Chapter Text
He had always loved visiting Kaon during match-season.
Going to the coliseum, seeing all the different bots from both upper and lower class mesh.
The high society bots and their bejeweled frames, their tailored cloths and garments. The intricate embroidery, the striking colors, their polished plating and beautiful paint-jobs.
The miners getting a break from the digging to see the surface, breathe the easy air of the outside world for a few days; rest from the fear of earth cawing in above your helm any second. How they could walk the streets of Kaon without judgment during match-weekends, their gray and dull framework not frowned upon; all were one, unified by good food, good drinks and entertainment.
But this weekend was different.
Orion hadn't attended the last three weekends; the few gladiators who he'd enjoy seeing spar had been out of commission, and no other really caught his optics. Attending the matches and the after-parties were no fun when his favorites weren't there.
For part of this was for the spectacle of fighting, yes, but most of it were for pleasure; he loved chatting up the handsome fighters during the parties, see who he'd be able to wrap around his digits, who he'd be able to share a berth with for the night…
Coveted as he was in Iacon, this was his one-way-ticket to excitement; Kaon, the coliseum and the gladiators had, rather shamefully, become his only escape from the mundane that is sorting through paperwork, signing contracts, and filing away the information which constantly flowed from all over Cybertron to the Archives in Iacon.
But when he was done here in Kaon and once he woke in the morning next to some random gladiator who he barely remembered the name of he could disappear again; return to the seclusion of the Archives and the shelter that was the Prime's towers.
No one remembered him, not a single one of the gladiators had even cared to hold on to his name or face. This was an exchange of pleasure and nothing more; and it was oddly comforting to know that no one would ever find him where he hid in the farthest reaches of the Archives. It added a sort of untouchable feeling to all this. As if he could do whatever and whoever he pleased; consequences never being able to catch him.
When word of a very special gladiator making a come-back had began spreading through Cybertron earlier this week Orion had jumped at the opportunity to visit Kaon again.
Just the way others spoke of whoever this was had made his chassis burn; his spark race. How they were described as impressive, explosive and imposing; yet soft with those they cared for.
How they all seemed to fear them, even those who spoke highly of the fighter, how they seemed like an immense and terrifying force to not reckon with, least you have a death-wish.
He simply had to meet them, whoever they were.
Not so much for the fact that he might get a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to share a berth with someone who had such stories told of them; no, more so for the fact that he wanted to pick at their modules. Scan their processors, see what stories and tales they hold.
Get to know them, for they had to be truly remarkable to have Cybertron this stirred.
Orion had tried to find information on the fighter, but all he had been able to collect over the week was the fact that they had disappeared mysteriously four cycles ago; long before Orion had been old enough to be allowed to attend the matches and the parties. So he hadn't seen them before, this was a new faceplate for him to register.
Orion was certain he could've discerned who they are had he taken the time to sort through the gladiator-records in the Archives; but Alpha Trion had given him little rest this week, since the old mentor knew Orion would be gone for the weekend.
And to look up records on potential lovers while your mentor looms over your shoulder is… ill-advised.
He had tried that once, wanting more information on his previous favorite; to which Alpha Trion had scolded him, barred him from leaving the Archives for a few weeks for daring to get distracted by such frivolous, trite business as pleasure.
So this time he had been careful; only trying to look up information on the renowned fighter in the dark of night, covered by his blankets in berth. His soft faceplate illuminated by his personal data-pad, scrolling through forums and message boards…
To no avail.
No name, no face.
Just rumors and hearsay, tales of this Champion who had left the limelight and success to hide away, far from any major cities.
He had found an old collection of poetry though, that someone had, rather vengefully so it seemed, 'leaked' on one of the message boards.
Words of hatred and vindictive sentences, picking apart the poetry word for word; spitting on the author in the process.
Whether the poems belonged to the Champion or not he could not say; he was hoping he'd find the answers at the after-party, though.
For he had really liked the poems.
Despite how hateful whoever had shared them seemed to be towards the author Orion had enjoyed the writing very much. So flowery and filled with longing and love, eloquent and learned.
So far from the image of most of the other gladiators, who fought for recognition and praise; this Champion, if they were the author, seemed more… educated.
A kindred spirit, perhaps.
Orion made his way through the mass of bots, slowly but surely making way towards the stands. He preferred following the crowd of middle and lower class; even if he knew he was more than welcome to sit with the upper class and high society.
