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A Small Personal Crisis
Chapter One: Small Crisis
The Lost Light had finally evacuated all the people from the two worlds, whose sun was being destroyed by the war-like, cyborg-cyclops beings called the “Trylians”. Afterwards, everyone decided it would be best to get as far away as possible from the system—and Megatron hoped they would never encounter these Trylians again. Rodimus feared that they probably would—he just didn’t feel like it was over with them just yet. And so, it had been a week after their couple weeks of ferrying the natives had been completed and Megatron had acquiesced to meeting with some Galactic Alliance representatives, after being persuaded to consider it by both Rodimus and Ultra Magnus. That meeting had gone really well, so the Galactic Alliance representatives asked for a second meeting, soon. Rodimus had also begun his “internship” in the medi-bay in that time. For Rodimus, he began to feel like life was settling into something nice, something normal—something he’d never had the chance to experience before in his life. He rather liked it. “One of the most important things when treating an injured patient, even if you’re simply just trying to make them comfortable for an actual doctor, it’s to ‘keep them warm’,” First Aid said with a chuckle as he made a familiar motion with his fingers. “Velocity agreed to be our injured patient today, so……….let’s give it a shot here.” “So, keeping them warm—you mean getting some thermal blankets and stuff like that?” Rodimus asked, a bit puzzled why the small CMO gave the phrase air-quotes as he said it. “There’s that, but this is where medics with the training can try to make a patient comfortable even when they don’t have supplies,” the little red-and-white mech laughed. “If you are in an area where you can get them comforts such as berths, pillows and blankets—then definitely do so. However, that may not always be a case………….war, yes you may wind up in the most barren environment ever. But sometimes it’s maybe someone has and accident or suffers an injury in the most unexpected environment—in a shuttle, in a garden, in an office.” Rodimus tilted his head, frowning. “This is when you can use your field—both of them. Your regular, projective EM field and the dermal sensor net,” First Aid said, very seriously. “All bodies, organic as well as our kind, have a tendency to drop in temperature when they’re injured. It’s to bring a body into a stasis mode—no moving and no aggravating the injury.” “But………….you can’t use your field to control temperatures, can you?” Rodimus asked, very confused. He’d never heard of anyone being able to manipulate their EM field like that before. “No, but………….you can encourage others to not drop their body temperatures by stimulating them,” First Aid said, but then he saw the wry smile that curved both Velocity and Rodimus’ lips. He was glad he had a medic’s facial shield on his faceplate because the embarrassment was overwhelming when he realized the secondary meaning to his words. “AHEM! I mean using your field! And not in THAT WAY!” The little medic said, his voice louder than normal to cover up his embarrassment. “No, look, basically what you can do with your field is, quite literally ‘think warm thoughts’ and convey your feelings of warmth through your field.” “Does that really work?” The flame-colored mech gasped, staring down at First Aid. “Believe it or not, it really can—if you’re being sincere,” Velocity answered, before going back to play injured patient with a chuckle as First Aid swatted her helm finials playfully. “State of mind is very important—you can convince anyone of anything if you believe in it yourself. So, if you feel warm yourself, you can convey how warm you feel under the layers of comfort you might project in your field,” the small CMO responded. “This is why medics undergo so much training to remain calm under practically any circumstances—because your own emotional state will affect those you’re trying to help, using your field or not.” Rodimus reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. He thought about the past, about Nyon, and what he did to help people there. And he knew First Aid was right—about how you feel affecting the others around you. Young Hot Rod of Nyon put on a cloak of confidence when caring for the others and they felt safe in his care. But “thinking warm thoughts” would actually be pretty easy, as his frame was always at a warmer temperature than most Cybertronians’ frames were. “Let me give it a shot, okay?” He asked, smiling at First Aid and Velocity. First Aid stepped back and let the flame-colored mech step up to the side of the medical berth the femme from Caminus was lying in. “Hey there, how are you feeling?” He asked, gently leaning over Velocity and placing a palm lightly on her forehead. Rodimus let his field stay firm and just kept his own self feeling warm as he let his field lightly touch against the femme’s. “Can you tell me if it hurts anywhere? Can I do something for you?” Velocity smiled up at him. “That’s so perfect—I can feel the warmth below the concern in your field!” She said softly. “You’re really good at this, very adaptable,” she added. “Wow……really? Thanks!” Rodimus said, happily, standing up straight again. “You know, I just………….it’s been a long time since I thought about Nyon, but I thought about how things were in Nyon and how I interacted with everyone there.” “I think you would’ve made a fine medic. I wish they hadn’t misclassified you in the Academy,” First Aid said with a sigh. “You have a kindness that you haven’t let show much since I’ve known you—not until now, anyways. If this is really who you are, Rodimus, you should embrace it.” “I think I’d like to. It was a lot of work to be the aggravation I was to many for all those years,” the flame-colored mech chuckled softly. * * * * * Rodimus was up on his pedes the moment Megatron came through the door. He was instantly in front of the taller, bulkier mech and talking excitedly about his day down in the medi-bay. He explained about the couple of patient-interactive exercises that Velocity and First Aid put him through in repetition and basically just radiated with excitement and happiness. Megatron smiled fondly down at his younger lover. This was definitely the Rodimus he’d always wanted to see. “I wanna go out tonight? Can we go out tonight?” Rodimus asked, grinning broadly up at his lover and co-captain. “I mean do you want to go out…………?” He asked, suddenly worried and remembered Megatron wasn’t much of a public-interaction person. “Where would you like to go tonight? I thought you stopped drinking Engex?” Megatron asked, smiling fondly down at the flame-colored mech. “I know Swerve will complain about me not giving him business, but I was thinking Visages. I wanna go and dance and just be around people,” the younger mech responded, grabbing his lover’s servos and swinging their arms cheerfully. “Maybe something light to drink—watered down junk and all.” Megatron gave a light little chuckle and tugged the swinging arms up so he could kiss the back of Rodimus’ knuckle-joints. “I can always make exceptions to my anti-social behavior for you, my bright little flame,” the former Decepticon Leader said with warmth in his vocalizer. “I will be happy to drink your share—so long as you don’t expect me to dance,” he added with a wry laugh. “Sounds like a plan!” Rodimus said, excitedly. Megatron kept giving little chuckles to himself seeing how revved up Rodimus was. They walked, servo-clasping-servo, up to the top deck area where the nightclub-style bar was. Mirage tended to serve lighter drinks, the nightclub was more for entertainment than for social drinking. There was always loud music, usually being played by Blaster, but not always………sometimes the few members of the crew that had formed bands actually played live shows. The lighting was low with colored strobes flashing—it was definitely more for active social activities. Of course, when it had originally opened, Swerve took personal offense at it. But the red-and-white mini-bot settled down when he realized it was different audience than his bar was aimed at and they could surely share the attention of the crew. Now both bars were active social environments, with plenty of patronage to go around. And they had thankfully found alternatives to regular Energon that could be reformulated into proper Engex here in this universe. That way the crew could still get proper fueling and also enjoy the social drinking aspect that had become a part of many lives. Rodimus and Megatron looked around when they walked in and saw some open seats at the actual bar. Mirage took their orders and Rodimus spun around to watch those out on the dance floor. As soon as the blue-and-white Autobot set the two light Engex mixers in front of them, Rodimus took a quick sip and hopped up off the stool. “Gonna dance……..watch me, Megs!” He said, happily, sliding the drink into range of his older lover’s servos. Megatron chuckled and nodded, half-turning his stool to watch as his young partner went off onto the crowded dance floor. He thought that this was a good sign—Rodimus could be in a very blatant emotional environment like this and not go crazy. Even so, he was ready to step in and escort Rodimus away if he suspected the young flame-colored mech was going to get overwhelmed emotionally. More likely than anything, Rodimus was likely going to absorb a lot of feelings of excitement and lust and probably be in a pretty revved up state by the time they got back to their room. The former Decepticon Leader would have to be very careful if they did any kind of interfacing after that………Rodimus would be in a very sensitive state. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve seen Rodimus in an openly good mood like this,” Mirage said with a smile, leaning on the bar and watching the flame-colored mech dance. “He finally has a reason to be happy—love can change you,” Megatron responded, smiling down at the Autobot. “Do you really love him? I mean, honestly?” The blue-and-white mech chuckled. “Of course. I wouldn’t be taking my time and courting him if it were merely physical,” Megatron responded, a bit bitingly. Mirage caught on and stood straight, waving his servos innocently. “I didn’t mean it like that. But your point is taken, not my business to ask,” he sighed. “I just know how he was with Drift and how he was after Drift was gone. I know how desperate he was to cling to someone—and yet pushed himself away from everyone,” he added when Megatron looked at him with a bit of puzzlement. “He would have pushed me aside as well, but I refused to let him without trying for something honest between us,” the former Decepticon answered. “He’s not as much a slut as everyone seems to think he is—he’s rather innocent in the berth. His ‘quick frags’ were more or less his desperation to try and find someone, to forget aches and pains he may have had—he never enjoyed them as much as something true. He let others do to his frame as they wanted, not as he wanted.” “That makes a lot more sense than the rumours passed about the ship,” Mirage responded, leaning back on the bar. “I try not to hold much truth to rumours, but people talked about him all the time, I couldn’t help but believe it was true.” The Autobot espionage agent [former] smiled as he watched Rodimus energetically step and sway around others on the dance floor, his faceplate all grins and optic-glows of joy. “There’s a reason a lot of us did join up—not just to get away from Cybertron, but because Hot Rod was a ‘bot of camaraderie. He pulled away when he was hurting, but when he was happy he loved being around others and his pleasant attitude was infectious. Some of us remembered that about him and figured going on a journey with him would probably be fun—and none of us had really had ‘fun’ in a very long time.” “You weren’t on the ship, so what was your reaction when you returned to it and found Getaway had taken over?” Megatron asked, very seriously and wanting to know the answer to this. “I’d seen how Rodimus got after he had to exile Drift and……………it wasn’t fun to be here anymore,” Mirage said, carefully, setting some background out there before he answered. “I didn’t quite feel right with Getaway in charge either—the feeling on the ship was just……………very bad. Even when you came aboard, the tension on this ship was unbearable.” Megatron frowned, but he nodded, encouraging the Autobot to continue on. “So…………it’s a very difficult thing to answer. I didn’t appreciate what Getaway did to take command on the ship, but you and Rodimus in charge was also an unpleasant situation,” the blue-and-white mech added, shrugging lightly. “But it’s changed. All of it. Getaway’s presence was seared into all of us and a lot of tension was released when we all realized we were gathered together in those final battles. Rodimus’ words were just as powerful as they ever had been, rallying us all at the end. I think that’s why we came back for that………..