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Megatron put his servo on Optimus’s waist – so narrow and graceful, it almost begged to be touched and held in his large servos… - and the other on his shoulder pad – flared with the decorative extra he wore for ceremonial occasions, not truly him, just a piece of cold metal – and felt the Prime’s servos touch him feather-light, barely there, like he was taught how a noble should touch another and not something his own heavy servos could manage yet… but he couldn’t bring himself to look into those blue optics, so close he almost felt them bore into him… since that night’s kiss and talk things were awkward between them in a way they hadn’t been before. Heat radiated between them and Optimus’s field licked his in a curious-cautious-encouraging flame which made Megatron’s vents hitch and made it hard to focus on the music, or at least its rhythm to which they should start moving soon.
Hard learned steps and movements flashed through his processor, going with the specific notes they should be paired to... but the heat suffusing his processor, those hot and tingling points where Optimus touched him and which stood out in stark relief in his sensoy map… those messed with his concentration. They were already past the point when Optimus gently and politely dismissed the etiquette teacher and the dancing instructor, for which Mgatron was mightily glad. Both of them were insufferable and condescending and above all highly disturbing his concentration. He was sure that the two of them could do better without the disapproving tuts and polite, but annoying coughs. Even if his steps were not yet book-perfect...
A soaring note of the music broke his thoughts and he was lightly nudged into the choreography and Megatron felt rather than saw Optimus’s gentle smile as he led him through the learned steps. The Prime’s field licked at his own, encouraging, gentle and good-naturedly smiling at his awkwardness. Megatron followed his lead haltingly and at one point he narrowly avoided stepping on Optimus’s pede, balancing the sliding sidestep with a move definitely not in the choreography. His field flared out of his control embarrassed, but determined to do better, concentrate better, move better...
“It’s not a task, primarily. Dancing should be... enjoyed.”
But the Prime kept interrupting his concentration with well-meaning but useless advice like that. Megatron attempted to divide his attention between him and the steps. The music was meaningless to him, unknown and uninteresting, completely unlike the harsher, deeper tones of Tarnian songs. It was barely a rhythm to which he needed to move. But he felt compelled to answer.
“It is for me yet. We do not have such formal dances in Tarn.”
“But you did dance... sometimes, did you not?”
Megatron stumbled again, corrected and overcompensated and hissed as he leaned on Optimus a lot more that was polite… or allowed. But the Prime didn’t mind it, he smiled and supported his weight easily until he regained his balance and could answer.
“I never have. Dancing in Tarn is merely a precursor to interfacing – something buymecha do to display their... assets.”
“Ohh...” Optimus looked dismayed, but he led him with sure steps and subtle movements to the music’s rhythm, obviously well used to manage the dance’s steps and carry a conversation at the same time, which Megatron had plenty trouble with so far. “So you’ve never danced for enjoyment?”
“I never danced at all. Besides the implications, my miners’ frame was remarkably not designed for dancing.”
Optimus laughed lightly and it wasn’t even embarrassing to Megatron. The Prime laughed and smiled a lot and it was never at him, only at the situation itself, not insulting, not condescending… and Megatron felt more and more often drawn into his good mood, into the smile itself… and also now, into the dance itself. Movements rough and steps awkward at first slowly smoothed out until he could follow the more elaborate steps of Optimus without major blunders or missteps. It still required far too much concentration to be enjoyed, but at least now he could manage it.
“But now you can. Jazz keeps telling me that dancing and fighting has a lot in common and from the way I see him move, I’m inclined to believe him.”
That was an interesting idea and Megatron pondered about it while he managed to follow the music and Optimus’s steps.
“Maybe for him it is. But for me?” He gestured over his large and now quite imposing frame “I get fighting now. I don’t quite get… dancing.”
“Well, you’re doing it now, right?” Optimus smiled at him and Megatron’s spark did a curious little flip-flop that had nothing to do with dancing. It was doing it a lot lately.
“I… yeah, I do.” The steps became easier as they repeated the pattern which he could follow. His arms relaxed ever so slightly from their painfully stiff position on Optimus’s frame, though the point of connection still tingled with electric fire. In fact the more they did that as he didn’t have to concentrate so much on getting the steps right. Megatron glanced up and his gaze was captured by Optimus’s smiling blue optics. He couldn’t look down again, those blue orbs were like… like those rare crystals he saw once, sapphire-energon they were called, and the whole team got an extra premium when they found the small cluster…
“Sorry, sorry… I’m...!”
Slag, he really stepped on the Prime’s pede this time. Megatron yanked his servos back and stumbled backwards, for a klik sure that this was it, he would get punished for being a clumsy oaf… but it was dispelled another klik later when Optimus moved quickly after him and caught his servos.
The music cut out.
They stood facing each other, servos in servos and Megatron’s fuel pump hammering like crazy. Nor was it only from the misstep.
“Nothing bad happened.” Optimus lifted one servo and gently tilted his chin up until their optics met again. “It was just a misstep. You are allowed to make mistakes, it is only a few breems since you first danced in your entire existence.”
“I… harmed you…”
Optimus laughed. Easily, gently, freely. Megatron’s spark did a flip-flop again.
“It takes a lot more to harm me, Megatron. And just so you know… there are nobles who stepped on my pede during balls and they’ve been practicing dancing all their lives.”
“The’re nobles… ‘m… not.”
His thick accent was coming to the front with embarrassment, he just couldn’t help it, but he hated it none the less.
“I don’t care, Megatron. Really don’t. They are just mecha too.”
Megatron’s optics widened at that and he gasped a little.
“I know, it is blasphemy to say something like that. But…” - Optimus huffed and lifted a servo to his chest plates - “... they are all just mecha in Primus’s optics. No more or better than you.”
It was blasphemy. It went against everything he was told or taught, or even seen. But it was said by the highest authority their race knew, the direct representative of Primus. The dichotomy was jarring in his processor. It was one thing that the Prime personally picked some talented mecha from lower classes and elevated them to higher positions. Exceptions, as Starscream kept reminding him, defined the rules. It was quite another that he called them all from lowest to highest… equal. It was more than radical, it was…
“Some orn you’ll see, everyone will see. Till then… come, let’s finish this dance. At some balls, you might have to do it live.”
Optimus’s smile was a bit sadder, but he let Megatron overcome his shock and hesitatingly grasp his frame again, the touches still too strong, the steps still rough… but they danced.
And Megatron’s processor poked and prodded the new, rebellious idea all the while his frame followed the rhythm and Optimus haltingly.
Equal? Equal. Hmm...