Being a pupil of Alpha Trion and an underling to Zeta Prime Orion held the tallest ranking of any bot attending these matches; yet he found little company with those snobs in the high-stands.
No, he found friendlier faces in the workers; those who kept Cybertron alive.
The miners and the merchants, the craftsmen and medics; the creators and the sparklings of common-folk. That was the crowd that he had made lifelong friendships in; the straightforward medic Ratchet, the loyal engineer Bulkhead, and the harsh yet kind Commander of the High Guard, Elita-One.
Because they would listen; they saw him not for who he was in Iacon and who his mentors were; but for who he was.
Orion Pax; no more, no less.
The troublesome, the absentminded, the thrill seeking. A little mech who could never settle.
Always managing to mess something up, one way or another.
"How you managed to get so far with the Primes is beyond me," Elita would sigh angrily, brushing off his plating as he had once again gotten into trouble trying to sneak into the restricted sections of the Archives. "Can't believe they let you stay here, that they still want to tutor you."
Her words may be harsh but he knew she only meant well.
Beneath those scoldings, those run-on-sentences of her telling him off time and time again laid nothing but concern for his well-being and his scholars.
"Don't squander this opportunity, you're far too clever to fall to the wayside," she wanted to tell him. But kind words of encouragement had never been her forte.
She wouldn't be Commander had she not been hard of helm and cold of spark, after all.
He sat down by Elita, smiling softly at her as he did.
She had saved him a seat; and had even gotten him a glass of high-grade as she waited for him to arrive.
"Oh you spoil me, my dear Commander, thank you," he cooed, accepting the glass; letting out a short laugh as he noticed her disgusted look upon the unsolicited praise.
"Never call me dear again," she hushed between gritted dentas; but a smirk could be seen in her optics.
"Have you heard of the returning Champion?" Orion asked excitedly, leaning over the fence to peer down into the pit, his optics wandering towards the large, closed drawbridge where this mysterious gladiator would emerge in a few kliks.
"I have, kinda hard to miss, actually," Elita mumbled, leaning forwards as well, joining Orion where he hung over the fence.
"Who are they?" He peered at her in his periphery, trying hard to hide the fluster; not wanting her to see how bothered it made him, how he had dreamed up so many different images of this gladiator. How he had painted a picture of them in his mind.
Someone impossibly handsome; devilishly so. Tall and strong, frame striking and faceplate unforgettable.
Orion sipped his high-grade, trying to force the image out of his mind to quell the blush slowly spreading across his faceplate.
"No idea," Elita absentmindedly adjusted one of the beaded cords hanging from Orion's finials; making sure he looked proper.
Orion didn't wear nearly as much garb as most of the higher class bots did; but he did like wearing jewelry and beaded cords across his frame during match-days. Accentuating his features, strings of pearlescent beads flowing smoothly around his thinner midriff; falling over his chassis and a thicker, laced bead-work covering the cogless spot on his chest.
It was all he needed though; his frame and soft faceplate more than enough to make an impression on most. He had never needed fancy cloths or garments to show his beauty.
"They must be some bot though, the guards have been in a tiff all week," she sighed, furrowing her brow as she kept looking at Orion's faceplate, forcefully grabbing hold of his helm and turning it to face her.
She licked her thumb, rubbing it rather harshly across his cheek, removing some faint ink-stains.
"One would think you've been mining, the way you look," she muttered angrily as she polished his faceplate.
"It's freckles, they're supposed to-" Orion chuckled, being quickly cut off by Elita.
"You're stained with ink-!"
Orion scrunched his nose at her, grinning.
"What was that about the guards?" He tried again, Elita letting go of him as she was satisfied with the clean-off.
"They've been distracted all week once word of this Champion returning got out, mumbling between one another, whispering, rummaging…" she replied, returning to look over the fence, "I'm not sure this Champion is… well I'm not sure I want you to pursue them."
"They seem afraid of them," she added quickly, glancing at Orion.
"Huh," Orion breathed, leaning over the fence again.
He could sense something else in Elita's words; there was more to the story.
Almost as if she did in fact know who this returning Champion was, but was withholding that information.
But Orion chose not to push it; not wanting to sour the mood so early on.
They both knew he'd pursue the Champion either way, least Elita told him they ate little red and blue bots for breakfast…
That might deter him.
…might.
The large crowd fell into hushed silence as the drawbridges on either side of the arena slowly began lowering; the chains rattling ominously as every onlooker held their breath.
