he chose to put his own desires on hold for something tangible. It had worked out for him: he was wealthy now, successful and had name recognition and could live a life he only ever dreamed of before. But maybe it was time to start revisiting those old wants now that he had a safety net underneath him. And despite that when he was young there’d never been any thought of sharing his life with someone else – his dreams had lain elsewhere, the newness of this desire didn’t offset the strength of it. He was tired of being alone.

“We might not work out, but I was wondering if you’d like to be a part of my plans moving forward.”

Rodimus pulled his servo away and Megatron felt his spark plummet. Before he could find a graceful way to reassure Rodimus that he wasn't demanding anything romantic – and really, he’d forgotten to ask Rodimus if he was seeing anyone (he’d been too confused about Starscream to remember to ask, sue him), Rodimus was turning his chair just enough to the side that he was able to throw himself at Megatron sending them both toppling to the floor. Megatron landed on his aft with a loud clang while Rodimus landed on his lap in a tangle of limbs. Then Rodimus grabbed at his helm and kissed him. 

Megatron wanted to point out that there was a pit of a lot of other things they had to discuss. In fact, they should be thinking about those particulars right now if this was going to be something they both agreed to do together because falling into berth together without talking about them hadn't worked the first time.

Rodimus’ glossa inside his mouth was a very effective distraction and Megatron couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. 

He laid back on the floor, his helm bouncing slightly when he moved to quickly but the sting barely registered on his sensors when Rodimus followed down after, laying his weight over him and chasing after his mouth with a needy whine.

---

Rodimus groaned when the sound of someone knocking on the door to his dressing room interrupted them. Not that they’d been doing anything – Rodimus was tracing nonsensical shapes on Megatron’s chassis and telling the story of a particularly rowdy group of fans he’d had while in Nyon. Megatron turned his helm to face the door and called out a response when it became clear Rodimus wouldn’t be.

“We want to lock down the building soon, are you two recharging here tonight?” The mech on the other side of the door asked, the giggling that followed the words was clearly caused by more than a single mech which meant there was a group camped outside Rodimus’ room.

Megatron hid his face in his servos, jostling Rodimus with the movement. 

Rodimus’ laughter joined theirs, evidently pleased with himself. Megatron dropped one of his servos down to punch at his waist vents and Rodimus squirmed against him, his laughter going higher. 

“We’ll be out in a klik,” Megatron called out.

Rodimus rolled off of him and went to get another (new) rag to clean them both off. 

Megatron sat up and rubbed at his mouth and chin, fighting down the smile threatening to split his face open. The two cleaned themselves briskly, neither wanting to drag out the wait for long, and Megatron couldn’t help but feel bad for the rest of the crew waiting for them.

“It’s fine,” Rodimus said easily, “they’re doing this on purpose. If they actually wanted to leave they would have left the spare lock-up keys on a table from the front and a note for me to lock the door behind us. They just want to give me a hard time.”

Megatron hummed and braced himself for the jeering when Rodimus went to open the door. Assuming things continued going well, he would be seeing this group a lot in the future.

Rodimus accepted the light-sparked ribbing with well-worn grace, throwing back comments about mecha and events from the past that had his coworkers groaning and swatting at him. Megatron stayed close behind, a servo spanning his back as they made their way back up the stairs and through the winding halls to the cast and crew exit. It wasn't that he thought Rodimus might disappear if he wasn't within touching distance, but having him close and feeling his metal plating under his digits did remind him that his touch was welcome. He wasn't going to waste time denying himself things that Rodimus was offering freely, and if the smiles Rodimus kept sending him over his shoulder were anything to go by, there would be no complaints from him about it.

It was only when they were back in Rodimus’ apartment that Megatron realized some of the blue and purple paint that they hadn’t gotten around to cleaning off of Rodimus had transferred pretty thoroughly over to Megatron’s own frame. 

“Rodimus!” he yelped at his reflection, horror mounting.

“What? Everyone knew what we were getting up to,” Rodimus said innocently as he flicked on his shower (the water pressure seemed good, so at least Megatron had impressed something upon him in their time together).

“Assuming and seeing the evidence is different,” Megatron groaned, twisting himself to examine more comprehensively how bad it was.

Rodimus’ only response was to smack his aft.

“Why do I even bother?”

“Because you waaaant me,” Rodimus sang and stepped under the spray of water, beckoning Megatron to join him. 

Megatron rolled his optics and followed after him. He had to get the paint off of himself somehow .

Notes:

This is definitely the most cloyingly sweet thing I've ever written...

But it's done! I wrote this on a whim because I wanted something fun and easy to write in between working on something else. Naturally this ended up longer than I meant it to and my other story still isn't done. Such is life

Thanks to everyone who's been commenting throughout this process, you make it way more fun <333