Archive of Our Own

Work Text

Orion Pax had been leading a double life for a while now. At least a few stellar cycles. He was of course very cautious to keep it under wraps at work, merely nodding and fighting down the urge to flail about like a particularly zealous fanmech whenever his little… obsession was brought up. He had also recently picked up the habit of counting down the kliks of his shift and once time was up sneaking back to his hab as soon as he possibly could to review the forums, allowing himself to be fully immersed in a world he wasn’t ready to admit he was fully part of.

Now it hadn’t started like this, no.

He had merely had a professional curiosity after hearing some of the silvered words that a certain gladiator had spun at a speech and then like any good archivist he had fallen headlong into research.

And oh sweet Primus was there ever a lot to research.

Megatronus was…. Prolific. Not only in words, although his speeches set Orion’s processor alight with a feeling of being sated that he found often eluded him when reading any other work nowadays.

No, not only in words, Megatronus was also prolific in his gladiatorial achievements as well. He was the reigning champion of the Pits in Kaon and quite frankly, Orion should have expected that the record of his achievements would be impressive. He should have expected that the mech himself was…charismatic. He should have expected it from a mech that had beguiled his way into the upper echelons of the gladiatorial circles, but expecting it and seeing an ultra high definition, crisp holo vid of said gladiator rolling his shoulder guard and smirking at the camera after having just ripped apart a creature from Orion’s worst nightmares were two entirely different things.

And while the interest had initially been purely professional well… Now it was anything but.

Orion had managed for all of three days to avoid mentioning anything at work, and it really wasn’t his fault, he had overheard some of the Archive’s patrons discussing Megatronus’s latest match and

Oh

it had been

so good

and the knowledge that right after he had poured his spark into an impassioned sermon against some of the inequities that he faced as a lower caste mech had Orion’s own spark positively aflutter, and that same giddy lightness had followed him into work and well-

Even hearing the mention of his name had sent Orion off on a long, starry-opticed speech of his own as he exalted the virtues of the gladiator with enough fervor that it not only drew the attention of several patrons of the Hall, but also quite a few of his coworkers.

The news of “Orion Pax’s little crush” was all the cohort of archivists could talk about come time for their midday meal break and Orion had huffed indignantly at any mech that had even broached the subject.

He insisted that he had merely “gotten excited” but that was part of the allure, wasn’t it? That stoic, somber little Orion had lit up like the Primus-blessed light of Helios itself was seated behind his optics and spoken more than any of them had heard from him in decacycles? It was too irresistible to pass up.

And so now, Orion found himself staring at what was undoubtedly a bribe.

It simply had to be.

There was no way it was anything but.

He had covered Archivist Flutter’s shift last deca-cycle and now here, sitting on his workstation was a small envelope. A small envelope that had “Thank you” written on it and inside-

Orion’s vents sucked in a surprised surge of air. It was a holographic piece of steel, embossed and engraved and painted with pretty greens and blues and purples and depicting Megatronus mid fight, sword raised and those optics - perfect, clear, blue like the famed roses of the crystal gardens and so fearsome even in this tiny form that Orion felt his spark lurch in its chamber. It was… a kingly gift indeed and despite his protests to Flutter later, the femme had just laughed and insisted that he keep it as “it was the least I could do after you pitched in last minute”

Orion gleefully accepted.

And that was the beginning of the end.

Now, that little holo-card sat perched in a place of honor on his workstation, propped up on a set of datapads. A tiny, yet dazzling, piece of workmanship - a true testament to the glory of its muse. It caught the thready beams of light that filtered through the archive, scattering perfect little motes across its surface. Orion found himself gazing at it far more often than he probably should.

It was entirely ridiculous, of course. Exceedingly unprofessional. And yet-

Somehow, not a single one of his coworkers had said anything.

Well, not recently.

That might have had something to do with the fact that if even a tangential mention of Megatronus drifted into Orion’s audials, he would launch into a half-groon-long lecture about the gladiator and his many virtues. These lectures, naturally, came complete with references to whatever obscure, ancient, philosophical treatises Orion could pluck from his memory banks, perfectly formatted CPA (Cybertronian Psychological Association) citations, and an overwhelming level of enthusiasm.

It was no wonder then, that the unfortunate mech on the receiving end of this scholarly masterpiece usually ended up somewhere between bemused, utterly overwhelmed and usually had a look on their faceplate like they had just taken one of Megatronus’s infamous right hooks.

So, no one said anything.

And that little card stayed right where it was.

Besides, it was just a little card! And Orion wouldn’t get more than one-

Well, except the limited-edition

Festival of the Primes

set, which came out the next deca-cycle. Orion sighed as he whipped out his cred-chip.

He wouldn’t get more than two-

…

Or three-

Or four-

…

He wouldn’t get more than fifteen. And that was

final

.

But- wait. Was that a wall tapestry?
  
Orion’s workstation was quickly overtaken by his little obsession, to the point where it was less of a workstation and more of a… shrine?

Well, it wasn’t

that

bad. He knew where everything was, after all!

His inbox was right below the commemorative figure, and the reference pads he needed for his most recent project were somewhere behind the wall scroll. So what if his productivity had taken a hit because it took him so long to navigate the area?

It wasn’t like it was

that

bad. He was still one of the most productive mecha in the whole damn Hall of Records and—

“Primus, Pax. Are you okay?”

The little, tremulous voice was one Orion didn’t even need to look up to recognize. He sighed, still rearranging his holo-cards. “Perfectly fine, Flutter. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Flutter just raised an optic ridge but thankfully let the subject drop.
  
Orion Pax was not, in fact, fine.
 
While he adored his little collection - and yes, seeing Megatronus in his space certainly inspired him (the gladiator’s latest speeches were nearly always on loop in his audials) - Orion could admit that things were getting out of hand. His workstation was a nightmare. His productivity was dipping. And this was the fourth time he’d knocked over

that

stack of datapads (and the figurine perched on top of them).

So instead of pruning his collection he did what any devoted fan would:

Moved about 75 percent of the items to his habsuite!

It was supposed to be a quick, temporary solution, just until he managed to organize his workstation and then every iteration of Megatronus’s face could go right back to where it belonged!

Yeah! A temporary solution!
  
It was

not

in fact a temporary solution.

By Orion’s estimation, it was becoming more and more permanent by the cycle.

The little corner of his living area designated for “extra storage” - where he’d started displaying the odd item he brought home - rapidly expanded. First into an alcove. Then half of a wall. Then a small display case. With backlighting.

When Orion invited a few friends over for one of the rare occasions he felt social, most of the commentary that night revolved around the “Megatronus museum” his living area had become.

Jazz had chided him in that bemused tone, slurping on the cube he had poured himself. “So Pax, how do you get anything done with

that

staring at you?”

The “

that”

in question was a tapestry that was wider than Orion was tall that he had artfully arranged on the wall of his hab with gauzy drapes and aesthetic strip lighting giving it an almost life-like appearance. It was a work of art, and Orion huffed indignantly as he had responded: “It is quite inspiring Jazz. Far more so than your commentary.”

Jazz had then pointed to the more salacious figure of Megatronus flexing that Orion had perched next to his personal workstation.

The question had been wordless. The accusation, apparent.

And Orion had simply shrugged, corner of his dermas twitching up as he lied: “Anatomical reference?”

Jazz had doubled over at that point, his choking, wheezing, honking laughter echoing down the hallway long after he and the rest of Orion’s friends had left.

Orion had ex-vented deeply once the door closed behind them. At least they hadn’t seen the berthroom.

No, If they had thought the living area was bad, they would have found the state of his berthroom unconscionable. While his collection was prominently on display in the living area, to be certain, the berthroom had taken the worst of it. Considering it was the space with the most storage, Orion had actually pared down the items in the living area to the more… tasteful pieces. The ones that were less suitable for the delicate optics of his friends had been…sequestered behind closed doors.

And, as far as Orion could tell, quite successfully.

His double life was going absolutely

swimmingly

. 
  
Or so he thought.

It wasn’t until the door chime interrupted his nightly scroll of the transcript of Megatronus’s latest speech that Orion realized something might have been slipping. Namely, his own grasp of time. He frowned, looking at the chronometer on his HUD and locking his workstation as he wandered to the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone… his calendar remained markedly blank, freed for blissful hours of his little hobby. No, nothing was coming to mind as something he was forgetting. He had completed all his tasks at the hall of records, no unread messages sat in his comms center, he was, by all accounts, free as he could be!

Then why-

The door chime was accustomed by a knock this time, the rap of a servo against the metal echoing dimly in the space of his hab. Orion groaned to himself as he ambled over, cracking the door open and-

“HAPPY EMERGENCE DAY, ORION PAX!” His friends, Jazz and Elita and even grouchy old Ratchet were all clustered in front of his door, a brightly colored box in the epicenter of their little huddle and suddenly thrust at him.

Orion caught it, bewildered.

Emergence day? No, that was impossible. His emergence day wasn’t for another half stellar cycle at least-

He checked his internal chronometer, focus flicking to the date in the top right corner of the display. Oh Primus. It

was

today.

He stammered, scrambling for an excuse. “I… I’ve been swamped with work-” (a blatant lie), “-and a detailed personal project-” (a gross exaggeration), “-and I think I might have contracted the nanovirus-” (he was in perfect health)

Jazz cut him off with a good-natured chuckle, elbowing his way inside and clapping Orion on the pauldron. “We figured you’d forgotten, mech. Too busy with your… anatomical references, huh?” Jazz winked, and Orion groaned internally.

He was, of course, completely correct. Orion had been submerged entirely in his little obsession and researching Megatronus’s most recent speech for analysis. It was a magnificent work, drawing inspiration from old philosophers and using their works to rail against oppression, filled with spun, silvery words that flowed like liquid starlight as the mech had paced and proudly proclaimed his very spark’s contents to the skies above.

Orion might have swooned once. Or maybe twice.

But Jazz definitely did

not

need to know that.

Orion stood aside and allowed his friends to enter his hab, the bright box held gingerly in his servos as though what he was holding was more explosive than gift. “You all really did not need to go out of your way-”
Elita laughed as she flounced in. “Please. It was our pleasure! And we all chipped in for a gift.”The box in his servos felt heavy and somehow warm. All optics were on him, expectant, grinning and the sheer force of their combined attention had his processor buzzing. He timidly tugged at the fastener, opening it to reveal…A ticket?Oh but sweet Solus prime, this was not just any ticket. The Kaonian Pits logo gleamed on the top, the date just a deca-cycle away. The seat was practically rinkside, and the event: Megatronus, the reigning champion, versus an opponent whose designation Orion couldn’t even process. His spark lurched violently as realization hit him: they had gotten him a ticket to see Megatronus. Orion’s internals must have suddenly acquired the ability to move independently because he felt his fuel tank lurch and something funny squirm around in his spark chamber. To be seated rinkside, to see Megatronus, all sleek and shining and eloquent even in battle, to have Megatronus look up at him, notice him-It was all so much and Orion clutched the ticket as he looked at his friends with optics dialed to their widest setting. “You didn’t-”Elita tittered and Jazz laughed, but it was ratchet who clapped a servo on Orion’s dorsal plating, with enough force to cause him to stumble. “We did. At least now, maybe you can see the damn mech instead of mooning over him. Primus knows we’ve suffered enough of your lectures.”Jazz had ambled into the kitchen, setting down a box from one of the bakeries near the archives and rifling through the drawers with a degree of familiarity that spoke to how long Jazz had been a fixture in Orion’s life. Orion felt a bright flush of warmth wash through him. His friends, that they would go to such lengths, out of sheer kindness, it was honestly more than he could expect. More than he deserved. Orion opened his mouth to say something, to try to put words to the ardent affection for them he felt welling up- “Just try not to faint when you see him, Pax. Wouldn’t want you to miss the show.” Jazz had punctuated that with a leering grin and a wink so promiscuous that Orion quickly reconsidered his stance on friendship. Orion’s witty retort caught in his vocalizer as he instead huffed indignantly and placed the ticket, in its protective box of course, in a place of honor on his workstation. 
His friends were meddling, terrible and insufferable.

And he hated them.

Almost as much as he loved them. 
  
The day of the match had approached faster than it had any right to, and Orion soon found himself on the transport to Kaon aflutter with nerves and fidgeting every few nano kliks. He had the ticket securely stowed in his subspace and he knew in his rational mind that it was there, and safe and secure, but that didn’t stop him from checking his subspace every so often just to assure himself of its continued existence.

It was, of course, still there. And it was still there when Orion exited the transport and stood at the station. And it was still there when he followed the push of the crowd towards the looming mass of the arena. And it was still there when Orion was ushered and shoved and jostled all the way to his rinkside seat, just like the ticket had promised.

It was hot, all these mecha crowded in such close proximity, and Orion was caught between the shoulder guards of the cheering femme and mech on his either side, both of them larger than him by orders of magnitude and equally as boisterous. He felt the smallest flicker of irritation, and then the announcer’s voice rang out over the arena and

oh-

There he was.

Megatronus strode into the arena with a purpose in his limbs, every movement deliberate and yet perfectly fluid like a storm made of liquid mercury. Volatile and charged, dangerous and so achingly

powerful

that Orion felt his internals once again doing those funny little flips. The roar of the crowd was deafening, blunting Orion’s audial perception to essentially zero, but he would not have been able to hear anything even if the arena were deathly silent over the pounding rush of energon in his lines.

His vision had seemingly become narrowed, focus entirely dedicated to the mechanical marvel striding around the arena with a showman’s poise and the grace of something more of Primus than of Cybertron.

And then he stopped.

Right in front of Orion.

With an almost casual flourish, he raised his long, wicked blade, and his piercing blue optics found Orion’s.

And he

winked.

Orion would deny it to his dying day, but were it not for the crush of the crowd pinning him upright, he would have crumpled to the ground, his trembling knee joints incapable of holding him steady.
  