‘victory lap’………..I think we knew that something would happen. Something exciting. And we all wanted to be a part of it again. Even Megatron wanted to be part of all that. Everyone deserves a second chance, even Megatron of Tarn.” “Thank you, I truly appreciate that,” Megatron answered, picking up his drink and sipping at it with a smile. Rodimus was suddenly back over at the bar, grabbed his drink and took a few sips and then reached his arms up around Megatron’s neck and rubbed his cheek on the center of the bulkier mech’s chest, right over the Autobot symbol emblazoned there. “How are you feeling, Rodimus?” The grey mech asked, reaching up a servo to rub the flame-colored mech’s helm lightly. “Good. I’m in a good mood, Megs,” the younger mech purred, still happily snuggling up against Megatron. “Everyone’s in a good mood, it feels great.” “Why don’t you take a seat and finish up your drink? Then you could dance more or………” Megatron trailed off. “Done dancing. Ready for some quality time with you,” the flame-colored mech responded, pulling away and grabbing his glass to keep taking sips from it until he felt he was done with the light Engex. “Speed it up, you oldmech, while I’m still in such a fraggable mood!” Rodimus laughed, snuggling back up against Megatron’s chest. Megatron tossed his head back, roaring with laughter, which was drowned out by the loud music. Then he downed the remainder of his Engex in a single, large gulp. He slipped his servo into Rodimus’ and they walked back to their room, EM fields tangling with happiness and pleasure. It was definitely a good night that was about to be capped off with something more……………. As soon as they were in their hab suite, Megatron lightly pushed Rodimus against the wall and lowered his head down to kiss him—the response was perfect and immediate, as the flame-colored mech reached up and grabbed the sides of his helm, tilting his head to make the kiss go deeper. Their glossa slid against one another’s and explored within the other’s mouths. Oral fluids overflowed and leaked from the corners of their mouths as they continued to devour each other with such intensity. “You definitely know how to kiss, Megs,” Rodimus murmured, looking up at him with a flush of pink on his faceplate beneath his optics. “I should hope so after a few million years,” Megatron chuckled, raising a servo and rubbing a gentle thumb along the flame-colored mech’s jawline. “Are you up for more tonight? Or was it just that you were influenced by everyone at the nightclub……..?” He murmured, leaning down and brushing his lips on the top of Rodimus’ helm. The younger mech raised a servo and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking about it. “Both, I think. Maybe now that we’re alone and I’m not absorbing everyone else’s good mood I’m a bit shy and nervous. I mean! I know you’re good! But…………..I’m still not that good yet,” Rodimus whispered, a little bit of anxiety creeping into the tone from his vocalizer. “You’re fine, trust me. Come on,” the taller and bulkier mech responded with a smile, taking Rodimus’ servo and leading the younger mech over to the couch with him. Megatron sat down and reached up a servo in a beckoning gesture to Rodimus. “Sit. In my lap. As comfortably as you wish to,” he said, warmth in his voice. Rodimus braced his servos on Megatron’s shoulders as he sat, straddling Megatron’s lap area. He pressed his groinplating gently against his lover’s to show he was actually interested, just a bit shy towards actual interfacing. The flame-colored mech placed his servos on the sides of Megatron’s helm again and lowered his faceplate to his lover’s for more intense kissing. As they kissed, deeply and wetly, Megatron slid one large servo over part of his younger lover’s aft and the other servo slid through Rodimus’ legs to rub lightly at the valveplating on his interface array. The plating was warm and moisture began leaking through the microseams, Rodimus was definitely interested—there was no denying that. “Megatron……………I……….” Rodimus murmured, gnawing at his lower lip anxiously. “We’re taking this at your pace, not mine,” the older mech reminded, smiling at his younger lover. “I know. You’re way too nice, Megatron—I know how much you really wanna frag me,” Rodimus murmured. “Um. This position—we can do something with it, you know? I may not be good at it, but I can try………..?” The flame-colored mech trailed off, looking down into his lover’s old, red glass-covered optics. “Open,” Megatron said, gently. “Let’s make sure you’re fully ready for trying that,” he murmured, brushing lips over the flame-colored mech’s jawline. Rodimus nodded, leaning forwards and draping his arms around Megatron’s neck. Megatron leaned his head against the littler mech’s shoulder and felt when the array paneling snapped open, his fingers were met with soft, damp mesh. The former Decepticon Leader gently swiped a couple of his fingers along the crevasse of the warm opening, getting them wet from the lubrication dampening the whole area. Rodimus gave some soft little sounds that weren’t quite words or language, but were understood by Megatron all the same. Then Megatron gently tried to push a single finger into the wet valve and got a sound from Rodimus that was part whimper and part moan. “Good, or not?” Megatron whispered softly. “Good,” Rodimus mumbled, a bit dazed as he became suffused with sensations. His dermal sensor net was easily picking up on Megatron’s lust, even though the older mech had really good control of his EM field. The former Decepticon was gently letting his field flow around Rodimus, letting out his true feelings as the flame-colored mech had kept urging him to do when they were together. Megatron’s lust tasted sweet, smelled like hot summer air, and was the color of the most intense red Rodimus had ever known. It urged his body to get ready for everything and Rodimus felt his frame heat up and fill with charge. Suddenly, the flame-colored mech grabbed at the tank treads on Megatron’s back, making a keening sound as the older mech added a second finger sliding up into his valve. “Still good?” The older mech asked, a bit worried that it was becoming overstimulating for his younger lover. “So good………….” Rodimus moaned, reveling in the sweet taste and hot scent that Megatron’s lust was filling his dermal sensor net with. Even as he shuttered his optics, he could still see the intense color of red before them. Megatron knew this was normal, as long as EM fields were obvious and filled with the truth of their emotions at the moment. He wasn’t overly worried for Rodimus’ condition and cherished the fact that the younger mech’s body responded appropriately to all of the stimuli being given to him physical or field-wise—as long as he took care not to actually hurt Rodimus, this was fine. As soon as he could comfortably get a third finger into his younger lover’s valve and could easily move it around, then they could try to interface in the position Rodimus had subtly suggested. “Mmmmm. So good………” the flame-colored mech whispered softly, burrowing his face in the hollow between Megatron’s neck cables and the collar fairing. He rocked his hips lightly against his older lover’s fingers, tasting the sweetness of Megatron’s lust, incycling the hot scent, and savoring the explosion of red filling his senses. Megatron smiled and pulled his fingers back enough to fit a third into the soaking valve. All three digits slid in easily and he was able to move them without any discomforting sounds from his younger lover. Nay, Rodimus was willingly rocking himself against the moving fingers—so the former Decepticon Leader knew it was all going well. He tilted his head to brush lips along the side and back of Rodimus’ neck cabling and swiped his glossa over sensitive spots teasingly. “Do you think you’re ready to try the position you wanted to?” The older mech asked, softly, pulling away and drawing Rodimus’ head out of his neck to see the expression on his faceplate. Rodimus’ optics cycled open, the irises of the optical orbs within pulsing open and closed as he tried to focus—then a soft glow made the blue tempered-glass coverings light up with attentiveness. “Spaced out there, felt good,” he murmured, bringing his servos from Megatron’s back and slid them along the sides of the older mech’s helm. “Mmmm. Can you help me a little, so I don’t……..you know……….hurt myself? I know this riding position from holo-vids I’ve watched, but……….I’ve never done it myself,” the flame-colored mech said, the tone in his vocalizer soft and shy. “Of course. Pull your hips back a little for me, for a few seconds at least,” Megatron chuckled warmly. He waited until Rodimus had scooted back a few inches and opened his spike panel, letting his eager organ pressurize between them. Rodimus glanced down at it. He knew how it felt, but he hadn’t really looked at it before, he’d been too shy (and too eager) about interfacing. Megatron’s spike was black, with ragged grooves in a random patterning along its surface. The biolights on the underside, along the transfluid pressure line, were crimson—pulsing a dark and eager red—the same colors he’d seen as his dermal sensor net began overloading his processing systems and he began experiencing the emotions as colors, smells and tastes. The head of the spike was not a typical triangular rounded-tip, it tapered to a blunted point instead, as if it were meant to tear through things. The flame-colored mech gnawed on his lower lip and kind of wished he hadn’t actually looked at the imposing interfacing organ. “Are you okay, your field just rippled with a bit of fear……..?” Megatron asked, concern making his deep voice go even deeper in tone. “Hey um. I haven’t had a lot of the good experiences. Are all spikes different or…….?” Rodimus asked, shyly, leaning over to bury his face back in Megatron’s neck. The question surprised Megatron, because that was something he didn’t really think about in the throes of desire or lust. A spike was a spike and mostly he tended to put his own spike in other mechs’ and femmes’ valves………….he really didn’t care much about anyone else’s spikes and would only caress them just to stimulate interfacing more. “Is there something about mine that bothers you?” Megatron asked, nuzzling his younger lover’s helm lightly with his cheek and chin. He sincerely hoped not, because that likely meant it was going to be another long amount of time (if ever again!) he could get Rodimus comfortable with interfacing again. “Is the tip supposed to………..um……….look like a weapon?” Rodimus said in a quiet voice, he couldn’t help but giggle as he said it, although his field showed he was really getting very nervous. “I mean mine doesn’t, but I’m not normal in so many ways so that maybe my equipment isn’t normal either………..!” He added, his voice getting a bit louder and faster with his anxiety. “You need not worry—everyone’s spikes are different, Rodimus,” Megatron said, keeping his voice gentle and soothing as he patted Rodimus’ spoiler with his servo that wasn’t damp with the younger mech’s valve lubricants. “The shape usually is a specified design for a purpose, mine is designed for breaking seals and membranes. If we ever choose to try and conceive a sparkling, it’s the right shape to pierce the membrane of the gestation tank to give transfluid to the sparkling’s frame.” Megatron felt Rodimus’ frame completely relax with relief. “Oh, good. I was worried. I mean it………….well……….it’s kinda scary that I’ve got all this experience, but really not that much experience at all, you know?” Rodimus sighed. “Primus…………..I’m sorry I’m such a spastic idiot about these things. I must be the worst lover you’ve ever had, right?” He moaned, burying his face deep in Megatron’s neck. “No. You’re just the most experienced innocent I’ve ever had,” Megatron chuckled warmly. “And it’s refreshing. It’s teaching me to have patience that I admit I’d never had with others when it came to fragging.” “I’m sure you’d rather have someone that you didn’t have to spend an hour in preparing and comforting for interfacing. And you really don’t have to with me either, it’s just really nice that you do…………..” the flame-colored mech trailed off anxiously. Megatron patted the sunbright yellow spoiler some more and rubbed his cheek against the side of Rodimus’ helm, over his audial. “Are you sure you can do this tonight?” He asked softly. “Yeah. I’m just kinda freaking out over every little thing. If you weren’t letting me freak out, I probably wouldn’t do it…………I’d probably……….” Rodimus began, pulling away so he could look into Megatron’s faceplate. “Don’t hide yourself again. We’ll work on things and it’ll get better,” the older, grey-colored mech responded. “I promise. But………..mmm………..you are still really wet, so I am assuming you really do want to keep going tonight—and you can probably guess that would very much please me as well. We can try something easier if you don’t want to try the riding position you were considering.” Rodimus giggled. “Despite my brain being an idiot, I really do enjoy interfacing