Orion leaned further over the fence, seeing a familiar gladiator's silhouette dawn in the opening of the drawbridge on the opposite side to him; Predaking, a large, menacing mech, mean enough to proclaim himself King of the Predacons; and no one had dared to question it. He was fun to watch, often offering very brutal and tough matches, but he wasn't someone Orion had even struck a fancy with.
He was a little too large, even for his insatiable appetite…
Predaking strode out into the arena, arms raised and talons held to the crowd; spinning around slowly as he walked to regard all the onlookers; loud chanting and cheering erupting as he did.
Elita took hold of Orion's array, noticing how he was leaning so far over the fence he might fall; holding him in place as he eagerly awaited the second gladiator to take the stage.
If they had paired this returning Champion with Predaking they must be large too…
The second drawbridge lowered to the ground with a thud, silencing the crowd once more as the opposite side got their first glimpse of the Champion. Orion looked around at all the faces in the crowd, seeing their… horrified expressions?
Hushed whispers and murmuring erupted through the stands; heavy pedefall below Orion as he leaned even further; catching a glimpse of a silver helm.
A silver mech slowly stepped out over the drawbridge, his back straight, helm lowered; red optics gleaming threateningly as he bore them into Predaking where he stood proudly.
The black pedes moving so intentionally, despite his size; his wide chassis and strong back stiff as he began walking towards his opponent.
"Whoof…" Elita whispered as she spotted the returning Champion, still holding Orion in place where he hung over the fence.
"Get back in your seat, dumbaft-!" She hushed angrily, forcing Orion to sit down with her, fearing this would turn out to be a fight with cannon fire and blasters rather than swords.
"What- Why?" Orion looked at her quickly, returning his gaze to the silver gladiator, his mouth partially open in awe.
He was just as handsome as his mind had painted him.
His midriff strong, taught; shoulders wide and stance proud. Slightly smaller than Predaking, but just the right size for Orion's appetite.
But he kept his back turned, his faceplate hidden from Orion.
His blackened servos; one holding firm on the hilt of his wide sword, the other in a fist. The size of them, Orion was certain this gladiator could cover his entire frame if he laid them on him. While he had wanted to pick their modules when he first began researching them he could hardly stop himself from the deprived thoughts now, seeing him for the first time; seeing how he was just as perfect as his mind had imagined.
"You'll see…" Elita held him down in his seat, looking down at the two gladiators worriedly.
She recognized him from the mines, he had worked with some of her Guards, the few in her ranks that somehow made it out of the mines with their lives and sanity intact.
He had fought in the pits before, a good couple of cycles back he had reigned supreme. Unbeatable, unbreakable.
If you were assigned to square up against him you may as well resign before the match begins; for it was certain failure for you either way. And you may spare yourself the humiliation by giving up before the match begins…
He had been exonerated a few cycles back; outcast by his superior, his ways of leadership over the section he was in charge of in the mines too old, too outdated and too harsh.
He had wanted an army; wanted an uprising, craved revolt and riot as he strove for more than mining Energon, day in and day out.
And he had gained followers; he had. Prolific, poetic and well-read as he was many had rallied by his side at the start. Miners tired of the system, gladiators chasing fame and craving violence, just as he was; excited to see someone with some proper caliber finally stand up for their rights.
Causing mayhem and strife along the way, threatening to kill anyone who dared stand in his way. Fueling his followers with pretty speeches and false promises of greatness.
This was no returning Champion and no honorable fighter.
This was a murderer and a revolutionist; someone who paved his way through life with blood, death and an iron-fist.
How he had managed to return to the pits was beyond her; how he had managed to snake his way into the gladiator-ranks again with a reputation like that a mystery.
But then again; as foul as his practice and politics had been he had managed to change some laws for the miners. It was thanks to him that they were allowed on the surface at all… So maybe he held some credit with the ones in charge of the matches.
It was a shame it was a price paid in lives.
One of those lives being that of a Prime.
But then again… few had mourned Sentinel.
A public execution hadn't been the answer though.
A trial and imprisonment would've been…
But there was little use in getting stuck in the past.
"Let's hear it for Predaking!" The speaker called out, the crowd finally making itself known again after the haunting silence that had fallen when the silver mech stepped out, "Lord of the skies, King of the dragons!"
Elita clapped hesitantly, keeping her optics on Orion; his face still struck with awe.