The match had been over far too soon, Megatronus’s skill was unparalleled and despite his opponent wielding an electric lance that was almost as long as Megatronus was tall, the fight had been overwhelmingly one sided. 
And Orion had several groons to while away until the transport to return to Iacon arrived, so why not explore Kaon for a bit? It certainly did not help that watching Megatronus in action had left him in a sort of daze, somewhere between sparksick and hyper focused, replaying the fight over and over in his processor and torn between analysis and idolatry. And in his dazed state, he had merely followed the throng of the crowd and wound up… somewhere?Upon closer examination, it was an oilhouse, well loved and the floors were scuffed from the traffic of many pedes, furniture well worn, but cared for and Orion ordered himself something to drink, sipping it daintily as he scanned the crowd. As an archivist, something in him always spoke to him with an urge to catalogue in unfamiliar situations, and his trained optics scanned the crowd with a practiced ease. The oilhouse was not particularly refined, not that he particularly cared, but it was filled with a diffuse, almost tangible warmth, the liveliness of the patrons practically suffusing the air with their laughter and cheer. The space was open, but loud as each little huddle of mecha seemed to be discussing the fight that had only just drawn to a close. Orion found he was more than content to simply listen to their chatter, sipping his drink and sidling into a corner to be more out of the way. It was all lovely, and the drink was cool and refreshing and Orion could understand why this was a pastime and place many mecha found themselves drawn to-“Please don’t get me started on Megatronus!” a voice rang out somewhere close enough that Orion could pick the thread of that particular conversation from the tapestry of sound. Orion’s helm whipped towards it, a practiced reflex whenever he heard the gladiator’s designation. The voice continued: “All flash and no substance. Sure, he has skills in the arena, but have you heard his little speeches? It’s all just him being full of himself and trying to use big words to make it seem like he’s not. Honestly-”Orion had moved without thinking, slamming his servos onto the mech’s table and objecting in the mightiest voice he could muster: “Pardon me, but you are fundamentally incorrect.”The mech raised an optic ridge, the look passing between himself and his companion one of bemused shock at a mech of Orion’s stature wielding such a tone, no doubt, but Orion forged onward. “You state Megatronus’s speeches are flash and no substance but that couldn’t be further from the truth! Why, one only needs to look a bit beyond the surface level, which you clearly have not done, to see influences drawn from some of the greatest scholars our planet has ever known! The likes of Meditations  and The Republic and Iaconian Ethics and-” Orion felt the words unspool from his processor and saw the argument before him like a path. He had a thesis statement on the tip of his glossa and he continued despite the meek attempts at his quarry’s friend to assuage his righteous fury. “-Why the echoes of On the nature of mecha in his most recent address is glaringly obvious to any mech with a somewhat functional processor. If you are too foolish to comprehend the intricacies of the speeches he spins, you might as well state your own inadequacies instead of flaunting them so flagrantly. If you had only bothered to listen instead of dismissing him out of hand, you would see the gravitas he wields as efficiently as his blade!”The oilhouse was growing quieter, but Orion surged forward, words crescendoing in volume, “Not only is the content of his speeches absolutely inspired, and his delivery masterfully crafted, he does all of this while managing to masterfully toe the line between Gladiator, and public figure, and this passionate savant of an orator. It is an incredibly difficult triplicate of roles to fill and were it anyone of lesser presence, they would undoubtedly have crumpled beneath the weight of it all. Furthermore, speaking of his presence - the presence he commands is something that only lends to the impact of his words! While I recognize that the repetition and use of comparison may detract from my point, I cannot help but state once more that were this same speech given by a mech with even an ounce less charisma than Megatronus, then the words would fall flat. No - Lifeless And due to that, his point would be rendered moot in its entirety! Megatronus is nothing short of a craftsmech, skilled beyond compare and I challenge you to use the audials Primus has placed upon your helm to listen and think critically! If you do for even a moment you will find that the sheer artistry that has clearly been put into every syllable is nothing short of- of- of-” Orion felt his processor struggling for words, glossa stalling for a moment before he spat out the first one that came to mind: “Nice!”
The mecha both were recoiling from the sheer force of his diatribe, but on that last word had emerged from their hiding with a flicker of a smile replacing their shocked and blownback expressions. “....Nice?”

Nice.

Nice.

Orion wanted to kick himself. And then hurl himself off of the nearest ledge. All the words in the entire Cybertronian language he could have chosen to describe Megatronus and he had somehow chosen

nice

?

He stammered, trying to regain his momentum, but the mecha were laughing, overturning any he might have had. The laughter, quiet giggles and appreciative hushed murmurs, spread like wildfire over the formerly hushed oilhouse and every faceplate seemed to be on that little trio, smirks deepening and Orion wanted to fall into the tender embrace of the Well of the Allsparks right at that moment. This was, simply put, the nightmare scenario.

Whatever power he had channeled into his speech was rapidly deflating and he was left the laughingstock. Yes, that was laughter, not with him but

at

him and he felt the signs of panic and mortification beginning to encroach, heat rising in his faceplate, cables of his legs tensing to run and optics whirling to find the exit-

He had taken one hesitant step (the first of 19 that he had mapped it would take to get to the door) when a resonant, lilting voice cut into his audials.

“Nice, you say?”

Orion froze, rooted to the spot as surely as though he was fixed with stasis cuffs. The voice was familiar, achingly so. Orion had listened to it so many times, analyzed its cadence, each tremor and shake as it had railed against the wickedness of the caste system and raged against the injustices cybertron faced. Orion knew every single warble, every smooth, deliberate husk, and now could read the humor it was tinged with as though it was text on a holoscreen in front of him.

His internals moved unbidden, the magnetism of the only mech that voice could have belonged to drawing Orion closer, closer still on trembling legs-

Orion found himself face to face with the worst mech to witness his humiliation:

Megatronus.

For a moment, Orion’s intake merely opened and closed, static leaking from his vocalizer like some kind of glitching fanmech… which… he supposed he was. His intentions had originally ben honorable, Orion assured himself, but unbidden the first thought that fluttered across his processor was:

Oh sweet Primus, Megatronus was even prettier up close.

He was towering, glistening and still had a few gouges in his perfect silver plating from where he had taken the odd hit in the arena. But beyond the spikes (which on most mecha Orion would have scoffed at the attempt to compensate for something but on Megatronus seemed… fitting) and the deep set blue optics (like the sky, like freedom, like-) the feature that had him drawn to Megatronus was his servos. They were braced against the bar behind him and one was raised in a clear summons, one finger crooked as if plucking an invisible string between them and pulling Orion inexorably closer.

Orion had no choice but to obey and soon he found himself within arm’s reach. He was… probably dying. His spark was lurching and his internals were doing that same stupid writhe but Megatronus seemed oblivious, or at the very least if he registered the potent cocktail of mortification, anxiety and sheer panic leaking into Orion’s field he didn’t show any outward indication, tilting his helm to the side and regarding Orion with a crooked grin.

“You know… that was quite the impressive defense. And an even more impressive failure at the end.”

Orion’s processor stalled. His glossa stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was vaguely aware of his dermas parting and closing, but no sound came out. How could he speak? How could he do anything-

Megatronus continued, leaning down a bit to draw closer to Orion, curving around him deliciously-

“By all means, mech, please continue. What else did you have to say, or was ‘nice’ merely the extent of your analysis?”

Orion’s processor awoke, the usual huff of indignation startling his personality to the forefront and allowing his vocalizer to form words again.

“Well, if you were wanting to fish for compliments, the forums are positively awash with them.”

There was silence for a moment and Orion thought he might have offended him, oh

Primus

he blew his one shot-

But then Megatronus was howling with laughter, the smooth metal around his optics crinkling and pointed teeth bared in what was probably to most a borderline snarl, but Orion simply found it endearing. His laughter was warm and resonant and Orion was actively fighting the urge to catalogue every nanoklik of it down to the frequency, the pitch and the duration like it was a rare eclipse.

“Perhaps,” Megatronus recovered, wry grin returning as he looked Orion up and down. “The forums are… something.” He shuddered, the corner of his mouth quirking down. “But I find your analysis remarkably refreshing. Besides… It has been so long since anyone has referred to me as ‘nice’. It is quite… charming.”

Orion crossed his arms to try and hide the trembling of his servos, shifting his weight to one pede and tapping the point of the other against the floor. “I assure you that ‘nice’ was a temporary lapse and is in no way reflective of my extensive vocabulary-”

Megatronus’s smirk widened, raising a brow ridge. “I am certain it is not! Your… diatribe was quite well put until the very end. It makes me wonder what a little scholar is doing out in the belly of Kaon so late at night.”

Orion laughed now, tilting his helm. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

“Ah yes, I thought I recognized your faceplate. You looked… quite close to the mecha on either side of you.” the mirth in Megatronus’s voice had Orion pulling even closer, leaning in and looking upward to meet Megatronus’s gaze.

“Hardly. But I barely noticed the crush. the match was too spectacular to focus on much else!” his voice was earnest and Orion knew he must look pathetic, like a turbofox wagging its tail and hoping for attention and scraps-

Megatronus did not push him away, even after the obvious flattery. “You are too kind, little one. But I must agree with you. If I wished for a recount of my victory, the forum would suffice.” he steepled his long, pointed digits together. “No, I find myself curious about my staunch defender. It is not every day that I am so thoroughly flattered by such a well articulated lecture. Tell me about yourself. You are most assuredly a mech of some learning- A professor perhaps? The assistant to some lofty senator? A particularly well-read ornament?”

As if he were pretty enough to be an ornament. Orion chuckled and inclined his helm respectfully, every inch the refined, Iaconian sophisticate. “Hardly anything so grand. I am an archivist. In the hall of records. In Iacon. But I am certain that much was obvious-”

Megatronus’s optics were gleaming with intrigue, the depthless blue whorling with silver and cobalt as something cycled in the mechanics of his frame.  “An archivist? That would certainly explain the verbosity.” He grinned. “And here I thought some rogue philosopher had wandered into Kaon and attended one of my matches.”

Orion snorted. Him? A philosopher? No he was far better suited to cataloguing and reading about the greats rather than touting any lofty ideals himself. Honestly, if his friends could see him now: quiet, bookish, somber Orion, being mistaken for the likes of the ancients? Of Heraclitron and Diognetix? It was almost laughable.

But Megatronus was waiting for a response, so Orion smiled and tilted his helm, demurring, “Hardly. I merely catalog our history.” emboldened by the few sips of his long abandoned drink he had managed to take he spurred onward. “-And occasionally I catalog history in the making. Like speeches made by a particular gladiator.”

“History in the making? Your flattery is on par with the forums at this rate.

Please do continue

. Although, I suppose you do make a point. It is rare for a mech of your caste to see it that way, though.” He regarded Orion with a tilt of his helm.

“You are certainly full of surprises, little archivist.” Megatronus’s voice was warm, if a bit smug, but Orion supposed he had earned a bit of that smugness. Orion had been…liberal with the compliments. Far more so than he ever was with his friends.

Megatronus leaned forward, faceplate drawing closer to Orion's and causing the smaller mech to reflexively take a step backwards. He was massive. Orion knew that. He knew his height off the top of his processor and a plethora of other facts, but knowing the exact number of centimeters that Megatronus had on Orion and having his bulk this close that Orion could feel the subtle lick of his carefully reined in field crackling under the silver exoskeleton of his plating? Orion felt small. And once again, loquacious little Orion found himself tongue tied.

Megatronus smirked and withdrew just as suddenly as he had encroached, as though satisfied his closeness had had the desired effect, and slipped around Orion, extending an arm as though he were some kind of gentlemech in an old holo-vid. “Well? Are you coming?”

A small part of his processor that sounded suspiciously like Jazz made a comment that Orion did not care to dignify.

Orion’s servos were clasped around the warm plating of Megatronus’s gauntlet before he had even fully processed what he was doing, and the gladiator led the little archivist out into the waiting, moonlit streets of Kaon.

Orion had never been much for travel, beyond when required for his assignments at the Hall, content to see the world through the lenses of his datapads, and catalog the world around him as seen by others, as was his assigned function. But here? Now? He was rapidly starting to reconsider his stance.

Kaon was…

beautiful

.

It was chaotic and messy and loud, but at the same time it was vibrant and colorful and somehow...

Alive

in a way that Orion had never seen in Iacon. The low hanging lanterns flickered cheerfully at the entrances of nearly every structure, their low light reflecting off of the jagged surfaces of the buildings as the glamour of the district surrounding the Pit faded into something less… polished. Mecha were lining the street, laughing, cheering, conversing, bartering and generally engaging in enough boisterous conversation that the wash of

camaraderie

that suffused the air nearly crackled in Orion’s audials.

The air itself seemed…

alive

and Orion found himself struck with the urge to take it all in. to finally, for once catalog for himself, experience for himself, not through the lens of others or under the yoke of his orders. The whole city was unfurling before him, rife with possibilities and practically singing to him to be uncovered and examined.

And yet-

And yet the largest mystery, the thing that Orion wanted most to catalogue (more than he already had) was the mech next to him. Megatronus was deceptively gentle for such a large frame, steering Orion through the busy streets with subtle brushes of his servo, leaning protectively over him. He would occasionally murmur soft and just loud enough to be heard over the din, warnings about uneven steps or the occasional hazardous terrain interspersed between teasing commentary as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

It was wonderful.

It was

exhilarating

-

It was… something that mecha did with those they were interested in, wasn’t it?

The thought had Orion’s processor spiraling, his spark fluttering, and he frantically tried to engage what little social awareness protocols he had long abandoned just to make sense of it all. Was Megatronus flirting? No.

No.

He probably just wanted to talk outside of the oilhouse, was all. But still, Orion couldn’t decide what left him more breathless: Kaon in all its glory or the mech beside him.

“Something the matter, little archivist?” Megatronus’s voice cut through Orion’s swirling thoughts. He had been staring off into space. Well- not just any space, the space between him and Megatronus. And inadvertently staring at the mech himself. “Is there perhaps something on my plating?”

“No I just-” Orion stammered, “not at all I was lost in thought!”

Megatronus chuckled, looking straight ahead and giving Orion a

magnificent

view of his side profile. “Quite the thoughts to have torn your focus away from me. Care to share?”

Orion did

not

in fact care to share. He in fact wanted to do whatever the opposite of that was. Lock the fluttering little thoughts about Megatronus wanting him somewhere deep, deep down, and keep this professional and courteous and not overstep- was that a servo on his aft?

Megatronus whistled, innocently as anything and tugged Orion closer to his side as he skirted them around a particularly large puddle. Orion appreciated the gesture, even if it set his spark to pounding wildly in its chamber.

“I- I will have you know, I was merely admiring the scenery.” Orion hated how breathless he sounded, how utterly infatuated. He of course,

was

but a mech needed to keep some air of mystery especially when he was walking arm in arm, or rather nestled under the arm of someone he desperately wanted to impress. Or at least not scare off. Orion did his best to keep the sheer anxiety and roiling fervour from leaking into his field.

“The scenery, Hmmm?” Megatronus chuckled to himself. “I have been called many things, but ‘the scenery’ is a new moniker.”

Orion’s mouth dropped open.

Megatronus laughed a bit more. “Oh come now, little archivist, you are far from subtle. Your optics have been wandering up and down my frame all night. Or are you trying to catalog

me

for your precious archives.”

More like trying to catalog Megatronus for his

personal

archive.

But Orion would rather be swallowed up by the very ground below him than admit to any of that. It was embarrassing enough that Megatronus saw him as a starry-opticed fanmech he didn’t need to feed into that notion by letting slip just how much of a one he was. He racked his processor for some way to respond, some way to save face-

It delivered.

He huffed, expelling a puff of air from his vents as he turned his faceplate forward. “Bold of you to assume I was cataloguing you-” Orion pointed just over Megatronus’s shoulder guard. “-When there is a perfect example of a corbel arch right there.”

Orion knew there were few things he was good at. Namely his skill set lay in researching, pondering, and recently browsing forums late into the night but if there was one thing he prided himself on? It was his ability to pontificate. And well, if there were ever a situation where a rapid and abrupt subject change might save him, this was it.

“It is an exquisite and ancient work.” Orion said, “Many of those are lost to time, no longer stable enough to use as doorways, but the one over that foundry is still remarkably intact - they must have reinforced it at some point, and I am ever so glad that they did!”

His words began to pick up steam, coming faster and faster, “Many of the records in the archives state that the architecture of Kaon is primitive and not one that should be studied, but even just in the short walk I have seen several instances of that being patently false! For instance- look at the cross bracing on that walkway.” He waved his servo up and to the right as if Megatronus could possibly miss the looming structure. “The overlapping supports form a lattice that the residents have repurposed into functional space for hanging various components as well as it being both striking and functional.”

Orion’s voice gained momentum as his optics darted to a door down the path from them. “And just beyond that oilhouse,” he pointed again, “is a fantastic example of a type of metallurgy that has been largely lost in many Iaconian structures. See how the edges have that greenish tinge? That is indicative of the use of copper, a technique widely used in earlier years due to its resistance to rust. A clever solution, yet one not used anymore in modern construction.”

He hesitated for a moment, chancing a glance up at Megatronus. Was he bored? The mech’s optics were still trained on him, expression unreadable but posture attentive. At least… Orion thought so. The fainted hint of a closed-mouthed smile tugged at the edge of his dermas and it set Orion;s spark spinning wildly in its chamber, but he couldn’t stop now, the lecture in his head hadn’t even reached his closing statements yet!

“That kind of adaptive design shows a level of ingenuity that is often overlooked,” His words tumbled out faster now, almost breathless as he tried to cram the rest of his rapidly generated analysis into one stream of consciousness, “especially by those who dismiss anything outside the norm of Iaconian design. And just notice how the structures integrate the natural terrain! Kaon itself is a masterclass in practicality and function mixed with form. Not only that but it is a veritable archive in its own rights!”