with you, Megatron,” the flame-colored mech said, smiling. “Let’s try moving on tonight………….help me out?” He asked, rising up and moving his frame forwards. Megatron smiled up at him and reached his damp servo down to hold his spike firm. He felt Rodimus shift his hips and the damp mesh lips brushed against the pointed tip of his spike. The older mech spoke gentle, encouraging words to his flame-colored lover, as the smaller mech slowly lowered his hips, the length of the thick spike sliding inside of his valve. As soon as the brightly-colored frame sunk lower, Megatron pulled his servo away and let Rodimus go all the way down onto his pressurized organ, until the damp mesh lips were flush against the rootplating of his spike. “Wow. I…………..really am able to take you all the way in,” Rodimus gasped, a bit of disbelief in his voice. “You are indeed. And it’s quite pleasant to be inside of you—it’s very hot and very soft, you feel absolutely perfect,” Megatron said with a light tone in his voice, smiling fondly at his younger lover. “You feel perfect too, Megs,” Rodimus said, shyly. He leaned forwards to kiss Megatron—more of those intense, arousing kisses that they shared earlier. It helped him rev back up to the excitement he had before letting himself get freaked out with small and unimportant details. The flame-colored mech felt his internal temperatures rising and his charge began building back up. Megatron shuttered his optics and thoroughly enjoyed this, letting his own charge build and letting his field ripple back out so that Rodimus could feel it again. They devoured one another’s mouths again and kept kissing until they were both whimpering with a need to take it further—to reach the inevitable conclusion of overload. “Megatron……..what do I do now? I mean, how do I move to make it good?” Rodimus asked, his voice very quiet. The grey-colored mech’s large black servos landed on the slender red hips. “Move up and down. Rotate your hips a little to mix it up sometimes, but up and down is the most pleasurable motion. Brace your servos on my shoulders if you need to,” the older mech answered gently. Rodimus incycled a deep breath and raised his hips so much that the swollen spike was almost out of him—leaving only the tip inside, then he lowered his hips to move back down so his valve lips were flush against the rootplating of Megatron’s spike again. He kept incycling and exventing in a rhythm as he raised his hips and then lowered them. When it began to feel really good, so much that it was building his charge up even faster, he rotated his hips a little in a circular motion as he rose up and down. “Damn. Damn it feels good,” Rodimus groaned softly, tossing his head back as his body fell into a more rapid rhythm of riding his older lover’s swollen spike. Megatron leaned forwards and began nuzzling the bared neck cabling and began biting at it with his fangs. Lightly, teasingly………..playing with the thick plating and sensitive cables using glossa and fangs…………it made Rodimus whimper and moan even more. “Megatron……………Megatron……………Megatron………….” Rodimus repeated in a heated, low whisper. It was like a litany, like a prayer—desperation in order to reach the ultimate release and drown in the pleasure with the mech he loved. His hips bucked and rocked more rapidly as he kept repeating the older mech’s name, only Megatron’s firm servos on his hips kept him from going too hard and hurting himself while riding the rigid spike so desperately. “Almost, Rodimus………..can you feel it? We’re almost there……..” Megatron purred, licking and biting even more at the bared and offered neck of his younger lover. “You are perfection, my brilliant flame—let us take the plunge together, let go for me…………” he whispered, his voice at a pitch lower than his normal tone. As if Megatron’s recommendation was what he was waiting for all along, Rodimus gave a staggered whimper, his servos gripping the grey-colored mech’s shoulders hard and his groin grinding down against Megatron’s as much as it could. He felt the rippling explosion of charges within his valve, first, his calipers wrenching down on the spike buried within him to force Megatron’s charge to join his. And then Rodimus arched his back, a long, low cry erupting from his vocalizer as yellow-orange lightning rippled all over his frame, meeting the greyed-lavender and crimson of Megatron’s own released charge. Rodimus whimpered, collapsing against his bulkier, bigger lover as he felt fluid fill him up inside. Then there was a strange silence afterwards. All the two of them could hear was the roar of their frames’ cooling fans shift up to maximum and the spinning-pounding of their Sparks inside their casings and their chests. It made their frames tremble as they came down from their interface high. Megatron’s large servos slid from Rodimus’ hips up to a position on his lower back and up in the center of the flame-colored mech’s spoiler. He rubbed and patted gently. “Are you all right?” The older mech murmured, cherishing the sheer presence of the littler mech against him. “Yeah. I’m good,” Rodimus managed to murmur, his voice a bit broken up with some static and pops. “Thanks, Megs. You…………..really do know how to make it good for the both of us. This is way better than anything I’ve ever done that qualifies as ‘interfacing’—it’s so satisfying, and a little scary, when I’m with you. I don’t just blank out and wish it were done, you know?” He reached his arms around Megatron’s back and gently slid fingers into the seams and cracks of his tank treads. “I feel it the whole entire time. It makes it worth it.” “Then I am glad. I worry a bit when you get anxious and try to withdraw from me, or from others. I hope we can help you work past your anxieties in relationships,” Megatron said, stroking and patting Rodimus gently. “If we can finally do this without you thinking you’re the worst mech ever in interfacing—then, I know we’ve made some milestone progress here,” he chuckled softly. “Mmm. I’m ready for recharge Megs………..wanna snuggle,” Rodimus murmured, feeling a bit tired. “Let me go get some washcloths then, at least get us lightly cleaned off before going into recharge,” Megatron chuckled softly. “’Kay, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be awake when you get back with those,” the flame-colored mech laughed as the former Decepticon Leader stood up, hefting the younger mech in his arms and laying him lightly on the berth before going to the washrack for cleaning supplies. * * * * * “Rodimus…………Rodimus………….!” The familiar, dry voice cut into his thoughts. He’d been having such a nice recharge dream of Megatron going on a date with him back on Cybertron, with all sorts of familiar faces watching them jealously!!! “Nnngh. Magnus…………..what’s……………what’s going on…………..?” Rodimus groaned as he looked up into the familiar mech’s faceplate. “We were shot down by a Trylian pursuit craft while we were on our way to meet with Ambassador Mirin’s party on Jorg,” Ultra Magnus responded. “What are your system checks telling you—are you injured?” “I’m reeeeeeaaaaaaaalllllllllly going to start hating those guys,” the flame-colored mech sighed, sitting up. He checked the messages on his HUD and found no damage reported by his self-repair systems, it merely looked like he had some dents and his gyros were a bit messed up from being tossed around like a rubber ball. “The hell………? What’s that sound?!” He gasped as soon as he heard a sharp whistling, squealing sound. “Hull damage—and we’re on a continent that seems to be in a snowy, wind-blown environment,” the ship’s Second-in-Command sighed as he helped Rodimus to his pedes. “I just came back online and you were the first frame I found. I haven’t located Drift or Crankcase yet, but they were both in the pilots’ seating and the doorway’s blocked.” “Try to get into the piloting station. I’m going to try and find the cracks in the hull and seal them so we can keep a little bit of heat in here,” Rodimus said, firmly, grabbing a blowtorch out of the ship’s small toolbox station. The flame-colored mech was worried. Not so much that he couldn’t feel Ultra Magnus’ field in the room, but because he couldn’t feel Drift’s or Crankcase’s fields. They hadn’t been obvious fields to begin with, but Rodimus could still feel them with his dermal sensor net…………..now he couldn’t feel either of them at all. For now, he just focused on sealing the cracks he found in the hull. Thankfully, there weren’t many. And it was mainly sealing it to keep out the cold and snow, because this ship likely wasn’t flying ever again—they just had to survive until the Lost Light could come and find them. And nothing would stop Megatron from finding Rodimus………….that was absolutely for certain. “I’m in, well………….I’m through the blockage, I suppose is more accurate,” Magnus responded. “I can’t get into the piloting station in my armour and I’m afraid to knock out more rubble and do damage to the ship.” “Can I get through?” Rodimus asked, coming over and peering over the taller mech’s broad shoulders. “Nope, not big enough for me, either…………..” he sighed softly. “I’ll go in and assess the situation,” Minimus Ambus said, opening up the Magnus Armour and stepping out of it. “I may have to go through the front window and then bring them back into the ship around through the loading area,” he added. The smaller, slimmer mech climbed through the opening he’d made and Rodimus peered in after him. “They’re both unconscious. I think they’ve both got some injuries, it’s hard to tell because the snow that’s blown in from the windshield has smudged details of everything up here.” “Crankcase has a narrower frame—can you try to hand him through here to me? While I take a look at him, you can bring Drift around through the loading area,” Rodimus said, reaching his arms through the opening that Ultra Magnus had made. “Think you can handle it?” Minimus Ambus responded, gently placing Crankcase’s shoulders in Rodimus’ servos. He helped compact the Decepticon’s body as much as he could, to get it through the opening. “I still wish he’d get that head injury covered up, even if he doesn’t want to fix it…………” “We’ve all got our quirks, eh, Mags?” Rodimus chuckled softly. “How should I seal up this gap?” “I’ll take care of it when I come back in with Drift and get back in my armour—leave the blowtorch out for me,” the small mech said with a smile at Rodimus. Meanwhile, Rodimus took Crankcase over to the farther side of the main area of the crashed craft and knelt beside him. It was time to see if any of the basic medical training he’d been getting would be of any use whatsoever here. He wasn’t getting much feeling through his field—either the dermal sensor net or his usual EM field, but Crankcase had been more of a fairly stable set of mind. He didn’t seem to get very emotional at a lot of things. The flame-colored mech leaned over the Decepticon pilot and placed a servo very lightly on the blue-and-grey mech’s chestplate. The Spark-spin seemed normal. Engine vibration felt like it was in a recharge status—so somewhat slower and more even. All of the sudden, Rodimus felt his wrist grabbed tight and Crankcase’s red-glass covered optics glowed fiercely. Then the grip relaxed gently. “Apologies,” the Decepticon grunted. “Paranoia keeps me from getting killed.” “War sucks, yep,” Rodimus chuckled lightly. “Are you all right, Crankcase?” “Me? Yeah. But Deadlock’s another story. The control panel folded down and I think it crushed his legs,” the Decepticon sighed as he sat up with Rodimus’ help. “It’s ‘Drift’ now,” the flame-colored mech corrected with a smile. “Mmm? Oh, that’s right, it is, isn’t it?” The blue-and-grey mech chuckled. “There’s a first aid kit on this skimmer, right? You may want to look and see if it’s got some pain-blockers for Deadlock,” he said, moving his arms and legs to test his movement and reaction times. Rodimus opened his mouth to correct Crankcase on Drift’s name again, but then just shook his head and stood up with a soft laugh. As he walked over to a wall with some glyphs marked “medical supplies” and the cross-symbol of the medic profession, he heard wind howling as Minimus Ambus came in, dragging Drift’s frame on his shoulders. Then the loading doors slammed shut and the small Autobot dragged the familiar red-and-white frame in and carefully lowered him to the floor. “There’s a hefty storm outside. I don’t think we should try to go out until later,” the small mech sighed. He walked back over to the Magnus Armour as Crankcase watched him with great curiosity, then climbed in and got back online with his expansion frame. “Crankcase, can you help me seal off the piloting station again?” Ultra Magnus asked, glancing down at the Decepticon pilot. “On it,” the grey-and-blue mech chuckled, getting up and walking over to the opening. “So you’re a tiny Ultra Magnus inside of a big Ultra Magnus—oddly, while that should shock me, it doesn’t even surprise me in the least. I blame it on Krok and the others.” “Trust me, we’ve seen and done stranger things,” the red-white-blue mech responded with a soft smile. “I hear that,” Crankcase laughed. The two began to focus on organizing the rubble back over the hole Ultra Magnus made earlier then used the blowtorch to soften the metal and shape it—then to adhere it to the opening and sealed it off as best as they could. Meanwhile, Rodimus had gotten the medical kit out and knelt beside the unconscious Drift. He had no sense of Drift’s field whatsoever and his systems had an aberration in them—which meant he was injured seriously. “Drift……Drift—I need to hear your voice, tell me what your HUD is saying? I don’t have enough experience to evaluate all your injuries,” Rodimus said, firmly, lightly slapping the swordsmech’s cheek. “Come on, work with me here!” He muttered, getting upset. “Ratchet’ll kill me if I let something happen to you!” Rodimus felt the grey-and-white mech come online first before a voice responded to him. His dermal sensor net felt a sense of calm ripple through Drift’s EM field and reach out to him, to try and calm him down. Damn it, field manipulation…………..something Drift was too good at. All that did was make Rodimus angry……..Drift was still not going to be honest with him. And now he could actually tell that Drift was using field manipulation! “HUD. Tell me what your goddamned HUD says right now—stop messing with me,” Rodimus growled. “Not………..not messing with you………….just trying to calm you down…………” Drift whispered, his voice broken up with static. “Then stop it! How am I supposed to tell how bad your injuries are if you’re lying to me?!” The flame-colored mech snapped softly. “You can’t………….you can’t fix things………….if you’re upset…………..” the swordsmech mumbled. “I’ll calm down if you stop doing what you’re doing!! Primus!!! Just let your field be honest!!!!” Rodimus groaned softly.