It worried her greatly, for she knew exactly where his mind had wandered, seeing the strong, large, silver mech…
"And, let's hear it for our returning Champion, our Lord Megatron of Tarn!"
But few cheers could be heard, Orion mindlessly clapping for the silver gladiator.
Lord, huh? He filed it away in his modules, keeping that information to use later on; hoping he'd get a chance to speak with this Megatron of Tarn…
"I thought you, if anyone, would recognize him?" Elita whispered, leaning close to Orion's circular audial.
"Huh? No?" He finally broke his obsessed gaze from the gladiator, looking at Elita inquisitorially.
"Odd…" she hushed absentmindedly, slowly turning her helm towards the fighters; hearing the first loud clang of sword against sword as they began exchanging blows.
"You know who he is?" Orion returned his optics to Megatron; eagerly waiting for him to turn towards him so he could soak in his faceplate.
"Everyone knows who he is-" Elita furrowed her brow deeply, leaning closer to Orion as the crowd erupted in cheers when the strikes of swords began connecting with framework; metal clanging loudly in tandem with the claps.
The silver gladiator finally moved to a position where Orion could get a glimpse of his faceplate; the sharp, stern and bold silver features making themselves known.
His narrow red optics, framed by sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw; a slanted, slightly hooked nose-bridge, perfectly complimenting the angles and points of his fierce helm.
How someone so… dull… could be so beautiful, so unforgettably handsome.
Orion took a deep breath in, trying to steady himself against the racing thoughts as he watched how elegantly Megatron moved despite his heavily armored frame, despite his wide shoulders and bracers; how easy his pedes seemed to almost dance across the dust and gravel of the pit.
"Well-?" Orion shot her a glance, his expression turning into annoyance the longer Elita dragged out the explanation.
She sighed, despondence pooling at the bottom of her blue lenses.
"When you get back to Iacon; look up records of D-16," Elita whispered, leaning in close to Orion's audial again.
"The story is way too long for me to share here and do justice…"
Predaking faltered, missing strike after strike; receiving harsh blow after blow from Megatron's sword; the King of the Skies and Lord of the Dragons quickly losing ground against the Champion, despite being larger and stronger than him.
"And please," she took hold of Orion's servo, squeezing gently as she tried to gain his attention; meeting his optics with a worried gaze, seeing how easily Megatron took down Predaking; how he had almost won the match already.
"Do not pursue this one."
Elita rarely joined him to the after-parties, and tonight was no different.
She left him to his own vices as soon as the match was over and Megatron had stood victorious over the scraped and scrapped frame of Predaking; still hushing words of discouragement to Orion.
"Please, stay away from him."
"I beg of you."
She knew her pleading would be ignored though; she knew.
She knew it would only spur Orion on further, as most attempts to deter him against doing something would.
He had sat down in one of the booths lining the walls of the old bar; wrapped up by an old fling he had shared a berth with before; but this bot barely held his attention. No matter how hard he tried. Whispering sweet nothings close to the circular audial, letting his larger servos move across Orion's frame with ease, leaning in over him as he tried to hold him close; to no avail.
Orion's attention was stuck on that silver gladiator by the bar; with his helm low and shoulders hunched, leaning over the bar-top as he smoked absentmindedly.
And this old fling could do nothing to steer Orion's mind from the returning Champion.
His brilliantly blue optics glued to his strong and commandeering frame; never averting his gaze.
Few times had Orion hesitated to approach a potential berthmate.
In fact; this might be the first time he has actually felt nervous to do so.
Something about the way the silver mech held himself, his posture and his field; how imposing he was. How everyone around him, even the fiercest of gladiators, avoided sharing space with him.
So there he sat; alone at the bar, the barkeep glancing over at him from time to time; as if keeping a watchful optic on him.
Orion took a deep breath in, wrangling loose from the grasp of the old fling; the bot shouting after him as he left him behind; slowly, and carefully, approaching Megatron.
What would he even say? How would he even spark up a conversation with him?
Would Megatron even want to speak with him?
Orion cracked his knuckles, fidgeting nervously as he hopped up on the bar-stool next to the silver mech; trying to act unbothered as he did. Waving down the barkeep, asking for his finest sparkling high-grade; trying not to let his servos tremble around the glass as he felt Megatron's optics size him up in his periphery.
"Quite fine for such a place as this, are you not?"
Orion stiffened, the deep voice startling him.
"Well-" Orion tried to regain focus, cursing himself for being so nervous in his presence.