Orion abruptly stopped, vocalizer clicking into silence. He could hear the hum of Megatronus’s engine, feel the brush of his carefully reined in field and he knew his own was probably starting to leak the mrotification that was also inching up to burn his faceplate. He’d only meant to change the subject, not launch into a long-winded tangent. His processor stuttered as he realized how far he’d gone, his spark feeling heavy and leaden as he braved another glance at Megatronus. Surely the mech, while definitely well-versed in philosophy, had no interest in architecture, least of all architecture he walked through every day and yet- oh Primus, he needed to apologize.

“I—oh.” Orion stumbled over his words, eloquence evaporated into the night. “I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I didn’t mean to derail us, and I—”

Megatronus raised a servo, silencing Orion mid-apology.  For a moment his expression was unreadable, blue optics cycling. Orion braced for the inevitable dismissal, the polite but firm excuse to end the conversation -

And then his faceplate split with a grin so wide that Orion could count every single one of his glistening, pointed dentae. “Well, well,” Megatronus drawled, voice resonating in the space between them and amusement humming in every syllable. “That

was

impressive! I suppose I should have expected nothing less, considering your earlier diatribe. But being on the receiving end- now that is a special kind of pleasure.”

Orion blinked, his processor struggling with Megatronus’s words. “Pleasure?” His voice cracked slightly, and his field must have showed the astonishment as well as his faceplate. Was this a good pleasure? Or a bad one? His plating prickled with heat as he tried, and failed, to read into what Megatronus was saying, what he

meant

and Orion had never had this much trouble analyzing his prose why then did a conversation with him vex Orion so thoroughly that he couldn’t understand the meaning of it-

He chuckled and the warm sound sent a jolt of heat through Orion’s systems. “You’re quite something, little archivist. I’m grateful to whatever force brought you here tonight. Your passion it’s - invigorating.”

Orion stared, his vocalizer clicking faintly. Invigorating? Good or bad? This made no sense, and he couldn’t tell! Should he feel flattered? Insulted? His processor spun helplessly, a faint whirr as it kicked into a higher gear pouring from his systems.

Just as he started to stammer out a response, Megatronus leaned down, his optics gleaming with mischief.

“But I really must ask,” His voice was a purr and if Orion didn’t know any better, was laced with intent- “Do you deliver these lovely little speeches to everyone, or am I just particularly fortunate to hear two in one evening?”

“I-”Orion’s vocalizer glitched, unable to formulate a proper response, his processor reeling along with it-

Megatronus smiled again, that deep voice rumbling as he tightened his grip around Orion’s waist, propelling him onward through the streets. “Well come on, little one. Let’s keep moving before we have to stop to examine another architectural marvel that catches those pretty optics.”

For a moment there was companionable silence between them, Orion’s processor whirring as he struggled to parse the encounter. Was this… flirtation? Was this… kindness? Surely not every gladiator would take a fanmech on a tour of the city out of the goodness of their spark.

But Megatronus was not just a mere gladiator, no his speeches proved him to be anything but. He was an orator, a philosopher in his own right, a revolutionary, in Orion’s sight. Perhaps this was just meant as a meeting of two like-minded individuals and nothing more? A chance encounter of the admirer and the admired?

Orion knew he was overanalyzing. He

knew

Jazz would laugh his own aft off if he relayed the events of the evening, accusing him of ‘thinking enough that he could hear your processor melting to slag’ in that obnoxious sing-song tone of his. But Orion was not Jazz! He had never been good at understanding his own processor, let alone the swirling landscape of emotion in the mecha around him and Megatronus was… Orion had analyzed him,

yes

but had

never

seen any of this in his research-

And Megatronus-

Megatronus was unlike any mech orion had ever met. At each turn tonight, he had been witty, charming, debonair and so

achigngly

well spoken that Orion was starting to question teh validity of his extensive research on the mech. Because nowhere in all of his late night scrolling and rewatching matches and listening to speeches had he ever seen this side. This attentive, warm, quiet side that walked step by step with him, that guided him through the streets of an unfamiliar city with a touch so tender it was a wonder those same servos had ever wielded a sword.

It was a wonder.

Megatronus

was a wonder.

His spiraling thoughts ground to a complete halt, along with his pedes when a flicker of motion in his HUD caught his attention: an automated notification his subroutines had set to remind him of the time.

The notification that had come five kliks ago.

The notification to leave in order to catch his transport which was the last one of the night.

“Oh sweet merciful Primus!” Orion jolted away, posture ramrod straight as though he had been on the receiving end of one of those electric lances from Megatronus’s fight. “I- I am so sorry, I have a transport to catch-”

Megatronus’s optics darkened for a moment, something irritated and dark slipping across the silver and tugging the corners of his dermas downward before his mask of pleasantness returned. “Leaving so soon? And here I thought we were having such a nice time together.”

“I- yes, I mean- no, I mean-” Orion’s spark lurched at that and he frantically reached into his subspace, searching for the ticket for the transport back, as if somehow the motion would steady him. It didn’t. “It’s not that I want to leave, It’s just- it’s the last one of the night- I have an early shift at the hall-”

Megatronus held up a servo, pressing a single digit to Orion’s dermas to silence his ramble. The look on Orion’s faceplate must have been particularly amusing because he chuckled lowly in his chassis. “Relax. Go. but before you disappear-” He lowered that servo, holding it out expectantly. “Your comm frequency, if you please. I would rather like to hear your commentary again.”

Orion must have short circuited. His processor must have actually melted during the fight from sheer closeness to Megatronus because there was no way this was happening. No way. NO FRAGGING WAY.

His vocalizer managed to put a few stammering words together. “You- You want my frequency?”

“Is that so surprising?” Megatronus’s tone was amused, “Or is it common in Iacon to passionately defend strangers in an oilhouse, provide exquisite company and then disappear?”

“Of course not!” Orion hastily transferred his frequency. “Here. for feedback purposes.”

Megatronus returned the gesture, the brush of his frequency appearing in Orion’s HUD. “And here is mine, little archivist. Feel free to contact me at your leisure.” His voice had taken on a rumbling, purring quality that was not doing good things for the stability of Orion’s struts. “And who knows? I might require your insight on one of the works in the Hall of records

very soon

.”

Orion muttered something, but he had no idea what or if the words that escaped him were even words. They might have been a mere mishmash of syllables but regardless, he needed to

go

. And so he turned on his pede and bolted into the night, Megatronus’s warm laughter following him the whole way to the station. 
  
Orion had barely made it onto the transport (after breaking several traffic conventions and jaywalking at least 5 times). The doors had closed and he shakily sank into the seat at the corner of the carriage that he had had the forethought to reserve and let his processor finally begin to unspool and replay the memories of the night. The fight had been glorious but everything after that- Mortifying? Horrifying? Exhilarating?

Wonderful

?

Honestly all of the above.

He let himself relax a bit, some of the tension bleeding from his frame.

Only for it to return tenfold when a notification splashed across his HUD:

From Des: D-16/Megatronus

To: Orion Pax

::Until next time, little archivist. I eagerly await your analysis of my next speech. Perhaps you will be able to utilize words that are, dare I say it: disyllabic.::
 
Orion groaned, burying his face in his servos and startling the few passengers in the transport with him, but he couldn’t quite suppress the giddy smile that was playing across his dermas.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Orion had made it back to his habsuite much later than he had initially planned for. He should have, by all accounts, have been back about a half a groon earlier, but he had taken no less than five wrong turns and gotten off at the wrong stop on the transport because he had been so preoccupied exchanging a little flurry of comms with Megatronus. It had been exhilarating, no, beyond exhilarating and the real world around him could never hope to compare to the little thrill that seemed to race through his lines every time he saw that designation crop up on his HUD. Megatronus. Each message was a spark and Orion felt positively alight . Megatronus was witty, sharp, biting and oh-so-charming and Orion was helpless before him. Each message was like a blow in the arena, well timed and precise, exploiting weaknesses in Orion he didn’t know he had and drawing him further and further into the conversation with an almost uncanny ease. Oh, Primus , forget the prowess in the battlefield, Megatronus’s real calling was banter. Because this? It was like nothing Orion had ever experienced. Orion was no stranger to debate, having catalogued the greatest academic feuds of Cybertron’s history dutifully and without flinching, and always willing to engage in spirited, friendly verbal sparring matches with his coworkers or any friends foolish enough to challenge him, but this? This was different. It was electrifying in a way Orion had never felt, and Megatronus seemed to enjoy it just as much if not more, responding quickly and with enough wit that Orion could practically feel the gladiator’s smirk in each glyph. Why, he’d even called Orion’s critiques refreshing! The compliment was stuck in his processor and Orion preened as he approached the energon dispenser and poured himself a cube as he scrolled back through their little exchange. 
From Des: D-16/Megatronus

To: Orion Pax

::Until next time, little archivist. I eagerly await your analysis of my next speech. Perhaps you will be able to utilize words that are, dare I say it, disyllabic.::

::I am perfectly capable of analyzing your works with words of any length, Megatronus. However, you may need to strengthen your arguments if I do.::

::Oh HO, the little thing has claws. Is that a challenge, Orion Pax?::

::Merely an observation, Megatronus. Your most recent work, while inspired, certainly could have used some… refining. Especially toward the latter half.::

::Oh really? And what would you have done in my stead?::

::Is this a rhetorical question, or would you genuinely like feedback? I should warn you- I’ve been told my critiques can be… scathing.::

::Humor me.::

::Well, for one thing, your use of repetition in the latter half of the speech does not accomplish your desired effect. If you were going for a rhythmic cadence, what you achieved is monotony and I found my attention lapsing during that portion. In addition, the frequent pauses employed- no doubt for dramatic effect- were not as effective as you wanted them to be. They left the impression that you were searching for your words.

Furthermore, your point, while well thought out, felt rushed toward the end, as though the idea had been hastily cobbled together. Is that feedback sufficient?::
There was a pause of about five kliks in between messages.
::If that was too much, Megatronus, I sincerely apologize.::

::Too much? Primus, Pax! This is the best feedback I have received in ages. I have half a processor to bring you on as my editor.::

::I’m afraid I must decline. I’m hardly qualified, and my analysis is merely surface level. I would only alienate your audience.::

::Coward. But a charming one.::
He had just penned the first few words of a scathing retort, when another, equally familiar designation cropped up, three notifications flashing across his HUD in rapid succession.
From Des: Jazz

To Des: Orion Pax
:: You know, mecha usually wait until the morning after for the walk of shame :::: what did you dooooooo? :::: come ON mech I’m your BEST FRIEND you’ve GOT to let me in on whatever has had you busy for the last groon and a half! ::Had it really been that long? Orion winced, glancing at the time as he paced the well worn track on the floor of his habsuite between the living area and the workstation tucked in the corner. Megatronus truly had a profound effect on him, it would seem. He had nearly lost track of the time (and its relation to his commitments tomorrow) in its entirety. He barely had time to process just how fragged his recharge schedule was before his comms pinged again. Someone was trying to get his attention. Jazz’s designation cropped up on the little box that flickered in his HUD. Not unusal, he was towards the top of Orion’s “frequent contacts” list and was definitely the friend with whom he shared the most correspondence. And Jazz was known to keep odd hours, rivalled only by Orion’s recent recharge schedule disruption named Megatronus. But the timing struck Orion as odd. Jazz was perceptive, one of his friend’s many virtues, but this level of coincidence, to comm at the precise nanoklik Orion had walked through the door, was bordering on preternatural even for him. Orion penned a reply, optic ridge quirking up as he typed it as though he was speaking it to his dear friend.: :How do you know I just got home?:: The response was almost immediate.
::I have my sources::
Orion’s dermas bowed upward in spite of himself and he fondly shook his helm at Jazz’s antics.
::That was oddly cryptic. Have you been practicing in the mirror?::
The little indicator cropped up that Jazz was typing. And then erasing. And then typing. And then erasing. And Orion had managed to all but finish his nightly cube of energon before the message finally cropped up on his HUD.
::Ouch, Pax. Nah you left your location on the last time you went out and like a GOOD FRIEND I stayed up to make sure your dumb aft got home safe::
Orion grinned as he replied, the pedantic archivist in him unable to resist.
::My aft is not sentient and is therefore incapable of being anything, dumb or otherwise::
Jazz’s response was again almost immediate and Orion giggled as he could almost hear it in his friend’s inflection.
::Oh for PRIMUS’ SAKE Pax!::
It was quickly followed by another message.
::Before I strangle you, dish on how the match was! Or more importantly whatever has you getting home so late.::
It was followed by a series of emojis that Orion could scarcely comprehend the meaning of despite being the mech in the archives the most well versed in ancient heiroglyphs. But Jazz’s other message was far easier to understand. Orion exvented, emotion unabashedly coloring his field. Oh, where to begin?The match had been a triumph, yes - as he had known it would be.. But what had happened after?He hesitated, cursor flickering in his Comm center. The memories were still too fresh, still too sharp. Every moment, every glance, every brush of field and plating, every ghost of servo and whispered word- it was all so vivid in his processor that it almost felt surreal, like something lifted straight from the pages of one of the datapads he devoured in his free time.Had that truly been his night? Had it been real?The thought of recounting it - even to Jazz - sent a flicker of dread through his circuits.Because if he spoke it aloud, then it would be real.And if it was real, then Orion Pax would have to contend with the fact that he had spent an entire evening basking in the undivided attention of Megatronus himself, basking in the pull of his field, basking in him -And that was a dangerous disclosure.Jazz would, without a doubt, have an absolute field day with it. The teasing would be relentless, unending. And, worse still, he would undoubtedly ask questions. So many questions. Leading question, guiding questions, questions Orion was not prepared to answer.And there was the small issue of the last time any of them had trusted Jazz with sensitive information. Ratchet still bristled whenever it was brought up, and Orion had no desire to suffer the same fate. No. Discretion was the better part of valor. What Jazz didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
::The match was… nice.::
The irony of his words was not lost on him, and it set a small, knowing smile playing on his dermas as he placed the empty cube in the sink and headed for his berth. 
::Pax for the frag of Primus, I did not shell out for a rinkside ticket to hear “nice”. Now DISH::
…Recharge would have to wait until his friend was placated it seemed. Jazz was not the type to give up easily and continuous streams of notifications were not conducive to peaceful recharge. He would know from the last time he had ignored Jazz’s late night comms.
::There is nothing more to tell! It was remarkably one sided as was predicted and then I stopped for a drink.::
A gross understatement and omittance, but hopefully one Jazz wouldn't question-
::Uh huh. And that made you this late becauuusseee?::
Frag. Of course Primus would turn a blind optic to his plight. No, he should have expected this. Jazz was perceptive and Orion needed to lie. No, Jazz had known him too long to be fooled by an outright lie, an obfuscation? A way to hide the truth in plain sight?
::There is no because, Jazz. I simply took a wrong turn.::
His HUD pinged not a moment later as he perched on the edge of his berth. 
::You? A wrong turn? On a route you could navigate with your optics offline? Oh, oh, OH- BY THE PRIMES- THERE’S A BECAUSE, ISN’T THERE?!::
Frag. 
::What’s his naaaaaaaame?::
Orion Pax needed to end this conversation now.
::Good night, Jazz.::