/painhurtpainhurtpainhurtacheacheache\
Rodimus felt those things in Drift’s field so sharply, bleeding into his dermal sensor net fast and making him taste and scent bitter, acrid, burned ozone. The ache wasn’t related to the pain and hurting—the ache was part of a longing for Rodimus to be his friend again. The young, flame-colored mech really wanted that, too, but………….just like how he’d held Megatron back from interfacing for so long, he needed more time before he could take Drift’s friendship back. “That’s better. Now tell me where it hurts the most?” Rodimus asked softly, shelving his own longing back into the depths of his Spark to take care of what’s going on in the here and now. He let his own field reach out calmly and let the warmth he felt in his own frame flow with his feelings of calm and soothing feelings. Drift’s optics cycled open wide, making his blue optic glass glow brightly. Then he relaxed, savoring the warmth flowing with his friend’s field. “Just my legs really………..” he answered, his voice full of static, but very soft and low. Rodimus was good—he had the natural ability to comfort that medics had, Ratchet was right. “HUD says…………..servo-motor relays are completely offline in my left leg and………………only at fifteen-percent functionality in my right…………..” he trailed off, shuttering his optics and leaning back into the wall that he was propped up against. “All right. It fits what the damage probably looks like, the left looks more mangled than the right,” the flame-colored mech said, calmly. “Pain tolerance level?” He asked, placing a servo lightly on the side of Drift’s helm and just kept his field at a nice, calming flow with the warmth layered beneath it. “Heh………what I can tolerate or the real level?” Drift laughed softly. “Aft,” Rodimus chuckled. Drift’s Decepticon tendency to lie about his pain was just like any other Decepticon or former Decepticon. “Meh…………..maybe an eight. But it’s within………….my tolerance range………….” Drift murmured quietly. “Okay. I’m not sure I can do anything about the legs, but can you offline your right’s servo-motor relays as well? I think taking them offline will let your self-repair nanites work better,” Rodimus said, flipping through the drawers of the first aid kit. “Here, a medical stimulant—it should excite your self-repair nanites into working harder and faster.” Drift gave a light groan when he saw the needle, but leaned his head back and bared his neck cabling anyways. “You Decepticons and your fear of needles, really,” Rodimus laughed. “Big, bad ‘Cons and you freak out over needles!” “I have no issue with needles,” Crankcase said, seriously, sitting down in the center of the room. Drift made a little “pfft” sound and chuckled softly. “Now what do we do, Rodimus? The Lost Light probably tracked us and might be able to find us, but if the Trylians have their warship in the area—then our ship is outgunned and outnumbered. None of our smaller craft have weapons’ capabilities as theirs do,” Ultra Magnus said, bracing his palms against the ceiling and stretching his armour’s frame. “Too bad we don’t have a Galvatron around to put the fear of hell into them,” Rodimus chuckled. Only Ultra Magnus got the joke and he gave a soft chuckle in response. “All we can do is wait at this point. The weather’s not favorable for an emergency beacon right now. Drift’s not bleeding out, he just can’t walk. We don’t have any lethal injuries, so if we can wait it out, we should.” “Plan A,” Crankcase responded, nodding. “That would make Plan B………….?” He inquired, looking over at the young, flame-colored mech. “Hunker down,” Drift sighed. “If these Trylians decide to come check for survivors, we need to be ready to fight. Fortify our position,” the swordsmech said, softly. “That is a definite possibility,” Ultra Magnus said, sharing a smile with the grey-and-white mech. “Want me to get the dents out of your legs, Deadlock?” Crankcase asked, looking over at Drift. “It’s pretty basic surfacing, but if your self-repair nanites do the interior work, you should be able to walk in a day or two.” “Sounds like a plan,” Drift responded with a smile, not even bothering correcting the Decepticon on his change of designation.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Chapter Two: Personal Choices
“Status?! Nautica—can you get any more power into the shields?!” Megatron roared into the ship’s comm-system. “I’m trying, Captain—but the ship’s bleeding out……..I’m not certain we’re going to make it!” Nautica’s voice responded loudly, she sounded a little weary and exhausted. It had been six, nearly seven, hours since Rodimus and the others had left to go to their meeting with Galactic Alliance members. Megatron and the crew had gotten the distress call about being shot by a Trylian pursuit craft and how they had to make a crash landing on a nearby world, but then the Trylian warship itself had attacked the Lost Light. Megatron could only deduce that this time it was purely a motive of revenge for them. The cyborgs hadn’t retaliated, nor bothered with the evacuation after the Lost Light left them alone. But was it revenge against all Cybertronians in general…………or perhaps against Rodimus specifically, because he resembled the Hot Rod of their universe? Now Rodimus and the others were lost, maybe injured……….and the Lost Light was on the edge of being completely destroyed. An ache filled Megatron that he and his brilliant flame never had the chance to Spark-bond and completely give themselves over to one another forever. But until it was all said and done, they were all going to fight until the very final moment—and Megatron would pray to a god he never believed in anyways that Rodimus would survive this and live on. Just then, the Trylians found themselves under assault by a trio of ships at least as large as their warship and with much better weapons capabilities. The cyborgs fought back hard against the new intruders, but they’d expended a lot of energy against the Lost Light already and were chased away fairly swiftly. One of the three ships pursued the Trylian warship as the other two approached the Lost Light and attached stabilizing beams on the wounded ship. The forward monitor flared into life. A blue-skinned, four-armed being in a crisp uniform (not a hat in sight, thankfully) and sheared black hair atop his narrow head appeared on the screen. “You have my apologies, Lost Light,” he said, firmly. “We of the Galactic Ranger Patrol have been on high alert since these Trylians appeared, they manage to always evade us in the end and reappear to stir up more trouble again. President Harik of the Galactic Alliance Council told us that your ambassadorial ship never made it to the meeting on Jorg, with Ambassador Mirin.” “We appreciate your arrival,” Megatron responded, guardedly. He had no particular instincts of distrust for this sudden appearance of their potential alliance members, just merely his own personal issues with fleshlings. “We have some engineers, we’ll meet with your Chief Engineer and begin to orchestrate minor repairs to your vessel until we can tow you safely to a suitable area for full repairs,” he added, waving with one arm to some people behind him. “I am Captain Lika of the Twelfth Quadrant GRP division. Please allow me to board your vessel and speak with your command chain about seeking your missing crew and getting your ship re-outfitted for future safety measures.” At this point, Megatron wished he had Rodimus or Ultra Magnus here—both were much better at associating with fleshlings than he was. He merely acquiesced to the requests and said he would meet them in the loading bay with a few of the command members of the crew. He gathered both Hound and Perceptor, both of whom had far more experience than him with fleshlings. “Captain Lika, please forgive my uncomfortableness. I have a painful past and I do not interact well with non-robotic species, but I shall do my best to not be nervous around you,” Megatron said, very quietly and very politely. It was a nice way of disarming himself, emotionally, as well as providing a gentle warning of any anxiety problems he may have in the presence of the shorter fleshlings. “It is understandable. Phobias and minor fears are things not merely swept into a corner and ignored,” Lika responded with a smile on his small, thin lips. “I very much appreciate your honesty in the situation. This is my second-in-command, Narde,” he introduced, waving one of his arms at the furry, giant, Earth Badger-like male being standing one step behind him and slightly to his left. “My ship’s co-captain and second are among the missing crew, my designation is Megatron of Tarn,” the grey-colored mech responded, smiling a little nervously down at the fleshlings. “Rodimus of Nyon and I share a captaincy of the Lost Light.” Then he paused before turning slightly to Perceptor and Hound. “This is Hound, he’s the Piloting Operations Manager—he organizes and educates the pilots of our vessel. This is Perceptor, Chief Science Officer.” The two Autobots gently smiled and shared greetings with the newcomers to the vessel, before Megatron led them all to one of the larger conference rooms on the Lost Light. “I know that as soon as they are safely able to do so, Rodimus and Magnus will make sure to flare up an emergency beacon,” Megatron said, firmly, folding his servos on the table. “They may be worried about the Trylian pursuit craft that shot them down and don’t want to reveal their location.” They were all looking at a star chart brought up on the screen set into the table. Lika folded two of his lower arms over his chest. His top right one he used to lean his chin against it, elbow propped up on the table, while his top left one he motioned with on the star chart. “About here is where you know they were attacked, correct?” The blue-skinned fleshling asked, curiously, pointing at a specific area on the chart. It zoomed in a little to show them a more detailed section of the area. “They wouldn’t have any weapons to fight back with, so they would likely have run for it,” Perceptor added, tapping the point on the table to show where they’d last received a transmission from. Narde grunted and folded his massive furry arms over his chest. “Then they would’ve been shot running—engines likely damaged, to cause their crash. At a forward momentum only, this is likely the area their courses could’ve taken them,” the big furry fleshling said, his deep voice rumbling lightly, as he reached out one clawed fingertip to show a broad stroke that encompassed three planets. “Where they landed would depend on how much steering they had. Or used.” “Crankcase took lead piloting duties, while Drift was his co-pilot. Megatron, what would Crankcase do in a situation like this?” Hound asked, glancing over at the grey-colored mech. “He has a tendency to plow forwards. I assume he’d probably take the straightest course to get it over-and-done-with, as the case may be,” the bulky grey mech responded. “This one, then,” Lika said, pointing to a white dot of a planet on the star chart. “Records say it’s uninhabited and in the middle of an ice age climate change.” Megatron got a ping on his HUD, announcing a new glyph-message. He held up a black servo to ask everyone to wait for a moment while he read it.