This is usually easier…
"I like the company," Orion forced himself to step outside of his frame for a moment, forcing a false facade of confidence as he turned to regard Megatron; the large mech still leaning on the bar, arms folded, side-glancing Orion.
"Besides," Orion continued, "I would hardly consider myself above this place."
He smiled abashedly, crossing his legs as he turned fully towards Megatron, adjusting some of the finer strings of pearls hanging by his finials. Still, to his detriment, feeling how his servos trembled.
"Hm," Megatron scoffed lowly, but his lips remained in a straight, tight line. Ashing the cy-gar he finally turned his helm towards Orion; letting him register his faceplate up close.
And how striking he was.
He was sharp and rugged, rather aged but certainly not in a bad way; narrow, slanted optics and a hooked, thinner nose bridge. Such a demanding gaze; a gaze that told Orion he had not waited to be awarded with things in life, he had taken things as he pleased; as he saw fit. When he believed he deserved something he had granted it to himself; through raw force.
"How do you usually do this, then?"
Orion snapped back to reality as Megatron's words reached him; staring at him dumbfounded.
"What?" His brow furrowed slightly, servos resting on his lap, helm cocked.
"Do not play coy with me," Megatron smirked, showing off his larger canines; fangs gleaming in the dim light.
"You strut around, chat us up, share a berth, then move on to the next."
Megatron leaned in closer to Orion, almost threateningly; a large, blackened servo brushing over Orion's chrome thigh as he spoke.
"I've seen it all before. Do not take me for a fool, little one."
Orion swallowed, suddenly feeling rather ashamed over his choice of entertainment.
He had never felt shameful of it before; but something to Megatron's stern yet charming demeanor made him feel so. Something to the way he looked at him made him feel as if he was actually above this; as if he could do better than to seek instant gratification from bots he'd rarely connect with again.
"I am not one to let myself be stringed along," Megatron finished, speaking lowly close to Orion's audial, evidently noticing his embarrassment and fluster at his large servos gentle touch as he moved it towards his waistline.
Orion quickly changed gears, realizing he might lose his one chance to speak with Megatron if he kept going with his usual charm-tactics and giving in to whatever test this soft petting was; switching his shock and embarrassment to playful disdain, swatting away the large servo and the clawed digits slowly moving up and over his frame.
"Do not think so highly of yourself," Orion bared his dentas in a devious grin, "I only wished to talk."
Megatron seemed to falter then, his optics widening slightly; bewilderment spreading across his faceplate.
But his servo did stray from teasing further, Orion's coyness clearly paying off; despite the gladiator trying to fool himself into not falling for it.
"Why yes, of course you did," Megatron breathed, returning to lean against the bar-top on an elbow.
But his entire demeanor shifted as he leaned back, a softer expression falling onto his faceplate as he looked Orion up and down a few times. Optics trailing the seams and ridges on his smaller frame, following the curves and the smooth lines of the pearly adornments he wore.
"You're from Iacon?" Megatron asked, laying the blackened servo onto the bar-top, carefully reaching it towards Orion's servo where he leaned; as if trying to hint to something.
It took him a moment to answer, confused by the gladiator's play. One second he said he was entirely disinterested in him and now he seemed to seek closer contact..?
"I am," Orion smiled, waving down the barkeep again, ordering the finest, long-aged high-grade the worker had to offer.
"Assuming you're from Tarn, I mean, unless your surname is Tarn or something," he continued, mumbling slightly as he felt himself get nervous again, offering Megatron the square glass of shimmering high-grade.
Why is he causing this nervousness? Or rather… how?
"I am from Tarn, yes," Megatron smiled, bordering on a devious smirk, "may I ask you something? It'll sound conceded I'm sure, but I'm just… curious."
The large mech lowered a brow, sighing as he kept firm optical contact with Orion. The clawed servo inching closer to Orion's.
"Sure," Orion nodded, glancing over at their servos; digit-tips almost touching now.
"Do you not know who I am?" Megatron adjusted on the bar-stool, leaning forwards; face closer to Orion's.
"Should I?" Orion heard himself reply.
It wasn't the reply he had wanted to give, he had wanted to answer something more thought out or cleverer; but it was the reply Megatron got. And he seemed very pleased with it. His second servo finding its way onto the thin chrome thigh again; clawed thumb slowly petting back and forth over the softer ridges in the metal.
"No, you shouldn't," the large mech vented, letting go of the last bit of hesitation and worry he had held on to since Orion sat down next to him.