::Ugh, you’re the worst, Pax. Not even a hint?::
Ignore.
::FINE. I’ll go bother someone who actually appreciates my friendship::
Orion huffed with fond exasperation as he wandered on autopilot through his nighttime routine. Jazz was meddlesome. Probably the most so of any of his friends, but he meant well. And he definitely had come through with those tickets-He would have to make it up to Jazz when his emergence day came around—although it wasn’t for another three stellar cycles, so Orion definitely had time. He would be hard-pressed to come up with something as kingly as what he had experienced tonight, and even harder pressed to find something that would compare to what had happened after.Orion sighed as he once again ran the tapes of his evening back in his processor. It was… beyond his wildest dreams. To have not only conversed with Megatronus, to not only finally have had the chance to hear his vocalizer without the grainy filter of sonic interference that his recordings always seemed to contain- It was… so much richer in person. The very air around Megatronus seemed to crackle with gravitas and self-assured poise, a level of confidence practically radiating from him that had Orion, and countless others, drawn in as though caught haplessly in an electromagnetic pull.But he had to work the next cycle and he needed to recharge. So with the echoes of Megatronus still coiling sweetly in his audials Orion Pax laid himself down in his berth and offlined his optics, waiting for recharge to claim him.A ping splashed across his HUD:
From: Des: D-16/Megatronus

To: Orion Pax
:: Sleep well, Orion ::Recharge did not in fact claim him. No, it was as elusive as the custom Megatronus body pillow that Orion clutched to his chassis - a rare find after deca-cycles of scouring some of the more niche merch websites and enduring countless “out of stock” notifications. It was mortifying, a secret possession that Orion prayed that no other mech would ever see, but it was a cherished comfort, and he squeezed it closer, Megatronus turning over in his thoughts even as his printed faceplate smirked at him from the woven surface of the pillowcase. Orion had no idea how long he had laid there, prone and pondering, the soft glow of the message in his HUD taunting him in its simplicity: “sleep well, Orion”.He was a frequent overthinker, which he was aware of, but the amount of thought that he had poured into such a short missive was… bordering on neurotic. What did Megatronus mean, was there a hidden message beneath those three little words? How could he be so familiar with Orion after only knowing him for an evening? Was this common in Kaonian culture? He knew for a fact that most mentions of Kaonian society and tradition were only in passing in the datapads of the archives and he suddenly, and not for the first time, found himself cursing the incompleteness of the Hall of Records in that regard. It made understanding Megatronus unfathomably more difficult.Orion let out a huff of air from his vents and rolled over onto his side, glaring at the perfect crystal blue optics of one of his many posters of Megatronus that was plastered to his wall. In the dim light of his habsuite, they looked impossibly close to the real thing and for once, he was not finding comfort in his little collection. Each iteration of perfect blue optics, each replica of shimmering silver plating, each artfully rendered servo had Orion’s processor spiralling, replaying every single detail of the evening over and over and over again. Every touch, every word, every glance had all felt too good to be true, as though he had somehow tripped and fallen straight into a world of fiction rather than the realm of fact that he resided in. Surely he hadn’t been dreaming? No, Orion’s processor was many things, but capable of producing dreams this vivid? It most assuredly was not. And if he wasn’t lost in the throes of some late-night energon-too-close-to-bedtime dream then he was here, lying awake when he should be recharging, preparing for the shift that was growing closer and closer with each passing moment. He should be recharging and he knew that but his thoughts just kept flowing, swirling and whirling around that one damned question:
What did Megatronus mean?
The words of his comms, that last message in particular were tormenting him, haunting in their simplicity but infinite in their potential.  Sleep well, Orion . They were small, sparse, few and tiny and yet they lingered in his HUD. They felt…intimate. Personal. Familiar in a way that two strangers who had happened upon each other in an oilhouse a scant few groons before had no right to be. Their interactions had been electric, that was certain, but Orion found it so difficult to place Megatronus’s motivation, to parse the meaning behind his words. Megatronus was known for weaving layers of meaning into his speeches, so it stood to reason that comms and the like would be no different.Orion slipped back into his archivist’s subroutines for analyzing texts. Who was the author? Megatronus. What was the setting? Presumably somewhere in Kaon, which lent a lens of mystery to the whole affair. What was the motivation of the piece? It was most certainly not just conversation, this was far from the pleasantries Orion usually exchanged in “polite” laconian conversation, but what could possibly have driven Megatronus to send these messages?Was the motivation romantic? Oh Primus , no. Of course not. Orion shouldn't flatter himself in that regard. He was just Orion. Simple. Bookish. His plating was dull and he was quiet and not in the least bit attractive enough or clever enough to tempt someone like Megatronus. Not to mention the glaring issue of their difference in caste. Of course it didn’t matter to Orion but to Megatronus? What if it did? He referenced the inequities of the caste system frequently enough in his speeches that it was obviously something he was passionate about. Orion should really count himself lucky that Megatronus had given him the attention that he had lavished upon him thus far. And to top it all off, the metaphorical rust stick on top of the energon treat, Megatronus was, well, Megatronus . He had a devoted legion of followers, an extremely active tag on nearly every single Cybertronian forum and was an accomplished orator the likes of which Orion could never hope to compete with. Facts were facts, though. Megatronus was a record breaking gladiator, victories in his wake and spanning before him, paving a meteoric rise. The greatest triumph Orion had to his name was cross referencing philosophical texts in the archives and assisting with the occasional artifact retrieval. No, whatever light Orion had paled in comparison to Megatronus, a distant star compared with Helios’s blinding brilliance. That settled it. Megatronus was being friendly, nothing more and Orion should most certainly not dwell on it. He continued to dwell on it. At this point, all pretense of recharge was forgotten, Orion pacing his habsuite with a light tread to avoid waking his neighbors and a processor that would not still its frantic calculations.Orion was no stranger to late night bouts of insomnia, his recharge schedule was a bit of a running joke in his friend group (namely how despite having such a strict, self-imposed deadline to recharge he somehow never managed to be well rested for his early morning shifts), but this? This was as bad as it had ever been. Anxiety fluttered and sparked in his circuits, his steps growing longer and faster as he paced. Friendly interactions, remember Orion? Not romantic, don’t overreach, Orion. Kindness, magnanimity, not flirtation, not affection, Orion. Each step was punctuated with a new reminder from his processor trying to tamp down the thoughts and frantic desperate hope fluttering somewhere deep in his internals. But it was a losing battle. It was futile to try to outrun his own processor and Orion slumped in the little chair in front of his workstation with a weary exvent. At the very least if his processor would not quiet down, he could give it something to do. He opened up his work for the next day, looking over it with a groan, immediately exiting that window as soon as it had cropped up. The tasks he had before him were not ones that he was capable of completing in his current state of disarray. His processor was feeling like one of the ancient datapads in some of the less frequented corners of the archives: crackling and blurred with static, words stuttering in little glitches of green and pink and other optic-searing colors. No, he was in no state to even attempt a review of the reports and logistics he was expected to look over, and quite frankly, the thought of forcing himself to do so sounded about as appealing as disassembling himself bolt by bolt. So instead, Orion pulled up another window, something familiar. Something soothing. The front page of the Megatronus forums he usually browsed. They were, as always, filled with analysis of the most recent fight. Each nanoklik had been scrutinized, and slow motion clips had been uploaded along with essays about each individual strike. Orion usually found comfort in the thoroughness, found joy in the sleek way Megatronus moved in the ring, found peace in the predictability of analysis, but now? Looking over strategies felt stagnant. Perusing his poise felt paltry. Analyzing each feint fell flat and Orion found himself, for the first time since his discovery of Megatronus and this forum, distinctly unsatisfied. It wasn’t that the analysis wasn’t what he craved, no. He knew his processor well enough to know it craved puzzles, craved stimulation, and analysis usually fit the bill. Except… somehow… this wasn’t what he wanted to analyze. No, he wanted to analyze something different. The threads were scintillating, yes, but he craved something more. His processor pulled the details of the evening again, words and laughter and lingering servos on his waist, slipping down to ghost across the plating of his aft (entirely by accident of course) - Orion needed something different. Something more. He didn’t want more of the fight, he wanted more of Megatronus himself . Wanted more data on how he acted when not in the ring, wanted to know more about his mannerisms, wanted more of his smile, his laugh, the way he tilted his helm when he was listening intently-  What did all of this mean? Was he reading too much into attentions that Megatronus simply lavished on anyone and everyone? Perhaps he was simply an affectionate mech!As a rule, Orion had tried to stay out of the reports of Megatronus’s personal life, tried to stay out of the corners of the net that he knew existed where mecha agonized over each photo, analyzed each wave of his servo, attributed meaning to each gesture-  that corner of the net was… frightening to say the least. They had a very very well earned reputation, going so far as to releasing the designation and residence information of one of the accounts slandering Megatronus a few stellar cycles before Orion had happened upon one of Megatronus’s speeches and fallen haphazardly into the current spiral of events. But- if anyone would know about Megatronus’s character, know something that might give Orion a hint as to what was going on behind those crystal blue optics, then they might have some clue. And Orion knew just where to find the repository of their collective works.He tabbed over to a new window, typing in four little words: Databank of our Design . He was no stranger to the databank, of course. As an archivist he would be remiss not to be aware of it. After all, its organization system of tags and functionality nearly rivalled that found in the hall of records and it had all been created purely  for enjoyment by the original founding mecha of the platform, now ballooning in popularity and hosting a plethora of works that, once again, rivalled the hall of records in some regards. And Orion may have perused a few databank entries in the lonely groons of the night on occasion when his processor craved something new amid the insomnia. Some of the mecha on this platform definitely had gifts for the written word, gifts that Orion appreciated with every fiber of his inner fiber optic circuitry. And tonight-Tonight he was on a mission. He typed into the search bar: “Megatronus”The first 50 responses came back as various works focusing on the exploits (and romances real or imagined) of Megatronus Prime. Orion wrinkled his faceplate, amending his search. “Megatronus (gladiator)” he pressed enter.Ah. That was… a lot of content. He filtered by popularity, noting with a raised optic ridge how many hits these works had. It was honestly a bit alarming and Orion felt something squirm in his internals. He had ventured into the databank before, but usually to peruse content about existing written works, exclusively dwelling in the realm of fiction, and never the sensationalization of the lives of real mecha. This… It felt invasive. Megatronus was a public figure, to be certain, and fans were entitled to their interpretations of him, but somehow delving into these kinds of interpretations felt… wrong. Like Orion was seeing something he ought not to see. It was somehow so much worse when he recalled exactly how it had felt to be coiled under Megatronus’s protective arm only a scant few groons ago. And even worse still when “ Sleep well, Orion. ” winked at him, unread from his message center. He knew all these things, yes. But the desire to quiet his processor, to at least see if one of these works had the answer to Megatronus’s motivations burned hotter than his reservations, overriding them completely. These fans were observant! Perhaps they had seen something that Orion in his starstruck state had missed! Or at least that is what he told himself as he clicked on the first fic. It had a somewhat catchy title, Fifty Shades of Silver, and Orion had always enjoyed a good turn of phrase surrounding color. After all, there were so many to be observed in Megatronus’s plating! Pewter, slate, chrome, platinum- Orion wondered which colors the author would dwell on. After all, each color looked so very handsome with the lights of Kaon and sweet Artemis and Hecate themselves shining down upon Megatronus, surely this had to be an ode to his beauty, which was an excellent place to start- It was...surprising. The pacing was uneven in several places, the prose raw and unrefined, and it certainly was not an ode to color. The characterization of Megatronus was also far from accurate - in this work, he had somehow taken on the role of a philanthropist upper caste mogul and the other character, deemed “reader”, was a quiet little waif of a thing, simpering and interviewing Megatronus for some form of publication. It had devolved into pure smut fairly quickly, causing Orion's cheeks to flush and he had closed the document immediately. But… perhaps it was relevant to the story? Orion had fought back the insistent screech of his logic systems, curiosity silencing it before it even pinged his HUD. Orion kept reading, despite the insistent whirr of his cooling fans and the crackle of charge licking at the edges of his plating. As an archivist, it was second nature to analyze text - to pick apart structure, intent, and execution. And while the work had its rough edges, it was… compelling. There was an odd… fervor in the words. An earnestness in each syllable that had Orion transfixed, and before he knew it he had scrolled all the way to the end. Orion winced as he checked the time. He really should at least try to recharge. His shift started in three groons. But there was a sequel…Orion simply resolved to put an extra scoop of cadmium in his morning cube to perk him up. This research took precedence after all. He pressed the button marked “Next Work in Series” Well. He had read the whole series of “Fifty Shades” which had somehow, improbably, ended with Megatronus ascending to the Primacy and the reader character ruling Cybertron at his side, carrying his sparkling and reminiscing on their whirlwind courtship. It was… as far as literature went, not revolutionary, but Orion was intrigued . That was just one interpretation of Megatronus, surely like with any study, more data would lend better results? He clicked on another (A fake-dating/academic work entitled “The Bond Hypothesis”). In this one the reader was a researcher working side by side with a “professor Megatronus”  examining spark-bonds. It was a delightful mix of dry humor and awkward dialogue and academic posturing that had Orion sighing fondly and kicking his pedes like a little newbuild. And then another (a, frankly awful one entitled “My Immortal Gladiator”. He hoped against hope that that one was satire). It was… filled to the brim with typos, the butchered cybertronian glyphs somehow a fusion between shorthand and over the top, nonsense and somehow just intriguing enough to keep him reading if only to watch the horror unfold. And another (a breath of fresh air after that last one, a work with enough smut to put the first one to shame entitled “Bound”). It was a no-holds-barred exploration of Megatron’s role as a gladiator and all it entailed, punctuated with enough heated encounters between the two main characters that Orion’s cooling fans were still whining at a medium setting even after he had finished it about half a groon ago.Each one was wildly different from the last, with each offering some new perspective, some unique turn of phrase, some iota of Megatronus interspersed between the metaphors. But despite using his designation and his description none of them had captured the truth of Megatronus as Orion had come to see it. None had really grasped his wit, his turn of phrase, the way his optics twinkled with mirth, the way his servos sliced through the air when he gestured, the little inflection and purr in his vocalizer when he crooned out “ little archivist ” like some intimate secret-Except it wasn’t an intimate secret because that would imply intimacy or the potential for intimacy to occur which Orion knew for a fact was not in the stars. Honestly, he needed to get himself together, this was getting embarrassing. He cycled his optics roughly a few times before continuing.But as he scrolled, his frustration mounted. He could see moments, shining moments, when the true Megatronus could be seen in these characterizations, but it was never exactly what Orion was looking for. He knew he shouldn’t be so particular, these authors had rendered magnificent works of fiction (well, for the most part. He was still trying to scrub that “My Immortal Gladiator” from his processor.) and those works deserved to be celebrated! But - Orion had seen the real thing. Seen, felt, longed after , felt it brushing against his EM field and had it lead him down the streets of Kaon with a midnight chuckle and attentive audials. No one had captured Megatronus. No one had managed to analyze his actions. No one had been successful. But maybe- Orion’s processor supplied with a suddenness only rivalled by the lightning in the brewing acid storm swirling high above - No one had been successful because no one knew him. Orion’s digit hovered over the next work in the list, before something caught his attention: the chronometer in the corner of his HUD. He had one groon. One singular groon until his shift started. One individual groon until he was expected at his little workstation in the Hall of Records, the one with the Megatronus cards affixed to the wall, the one that was about three quarters of a groon away even by the fastest transport he took - Orion sprinted through a haphazard semblance of his morning routine, pouring more cadmium than was probably safe for his internals into his morning cube and knocking it back as he sprinted toward the door and prayed to Primus that he would make it through the workday unscathed, prayed that it would be easy-It was not easy.Somehow, despite the relative ease of his tasks, Orion felt as though he was moving through jellied energon, motions that should have come as natural as the rush of fuel in his lines somehow taking concerted effort to complete, and he had barely gotten through a third of his work by the time the midday break rolled around. He cursed to himself as he opened the next task, determined to work through the break if only to be able to leave at his assigned time. He had a replay of Megatronus’s fight to watch…. And an excellent fic cued up that he fully intended to savor, something that looked dense enough to tantalize and challenge but humorous enough to entertain. It promised to be an absolutely delectable work, and he was working as fast as he could to get back to his habsuite to indulge, but the glyphs on the screen of his workstation were swimming and he just couldn’t focus-“Damn, Pax, are you okay?” He knew that voice. Flutter. Dear, wonderful Flutter, who had - through no fault of her own, really - set this entire mess into motion with a single, innocent holo-card however-long-ago. Was she the one to blame for his current predicament? No. No, this was entirely his own fragging fault.And once again, he barely looked up before responding, far too quickly to be convincing: “Perfectly fine Flutter, why wouldn’t I be?”Flutter looked like she saw right through his flimsy deception, but simply raised an optic ridge, turned on her heel strut and paced off, muttering to herself about “insufferable mechs who didn’t know how to ask for help.”Orion needed help. He was mired in confusion, steeped in a stupor of bewilderment and sheer incredulity because this comm exchange just simply did not make sense. Megatronus had commed him shortly after the midday break, and had startled Orion out of the fog he had found himself in, the flutter in his spark no doubt due to the nearly criminal amount of cadmium he had consumed that day to keep himself from slipping into recharge where he stood and certainly not due to the words now laughing up at him from his HUD. 
From Des: D-16/Megatronus

