Work Text:
Megatron strode through the Lost Light, viciously slagged off and glaring the promise of excessive pain at any mech stupid enough to get within his sight. The fact that within the space of a few mechanometers, no one was getting in his way anymore, only slagged him off more.
It meant that they knew to avoid him right now, and that meant that someone had enlightened the crew about why.
And it all added up to someone on that bridge is going to die.
But not even indulging in a few violent fantasies of rending the limbs off of every single mech who'd witnessed his impromptu poetry could distract Megatron from the more immediate problem at hand, and he arrived at the cargo bay far too soon for his liking.
Actually, never might've been more to his liking. But a warlord never hid and while Megatron might have left that title behind, part of it would always be hardwired into his spark. Humbled he might be, but cower and hide? Never.
So he didn't even allow himself an instant's hesitation before shoving through the heavy airlock and entering the cargo bay like he was stepping onto a battlefield.
A comparison that was more apt than he'd originally anticipated, since the hard thunk of the airlock locking behind him sounded almost simultaneously with the ringing crash of a solid punch to the side of his head.
Optics sparking with outrage, Megatron came up swinging. Optimus got in another good shot to his jaw but Megatron more than made up for it with a roaring tackle that sent them both crashing to the deck, and he followed that with two sharp jabs to Prime's abdominal plating. Optimus let out a grunt but didn't even pause, bucking his hips and throwing Megatron off him. Megatron landed like a cat and leapt right back at him but Optimus rolled just enough that his talons screeched harmlessly off his armored back plate instead of gouging into the Energon lines barely exposed at his throat.
Instead of doing the expected thing and retreating back to his feet–Optimus was a much better boxer than a brawler, and Megatron had no qualms whatsoever about fighting dirty on the floor–Prime dove for him. It was unexpected enough to catch the ex-warlord just slightly off-guard and Optimus managed to catch both his wrists and pin them to the deck. Reacting without thought, Megatron darted his head forward, snapping sharpened denta right in Prime's face, startling him into jerking back just enough for Megatron to wrench his hands free and shove the stubborn Autobot off of him.
They both scrambled to their feet, circling now. Prime's eyes were blazing with the light of battle and Megatron suspected that he looked much the same. Holy Primus in the pit, it had been too long since he'd had a good fight, and no one had ever matched him the way Optimus did–equal in strength and determination and very nearly his equal in deviousness, the Prime was the kind of opponent who kept him on his toes, made him work for any victory, however slight.
"Not exactly the thanks I expected, Prime," Megatron drawled, trying to keep the excitement of the fight out of his voice and knowing he was failing. "I just saved your aft, if you didn't notice."
"Indeed. It appears that you're quite concerned with my aft," Optimus growled back in that deep, deep voice that never failed to send shivers down his struts.
"Don't flatter yourself," Megatron said, starting to roll his eyes and stopping himself in time–taking his eyes off his foe for even that long would give him enough of an opening to attack again.
"I don't need to. You've flattered me enough for one day."
And that was crossing the line. Megatron snarled and lunged for him–
–only to realize too late that Prime had been expecting just that, waiting for it. His hands were caught, dragged upward, and Optimus turned with his momentum and slammed him right into the bulkhead behind him with enough force to shake the entire wall and possibly the whole ship, pinning him there with the full weight of his enormous body. Megatron yanked his hands down–
Only they didn't move. Cursing, he shot a glance upward because Optimus should not be able to hold him with one hand like this, but it was only when he saw the distinctive blue glow of stasis cuffs and felt the deep thrum of a maglock between his wrists that he understood.
Optimus Prime had shackled him to the wall.
Shock abruptly replaced rage. Megatron pulled at his bonds again, strained with his full strength against them, and didn't gain a single millimeter of purchase. More than that, his struggles pressed him harder against Optimus, who hadn't shifted away from him at all. "You made me do this," Optimus said, holding him there, leaning fully against him.
Heat shot through Megatron, kicking on his cooling fans in an instinctive effort to control his body temperature. Prime's eyes narrowed at the distinctive sound and Megatron glared, hoping that Optimus would take that as a sign of anger and not of arousal, but damn, fighting him always affected Megatron this way. It was just one more reason to hate this self-righteous slagger. Deprived of any physical means to attack, Megatron defaulted to verbal. "Never took you for the kinky type, Prime," he purred, rattling the cuffs. "Poetry really gets you off, hmm?"
Those vibrant blue optics narrowed still further. But instead of responding with a taunt of his own, suddenly his battle-mask retracted. "Bite me and you will regret it," Optimus growled, and before Megatron could even begin to process a reply to that threat, his mouth was otherwise occupied with Prime's.
For half a klik, Megatron's processor stopped. Just absolutely stopped. Then Prime's glossa swept over his lips, almost shockingly soft in contrast to his hard body pinning Megatron's so forcefully, and he opened before he had even fully realized what was happening here.