|Megs. We’re downed in an ice storm. Drift’s injured, but we’ve hunkered down. Not sure where the Trylians are right now.|
The time-stamp on the message said it was sent two hours ago. “I just received a glyph-message from Rodimus. He says they’re stuck in an ice storm—so that seems to fit the fact they could be on that world,” Megatron said softly. “He also says that Drift is injured and they don’t know if the Trylians have pursued them or not.” “How………….do you know this?” Lika asked, his golden eyes going wide in surprise. “We Cybertronians have a wireless way of communication over distances. However, the greater the distance the more lag time in delivery of said messages—it also requires an exchange of personal communications codes, or PCCs, and those are not always given to others lightly,” Perceptor explained as briefly and as simply as he could. “Even so, the time stamp on the glyph-message shows it was sent two hours ago, but it was just displayed on my HUD,” Megatron responded with a nod. “I think we should go to this world, but…….” “Your ship is in no condition for a battle, should the Trylians still be there,” Narde grunted, folding his arms across his chest again. “We shall go on ahead and rescue your fellows, but I think it best if we take a medic of yours along and a few others to make our introductions go smoother. Is that a proper idea, sir?” He asked, nodding over at his captain. “I think it’s the best idea of compromise right now. Captain Megatron—we shall tow the Lost Light to the planet we are suggesting for the repairs. I will send Narde along on the Golden Arrow—that is the ship with us right now—they have the best weapons to retaliate against the Trylians, should they be in the area,” Lika said, firmly. “Please choose a medic and two others from your crew to go along with the Golden Arrow. That ship is also larger and will be more accommodating to beings of your size than my own flagship, the Shining Nova.” “Very well, I hope that they will not run into trouble and we can get our crew back, soon,” Megatron responded, a tone of worry creeping into his voice. Lika noticed the tone and thought it sounded very much like one worried for his soulmate. * * * * * It was a strange, strange recharge dream that Rodimus had. A story that seemed disjointed, with odd and sometimes familiar, sometimes not, cast of characters. A mech with his colors………but so much younger and tainted by anxiety—another mech that somewhat resembled the Galvatron that he knew. There was an Ultra Magnus who looked very much like the Ultra Magnus he knew, but a Cyclonus that was very different. There were children. Sparklings. One old enough to begin living life to the fullest and one still so young and barely speaking. One clearly resembled Galvatron, while the other looked very much like young Hot Rod. There was pain and depression and anxiety…………….hopefulness, joy and excitement…………fear and danger side-by-side with anticipation and pleasure. A darker, crueler Starscream than Rodimus had ever known………..and a being that Rodimus had only seen in galactic legends’ picture books as having existed, one with multiple face-masks and partially-organic bodies. The flame-colored mech woke up, confused by what was his own life and what felt so familiar to him as this other’s life. “You should try to go back to sleep,” Crankcase said, softly, pacing the room and keeping an eye on things as the other three mechs recharged. “Not sure I can,” Rodimus murmured. “It was a strange recharge dream—I was dreaming of……..another me?” “Hmmm. Spinister had a word for that…………empathic resonance, sympathetic resonance?” The Decepticon murmured, rubbing the indented side of his helm. “Since the multiverse has proven true, he thinks that same ‘persons’ throughout the multiverse can sense or resonate with each other. I think it’s his normal weird nonsense, but…………eh, why not?” Rodimus huddled underneath the thermal tarp and thought about that. Because of the encounter with the Trylians—who, like themselves, had come from another universe—he began to wonder about some of their veiled statements about the Cybertronians in that universe from which they came. They outright mentioned Galvatron and gave a veiled statement implying that the Hot Rod of that universe was in a relationship with that Galvatron. But sparklings? They had sparklings together…………was that true? Or was Rodimus dreaming something like that, because of what Megatron had mentioned about if that kind of future ever came about for them? “Crankcase………..have you ever heard of our kind having sparklings?” Rodimus murmured, quietly, he didn’t want to disturb Drift and Minimus Ambus sleeping under the thermal tarp with him. “Heard of it? I’ve seen the blasted weird thing,” the Decepticon chuckled softly. “Meh, in one of our many weird jaunts we came across an Autobot and a Decepticon somewhere, both scraped away their brands and stuff. They had this little tiny femme, said she’d just been born recently to them. Hardly seems possible, but mutation and evolution is in our species coding somewhere.” “You are so frankly honest and weirdly serious. I like that,” Rodimus chuckled warmly. “It’s only because of the brain damage, you’ll never be able to tell when I’m joking—I’ve got one single tone going on here,” the Decepticon responded. And it was true, even a tone that was meant to be a chuckle was rather even and normal-sounding. “Are you okay with that? I mean, look………..we’ve got First Aid and Ratchet and Velocity—they’re all really good doctors and they could fix that……..” Rodimus began, his tone a bit worried. “Sometimes we need to keep our scars,” Crankcase responded, nodding at Rodimus. He knew that the flame-colored mech could understand something like that. “As long as we don’t let them control us, they can make us better.” Rodimus smiled and snuggled back down under the thermal tarp and let himself drift back into recharge. He didn’t dream about a Galvatron or another him again…………the recharge dreams were normal this time and faded quickly when he woke back up the second time. By then, the shifts had changed, Minimus Ambus was awake and back in the Magnus Armour, pacing about………Drift was still deep in a healing recharge with Crankcase on the mech’s other side. They’d made the arrangement to sleep with Drift in the middle to do their best to keep the swordsmech warm. Then Rodimus got a ping and a glyph-message flashed up on his HUD.