To Des: Orion Pax

::Hello, little Archivist. How did you fare for the remainder of your night? Did you recharge well?::

::I’m afraid I fared rather poorly. Recharge evaded me entirely.::

::Oh? And whatever could have kept your exhausted processor from the recharge it craved so much it had you fleeing from Kaon as though the flames of the Pit themselves licked at your heel struts?::

::Nothing::

::Truly?::
:: Absolutely nothing:: ::Well, it must have been a very intriguing “nothing” to have kept you so enraptured. Care to share with a poor, lonesome gladiator?::
::It was nothing so grand as what you are implying… I simply have a very vivid imagination.::
::I imagine you do. A shanix for your thoughts, then? I am quite the good listener, or so I’ve been told.::
::As flattering as that is, I’m afraid the thoughts aren’t worth the shanix.::

::Ah well. Someday you will open up to me fully and I eagerly await the day.::

::I- um well- that is-::

::As eloquent as ever. Please do pardon me, Orion, I am being called by a good friend and will be unavailable for a few groons. Do take care.::
There was an undeniable subtext to the words. Orion might have been a bit lacking in the social graces, but even he knew enough to read between the lines. But the conclusions he was drawing? They simply made no sense. Megatronus asking him to open up? He could practically hear it in that dark silken rasp, warm and close enough to send a rattle through his plating and his engine gave an embarrassing little rev in his chassis that he prayed to a merciful Primus that no one had heard. He needed to get back to work. Work would keep him busy, and if he was busy, he wouldn’t have any time to dwell on Megatronus. Yes, another foolproof Orion Pax master plan. He placed his Megatronus holo-card face down and cued up the next task on his workstation, putting every ounce of processing power not devoted to the report at hand to steering the distracted parts of his conscious mind back away from where they usually tended to land: Megatronus. It worked for about a groon and a half. Orion had managed to get through three reports, applied comments to two data entries and organized one archival collection of metaphysical ethics before the rising tide of distraction and rumination overtook him. His subroutines had been analyzing those comms over and over this entire time, and had repeatedly snagged on two little words: open up. Every time he ran that message through his processor, every time some small part of him had tried to make sense of it, he had failed and been put right at the beginning. That wasn’t the kind of phrase one just said . Especially not to a mech one had known for less than a full cycle at that point. No, that phrase had implications . Implications that Orion’s exhausted processor could not parse or even begin to synthesize into the neat little view he had of the previous night. It was utterly maddening. Two little words, six tiny glyphs and Orion was agonizing over them as though it were the very will of Primus himself that he understand. Megatronus had probably thought nothing of them when he had sent them and the mech was probably enjoying his time with his friend… perhaps reading, discussing philosophy, writing another speech- Wooing another, better looking archivist with a better command of neocybex- a nasty, vicious part of his processor supplied. Orion shut that down as quickly as he could. Orion didn’t like to admit defeat, and admitting that he didn’t understand something was tantamount to such an act, but Orion also knew that unless he had some form of assistance in sorting through this he would send himself into a full spiral. More than he already had. But who could he talk to? Jazz? Elita? Ratchet? No. None of them knew anything about his extracurricular activities the night before and if he had his way they never would. The teasing would become far too much to bear and he rather liked being able to keep some modicum of dignity in front of his friends. Flutter? No, she was probably fed up with him. One of the other archivists? No, they were probably also fed up with him for one reason or another. Should he consult one of the many relationship advice threads on the net? Even worse idea. Orion was not a fan of that kind of attention and scrutiny. Well, if all of those options were out, only one remained- He opened Megatronus’s comm thread, the offending words still blinking up at him cheerfully. His digits trembled as he penned the comm, reading over once, twice, three times, four times, five- He pressed the send button before he could ruminate any further. 
From Des: Orion Pax

To Des: D-16/Megatronus

::Good afternoon, Megatronus. I apologize for interrupting your outing with your friend, but I was rather hoping I could trouble you for your input for a moment. You see, I would like to inquire after some clarification regarding our previous messages.::

::Oh? Please, ask away.::
The response had been near instantaneous which made Orion feel marginally less bad about comming Megatronus when he had stated he was busy. The glyphs of his reply took shape and he sent it off as soon as the sentence had formed. He would find out the truth once and for all-
::What did you mean by your use of the phrase ‘open up’?”::
His digits twitched, restless as he scrambled for a distraction. A datapad, a report- anything to keep his attention from his silent Comm center.He refreshed his comms. Once. Twice. Again.Nothing.Refreshed again. Still nothing.He exvented, pressing a servo to his faceplate. It was just a message. Just a clarification. He wasn’t desperate. Even if Megatronus waited until tomorrow to respond, he would be fine-And then - his HUD flashed.
Finally.

::Oh, I’m certain a brilliant little archivist like yourself can figure out that much on your own.::
What the frag ?What did that even mean? Was it a joke? A riddle? A highly specific philosophical kaonian challenge designed to ruin his entire existence? Was he testing Orion? Was it… oh Primus was it flirtation ? No. That couldn’t be it. No, Megatronus must have simply been referring to a more innocent interpretation of the phrase. He must have! Theirs was simply a chance meeting of the minds, with no romantic underpinnings- no matter how much Orion might have liked for those to be there- No, his processor was merely addled from lack of rest, and the obscene quantity of that ridiculous, wonderful fic he had read through during the night. This must have an interpretation that made sense. Megatronus probably merely meant that he longed for another conversation! Yes, he must have been referring to Orion opening his mind. That was the only thing that made sense. Biting back the little prickle of disappointment that licked at the edges of his field, he hastily sent off another message, before he closed the Comm interface in his HUD with a  little bit more force than necessary. 
::Ah. I see. Thank you, Megatronus.::
Thank you Megatronus. Thank you Megatronus . The words were a rhythm that kept him on task, a proverbial stick above his helm that kept him very on task, no motivator quite like sheer shame at his presumptuousness to keep him focused. Orion finished the last of his work and practically fled the archives, racing back to his habsuite with a single minded determination. These… feelings, wherever they came from, needed to be stamped out. Channeled, repressed and categorized. And Orion had the best idea for how to get them out of his system. If Megatronus wanted him to “Open up” then he would. Just… not to anyone directly. No one needed to know about this. No, that would be far too much, far too presumptuous. No, Orion would simply write it down. By the time Orion Pax had made it back to his habsuite, the exhaustion stemming from his lack of recharge was woven through him, settling deep in his struts and sinking into his frame with a vice-like grip. His processor however? His processor was as alight as ever, insufferable, ceaseless and whirring away as if it were trying to tear itself to shreds with the sheer amount of analysis it was trying to complete. It was utterly ridiculous. He should be going straight to his berth, recharging and allowing his weary frame a moment to recover, but he knew for a fact he would not be able to sink into the blissful embrace of recharge, no. not when his processor was still tangled up so thoroughly in Megatronus. Well, Megatronus and his stupid horrible indecipherable comm. “Open up”Orion planned to.He crossed the room to his workstation in barely a few nanokliks, and before he could second guess himself, settled in his comfortable chair, opened a tab on the databank, entered in “new work” and for a moment his weary servos hung suspended over the keys of his workstation, hesitancy lining each joint as his uncertainty gnawed at his internals. What was he doing?Orion Pax was not a writer by trade and for good reason. His talents lay in analysis, in compilation and cataloging, but deep in his processor he saw the night that set his formerly placid processor alight, the words unspooling before him, and Orion, with a deep exvent, typed in a hesitant title. 
Towards Peace, Towards You
It was a play on the main point of one of Megatronus’s speeches, where he had railed against the Primacy’s actions and continually circled back to the rallying cry, an almost call and response element where the crowd had chanted “Towards Peace” at varying points during the speech. It was inspirational and a callback to the core of Megatronus’s convictions, a noble title indeed. And if it further circled back to the meaning of Orion’s surname in old Cybertronian? Pax meaning Peace? That was of no import and was simply a happy coincidence. Orion set his digits to the keys and felt the words begin to flow out of him.

Part One: “O Champion, my Champion!”

“The air in the arena was charged and crackling, anticipation mixing with the electromagnetic fields all around you, all laced with anticipation potent enough to set your own dentae on edge. Somewhere above, the twin moons were nearly at their zenith, their light inconsequential in the artificial blare of the floodlights poised at the top of the stadium. But none of it mattered. Not the lights, not the roar of the audience all around you-

No, what should have taken every spare scrap of processing power was relegated to mere background noise. Because every electrical synapse you possessed was locked on the mech pacing in the ring, poised and perfect and shimmering in the lights. Him. The subject of your daydreams and obsession. Him. The orator of spun silver words that were forged with enough raw conviction to bring you to your knees. Him.

Megatronus.

You were certain he didn’t notice you. After all, why would he? You were just one faceplate among many, a small cog in the mighty machine of the crowd. But sweet Primus, when he rolled his shoulder guard, brandishing his blade in preparation for the battle to come, your spark lurched in its chamber with an intensity you had never felt.

His opponent was no match for him, lumbering and massive, while Megatronus, only slightly smaller, was poetry in motion, the very works of the ancient masters given form. He was wild and furious, each strike fluid and devastating. His opponent had never stood a chance and he fell before the onslaught, yielding to the sheer overwhelming power of Megatronus.

By the time his opponent's knees had hit the ground, you were enraptured, vents coming shallow, and you clung to the edge of your seat, servos creaking with the force you were exerting. Megatronus surveyed the crowd, victorious, a champion with his spoils of war. And then, impossibly, devastatingly, his optics found yours.

And the world stood still for a moment.

And then he winked.”

Was it a tad bit dramatic? Perhaps. But the words were a balm, allowing Orion to slowly make sense of the night. And perhaps a way to catalog it for future analysis. And of course a wonderful way to take those feelings and tamp them deep deep down. Yes, that. Of course. This was simply… a coping mechanism. Simply a coping mechanism and a way to organize his thoughts.

Part Two: “A Truth Universally Acknowledged”

“You weren’t certain how you had wound up the oilhouse, your pedes and the crowd moving of their own volition and depositing you in the space. It was warm, lively, and you purchased a drink, retreating to a quiet corner and trying to avoid ruminating on the fact that Megatronus had just winked at you.

You were not successful.

While lost in your processor, a voice cut through your thoughts, shattering your quiet contemplation. The voice was loud and grating, dripping with condescension and the slur that came with consumption of a tad too much high grade.

“Don’t get me started on Megatronus, he’s all flash and no substance. Sure, he can fight, but those speeches are just overblown slag to rile up the masses.”

The drink in your servos nearly slipped from your grasp as you turned on your heel strut toward the source of the voice. Your optics narrowed, blinding, righteous fury filling you as you slammed your servos down on their table, startling both the offending mech and his companion to attention.

“Pardon me, but you are fundamentally incorrect.””

Orion hesitated at that point. Did he dare type out the entirety of his lecture? Was that too specific? Did he dare Include his abominable failure at the end in calling Megatronus simply “Nice?” No, surely that humiliation was not relevant to him simply channeling the feeling into his growing document. He would simply skate over it. As an archivist, it ruffled his plating to leave an account incomplete, but this was not the archives, and he was simply putting glyphs to the screen. Surely a bit of artistic license was permitted to allow him to not relive that particular embarrassment?The words flowed out of him, his impassioned defense of Megatronus flowing to his the tips of his digits as easily now as it had done in the oilhouse, the names of obscure philosophers springing to him like old friends and before he knew it Orion had found himself concluding part two:

“And then a voice cut through the stillness, warm resonant and rumbling:

“Well said”

You knew who you would see from the moment you heard that voice. And even as your helm turned, even as Cybertron below you seemed to grind to an agonizing halt, your spark lurched in its chamber, tilting wildly on its axis as Megatronus beckoned you forward with a single, controlled crook of a clawed digit in your direction. And so, like a piece of shrapnel caught in the powerful tug of a magnet, you were powerless to resist his draw.

As you drew closer, his rumbling voice continued, rattling you to the very core of your being. “I must say, that was quite the speech. You are clearly well read, if the works you have referenced are any indication. What is a little philosopher doing out so late in the underbelly of Kaon?”

“I would have thought that obvious.” You replied, a touch droll, but more breathless with barely restrained wonder at the mech before you. A large majority of the mechanisms in the oilhouse had just come from the fight after all.

Megatronus merely laughed, a chuckle that was almost seismic in nature, rattling your knee joints as efficiently as one of his famed sweeps.

“Well read, well spoken and a sharp wit? My luck appears to have followed me out of the arena tonight.”

He extended a servo, gesturing to the expanse of Kaon just beyond the door to the oilhouse. “Walk with me?”

What could you say but yes?

And so, thoroughly impressed by your effortless speech in his defense, you were whisked away into the streets of Kaon, arm in arm with the mech who, until now, had seemed untouchable, his plating warming beneath your servo.”

Orion stretched, his dorsal plating creaking as he corrected his abominable posture. The previous two parts had been easy, for the most part. His feelings at seeing the match, his feelings at seeing Megatronus, easy banter back and forth, but what came next was… dangerous. He was unsure if he could capture it, if he could do it justice, if he could even describe it properly without his processor overheating and melting into slag. The stroll through the bustling heart of Kaon had been… magical. Intimate. Megatronus had been protective, poised and in such exquisite proximity-No he simply could not afford to dwell on that. He was simply expelling his feelings, and if the feelings surrounding this walk proved too difficult to reflect upon, then well- he was an archivist and was exquisitely capable of dealing in absolute, scintillating objectivity. Fact over feeling. He could do this.

Part Three: “Miles to go before I sleep”

“The streets of Kaon were a far cry from what the datapads had suggested, buzzing with life and teeming with untold potential. The glow from lanterns and the twin moons overhead cast the uneven streets in gold and silver light, melding together in a sort of pale bronze, throwing shadows into stark relief. It was a stunning, yet overwhelming, mishmash of light and sound and ordinarily would have drawn your processor into a near meltdown trying to analyze the influx of sensation. Yet somehow, your focus remained singular.

Him.

Megatronus walked beside you, arm draped around your frame and occasionally exerting the slightest bit of pressure on the small of your dorsal plating to guide you around hazards on the path ahead. It was a kind gesture, you supposed, if an overly familiar one, and despite the knowledge that this was undoubtedly a platonic encounter in nature, your spark was set wildly aflutter in its chamber. His voice was low and resonant. It was soft, but somehow cut through the din as conversation flowed easily as the two of you walked.

You were ordinarily a quiet sort of mech, but now you found yourself talking more than you ever had before, especially in the company of a mech you had only met less than two groons prior. Observations, musings, general commentary and a sheer plethora of words poured from your vocalizer, filling the space between you. Ordinarily, you would have expected anyone’s attention to wander, especially when you had been speaking for such a lengthy period, but with Megatronus? His optics never left yours. He listened. Truly listened and for once in your existence you felt exquisitely, wholly and entirely seen.