And then Optimus Prime was kissing him. The thought echoed in his processor as though trying to find a way for it to fit. Optimus Prime was KISSING him. Optimus Prime's glossa in his mouth, twining around his. Optimus Prime's denta banging into his as they both pressed closer, searching for deeper, searching for harder, searching for more. Optimus Prime was kissing him…
… and he was fragging amazing at it.
Megatron's processor finally caught up with what was happening–his body was right on board, interface panels already growing uncomfortably hot–but that threat, oh, that couldn't be allowed to stand. No one dominated Megatron! Giving all his weight to the cuffs, he lifted both legs and wrapped them around Optimus, trapping him just as effectively as any stasis cuffs. Prime's engine growled his approval of this, but Megatron wasn't done. Deliberately, leaving no doubt that this was no accident, he sucked Prime's lower lip into his mouth and bit.
Hard.
Optimus swore and drew back, venting harshly, a little drop of Energon seeping from the puncture on his lip. Megatron leaned forward and swiped his glossa over it, collecting his prize, and then gave the Prime a gloating grin as he licked his own lips, savoring the taste. "Hmm… no, I don't regret it at all," he murmured, squeezing his legs around Prime's hips.
Optimus gripped his thighs tightly in both hands, squeezing almost hard enough to dent. "I could leave you just like this, you know," he rumbled, his engine still thrumming, sending the most distracting vibrations through Megatron's panel when he pressed their pelvic plates together like that… and the look in his eye said he knew exactly what he was doing to him, too.
But this was a game Megatron knew how to play. Hooking his heels at the base of Prime's back strut, he rocked against him and revved up his own engines–and if they were going to play who has the stronger engine, his jets would win over Prime's hauler frame every time. Optimus' low groan was almost lost in the roar of their engines. "You won't do that," Megatron said, absolutely sure of it. Even if Prime hadn't been venting just as hot as he was, his honor would never let him leave another mech in this position, helpless to whoever came by. When Optimus didn't deny his words, Megatron gave him a slow smile that was half threat, half come-on, never stopping his grinding for an instant and enjoying having the upper hand back.
And then Prime's hands moved. Those thick, blunt fingers which looked so clumsy were surprisingly dextrous as they traced the path of his transformation seams, finding hidden sensors here, a bundle of sensitive cables there, every slow movement ferreting out weaknesses and sending almost unbearable jolts of pleasure along his circuits. "Stop… stop that," Megatron moaned, then bit his own lip because Primus dammit, that was a command, it was not supposed to come out as a needy plea.
Optimus watched his expression with blatant satisfaction. "So easily undone, Megatron?" he murmured, one hand sliding up his chestplate, the other sliding around his leg and finding the hypersensitive seam between thigh and hip. He leaned forward and nuzzled the thick cables at the warlord's throat and Megatron's head instinctively fell back, granting him access instead of dipping his chin to block him. The tip of that impossibly soft glossa teased his main Energon line, building such heat within him that his armor flared to full extension just to dissipate it.
"Fr–frag you, Prime," Megatron gasped, knowing it was a weak protest and unable to concentrate enough to come up with anything better, but Vector Sigma, where the pit had Optimus learned to do that with his mouth–?
"Actually, I thought I'd frag you instead," Optimus breathed against his throat, and when Megatron's interface panels retracted so hard that it echoed in the cavernous room, he chuckled. "Mmm, I think you like this far more than you let on."
Megatron didn't get a chance to reply to that. One second Optimus was pushing his entire body against his, hands everywhere, that mouth that spent so much time hidden sucking impossibly hot on his neck, and the next Optimus was gone. "No!" Megatron shouted, optics flying open as his valve clenched painfully on nothing and he knew a moment's real fear that Optimus really was going to leave him like this.
"Hush," Optimus said, both his hands on Megatron's wrists again, and the surge of relief that swamped the warlord distracted him just long enough that he missed his chance to fight when Optimus spun him around and locked his hands back to the bulkhead, restraining him with his chest to the wall this time. But he went still then, only touching his wrists. "If you tell me to stop, Megatron, I will stop." The words came out almost harshly with the effort he was clearly using to restrain himself.
"No! I thought… I thought you were leaving," Megatron said, and was immediately rewarded with by Optimus pressing full-length along his back. He clenched his teeth, determined to hold back a moan at the feel of the heavy warbuild pinning him–few mechs were of a size with him and the sensation of a body matching his at shoulder and hip and knee and everywhere in between was intoxicating.
He didn't even slightly succeed.
Optimus chuckled, hands slowly sliding down his arms. "Leaving?" he echoed as his knee pressed insistently between Megatron's and those unexpectedly talented fingers played across his chest. "Now why would I get you in a state like this and leave without fully enjoying the fruits of my labor?"