|The Lost Light is being repaired because of the Trylian assault. A galactic peacekeeping force is coming to find you, their ship is called the Golden Arrow and they appear to be mostly fleshlings. Please take care until then.|
“Mags. Just got a message from Megatron………he says the Trylians assaulted them, too. A part of the Galactic Alliance found them and are helping with repairs, while some of that force is coming to find us,” Rodimus said, looking up at the old Autobot soldier. “I figured that may have been the case,” Ultra Magnus sighed. “Honestly, I believe the only reason we have not seen a follow-up force to make sure we are definitively eliminated is that the weather is interfering with them locating us.” “But can these Galactic Alliance people find us?” Rodimus murmured. “The time-stamp is about an hour ago.” “They may be dealing with the Trylians who shot us down,” the red-white-blue mech responded, bracing his servos on the ceiling and stretching again. Rodimus noticed that Ultra Magnus had to do this many times since they crashed here. “It’s the cold, Rodimus. It’s interfering with my control of the armour.” “You could go without it, right?” The flame-colored mech asked. “My old joints definitely do not like the cold,” he answered with a wry laugh. “I think I prefer the extra layer of warmth the armour gives me.” “Since I have a pretty warm system………do you want me to go out and plant the emergency beacon?” Rodimus asked, moving to get up. Ultra Magnus held a servo out to stop him. “Not yet. We’ll give this another hour or so before we activate the beacon. For now, use your warmth to keep Drift warm—that’s very important for an injured person, I’m sure you know that,” he said with a warm smile down at the younger mech. “As soon as we’ve all got plenty of recharge and can be awake to be ready for any problems, then we’ll activate the emergency beacon,” he added softly. Rodimus nodded and huddled under the thermal tarp, trying his best to keep his emotions in check. “Mags…………we’re thinking of Spark-bonding,” he murmured softly. “Good for you. Both of you,” Ultra Magnus responded warmly. “You’re okay with us, right? You don’t………..?” The flame-colored mech asked, desperately, looking up at the old Autobot soldier. “First of all—it shouldn’t matter what anyone thinks, that is something between you and Megatron,” the red-white-blue mech said, firmly. “Secondly, while the two of you have been together, you’ve been working your way through trauma—and you’re both progressing past all of that, together. You both have a lot of pain in your pasts and the fact that you’re both supportive and empathetic towards one another shows a worthwhile relationship.” “But are you okay with it, Mags? Are you?” Rodimus asked again, the tone in his vocalizer becoming more desperate. Ultra Magnus realized that an answer was very much wanted by the younger mech. He remembered Drift and Rodimus teasing him when they first started the mission—and how he’d hidden the fact that he’d undermined Rodimus to try and have Tyrest punish the younger mech somehow. And he remembered his deep regret and the look on Rodimus’ faceplate………..and then that pain as he detailed the Overlord situation—how Prowl had manipulated Rodimus into taking the powerful Decepticon and Drift’s sacrifice of taking the responsibility for it. And the barely buried pain in Rodimus when he was without Drift now—without Drift, without trust, without Ultra Magnus to keep him on the right path. Rodimus trusted Ultra Magnus and put a lot of faith in the old Autobot soldier’s words and ways, despite the secrets and problems between them over the years. “After everything you’ve been through, I’m very happy that you’ve finally found someone to love you and to be in love with,” Ultra Magnus finally answered, smiling down at Rodimus. “I’m glad,” Rodimus murmured, happily, smiling and snuggling back down under the tarp and going into recharge again. This time he didn’t even remember falling into recharge, much less recall any recharge dreams. When he woke up, he was aware of Drift curled against him—still in deep recharge. Rodimus was a little embarrassed and a little upset that the swordsmech was clinging to him like that—like in those times before, when he was more innocent of Drift’s real relationship status and had personally hoped for more between the two of them. When he’d once cherished Drift’s hugs and sleeping beside him when they were both too exhausted from a busy day. But the flame-colored mech realized it was probably more of an instinct for having Rodimus’ warm body heat and the dream-memories of a lover who was usually beside him in recharge anyways. He couldn’t fault Drift for that—even if it made him vastly uncomfortable. And even though Rodimus had Megatron now, he was still very sad it wasn’t Drift at his side, even after all this time. “Why are you suddenly so sad, Rodimus?” Drift murmured, softly, his optics still shuttered and dim and his field still practically non-existent even at this close proximity. “I wish you’d stop holding in your field. I wish you’d be honest with me, Drift,” Rodimus sighed, gently pushing on the swordsmech’s shoulder and trying to get him to let go. “No hugs. Stop hugging me. I swear I’ll scream if you don’t let go……….” the flame-colored mech mumbled. Drift sighed and pulled his arms back, rolling over onto his back, gently. “What is it with you and this field thing so suddenly?” He sighed, staring up at the ceiling and onlining his optics. “Since I know you were lying to me all that time, you lied to me and you used your field to lie to me—that’s even worse,” Rodimus said, pulling the tarp up to his chin and feeling lonely all over again. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ratchet? Even if we weren’t more, I did believe in our friendship, you know?” “Why didn’t you tell me about every mech or femme you took to your berth?” Drift asked in retort. “Shows what you know. I didn’t lie to you, Drift—I never did. I never had anything with anyone on the ship when you were there………..I’d been with a couple people over the centuries on Cybertron and I’d been with a couple people on the ship after you were gone—and it was all just to drown the pain,” the flame-colored mech said with a deep sigh. “People just spread rumours about me and most everyone believed them, because I decided to act like a juvenile idiot. I wasn’t going to agonize over telling every single person on the ship that they were believing such idiotic lies. It wasn’t worth it, I was too tired and I just didn’t care—I’d heard it all before, for far too many years.” “So you’d rather just tell the universe to ‘frag off’ than to tell them any kind of truth?” Drift snapped, a bit angry at the whole overblown situation. “Yep. No one ever gave a damn about my existence—only the people in Nyon ever cared that I was there—after Nyon I was just a burden and a bother to everyone in Autobot Command or the Wreckers. I could never do anything right, the dermal sensor net drove me crazy, feeling everybody’s feelings around me all the time,” Rodimus murmured, practically burying himself underneath the thermal tarp. “Then there was you………and I thought that somebody finally cared about me. I felt like I was in love and wanted so…….so very much…….for you to love me back. But you…………..you hid everything from me and what I felt and what I wanted was nowhere near what you wanted. Exiling you from the ship tore out my Spark and destroyed me, because I didn’t even have Magnus to keep me stable at that point. And after getting Magnus back and Megatron coming aboard so soon after that……..it was hell. The ship I cherished as a gift from you was suddenly my own personal hell………….I let a couple people frag the hell out of me and drank enough Engex to wreck my internals—and suddenly I was the mech everyone already believed me to be. So, why the hell not, right?” Rodimus turned over and turned away from Drift. “It didn’t matter, not anymore.” “I didn’t mean for it to be like that, Rodimus—you have to believe me. I didn’t know that you felt like that………” Drift murmured, lightly reaching out a servo under the tarp to touch Rodimus’ shoulder. The flame-colored mech tried to jerk his body away. “How could you not know? What did I have to do, pin you into the berth to show you how desperate I was? But then you’d only see me as the mech you already thought I was. I tried to be patient, like the girl in all those rom-coms I love watching……..wait for the guy I liked to notice how much I liked him,” Rodimus whispered, his voice staticky and trembling in pitch. “But you……….all along you and Ratchet were a thing and you never told me—the mech you claimed was your ‘best friend’.” Rodimus felt his Spark ache so much and could feel optical lubricant leaking from the microseams of his optic glass. He was very glad he was not facing Drift—he didn’t want the swordsmech to see him crying. “I almost couldn’t accept Megatron when he tried so honestly to court me, because I had fallen so far and believed love was a fantasy and was something I could never hope to have.” “You’re right,” Drift sighed, able to feel the tremors of pain rippling through Rodimus’ very tightly-held field. For the first time in a very long time, Drift realized exactly what he’d put someone through…………after his exile from the ship and being parted from Ratchet—the loneliness was as sharp as a blade driven through his Spark and fuel pump. That was the way Rodimus obviously felt at having to exile Drift, because he believed there was something between them—something unfulfilled. And something that was stripped away forever in the parting. It explained why Rodimus tantrumed the night before the exile. It explained the cold fury when Rodimus stripped Drift of his Autobot brand before the gathered crew. It explained why Rodimus couldn’t accept friendship from Drift—why he couldn’t trust the former Decepticon swordsmech. Even now. “How do I make this right between us, Rodimus? How do I become your friend and cherish you as the friend I’d always wanted?” Drift asked, a soft tone of sadness in his vocalizer. He didn’t reach out to touch the flame-colored mech this time, finally understanding the vast rift that was between them. “Never lie to me again—with your words or with your field,” Rodimus said, proud of himself for keeping the tremors and static out of his voice this time. “I made Megatron promise the same thing before we got too serious with each other. For the first time in my life, I only want people to be honest with me—that’s all.” Then the flame-colored mech flipped over to look at Drift. “Thing is…….now that I know about this dermal sensor net thing I’ve got—I know when people are lying to me. I can feel it in their field, whether they intend for me to know it or not. I promised Megatron I’d become better and he promised to never lie to me.” Drift saw the dried streaks of optical fluid at the corners of the flame-colored mech’s blue glass-covered optics. He reached over and gently brushed the trails with his fingers. “I really should have told you, but Ratt…..err, Ratchet…..wanted to keep our relationship quiet. It was actually………kinda hot to keep it a secret,” he chuckled softly. “I’ve known him for quite awhile, we’ve drifted in and out of one another’s lives for centuries. Every time we were together it was…….just right, you know? And I thought my good karma had finally piled up when he was going to be on the Lost Light with us,” he explained, smiling and gently moistening a thumb with his glossa to wipe the tear stains away. “What was I, then? Why did you, like, hug me and cuddle with me all the time? I mean, if you and Ratchet were something, why did you do all that with me?” Rodimus whispered, the static creeping back into his vocalizer. “You were my friend……..my dearest friend……..my Amica Endura,” Drift murmured, leaning over and gently kissing Rodimus’ forehead. “Something I never had before. Mechs and femmes avoided me because of my past—and take your pick on which past I mean. You were the first one who didn’t look at me with pity or as a criminal and that made me happy. I suppose the decades of circuit-speeders made me a bit openly touchy-feely with you—if I knew I was leading you on emotionally, I would’ve done things different, Rodimus. You must believe me, it was never…….EVER……my intention to hurt you or anything like that.” “And yet, you’re being snuggly again,” Rodimus mumbled, but he wasn’t pushing Drift away. “You’re not stopping me from cuddling you,” Drift responded, his tone light and teasing. “Because………because I want your friendship back, Drift. I really do, but……..I don’t want you faking it anymore. No lying, no hiding the truth from me. And definitely no manipulating your field around me………..if you’re pissed, then I want to know you’re pissed. You don’t have to hide that stuff from me,” the flame-colored mech murmured softly. “Okay?” He whispered, finally meeting the swordsmech’s gaze. “I swear, I will be straightforward and honest with you from now on,” Drift said, gently reaching over and pulling Rodimus into a hug. “And dammit………..who needs a space heater with you in the room? Megatron is fragging lucky to have you.” * * * * * It was difficult for Megatron to wait and be patient like this—especially when surrounded by fleshlings. He’d really wanted to remain aboard the Lost Light and avoid the Galactic Alliance people on the orbiting ship station entirely, but he didn’t have the chance. Nautica wanted everyone off the ship so she and the engineers from the Galactic Alliance could do a full and uninterrupted tour of the ship and find everything that needed to be fixed, upgraded or otherwise improved. So, instead he was wandering the corridors of the ship station. However, it became so much more tolerable when the Golden Arrow returned with Rodimus and the others. Surprisingly, while the Golden Arrow had to deal with the Trylian pursuit craft hovering around the planet………….the Trylians never had a chance to pounce on the grounded crew whatsoever. Ratchet showed both his typical Ratchet-annoyance at Drift