"My turn for questions," Orion felt slightly emboldened by the gladiator taking the lead; closing the gap between their digits and carefully placing his servo over his much larger one. Letting their thumbs interlock; spreading his digits across the black servo; deceptively smooth for such a ragged and rough fighter.
Megatron scoffed, leaning even closer to Orion; side-glancing at him as he cocked his sharp silver helm inquisitorially.
"Are you, by chance, a poet?" Orion felt the smell of cy-gar smoke still lingering on his breath; their crests nearly touching now as he leaned even closer to him.
"So you do know who I am," Megatron grinned, tilting his helm to the side; nearly leaning it against Orion's shoulder.
"No-" Orion retorted, resisting the urge to reach a servo towards the sharp jaw; resisting the urge to caress and feel, to lean him into a kiss.
The mixture of high-grade and the tension between them muddling his processors, jumbling his modules entirely as he had gotten the gladiator exactly to where he wanted him; despite the awkward start. And despite his own odd faltering.
"I just know you write, read it on some message boards but it was impossible to actually link it back to you, so I assumed," he continued lowly, moving his servo from Megatron's to trail up his wide bracer; towards his strong upper arm.
"Good to know it was you, I really liked your work."
Megatron suddenly leaned back, Orion having to quickly adjust himself to not fall onto him; the large mech staring at him in disbelief, yet again.
"You liked them?"
He almost seemed on the verge of tears, something deep down inside him wanting to wildly celebrate this; whatever victory it was for him.
"I did- I do," Orion nodded, "I saved most of them, I've never been too artistic myself but I can appreciate someone who knows how to weave words with such… eloquence. It's fascinating, I suppose."
"Come," Megatron quickly got up from the bar-stool, gesturing for Orion to follow him, offering him a servo.
He hesitated for a moment; realizing this was further than he'd ever gone with one of the gladiators; this was far beyond the shallow, artificial praise and doting. This felt far more earnest and far more… friendly, than anything had before.
By now he'd usually be neck deep in kisses and touches, larger servos feeling their way up his frame; glossa against glossa and stolen breaths…
But he didn't dislike this.
It was just different.
Had it been anyone else though he would've declined further conversation; he would've counted this as a loss and moved on to the next. But Megatron was far too intriguing to let go.
Orion accepted Megatron's servo, letting himself be helped down from the bar-stool and lead towards a very secluded spot of the bar; a closed off and dimly lit booth at the very back; far away from the louder music and chatter of the other attendants of the celebration.
The large mech sat down on the well cushioned seat; Orion testing his limits slightly by making himself comfortable on his lap, feeling the gladiator wrap his strong arm around his back to hold him in place. Clearly very interested in pursuing further closer contact, despite how much disdain he had seemed to have towards these types of gestures when Orion first approached him.
But it did bother Orion slightly; how fast his spark was ticking as the gladiator embraced him, how hot it made him. For this felt different from the rest… this felt like what he had always imagined falling in love would feel like.
Fast and hot, uncomfortable and annoying but so incredibly intoxicating.
And he wasn't so sure he'd be alright with falling in love… he couldn't afford to.
It would jeopardize his scholars, it would be too great of a distraction, potentially ruin his standings with the Primes…
But one night couldn't hurt, surely…
Megatron reached his free servo towards Orion's cheek; slowly moving his thumb over the freckles, tracing their path. Distracting Orion slightly from his racing thoughts of love and consorts.
"Your work means a lot to you, I take it?" Orion hushed, cocking his helm slightly and leaning into the soft petting; feeling Megatron's other servo feel its way over his waist and up towards his chassis. His own smaller servos reaching up the strong collar, thinner digits playfully feeling across the stiffer mesh-lining of the gladiator. Tracing the seams along his neck and throat.
"It does," Megatron breathed, their noses almost touching as he kept inching closer and closer to Orion, the red optics glazed over by pure lust; a need for this little mech and his smoother, softer frame.
It was far more intense than any gaze Orion had been met with before; even in the most heated moments. This felt claiming; finite.
As if Megatron had already decided Orion was his to take. As he see fit.
Orion moved to straddle the gladiator, cupping his face, feeling his way across the sharp cheekbones with his thumbs; slowly petting back and forth as he kept resisting the urge to close the gap. To lean in and kiss him. Megatron tilted his helm back in tandem with Orion's movements, his optics half-lidded, lips parted slightly in a faint smile.