The smugness in his tone was as infuriating as it was arousing and Megatron bucked back against him, pushing him back. "Just because you can rev me up doesn't mean you can satisfy me," he growled. "Prove yourself worth my time, Prime, or next time I'll think twice about allowing you to catch me so easily."
Optimus laughed again and cupped Megatron's chin in one hand. Turning him so they were optic to optic, he said, "You call that easy?" and cut off any reply the warlord might by simultaneously kissing him again–very bravely, Megatron had to admit, considering what had happened the last time–and sliding his other hand down to boldly cup his leaking valve.
Megatron groaned around that downright acrobatic glossa–Primus, no wonder Optimus kept that damned battle mask up all the time, that mouth of his was a slagging weapon. Between the way Optimus explored his mouth like he was conquering enemy territory and the confident slide of one thick finger deep into his valve, Megatron was already feeling his charge growing dangerously strong.
He retaliated by sucking hard on that wickedly talented glossa and bucking against Optimus again, but not to throw him off this time–he thrust his aft against Prime's interface panel, drawing a groan from him this time. "Come on, you slagger," he gritted out, that single finger almost worse than nothing because Prime seemed determined to map out every single node inside his valve without truly satisfying any of them. Feeling that one finger sliding in and out, so close to being what he needed while not being anywhere near what he needed, was infuriating. "Stop teasing, Unicron take you!"
"You're hardly in a position to give orders," Optimus said, withdrawing his finger again, but this time three pumped back in and Megatron shouted at the sudden fullness. Oh yes, that was much better, but still not what he wanted.
That rapidly changed, however, as Optimus used what he'd learned and launched an all-out assault on the sensitive nodes inside his valve. Megatron's head dropped back, optics wide and all but unseeing as those fingers positively danced inside him, hardly aware of the sounds coming from his own vocalizer until Optimus chuckled and murmured, "Shh, this room is not quite that soundproof."
"Afraid the crew will hear me ordering you to frag me?" Megatron retorted, managing to find a scathing tone somewhere in the haze of a rapidly-approaching overload, even if it did end in a humiliatingly needy whine when Prime's other hand wrapped around his spike and squeezed just this side of too much.
While still being very, very much not enough.
"Protecting your reputation for when you beg me to frag you," Prime replied, and Megatron snarled at him–his overload was there, it was right there, and how had he ever looked at Prime's hands and thought them thick and clumsy because Optimus was playing his valve like a maestro, his other hand stroking and squeezing and going maddeningly loose whenever Megatron tried to thrust into his fist, keeping him right on the edge of his overload and never–
–quite–
–allowing–
He thrust back against the infuriating Prime, growling and moaning and absolutely not begging. "Damn you, you slagging rusted glitched out bastard, if you don't get on with it already–" he raged, and then that mouth was back on his throat, licking and teasing and suckling at sensitive places Megatron hadn't even known he had, and then Optimus bit the back of his neck, bit hard–
Megatron's overload hit him hard enough to white-out his optics and lock his frame in a rigid, shuddering arch. His vocal processor emitted nothing but a burst of static as transfluid erupted from his spike.
Optimus didn't give him an instant's reprieve as he grabbed Megatron's hips and drove his spike into his still-contracting valve in one deep thrust. Megatron gripped the cuffs for strength as Prime fragged him right through that overload and into a second almost before he'd even managed to reset his optics, and he was nearing his third when those powerful thrusts started to falter, Prime's engine roaring and that big warframe shaking as his own overload neared. Megatron pushed back into each thrust, demanding that Optimus give this to him, give him his pleasure and his loss of control just as he'd taken them from Megatron.
Prime's grip on his hips very nearly dented the metal as his overload hit him and he bit the nape of Megatron's neck again to muffle his shout. It was so possessive, almost animalistic, and it sent Megatron over the edge into his third overload, his valve clenching in spasms around Prime's spike as transfluid filled him to overflowing.
When it was over, Optimus reached up and disconnected the cuffs from the maglock. Megatron didn't even try to stop himself from falling–by Cybertron, he hadn't been fragged like that since… no, he'd never been fragged like that, ever. Optimus collapsed right along with him, both of them hitting the deck in a messy tangle of limp, satisfied limbs, Megatron splayed out atop Prime's chest.
They lay there for what felt like a very long time before Optimus finally disentangled himself enough to raise up on one elbow and look down at Megatron. "So, my perfect optics, eh?" he said, a slag-eating grin on his still-exposed face.
Megatron punched him. It wasn't particularly hard, but just in case, he made sure not to hit that sinfully talented mouth–he had plans for that mouth later. "Oh, shut the hell up," he growled, and pretended not to hear Prime's laughter.