But for all the earnest attention he lavished upon you, there was something about him. Something guarded and lingering just out of reach at the edge of his carefully reined in field. Something that seemed so distant and even though this mech carried himself with such poise, spoke with such fervor in his speeches and generally exuded the kind of passion seen only in the titular characters of epics here he seemed… closed off. It made you ache to understand him. It burrowed deep in your processor, uprooting and supplanting your preconceived notions of Megatronus and replacing his larger than life stature and spurring you onward, onward to your habsuite that night where you couldn’t recharge and then the next day where you took to your workstation in a fit of caprice and began writing this fanfiction and-”

Orion sighed as he deleted that last bit. It was bad enough that he was here, writing all this out, but that was bordering on melodramatic. He backspaced a bit, all the way back to “closed off” and continued to type.

“It made a part of your spark ache to know him, to catalog this part of him that you had only caught a glimpse of in this fleeting moment, that you could see where the piece fell in the whole that was Megatronus the mech, not simply Megatronus the gladiator, or Megatornus the orator.”

There. Professional. Honest. Scholarly. Objective. Or well more so than what he had previously. He had tapped out another line when a chime distracted him, a notification splashing across his HUD.
From Des: D-16/Megatronus

To Des: Orion Pax

::Are you still awake, little archivist?::
Orion’ s systems felt as though an injection of frigid coolant had been pushed through his fuel pump, the wash of chill dread filling him from finial to pede-point. Megatronus, like Jazz, seemed to have been blessed with uncanny timing, it seemed. He could not let on any of the turbulence that troubled his processor, much less let Megatronus know he was writing… this. He could do this. Act natural, Orion. Professional, platonic, collected, calm-He straightened in his chair as he tapped out a reply.
::Good evening, or rather, good night Megatronus. I find myself unable to recharge just yet. Is there something you require?::
The response was quick, as always, the letters popping up mere moments after Orion had sent his missive off. 
::Require? No, merely making conversation. And now, quite curious what has an exhausted archivist up so late after recharge eluded him the night before. Should I be concerned for your well-being?::
Orion snorted at that last bit. How ironic - the very cause of his internal turmoil was now inquiring after his well-being. But Orion couldn’t let on how deeply their encounter had affected him. He just had to keep the conversation going as if nothing had changed, as if there wasn’t something new and frightening looming over him: his decidedly not-platonic feelings that he was currently trying to tamp down and the fanfiction he was writing to do that. Megatronus could never know. Lying to Megatronus outright about… well any of this… was out of the question,the mech was too damned clever and Orion was a terrible liar. But a little redirection? That, he could manage.
::There is no need for concern. My thoughts are merely occupied by an ongoing project. It is nothing of note, I assure you.::
Surely that was too cold, it was not Megatronus’s fault that Orion’s processor was incapable of processing a normal, platonic, social interaction and instead had resorted to this to cope- surely that message by itself was far too polite and distant and formal. He added another line to soften the tone:
::Though I appreciate your thoughtfulness in asking after me.::
The reply came almost immediately.
::Thoughtfulness, hmm? You give me too much credit. But this project must be something quite significant to have caught your attention so thoroughly. Perhaps it is something you will share with me one day?::
Orion would rather be raked over the coals and thrown to Unicron’s tender mercies than ever show Megatronus what he had been working on but for the sake of polite conversation:
::I fear it would not meet your standards. It is…specific in its focus and extremely unpolished and I fear it would only bore you.::
This time the pause was longer, the typing indicator cropping up and ebbing multiple times, anxiety pooling in Orion’s lines with each passing nanoklik. Was Megaotrnus offended? Had he done something to upset him? Orion had thoroughly put his pede in the middle of it, hadn’t he? Oh Primus- Finally the response arrived and Orion frantically opened the message, scanning the glyphs with a fervor that alarmed a distant part of him. 
::You underestimate my interests when it comes to you, Orion Pax. But I will not press::
Sweet relief, and Orion poised his fingers over his workstation when another line came:
::For now.::
For now. For now .The implications behind those words unfolded before him, vast and consuming, as the glyphs hovered in his HUD. Orion offlined his optics, cycling them as he rubbed at the sides of his aching helm. He needed to breathe - steady himself. They were only words. Simple words. Words spoken by an esteemed thought partner and - hopefully - friend. That was all. Orion was reading entirely too much into them.If he had the energy to ruminate, then he had the energy to work.So, with renewed fervor that was definitely, absolutely not Orion Pax running from himself, his digits once again poised over his workstation, and the words began to flow.And flow.And flow.Orion had no idea how long he had been hunched over his workstation, but if the creaking of his dorsal plating - eerily similar to Ratchet’s, now that he thought about it - was any indication, it had been entirely too long since he had stretched. Or refueled. Or, frankly, blinked. His intake felt parched, his glossa sticking uncomfortably as he worked, and his helm throbbed from staring at the tiny glyphs on the glowing screen for so long.But he felt… lighter.Something had been expelled from his processor and left behind in that little document, and with it cast aside, Orion felt much better. About the night in question. About his relationship with Megatronus. About everything.He scanned the document with a practiced but sluggish ease, taking in the neatly arranged glyphs, the careful slant of his formatting, the bold emphasis in all the right places. It was objectively lovely. And… It was 43 pages long.He winced at his verbosity.Any self-respecting editor would have cackled as they shredded his word count into oblivion. He made a mental note to never, under any circumstances, go into publishing.But still… 43 pages of catharsis wasn’t too bad.And after this, he could get back to what really mattered: discussing things of actual import with Megatronus, pushing aside whatever this strange fluttering feeling was, locking it neatly into the tiny container he had created for it in the darkest, dustiest corners of his processor.He rose to his pedes with an audible grind of metallic components and let his optics wander to his chronometer in the corner of his HUD.And nearly dropped the cube he was about to fill for his nightly refuel.It was late.Well. Technically, early.The demarcation between yesterday and today had elapsed approximately three groons ago. Oh, he was going to have an awful shift tomorrow—no, today, he corrected himself—if he didn’t recharge immediately.But what about his draft?He had put this much work into it, and he still had more to add. Just a few final touches. Just to appease his inner archivist. Just to make sure it ended on an elegant note.Exhaustion was a weight in his struts now, leaking into his joints, as he wandered back over to the draft window. Databank of our Design had a save as draft function, a simple little white button, unassuming, innocuous even. His processor was a fried mess, running on fumes and spurred onward by the frantic push to get to his berth as quickly as possible, as he tapped at the little white box labeled “Save as Draft”. He barely noticed when the interface lagged. Or when the “Draft” icon flickered for a nanoklik.And he certainly didn’t notice when it changed to Published.The next morning he awoke in a state of confusion. His alarm - the same tone he had used since Primus-knows-when, since he had first started at the Archives, since before he cared to cast his processor back to remember - was somehow different this morning. Usually, it was a short series of beeps in an arpeggio, predictable, orderly and utterly unremarkable. Jazz had immediately dismissed it as “boring and basic, of course you would pick that for an alarm tone.” But today? It was more of… a frantic, overlapping, rapid series of pings that sounded almost like his notification tone. Orion squinted at his HUD in his still half-offline state, expecting a critical alert, or something overwhelming that needed his attention, but saw nothing. It was probably just an error in one of his internals that wasn’t quite cleared out in the de-frag process that came standard in his recharge cycle. Whatever glitch had caused the change in alert tone aside, Orion Pax was awake, somewhat aware and in need of a morning refuel. He wandered to the energon dispenser, preparing himself a cube with a moderate scoop of cadmium to chase away the exhaustion clinging to his struts after his catastrophic recharge schedule over the past two days. He swirled the cube once clockwise, once counterclockwise and then took a long sip. The burn of the cadmium was immediate, searing its way down his intake like a physical reprimand for his terrible life choices. But it was enough to jolt some of his systems into action - enough to clear at least a bit of his still-recharge-addled mind.So while he waited for the rest of his internals to fully come back online, Orion Pax did what he always did: tabbed through the notifications from the night before that lingered in his HUD. And immediately let out a horrified, undignified, strangled shriek. There were 1,000+ incoming notifications. From a sender registered as-Databank of our Design.Oh.Oh no.He stared at the words on his HUD, processor stuttering as he struggled to make sense of the flood of notifications. That… couldn’t be right. He had saved it as a draft. He had saved it as a draft. Hadn’t he?He pulled up his databank account on his handheld datapad and navigated to his page, optics darting to the little tab that should have read “Drafts (1)” but instead right next to it read “Published Works (1)”Oh Primus. Orion Pax’s systems stalled with a horrible sounding clunk, his cooling fans clicked on with an awful, strangled whine to keep him from collapsing.No. No, no, no, no- His little secret, his 43 page spiral of his innermost thoughts and revisionist history about his time with Megatronus had been loosed to the world.  And there was nothing he could do about it . “Kudos left on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”:-” The list of usernames stretched endlessly down his HUD, a digital monument to his own impending doom.And that was just the kudos.Oh, Primus. The hits - the actual number of people who had clicked on the fic-It was worse. 
It was so much worse. 
The notifications kept going. Every new alert that he scrolled past was another strike to his already fragile dignity. Something inside him withered, shriveled up, and quietly died. His self-respect? Gone. His ability to ever look Megatronus in the optic again? Obliterated.“Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @ChassisEnjoyer: Oh sweet Primus, author, you have GOT to give us a fragging update!”Orion thought he would actually rather throw himself into the Pit. Or face Megatronus in one-on-one combat. Which, frankly, was now a legitimate possibility if the mech ever found out that his little archivist had been writing such tawdry nonsense.Except wait. Orion wasn’t Megatronus’s anything. There was nothing there. No possession. No claim.And he needed to stop thinking like that.That was why he wrote this fragging thing in the first place.“Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @xXx_Solus_FINE_xXx: I need you to understand. I screamed. I threw my datapad across the room. My neighbors hate me now. YOU OWE ME FOR THIS.”Orion owed many mecha many things, apparently.And Megatronus, most of all, was owed an apology.“Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @SerpentineMel-t: Okay, but the detail? The way you described his optics? I had to put the fic down and scream. Author who gave you the RIGHT- ”Who gave him the right, indeed. “Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @angstbee: I was not emotionally prepared, If Megatronus doesn’t propose by chapter 3 I will RIOT.”Was there going to be a chapter 3?Orion scrolled down, dread pooling in his tanks.The statistics confirmed his worst fear. The damned thing was listed as ongoing.Another mistake. Another catastrophic lapse in judgment.He was going to have to let the gaggle of emotionally compromised commenters down gently.“Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @servoslicer: Author I was at WORK when I started this and i am UNWELL. If I don’t get a weekly update I WILL actually die and start taking servos.”Orion made a note to send his condolences. And also made note of the odd threat. Yet another thing about this morning that simply did not make sense.He had half a processor to delete his entire databank account after this debacle. “Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @PercolationStation: Bestie I need you to answer one question - is this REAL? Like did you ACTUALLY meet him? Because this is WAY too accurate to be fake!”Orion’s frame and processor chose that exact moment to glitch simultaneously - his entire system nearly crashed as he choked on a sip of energon. A chunk of undissolved cadmium slipped past his fuel lines, lodging itself somewhere deep in his ventilation subsystem, and he let out a most undignified wheeze.Oh. Oh, no. Had he been so obvious?If any of his friends found this-If Primus forbid , Megatronus found this-They would know.Jazz, Ratchet, Elita, Primus, even Flutter or any of the other archivists- they would recognize his writing style immediately. Stellar cycles of shared camaraderie, reports, messages, late night diatribes about this, that or the other, all were glaring indicators of just who had created this monstrosity.And Megatronus?Megatronus would know from memory alone.It was, as situations went, not a great one to be in.And oh, sweet Primus, Orion wanted to crawl back into his berth and offline his optics in the hopes that this was simply a particularly vivid dream.But no, that was simply not an option. Orion placed his nearly empty cube in the sink and braced himself against the counter for a long, steadying moment. His servos trembled slightly as he pressed his digits into the metal surface, forcing himself to cycle air through his vents to cool his rapidly warming internals. Despite the countless visions of Megatronus plastered on nearly every surface of his living space (ordinarily an excellent distraction), Orion’s attention was locked onto the unholy amount of notifications still streaming in.With a deep, shuddering sigh, he peeled himself away from the counter and trudged toward his berthroom, each step heavier than the last. He barely made it to the edge of his berth before collapsing onto it, cradling his helm in his servos.There was no salvaging this. There was no saving face. There was no return to normalcy after this. He needed to delete it. That was the obvious solution. The logical one. He should delete this thing, purge it from existence, pretend it never existed in the first place and move on with his life like a sane, functioning mech. But his servos wouldn’t move. His HUD felt frozen, like his processor was overclocked. The weight of his own humiliation pressed down on him, oppressive, overbearing and all encompassing. He… He could barely focus on his own venting and besides, if he had managed to publish it when he had merely meant to save it as a draft, who was to say he wouldn’t make the damage worse if he tried to delete the damned thing?Plus Orion didn’t have the strength to look at his newly published work and face what he had done. So deleting it could wait. Or he could potentially run away and assume a new identity as a wandering hermit. Or a scholar in some other city. Or he could vanish into the bowels of Kaon and never be seen again. He opened the messaging center in his HUD, queuing up a blank message to the comm frequency at the top of his recent contacts.
From: Des: Orion Pax

To: Des: D-16/Megatronus

::I have made a series of mistakes::
He stared at the comm. The understatement of the vorn. He looked over the little simple, little glyphs, and hovered over the send button.No. No. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. That was the nuclear option, and well- Orion selfishly did want Megatronus to actually speak with him again. And maybe this would all blow over? And maybe it would all die down? He erased the comm. No, he needed to be mature about this. He just needed to be mature and-Orion Pax clutched his custom Megatronus body pillow to his faceplate and screamed. The fabric and fluff muffled the absolutely wretched noise he made, vocalizer glitching glitching into static as he kicked his pedes against the berth like a frustrated sparkling. He hated it here. He hated himself. And he hated most of all that this whole situation was entirely his fault. With a deep, long-suffering pull of air in through his vents, Orion flopped back onto the berth, flinging an arm over his optics in a fit of dramatics that was uncharacteristic for him. But well, so many of the things that had transpired in the past few days had been uncharacteristic for him. But one truth remained: Orion Pax had work in precisely one groon. He could not call in sick. He had shown no signs of illness the day prior, and every single archivist there would call him on his bluff. He could not fake a system error. That would require a note from a medic, and Ratchet had lectured Jazz for nearly a groon straight the last time he had begged for a counterfeit medic’s excuse. No, Orion couldn’t run and he certainly couldn’t hide. He had done this to himself, and he would face the consequences. Like a grown mech. Like a professional. He heaved himself upright, grabbed his datapad, and hauled his tragic, ruined existence to work.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The concept of the Pit was a common one in many of Cybertron’s greatest works of literature.

It was often depicted as a malevolent chasm, where Unicron revelled in the screams of the condemned, weaving pain and suffering like a master craftsmech. That concept of absolute evil, absolute misery, absolute

torture

made for an excellent literary foil and Orion had paid it no mind.

Until now.

Orion Pax knew the true face of the Pit.

Orion Pax knew true torture.

And this was it.

Orion’s workload was nothing special, a cart of datapads to reshelve, a few reports and archival cross references to complete, but what was new and particularly heinous was the strange prickling that he felt licking along the sensitive undersides of his plating.