for his injuries, but also a surprisingly softer tone of worry as he and First Aid carted the swordsmech away to work on his legs. Crankcase made his report, as did Ultra Magnus…………..but Rodimus had been nowhere in sight while Megatron had to listen to the reports. “Where’s Rodimus? Is he all right?” Megatron asked as Crankcase took a dismissal and left only Ultra Magnus standing alone with the former warlord in a nearly-empty corridor. “He’s fine, but……….I think he went to go get cleaned up for you,” the red-white-blue mech chuckled warmly. “Only he could barge onto the ship when Nautica fiercely chased everyone away,” Megatron sighed, shaking his head. He knew that all of Rodimus’ favorite scrubs and polishes were in their hab suite on the ship—and nothing would stop the flame-colored mech from getting cleaned up with his favorite supplies. “He really loves you, Megatron—so, please don’t make me come to his defense one day if you screw this up,” Ultra Magnus said, firmly, with a mild tone of threat in his voice. “As I understand it, we will be here for several days, so the Galactic Alliance has set us up with room and board down on the planet?” He inquired, tilting his head to look down at Megatron. “Mmmm,” the grey-colored mech responded with a nod. “I don’t feel comfortable enough to go down there myself, but maybe with Rodimus here, I will manage to be better about the situation,” he added. Ultra Magnus took the datapad from Megatron with his report on the attack and the rescue. The ship’s damage assessment, what was planned for the upgrade………as well as the information needed for the crew to gain habitation on the planet below for the next few days while the ship was being upgraded. It appeared to be a standard, highly civilized world for fleshlings—a combination of advanced technology and properly maintained greenspaces. As he began to skim the reports, the ship’s Second-in-Command suddenly felt the familiar warm field of Rodimus’, as the flame-colored mech practically bounced up to them—flinging himself against Megatron for a hug immediately. “Welcome back,” Megatron said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around the younger mech warmly. “I’m extremely happy to be back. Though…….I hope that the Ambassador isn’t to upset with us for missing our appointment? Has it been rescheduled?” Rodimus asked, turning his head up to look into Megatron’s faceplate. “Captain Lika said that tomorrow the three of us will meet with in a conference room and we’ll speak via subspace communique with the relations committee,” the grey-colored mech responded, lightly patting Rodimus’ back. “Will Drift be alright? I heard he was injured?” “It seems Ratchet’s already fussing over him, but I think he’ll be okay—I did what I could to make him comfortable,” the flame-colored mech reported. “So, Drift and I maybe are friends again? I guess time will tell on that front, but I suppose we’re going to try—if he can be honest with me?” Rodimus sighed softly and then pushed his fingers into the tank treads on Megatron’s back. “Let’s go see what the planet looks like and where our hab suite for the next few days is………..and take a walk in some fresh air that isn’t ice-laden and wind-blown.” Ultra Magnus went down to the surface with them, via the ship station’s transmat room. Then the three mechs parted ways, Rodimus cheerfully saying they’d meet up tomorrow and waving after the stern Second-in-Command. And after that, Rodimus and Megatron walked, servo-in-servo across the well-paved pedestrian paths in the greenspace park. “Oh yeah, this fresh air is great!” Rodimus moaned with a tone akin to pleasure. “And I get to be with you. And I get to be happy. How could this be any less perfect?” The younger mech chuckled, snuggling close to Megatron and changing his servo-clasping to winding an arm through the larger and bulkier mech’s, walking close to the one he loved at a nice, leisurely pace. “I have one way it can become more perfect………..?” Megatron said, softly, pulling his arm free and turning to face Rodimus. “Let’s Spark-bond, tonight.” Rodimus faceplate lit up like the former Decepticon Leader had presented him the universe, wrapped up with a bow. “Really? For reals, really?” The flame-colored mech whispered, the tone in his vocalizer low and breathy. “The thought that either of us may have died without finally taking that last true step in a relationship really made me regret not doing it earlier,” Megatron murmured, leaning down and kissing Rodimus lightly on the forehead. “I know I’ve been holding back, but also being very pushy about our whole relationship, but…………….I know this is what I’ve always wanted and never was given the opportunity to seize.” “Me too, Megs………..I want it so much,” Rodimus whispered. A Spark-bond was the absolute ultimate act of devotion—a step further than even Conjunx Endura. You could become Conjunx Endura without Spark-bonding—but a Spark-bonding was absolutely eternal, even without the legal formality of a Conjunx Endura bond and ceremony. They hadn’t submitted to the rites and rituals of a Conjunx Endura bond yet, but it felt like—for the both of them—the Spark-bond was something wanted more than the formality of their relationship. “Are you okay doing it in………unfamiliar surroundings? I mean, I’ll bet our guest rooms will be amazing, but I know you feel a bit anxious around organic species.” “As I understand the way these things are done—I won’t even notice our surroundings once we take the plunge into it,” Megatron chuckled warmly. “Come. Let us go.” They walked servo-in-servo to the facility they had been directed would have habitation suites for them to use during their temporary stay. The staff was very nice and they were shown to their room and if the organics were surprised at two members of a robotic species being so lovey-dovey and all, they certainly didn’t show it. As it turned out, Rodimus and Megatron’s room had been at the very end of a long corridor on the top floor of the building. The building had only three floors, so it essentially gave them a lot of privacy for the actual location of the room. That extra little bit of kindness for their position and relationship was very much appreciated by Megatron, who gave the facility staff a small monetary bonus for their support. “Oh man, Megs—this berth’s like super-soft and plushy!” Rodimus said, excitedly, flopping back onto the massive berth. He’d never been on a berth this soft and squishy before—he was used to more of a traditional Cybertronian berth, a firm metal structure with some possible padding on it. Megatron leaned down and pressed a servo onto it, to test it. “It feels as though it’s been reinforced just for our species’ size and weight. Including a mech of my particular bulk,” the older mech murmured softly. “I saw some people who looked like they were made of mountains or something—at least as big as us and if their bodies are made of stone and all, they probably weigh as much as us, too,” Rodimus answered, shuttering his optics and reveling in the softness of the berth. “I gotta admire this Galactic Alliance—they seem a lot more species-friendly than our Galactic Council back home. Definitely more friendly than the Black Box Consortia!” He chuckled softly. “I’ll agree there,” Megatron chuckled, electing not to bring up that it was most likely his fault and the war being why their old galaxy was so hostile towards Cybertronians. That was the past and in this new universe, Megatron could be the mech he wanted to be—not the mech that millennia of war shaped him as. Looking at Rodimus lying so comfortably in the plush berth, it made the old grey-colored mech smile. He knelt on the berth, above Rodimus, and leaned down to brush lips lightly over those belonging to his younger lover. “Mmmm………” the undefined sound reverberated in the flame-colored mech’s vocalizer as the kiss became deeper and more intense. Megatron gently raised one arm and placed the servo over Rodimus’ chestplate, splayed out over the Autobot symbol branded there. He slid his glossa into the younger mech’s mouth and roughly swiped it around inside of his flame-colored lover’s mouth, making oral lubricants fill both their mouths and begin to mingle around their glossa. “You’re a fragging awesome kisser, Megs,” Rodimus murmured when the older mech pulled away. “I’m glad you appreciate my talents,” Megatron chuckled warmly. “You wanna frag first, don’t you?” The flame-colored mech responded with a big grin. “I’m not sure how we’ll feel after the bonding, I’d like to have some fun first,” the older mech responded with a smile and a light kiss on his lover’s forehead. “’Kay, but can we keep a clean berth? It’s so fragging soft, I don’t wanna make it wet and slippery……….you know?” Rodimus laughed, reaching his arms up and placed his servos gently on the sides of Megatron’s grey helm. “Floor or wall?” Megatron murmured, nuzzling the top of the flame-colored mech’s helm. In the end, they wound up interfacing in both places………starting with a standing position, rear-entry, against the wall and concluding with a clinging, forward-facing position on the floor. Engines raced and fuel-pumps rushed fluids through their systems—making internal noise so much so that neither could really hear one another speak for a time afterwards. When their bodies relaxed and they just cuddled with each other for a while in the aftermath of their interface highs…….they kissed and murmured soft romantic nonsense before using some real conversation words again. “Hey, Megs………….do you know how to do the whole Spark-bonding thing?” Rodimus murmured, curling against Megatron’s side, flopping a leg over his older lover’s groinplating and thighs. “I admit………….I’ve had to ask around about how to do so. What about you?” Megatron asked, the arm around Rodimus’ body reaching up so his large black servo stroked the sunbright yellow spoiler. “Yeah,” the young, flame-colored mech murmured. He remembered going to Chromedome and the anxiety-ridden conversation he’d had with the well-educated mech. The brown-and-red Autobot had to speak calmingly for nearly an hour before Rodimus actually got the questions he’d wanted to ask answered. But it was worth it, Chromedome had a lot of information on the subject. “It sounds like there are different ways to do it, depending on how deeply you want to bond and how you wish to experience the bond. There’s a tactile bonding and there’s a unified bonding……..in the first, you use your fingers to touch your partner’s Spark—but the second means you press your open chests together to touch actual Sparks to each other.” “I only heard about the first one. And most of the time the experiences are memories—it’s a memory interface,” Megatron murmured softly. “With the second one it’s a bit of that and more. There’s an emotional and a ‘spiritual’ aspect to the bonding as well,” Rodimus answered. “Either way, I think we’re going to encounter pain within each other—our pasts are full of that, I’m sure.” “Let’s get up on the bed for this,” the older mech said, brushing a light kiss on Rodimus’ helm and then sat up. “Let’s get cleaned up and then on the bed for this,” the flame-colored mech laughed, warmly. * * * * * Megatron supposed if he encountered anything within the depths of Rodimus of Nyon—it would be flames. He knew that long ago the young mech had taken the brand of flames as his punishment. And even after asking around about Spark-bonding, the experience was still different to him………different and unexpected. As soon as they had leaned in, chestplating fully open, towards one another and touched their Sparks to each other—the two of them had entered a trance-like state. That, he understood was normal and expected of the experience. But standing on a world—on a pathway that wound so far back, the older mech could not see an ending to it—that was the experience he hadn’t expected. Perhaps the flames, maybe he expected those. And they were just flames, everything was in flames, but of course there was no feeling, nor even a sense of a temperature from them. And all of the flames raging in this world, on this pathway, were yellow or white, scalding and searing to the optics………..as if Rodimus wished to drown it all into oblivion and not see it anymore. That was likely the other truth behind these flames engulfing all that young Hot Rod—Rodimus—of Nyon was, forever. There was a single panel on the path—the wall (???)—that was not surrounded by the flames near him. Megatron reached up to touch the panel and he saw a display of himself, from the view of Rodimus’ optics. It was a loving and romantic night, with much cuddling and many sparkfelt words. So, this panel represented the most present event of Rodimus’ very being—a relationship and love. He could watch the memory if he wished—he saw the icons on the panel screen that showed “play”, “pause”, “stop”, “forwards” and “back”. But that particular memory was still fresh in his mind as well, so………Megatron swiped the panel down and moved forwards. So the former Decepticon Leader looked down, to see the layout of the path and started walking. Another panel caught his optics and he wasn’t sure why—it was engulfed in flames, just as everything else was. As so many other screens on the path were. He reached a large ebon servo into the flame and pulled the panel into easy visual range and hit the “play” icon on it. It was right before they took the “victory lap”—in the room with Prowl and Ultra Magnus, talking about the ship and Prowl making the argument that they could use the vast energies of the quantum engine to jumpstart the dormant Sparks on Luna I. This was a memory Megatron was also familiar with, as he’d been in the room, but something was different about this. Megatron touched the “back” icon and the scene rewound a bit. There were the same familiar words that Megatron remembered of the conversation going on as the memory of the scene played, but then he heard something akin to whispers in the background of the scene. And barely noticeable glyph subtitling drifting in the corners of the screen—subtitles of the whispering?