He seemed to enjoy this, what they had in this moment; and Orion wasn't sure the gladiator would want more, if he would want as much as he did. For all Orion knew maybe Megatron enjoyed the tension and anticipation more than the closer intimacy. Maybe this was all he'd need to be satisfied.
To see Orion crave his touch, to hear his quickened breath and the rise and fall of his chassis; his venting brushing past the cold, silvered cheek.
The large blackened servos slowly traced the curve from Orion's aft up over his spine and stopping by his scapula plating; the claws across his back moving in small circles, sending pleasant shivers across Orion's mesh-lining.
Annoyingly pleasant; Orion finding himself dreaming of sharing more than just one night with him, to feel his claws pet his back early in the mornings, before the sun would begin to rise; to be gently awoken by his soft and careful touch.
To think someone so big and so powerful could be so incredibly gentle…
And to think Orion could be so easily swayed; so lulled into this intense feeling of love. A small part of his subconsciousness, the small part that was still aware enough to think straight, was screaming at him to stop. Screaming at him that this was far enough, don't let yourself fall in love; you know the code of conduct here, don't be stupid-!
"Why have you never published?" Orion asked, leaning in closer to the side of Megatron's faceplate, lips stained with a blue, glossy tint barely touching his cheek as he pushed that small voice screaming in his modules down even further; eventually managing to block it out completely.
"Never saw a reason to," Megatron whispered, gently letting his claws fall back down Orion's back, resting his servos in the small curve of his spine.
"But-" the gladiator turned his helm slightly, lips so close to Orion's now, painfully close for the little mech as he struggled to keep his urges under control, "maybe I will publish them now, knowing you'll read them."
The red optics gleam shifted slightly, turning into something softer, something kinder than the previous demanding and claiming shine. Something more akin to relief; joy.
"Please do," Orion breathed, smiling softly, "I'll save each and every one. Copy them into my notebook, keep them safe."
Megatron grinned, a devious and playful smile; finally letting Orion kiss him. The blue tint on the little mech's soft lips staining his own, leaving a faint taste of bright Energon; crisp and sweet.
"Then I'll have to write one for you, little star," Megatron whispered, leaning his helm back slightly, Orion's brilliantly blue optics half lidded and heavy as he tried to breathe through the intense emotions of lust and longing.
The taste of long-aged high-grade and cy-gar smoke lingering on his glossa from the Gladiator; Orion humming softly in response as Megatron let their lips grace each other as he continued speaking.
"About you, even," he whispered, kissing him deeper this time; his bigger glossa carefully reaching for Orion's, a large servo moving to rest over the back of the blue helm.
"For you are the most beautiful mech I have ever met," Megatron kept going, hearing how the little mech's breath deepened with each word of praise and each passing comment of love.
"It would be a great shame not to share your spark with the world, a great shame to not let Cybertron know how wonderful you are," he finished, kissing him deeply one last time before leaning away further; Orion venting as he sat back down across his lap.
"You flatter me, my Lord," Orion glanced up at the gladiator, his blue, smaller servos feeling across the wide, sturdy chassis; waiting with baited breath for Megatron's reaction to being called by his preferred title.
"Remember to call me by that title," he smirked, gracing the soft, slick bottom lip on Orion with a thumb; fixing some of the lip-tint that had smeared as they kissed.
"Remember to call me Lord when you moan my name," he whispered, forcing Orion's helm closer to his, breathing deeply by the circular audial.
"Of course," Orion parted his lips, letting the sharp claw on the thumb feel along the edges of his dentas. Playfully letting his glossa touch the bottom of his thumb, seeing the red gleam in his periphery shift back into hunger and lust.
Megatron narrowed his optics slightly, hesitating suddenly. A large servo coming to rest by Orion's aft, digits slowly petting across the curve of his hip joint, feeling down the back of the smooth, chrome thigh.
"Will you forget about me, when morning comes?" He asked, his voice solemn, venting deeply; the servo resting by the back of the blue helm moving to brush against the soft, freckled cheek.
"Do you want me to?" Orion asked lowly, cocking his helm, the beads and pearls adorning him rattling.
"No."
Megatron kissed him carefully, a little calmer and slower than he had previously; letting their lips stay pressed against one another for a few seconds.
"Then I'll make sure to never forget you, Lord Megatron," Orion smiled, closing his optics as he let himself be leaned back into the softer, slower kisses.