The archive was… a bit busier than normal today. Which was not entirely unexpected, there were several large academic conventions coming up and it was almost a rite of passage for many a seasoned sage and scholar to visit the vast collections of the Hall of Records to prepare for their upcoming presentations. Professors, presenters, academics and students alike had descended upon the archives in droves like a skulk of turbofoxes, all of them rooting around in the stacks for some tidbit of wisdom housed in the ancient caches of datapads. They were around every corner, browsing through texts, cheerfully conversing in archive-appropriate hushed tones and cataloguing citations with a zeal and fervor that undoubtedly came with having only a few groons left before the metaphorical judgement their presentations would bring.

Orion normally ignored the patrons of the Hall of Records, acting as little more than an extension of the central cataloguing system as he answered questions, reshelved, and carried out his duties.

But today?

Today he was agonizingly aware of each and every mech he passed.

Every whisper. Every muffled giggle. Every single lingering glance had him spinning on his heel strut, processor shrieking a horrified chorus of:

“they know what you did, they know what you did, they know what you did”.

Every step he took, he felt optics on him, even when he was alone in the stacks. His mind was a blur of frantic analysis, trying to decipher the meaning behind every pensive glance, every crooked smile exchanged between scholars. Were they talking about him? Had someone recognized him?

Did they know?

No.

No,

that was absolutely

absurd.

The logical portion of his mind informed him that he was, in fact, being ridiculous. The patrons of the hall had about as much interest in him as they had in the chairs or tables. These were historians, philosophers, scientists - their demographic and the user base of Databank of Our Design were most assuredly not overlapping.

But the illogical portion of his mind was

so much louder

.

And the moment one of the patrons, a regular named Codex, looked up and gave him a friendly smile and perfunctory wave, Orion’s processor nearly short circuited from the sheer guilt and he nearly purged his tanks right there on the floor.

Break. He needed a break immediately.

Somehow, by sheer force of will and several covert evasive maneuvers to avoid his fellow archivists, Orion Pax had managed to slink back to the safety of his workstation with his dignity intact. He all but collapsed into his chair, releasing a shuddering puff of air through his vents that he had not realized he had been holding. The cheerful visage of his Megatronus Holo-cards taunted him and with an audible groan he leaned forward, helm colliding with the surface of his workstation.

This.

This feeling had to be what authors meant when they referred to the Pit.

Orion hadn’t been able to work, had barely been able to think a single productive thought without the whirlwind of shame overtaking him. His processor was wild, loud, and there was only one thing it seemed to be bringing up:

The fic.

Orion could practically picture it, the tab still open on his personal workstation where he had left it last night, the words on that ill advised page still bared to the public, spilled like so much energon.

Had it ballooned in popularity even more?

Had it died down?

Primus

, he hoped it had died down.

But deep down he knew that was not likely. No, Orion had tempted fate or absolutely enraged Primus himself or had committed some other such cosmic blunder. As such, it appeared the universe was insistent that Orion reap the consequences of his own mistakes. Orion’s processor spiraled, a whirlwind of “what if’s” crashing into each other, trying to predict how this catastrophic turn of events would evolve.

What if the fic reached outside of the databank?

What if it wound up on the Megatronus forums?

What if it reached even farther than that and one of these visiting academics took it to their esteemed institution of higher learning and then analyzed his lackluster prose?

What if oh Primus, what if it ended up on Zeta Prime’s desk?

Worst of all: What if Megatronus found it?

That settled it. He needed to check the damned thing, maybe get some sense of the absolute disaster waiting for him when he got home-

“Damn, Pax. We have

got

to stop meeting like this.”

Orion Pax, dignified and genteel archivist very nearly fell out of his chair as he jumped at the sudden sound of a voice coming from beside him.

Flutter. That was Flutter’s voice. When had she gotten here?

She was leaning against his workstation, dermas quirked upwards in a faint smirk that she always wore when one of the other archivists did something vaguely embarrassing or entertaining. Which… he supposed this qualified.

His dermas parted and he knew he had to say something -  a lie, an excuse, some sort of something to explain his actions that wasn’t “I wrote and accidentally published a fanfiction and now I feel terrible and queasy about it and what if somehow my friends and Megatronus find it and then I am banished and have no choice but to live out the rest of my existence in a cave somewhere remote where my shame can’t reach me and-”

She squinted, tilting her helm as Orion’s dermas opened and closed, no sound save for a strangled squeak escaping his vocalizer.

“Vector Sigma, you are tightly wound today. Did you commit a crime? Cycle your optics twice if you did”

Orion’s optics flicked left, right then back at Flutter, matching the no doubt incredulous expression on his faceplate.

Her pretty faceplate shifted into a somewhat manic smile, positively delighted at what was unfolding before her.

“Oh. Ohhhhh. You

totally

did something.”

“I most

certainly

did

not!”

Orion squeaked, voice entirely unconvincing.

Flutter nodded as though she had somehow foreseen all of this. “That is exactly what a criminal would say.”

Orion let out a noise that was somewhere between a beleaguered groan and a defeated wheeze and dragged his servos, digits splayed, down his faceplate. “Flutter,

please-”

Her smirk shifted then, softening. A furrow formed between her pretty optic ridges and she frowned, regarding Orion more carefully this time. She was actually looking at him now, and he recognized that look. It was measured, contemplative and Orion was deeply terrified of what it would bring: Flutter was making a

Decision

.

“You look like slag, Pax.”

Orion bristled at the obviously true statement. “That is entirely unprofessional-”

She continued, undeterred by his protest. “Like… worse than usual. Your faceplate is dull, you’re practically vibrating out of your plating, If I didn’t know better I would have sworn you were malfunctioning.”

“Thank you for that, Flutter. Doing wonders for my self-confidence.” Orion muttered, pointedly ducking his helm.

Flutter sighed, pinching the ridge of her olfactory between her digits. She brought her arms down and crossed them as she looked down at him. “You know what, Pax? I’m feeling generous. You should go home. Get….” She gestured vaguely in his direction with a flick of her wrist, “Whatever this is out of your system.”

“Wait, Flutter, I can’t,

you

can’t-” Orion protested. He still had several tasks in his to do list, of course nothing urgent, he had prioritized those first, but the fact remained that it was still mid-morning, he had over five groons of his shift left-

Flutter rolled her optics, muttering once again under her breath about “idiot mechs who didn’t even know how to accept help” “Pax, for the love of Primus.

Go

. I’ll cover for you.”

Orion’s processor ground to a halt, lagging and stuttering over its frantic calculations.

She was serious.

He could leave.

He could go home

right now

and check on that horrid fic and figure out his next steps and maybe not have to book a one way ticket to the Rust Sea-

He shot out of his chair with a suddenness that surprised Flutter, the femme taking a small step away from him. “Primus, Pax-”

He was already gathering his things and was halfway across the room before he called back over his shoulder: “I owe you my

life

, Flutter!”

She snorted, already taking a seat at his workstation to fake a few updates on his tasks. Just enough to keep senior archivist Lexicon off of their collective afts. “Yeah, yeah,” She waved her servo dismissively, almost shooing Orion. “Just remember this the next time I need someone to suffer through a conference presentation with me.”

Orion was out the door and on the transport down to ground level before she had even finished her statement.

The ride home felt simultaneously like relief and agony, each second too long and too short. On one hand, he knew what would await him, the fic that he absolutely HAD to delete and that was final, and on the other he simply could barely stand the prospect of facing this twisted web he had woven himself into.

He had been receiving the occasional ping now that his notification center was no longer in “work mode” and he noted the sender with some chagrin. “Databank of our Design”, “Databank of our Design”, “Databank of our Design”-

The insistent chorus of his notification tone trailed behind him like a particularly insistent turbofox as he fled from the car of the transport and to his habsuite as quick as his pedes could carry him. Each insistent tap of the metal of the base of his pede against the hard ground was echoed by the frantic flutter of his spark and the churn of his tanks as he rounded the corner and-

Orion Pax had never entered the access code to his habsuite that fast in his entire functioning.

He bolted the door behind him and practically flung himself into the chair sitting in front of his personal workstation with a fervor that had the chair itself wobbling a bit as he pulled up the fic. The great adversary itself.

It….

It was worse than he had feared.

Well, not “my fic wound up on Zeta Prime’s desk” worse, and certainly not “My friends have found it” worse, because his HUD was distinctly devoid of any notification to suggest that was the case.

But what he did see right off the bat were the little numbers at the bottom of the summary panel. And those numbers had his tanks lurching and his spark sinking and his other servo hastily opening a tab of transport costs for a one way ticket out of Iacon.

The number of hits had doubled.

The number of comments had tripled.

The number of kudos had skyrocketed.

And oh sweet Primus. There were recommendations now. And it was being

bookmarked

-

And an absolutely massive post had been made on one of the Megatronus forums analyzing his prose and linking back to the damned fic.

And a brief scroll down had Orion practically perishing as he saw that someone had actually submitted

fanart

.

It was glorious. It was

devastating

. The artistry, the detail - Orion’s entire spark writhed. He let out a strangled noise, clutching at his chassis at the sheer beauty before him.

Megatronus had been rendered in exquisite detail, plating shimmering with delicate starbursts of blue and gold light reflected on the vertices and swells of his armor. The bland faceless “reader” character was depicted as a grey, nondescript, almost-Orion-sized mech nestled in under Megatronus’s massive arm as the two were whisked through a whorling backdrop. Kaon had been rendered with an artist’s touch and if Orion squinted he could faintly make out the Corbel arch he had alluded to in Part three of the damned fic. It was… glorious was too bland a word. It sent Orion’s spark aflutter and he let out a gutted keen.

This… this was a work of art.

And it would not have been created if this mech hadn’t read his ill-advised fic in the first place.

Orion… was almost glad he had published it for a moment, if only to see the way Megatronus had been so lovingly rendered, his optics a piercing, unadulterated blue, and his expression so achingly reverent and fond that Orion felt a strange stutter in his spark. That… was not how casual acquaintances or friends looked at each other. That was the look of a lover, or at least of one hoping to become a lover.

It was dizzying in its possibilities, and Orion reached out a servo to trace along the glowing screen of his workstation.

He pulled back as though burned.

But… this had been a normal social interaction! Perhaps his rendition and revisionist history had cast it in a more romantic light due to the frantic feelings he had tried to suppress? Surely Megatronus had not looked at him like that during their time together. But then that called into question Orion’s skills as an author, if he was unable to adequately describe the events of the night, then he was the lens of bias that had generated that expression and-

Orion groaned, the muddled tumultuous nature of his thoughts cascading into one another in dizzying, overwhelming waves. Just like the waves of the Rust Sea he would inevitably fling himself into.

This was just great.

Now he had all these mecha reviewing and reading his work and thinking that it was supposed to be some grand romance when it most certainly was NOT.

Orion Pax, (formerly) upstanding citizen and now burgeoning fanfic author extraordinaire, was leading these poor readers on. He really needed to let them down gently. But… How bad had it gotten? Surely some of the other comments had some sort of clue.

And then he scrolled down and began to peruse the comments.

Almost as soon as he refreshed the page, the top comment loaded. Where before it had been @ChassisEnjoyer frantically begging for an update, now it was from a different username and it had Orion’s tanks lurching again.

“Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @GladiatorGasket: “Okay so get this. I was with my amica, and we saw Megatronus at the oilhouse after his most recent fight two days ago? Well get this. He was having this deep conversation with this tiny mech. Thought it was nothing, but then I read this fic and uh. This is gonna sound a little insane, but the way the Author talks about Megatronus in Part two? It’s almost exactly how that little mech was defending him. Like, same arguments, same phrasing, Author, was that you?? 👀👀👀”

Oh.

Oh

no.

The comments kept going, a lively series of replies underneath it.

“Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: LMAOO theres no way. Come on @GladiatorGasket, the Author is probably some like wannabe sportsmech who studies philosophy in their spare time. That’s way too crazy of a coincidence. Hashtag LIAR.”

The comments were full of similar rebuttals, similar dismissals and Orion breathed a sigh of relief. That was until he saw another reply, the start of a growing chain:

“Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @TurboMirage777: wait wait wait. BACK UP. You mean to tell me you MET Megatronus?!!! Just.. IN THE WILD??? And you just casually drop this like it's NOTHING? SPILL THE DEETS. NOW.”

“Reply to @TurboMirage777: @GladiatorGasket: Yeah. He was just there. You know, Vibing after the fight, drinking some high grade, being all broody and mysterious- the usual. But then this little mech just starts going OFF on this other mech at one of the tables across the oilhouse about like… really obscure philosophy and “Gravitas he wields as efficiently as a blade” and “Megatronus is a craftsmech” and “I challenge you to use the audials Primus has placed upon your helm to listen” and yadda yadda. Anyway, he ended it by saying Megatronus was “nice” which was… honestly adorable. I’m kinda disappointed the author left it out of the fic, if that is what they were basing this off of. And the whole time Megatronus is just standing there, grinning into his drink like this isn’t the most unhinged and passionate rant he has ever heard.”

“Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @TurboMirage777: Okay, but that is literally almost word for word what the author wrote in “A truth universally acknowledged.” WHAT ARE THE FRAGGING ODDS?”

Orion needed to intervene. NOW. YESTERDAY. His digits were flying as he penned a comment before his processor could even begin to catch up, slamming into the keys with a fervor that very nearly rattled his workstation.

“Reply to @TurboMirage777: @OreeonPicks: Haha! What a coincidence! There are many small mecha from Iacon who visit Kaon for Gladiator matches! And many passionate small mecha who enjoy discussing philosophy! And many mecha that have the pleasure of conversing with Megatronus! I’m certain you must be mistaken, this “tiny mech” you think of in NO WAY inspired this work!”

A masterful rebuttal. Orion sat back for a moment before the replies started rolling in.

“Reply to @OreeonPicks: @FlawlessFinish: ^^This is the most suspicious comment I have ever seen in my entire functioning. @GladiatorGasket might be onto something. OH I can sense the scandal from HERE. 💅"

“Reply to @OreeonPicks: @WhirlyBird: And who said you were from Iacon? Deflecting much?"

Orion hastily edited his comment to correct his blunder.

“Reply to @FlawlessFinish: @LogisticalLoyalist: No, the way I see it there are two distinct possibilities. Either 1. The author of TPTY is just an extremely well-informed scholar or 2. The author was in the bar, much like @GladiatorGasket, and then decided to write fanfiction about this after witnessing this tiny mech make a fool of himself.”

Ouch. The commenter had a point, Orion had definitely made a bit of a fool of himself, but it STUNG to see it spelled out so plainly.

“Reply to @LogisticalLoyalist: @Luna_Racerrr: No because there’s a THIRD OPTION. THE AUTHOR IS THE SMALL MECH. THE AUTHOR WAS THERE. THE AUTHOR SPOKE TO MEGATRONUS DIRECTLY AND THEN WENT HOME AND WROTE ABOUT IT! THIS IS A LIVE REACTION FIC!”

Orion was dying. Actually dying. This had to be some kind of a curse coming for him. His digits were moving before he could stop them and he did the only thing he could think of to preserve his honor-

“Reply to @Luna_Racerrr: @OreeonPicks: I would like to firmly and unequivocally deny all such allegations.”

“Reply to @OreeonPicks: @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: Bro, you are NAWT helping your case. Like. at

all.”

“Reply to @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: @Luna_Racerrr: Okay, but if the author

is

this mystery mech… Does Megatronus know? 👀👀👀”

“Reply to @Luna_Racerrr: @LogisticalLoyalist: Imagine Megatronus finding this fic. Imagine Megatronus realizing who wrote it. Imagine him putting the pieces together.

Imagine them together

. Fic? Wonderful. Potential aftermath?

Far better.

”

Orion groaned as he penned one last comment before resolving to close the tab.

“Reply to @LogisticalLoyalist: @OreeonPicks: Alright this has been fun, but I think I need to fling myself into the Rust sea. Goodbye forever.”

The replies were near instantaneous:

“Reply to @OreeonPicks: @TurboMirage777: Rest in Pieces, Author.”

“Reply to @OreeonPicks: @GladiatorGasket: Don’t worry, I’ll keep your seat warm for you in the oilhouse, Author.”