You can’t.
It’s mine.
Drift gave it to me.
It’s mine.
Those phrases kept whispering, with their barely visible subtitling as the scene played out until the part of Prowl saying that Megatron had to attend his trial once more. Then the phrases changed.
Stupid.
Saved universe.
Still gonna kill him.
So unfair. So never fair.
Megatron tilted his head, curiously. These were Rodimus’ own personal thoughts and feelings—what was going on inside of him during the events of these memory scenes. The ship………and Megatron’s trial—these affected Rodimus emotionally. The older mech swiped down the window and walked further down the path. It felt like he hadn’t gone very far when another fire-engulfed screen happened to catch his optics. He’d passed many and they hadn’t gotten his attention, but every so often something about a screen would catch his optics and he felt he had to stop and look. The grey-colored mech reached into the flames and pulled the screen into easy optic viewing and touched the “play” icon on the screen. This event was on the Functionist Cybertron. Time was short and Rodimus, who had been standing at a window waiting, was nagged at by everyone around him that time was just about up. This was not a memory Megatron was a part of, but it certainly had to do with him. They’d been waiting for him—waiting until they had almost run out of time. The old grey-colored mech hadn’t known that—that Rodimus had made them wait longer than that “one minute”. As the scene played, the nearly-invisible glyphs and the whispers were here, too.
I knew it.
Nobody ever keeps their promises to me.
Why’d I even bother to trust him?
Once a Decepticon, always a Decepticon—deceive everyone, right?
No matter how much Rodimus tried to be up in his faceplate all the time, acting like an annoyance and a pest—he really had tried to trust Megatron. But that phrase…………had nobody ever kept a promise to the flame-colored mech of Nyon—or was he just thinking an overall generic thought because he was upset? Megatron gave a sigh and swiped the screen down to continue walking forwards—towards the older memories. His optics were caught by something not too far away and he wondered what it was, still finding it strange his optics only caught certain screens, when all the flame-covered screens looked exactly the same. He walked over to it and brought the screen up to view. Oh. This was on the Necrobot’s world—right before the fight. This showed one of Rodimus’ memory moments of when he’d gone looking for Drift—hoping for some attention and comfort before the battles and instead saw what he didn’t know was the truth. Drift kissing Ratchet. And Megatron could tell from Rodimus’ view of the moment, it was a very real kiss—of people who’d been in a relationship for quite some time. Rodimus’ whispered thoughts and the nearly-invisible glyph subtitling were short and simple…….even as the flame-colored mech ran away with his Spark full of nothing but ache.
Ah. That’s what it is.
Megatron felt Rodimus’ sadness so achingly for that memory. Rodimus saw that “true love” was real………….and it wasn’t for him. Now he knew why Rodimus forced himself to be so angry with Drift and to avoid him, the eternally aching Spark was too much to bear. Even for someone as world-savvy as Megatron it was hard to see. The older grey-colored mech swiped the screen down and moved along. He thought for sure he’d be stopped and find his attention caught by some memory of when the former Decepticon Leader had come aboard the ship and all the mess after that. But nothing like that appeared to him, so the next memory that caught his optics was one he probably should’ve expected, knowing Rodimus…………but he didn’t. The night before exiling Drift. The day Ultra Magnus had died—killed by Overlord……….and basically the event that triggered so much anger and animosity on the ship after that. Megatron watched Rodimus trash his room, growling under his breath. But the whispers and barely-readable glyph subtitling were bold and attention-getting.
Magnus.
Can’t believe it.
Of all people. Magnus.
He’s gone.
Now what do I do?
Even as he destroyed his hab suite on the ship and Rung came to talk to him after that. Those were the words echoing through the whole scene, until Drift came to the door and Rung was leaving. And they talked. And Drift laid out his plan to take responsibility for the situation……..it would be easy to blame the former Decepticon, right? Rodimus needed to keep going on the quest………he needed to. That was when the words and glyphs changed. And they completely hung around the edges of the screen, practically dripped, with the ultimate feeling of loss.
Drift.
Driftdriftdriftdrift.
Don’t go. You can’t go!
I can’t do this without you!
When, instead, on the screen and as it faded into the scene the next day, when he’d stripped off Drift’s Autobot brand and sent him into exile—his voice was full of nothing but cold anger and fury. In the background was the truth………..
Don’t leave me.
Drift.
Let me go with you.
Please.
Don’t go.
Megatron had known Rodimus had really been in love with Drift. But Drift didn’t know. All Drift knew was the anger and fury that the flame-colored mech had shown in that final moment. He thought that was the truth. Plus the fact that he’d been in love with and in a relationship with Ratchet…………he couldn’t even notice that Rodimus was in love with him. The former Decepticon Leader sighed softly and swiped the screen down and began to walk further down the path. He walked a long, long way this time—no other screen caught his optics for a long time. It surprised him. By the time he came upon another screen that caught his attention, he could see the end of the path—the beginning of the flame-colored mech’s life, the core of the Spark and all that Rodimus of Nyon was. Then this particular screen had to be his onlining in Nyon or the end of Nyon. The beginning of his life or the final burning. And beyond this screen here—it was dark, no more flames and the path was clear. Did Megatron even want to see this? He reached for the screen and pulled it into an easier optical view, then he touched the play icon on the screen. It was everything in a rapid play, no sound at all—events from when Hot Rod’s optics first saw the Cybertronian sky. A young newmech tearing through the alleys and streets of Nyon……..as Nyon went from the Shining City to a cesspool of desecration and desolation. A flame-colored mech helping a mech or femme in need……….helping a group whose programs were fading……..gathering everyone in the citadel—in the shadows of the statues of the brave Knights of Cybertron he admired and listened to every story of from the oldmechs of the city. Laughing in Starscream’s faceplate when he’d tried to recruit the young mech for the Decepticon Cause………drawing the Autobots into the depths of the citadel where the injured and lost were. Hoping against hope that the heroic Orion Pax, whose beginning legends were already circulating in the dark alleys of Cybertron’s many cities, could save the people and the city he loved. And then…………. Orion Pax basically telling him to evacuate the city and destroy it, before everything was destroyed by Zeta Prime anyways. Staring at all the oldmechs and and frail femmes that had depended upon him for so many years and realizing he was only one mech and he couldn’t possibly save them all. He prayed to Primus for the first and only time in his life…………….and then he let Nyon burn. It was all him. And no one else. And Hot Rod of Nyon’s Spark practically died with Nyon. And Megatron heard no whispers of Rodimus’ true feelings—he saw no nearly-invisible glyph subtitles on the screen. This was the first memory he viewed where it was only visual, played out in fast-forward, with nothing else but the pure memory recorded. No emotions, no thoughts—it was merely the silent truth of Rodimus’ deepest pain and oldest memories. Megatron incycled a deep breath and swiped down the screen. He walked forwards, to the end of the path—the beginning of it all. Rodimus of Nyon’s very core. At the end of the path was a swirling sphere of blue-white energy—the semblance of a Spark. The former Decepticon Leader knelt before the small glowing sphere and reached his large black servo out to it. “I’m here. I will always be here for you, Rodimus. I swear it. Now……….and forever,” he murmured, gently pressing his fingers against the swirling, glowing sphere and they slowly sank into it……..
~
Rodimus had to admit, he knew Megatron’s interior world-form would be..…..complex……..but the actual shape of the spiritual area was a bit of an interesting surprise. He wondered what Megatron experienced inside of his own world-form………it was probably pretty basic and simple……….boring. Megatron’s world was a complex web—in a spherical form—layers upon layers, with millions and millions of connection points. Every connection point was a memory. All the flame-colored mech had to do would be to reach out and touch each connection point to see the memory it held. And there were so many—so very many he could choose from. But he didn’t care. Megatron’s past was just that………….the past. Everyone in the universe knew how bad Megatron had been in the past. The crew of the Lost Light had been to the past and saw that Megatron as a villain had been a crafted event, over centuries, over millennia………what Megatron became wasn’t entirely his fault—he merely embraced it and lived the life of the ultimate villain to the fullest. Rodimus didn’t care about that, though, because it was the past. It wasn’t who Megatron was now. Rodimus only cared about the Megatron who was with him now—and the Megatron who would be with him forever into the future. He dove into the depths of the sphere, seeking what he came here for—the center, the very core of everything Megatron was. Rodimus hummed as he floated down through the sphere of webs, twisting and turning to move through the gaps between the strands. Sometimes he let his servos brush the connection points and tasted a moment of a memory—many were dark and violent, as anyone would’ve expected of Megatron’s past. Though as Rodimus floated deeper, he did brush a memory that wasn’t as dark—it was actually something that Megatron could very well cherish. But then…………the flame-colored mech had heard Megatron speak of Starscream and their relationship. It had started off good, but as his darkness took him over more and more, he treated Starscream worse and worse. Megatron had already said to Rodimus that Starscresam was one of his greatest regrets. As the flame-colored mech got closer to the core, he did also brush a memory of Megatron’s, about Terminus. That, too, didn’t actually surprise him—he knew that Terminus was an important person in Megatron’s past. That was the past. And Rodimus didn’t care about Megatron’s past—he only wanted Megatron’s future.
Forever. With him.
Ah, there. The glowing green Spark-like object………..Megatron’s very core, everything that he was and everything that he could be. Rodimus reached out one of his slender yellow servos and pressed his fingers into the glowing green sphere. Reaching for the one who was his perfect mate and felt fingers brush his own. A familiar black servo, pressing against his………palm-to-palm. Rodimus bent his yellow fingers to twine with the well-known black ones. Megatron. The one he loved.
Now…………..and forever.
* * * * * Their frames laid side-by-side on the plush berth, chestplates open and pressed tightly against one another—close enough that the flares of their Sparks were twining and merging, irises on their Spark-casings open wide to their fullest. Rodimus was exventing hard, his face buried in Megatron’s collar-fairing. Megatron was incycling rapidly, lips against the top of Rodimus’ red helm. The older grey-colored mech’s right arm was beneath the flame-colored mech’s waist, cupping the familiar aft and holding the smaller frame against him. The younger mech’s left arm was under former Decepticon’s chest, fingers pressed into the tank treads happily. Resting on their hips, which were pressed tightly against one another, their other servos were clasping each other’s, fingers twined in an unbreakable bond. They finally belonged to each other, now and forever.