Orion Pax buried his helm in his servos and whimpered pitifully as his life fell apart around his audials.

There were certain sects of certain Cybertronian religions that held belief that there were a finite number of sparks, and that the spark that resided in one’s frame had once belonged to another. Furthermore they posited that upon the end of ones functioning the spark returned, not to the well, but to another waiting frame, allowing the same spark a new existence. Orion had never really put much faith in it or in the corresponding tenet that if one were to act abominably in a previous existence that it would somehow be reflected in the life their next iteration would lead.

Until now.

Because whoever Orion had been before he was Orion Pax must have been truly heinous.

The universe seemed determined to hit him with blow after blow.

He had been unable to watch the page of “Towards Peace, Towards You” any longer and had instead relegated himself to pacing/wandering/muttering/generally busying himself with anything that would not require him to touch his workstation.

He knew for a fact that the conjecture of random strangers on the net was by no means accurate and that despite how eerily close they had strayed to the truth, that was one singular thread and there were many more on this particular work.

And furthermore, he could end this. End all of the madness with a single press of a button, this nightmare would be over.

But…

But even as he pondered that “Delete work” button, something whispered in the back of his processor. A tiny little unignorable voice from somewhere deep in his spark.

What if he didn’t delete it?

After all, this conjecture was simply a coincidence and nothing more.

After all, none of the mecha in the oilhouse that night had photographed him.

None of the mecha in the oilhouse had heard his designation.

After all, he himself had only divulged it to Megatronus once they were safely outside on the surface streets of Kaon.

No, there was no way any of the commenters had any idea, or possessed any way of tracking him down just from that information alone.

He was safe.

But to keep himself that way, it was time. Orion Pax needed to purge the pit-damned monstrosity masquerading as literature from the net and pray that some of these newly minted fans of his did not have copies.

Orion sat down at his workstation, sensor net practically alight with the horror of what he had done - yet somewhere, buried beneath the crippling shame, there was a flicker of something else.

Regret?

…No.

Sadness.

Because despite it all - despite how questionable the entire ordeal had been - this was still something he had made. And that meant something.

Even if it was a monument to his own mortification, it was still his.

He decided, on a whim, that one last scroll through the comments would be a fitting farewell before he consigned “Towards Peace, Towards You” to oblivion.

And then-

One comment caught his optics.

Not in a good way.

“Comment on @OreeonPicks “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @Rube-icon: Honestly, bad characterization. Megatronus doesn’t strike me as the kind of mech that would be that into architecture and poetry and philosophy and stuff like that. He’s a gladiator! He’s probably too blunt for that.”

There were a few other replies to that, but Orion didn’t continue reading. His optics unfocused and a deep, all-consuming emotion swept through his processor, stilling his servo before he could finally hit the delete button.

His vents, usually placid and even, hitched. His optics widened to their largest setting, His entire frame betrayed him - every cable and joint locked as if physically rejecting what he had just read.

And somehow, in that moment -

Orion Pax was trembling.

Not with nerves.

Not with anxiety.

Not with embarrassment.

With rage.

How

dare

they?

Megatronus? Too

blunt?

His servos tightened on the lip of his workstation, the metal creaking under the force he was exerting. Orion’s servos locked on the edge of his workstation- metal creaking, frame rigid, vents hitching like a mech about to implode. His spark was shrieking.

The utter

FOOL

that had written that comment!

Just who did they think they were?

Just who did he think

Megatronus

was?

The mech was one of the most well-spoken and well-read individuals Orion had ever encountered. His processor was sharper than his blade, honed not just in the fires of Kaon and the Pit, but in philosophy, rhetoric, and the art of persuasion.

He wasn’t just a gladiator! He was history in the making. A revolutionary. And to see him reduced to blunt?

It wasn’t just inaccurate. It was

insulting.

Megatronus was spectacular. Sharp, quick-witted, impossibly brilliant. He had devoured works of philosophy and ethics that sent lesser mecha quailing, synthesized their teachings, and wielded them with the same precision as his blades. His breadth of knowledge was staggering; he had matched Orion step for step in Kaon, had spoken words so powerful they kept Orion awake at night, coolant pooling in the corners of his optics as he listened to them on repeat-

And this insignificant, ignorant, narrow-processor of a commenter had the gall to call him blunt?!

No.

This simply would not stand.

Megatronus had spent too long perfecting his words into veritable weapons, too long carving speeches as sharp as his swords, too long burning like the blinding light of Helios- only for some Databank

nobody

to reduce him to nothing more than a

brawler

?

No.

Absolutely not.

Orion’s servos moved of their own accord, before he could process what they were doing.

Orion Pax slammed the “Add Chapter” button right at the top of the Databank’s cheerful, maroon colored interface. And then, with the fervor of a mech possessed, Orion’s rebuttal poured from his digits.

His optics blazed, his glossa worked silently in his intake, and the words flowed as if they had been waiting - as if Primus himself had been holding them back until this precise moment.

This would not simply be a rebuttal.

This would be a

lesson.

Orion was about to

educate someone

.

“Chapter 2, Part One: Exploding like Spiders across the Stars

Megatronus visiting Iacon was an occasion almost as unlikely as the stars above aligning and yet here he stood, glistening silver in the waning light, somehow both in his element and entirely out of place at once.

You were transfixed.

His optics - the clearest blue you had ever seen - swept across the view before him, surveying the cityscape. The Hanging Towers were magnificent, the spun golden filaments of their exterior catching the light, and the delicate skywalks bridging the gaps between the structures.

Like any good host, you had taken him on a tour of the city when he arrived, but this - this was special. You had chosen it for reasons beyond simply grandeur.

Megatronus, despite what some woefully misinformed mecha would say, was no mere brute. He was a savant when it came to art, literature, and philosophy. Despite the inhospitable grounds of Kaon, he was astonishingly well-read, and at times, you felt your own intellect fell short in the shadow of his own.

Tonight, it seemed, was such a time.

He had been oddly silent as you spoke of the towers and what you knew of their history, listening as intently as ever, but as your own limited knowledge of your present location drew to a close, the two of you stood in companionable silence.

“Iacon is a nest of contradictions, is it not?” His voice was pensive, almost reflective as his optics trailed along the imposing edifice of the towers. “A gilded paradise for the learned and a squalid underbelly beneath for the less fortunate.”

His profile - bathed in the soft gold of the setting sun - was magnificent, but there was something about the delicate furrows around his optics that told you this was not simple admiration.

This was assessment.

You remained silent as he continued, his tone quieter now, contemplative. Usually you were the one whose words filled the space between you, but tonight, you found yourself content to listen.

“It is a fascinating city, to be certain, but - to quote one of the works I have read recently - ‘the value of a civilization lies not in the towers they build, but in the legacy they leave behind.’ And the legacy of Iacon is a conflicting one indeed.”

Your vents stalled.

You knew that work- Knew that quote.

Tomebyte.

Megatronus was referencing one of the densest political treatises ever compiled, a work so vast in both length and scope that even seasoned scholars shrank before it. Yet Megatronus had recited the core tenets with a practiced ease.

It was not what you had expected when bringing him to one of the architectural marvels of Iacon.

You had expected awe, maybe curiosity. You had not expected philosophy.

And yet, he was not finished.

“The towers are remarkable,” He continued, turning slightly and casting the rays of the setting sun across the ground in golden arcs of light. “I can see now why many early poets from the reign of Megatronus Prime reference them with such fervor.”

Your optics flick up to his, and you feel a spark of recognition somewhere deep in your processor.

“And which poems might those be?” you asked, drawn inexplicably closer.

He chuckled - midnight dark and low enough to send a shudder through your frame. Leaning in, his dermas nearly brushed your audial as he murmured just loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to dip below the buzz of the city around you.

“A monument of steel untamed,

Where fire and hand and will remained.

The wonder wrought by those before,

Still lingers in its golden core.

And though its spires gleam with light,

Their secrets hide beyond our sight.

A tower made of solid sun,

A testament to Iacon."

Your spark lurched violently in its chamber as you gazed at him, mouth agape.

The Towers’ Ode.

It was ancient, one of the older works you had ever seen in the Hall of Records, so ancient in fact that the datapad that contained it was buried in the back most section, beneath a mountain of other prose. It was ancient, and beyond obscure-

And Megatronus knew it by spark.

Your optics lifted to his, admiration seeping into your field despite your best efforts to control it.

Megatronus knew poetry.

Not simply grand speeches employed by generals, not the rhetoric of revolutionaries, he was fluent in the finer, fluttering verses that many would have passed over.

His dermas quirked upwards with a satisfied smirk. “You seem impressed.”

You were.

You were beyond impressed, it was bordering on devastation at this point.

“You-” You let out a soft exvent in an attempt to recalibrate your racing internals. “You know the Towers’ Ode.”

Another chuckle, undeniably smug. “I know many things.”

And that-

That was the final straw.

Your spark stuttered, squeezed and squirmed, seized by the force of a longing deep from within.  You turned on your heel strut, desperately attempting to spare your dignity, and with a slightly jerky motion of your servo began rambling about some obscure etching on the golden exterior of the towers.

Megatronus only smiled, nodding along with your half-sparked lecture, optics glistening with something unreadable.”

Orion grinned viciously as he drew that particular section to a close, satisfaction curling deep in his spark like some sort of sated beast. This would certainly be sufficient to educate that unfortunate commenter who had dared to slander Megatronus and call him

blunt

.

While he was not entirely certain of Megatronus’ stance on every single one of the points he had made in the second longest part of

“Towards Peace, Towards You”

to date, he knew enough. He had listened to enough of Megatronus’s speeches, parsed through his passionate words, rifled through his rhetoric and maneuvered around his metaphors enough to feel reasonably confident that the gladiator-orator-visionary-genius-
charmer
would, at the very least, be tangentially aware of the works Orion had referenced.

And well- It was simply meant for the realm of fiction, was it not?

A harmless exercise.

Orion sat back, flexing his servos and perusing his work with a small puff of air through his vents.

It was… surprisingly less mortifying than the last installment. Less like peeling his own plating back and baring his still-beating spark to the world. Orion was almost… pleased with how it was turning out.

And thinking about Megatronus in Iacon was certainly an entertaining thought experiment-

The visual alone was compelling.

Imagining Megatronus, glimmering and silver amongst the streets of Iacon, towering helm and pauldrons above the mecha around him, Megatronus standing on the steps of the Senate, looking up with that steely set to his frame that spoke to his convictions, Megatronus in the archives, hunched over to reach a datapad, servo brushing Orion’s and faceplate drawing nearer to Orion’s, dermas parting, optics dimming-

Orion felt rather than heard his cooling fans kick on, the deafening whine and resulting puff of air startling him from that particular train of thought.

Perhaps not the archives. His coworkers would make fun of him mercilessly if he brought Megatronus there, after all. They knew too much of Orion’s little obsession and would give him away in a nano klik.

But if not the archives, then perhaps the Iaconian gardens?

Now there was an idea! Shimmering silver plating and piercing cerulean optics surrounded by the magnificence of those carefully curated beds, the energon pools in the epicenter-

Orion’s digits rose, unbidden to hover over the keys.

Perhaps a little more wouldn’t hurt?

After all, what harm could come from another section?

It was all in the name of education, after all.

“Chapter Two, Part Two: Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines

Megatronus was a steely, wondrous presence at your side as you wandered forward into the Iaconian Gardens. At this time of the night, it was blessedly empty.

A gift from Primus himself, really, as it was usually filled to the brim with starry-opticed couples, entangled in each other’s fields with an almost sickening display of cloying, saccharine, romantic impropriety and whispered sweet nothings with an abhorrent lack of proper grammar and sufficient vocabulary.

And your entirely, unequivocally, unmistakably platonic feelings for Megatronus certainly did not need to be challenged - or in any way threatened - by the presence of such puerile, lovesick company.

Not that there was anything to challenge.

Because you were simply not like them.

You were most assuredly not thinking of the way the rising moon glinted off the points and concavities of Megatronus’s armor and how that polished metal might feel beneath your digits.

You were most assuredly not thinking about how the quiet hush of the gardens made his voice seem somehow richer. How the cool, sultry night air seemed to catch the warm sound of his voice and curl it intimately in your audials as though it was something made to be listened to.

And you most certainly were not wondering what it would feel like to have that voice against your audial, murmuring your designation into it in a soft, quiet croon as he took your servo in his own and-”

Primus.

Orion Pax was going to lose it at this rate.

If he hadn’t already.

He forged onward though, his slipping sanity set aside as he resumed the gentle rhythm of his digits against the keys.

“The gardens were separated into three large swaths, each named for the flora they housed and the biomes they boasted.

The desert bed, of course, contained the strongest, sturdiest plants - wiry, unyielding things that had been honed by drought and scarcity. Small holographic signs marked each one, detailing their origins, their resilience, their rarity. Their twisting stems twined about each other, as though locked into an embrace, each thorn and leaf proudly catching the moonlight as though in defiance of the very world around them.

Yet despite their wild, untamed nature, they were pruned. Trimmed. Tamed.

In the wilderness they were originally from, these thin fronds would be stretched across vast swaths of open plains and desert. But here, they were confined, only granted a small portion of the space they should have had.

Beautiful. And yet - caged.

Much like-

Your optics drifted to Megatronus.

He was skimming a claw across one of the delicately curling vines, the movement slow and reverent. The faintest of smiles played across his faceplate as he withdrew and by the time you realized you were staring it was too late.

He caught your gaze, held it and he tilted his helm, smile taking on an amused tilt. “Well? We have two more areas to explore do we not? I expect nothing but the finest from my own personal tour guide.”

A huff of laughter escaped you. Light and easy and somehow devastatingly dizzying. You tried not to dwell on it as you turned, leading the way toward the crystal beds.

The atmosphere shifted the moment you entered.

Where the desert bed had been filled with flora of a more robust nature, the crystal beds were… delicate. The beds were luminous, moonlight catching in the translucent leaves and fragile, glassy petals to cast a veritable silvered-kaleidoscope of color on the pale paths around you. A gentle breeze stirred the gardens, sending a symphony of musical chimes swirling into the air.

A miniature version of the great crystal gardens of Praxus, or so you had read, instated in the reign of Solus Prime.

All around you was a whorl of color and sound, and it was becoming remarkably easy to simply lose yourself in it, allow your mind to wander, to let the quiet reverie wash over you.

And then-

At your right pauldron, a presence.

Megatronus.

He stood there, heavy, strong, unshakeable, and oh-so-focused, thoughtful optics locked on you as though he were an archivist, memorizing every detail, every move to catalog you for his own collection.

Heat crept through you, a pale cornflower blue dusting across your faceplate.

“Ah, Megatronus.” You stammered, thrown off-guard by his sudden attentions. “Are you enjoying the view?” You gestured broadly to the splendor of the garden around you.

But Megatronus’s gaze did not waver, still locked onto you with that single-sparked determination, except- something new flickered in those piercing optics. Something darker, something with intent-

“Yes.” His dermas pulled upwards, voice rumbling and certain. “Yes I am.”

Orion screamed into his servos as he wrote that final, self-indulgent line. It was a devastatingly simple trope, but one that never failed to make his knee joints wobble as though the sturdy metal of his frame had turned to jellied energon.

Orion Pax was a blasted fool.

A fool who was clutching at his chassis as if he was not the very same mech that had written the line in the first place.

A fool who had now immortalized the thought of Megatronus looking at him like that, speaking to him like that,

wanting him like that

.

A fool who was now overheating from the mere caprices of his processor.

Orion frantically pushed away from his workstation, pacing his habsuite with a harried gait in the hopes that some distance from his sins would alleviate their severity and the effect they had upon him.

The distance did not help.

He let out a miserable groan, dragging his servos down his faceplate. Not only did the distance not help alleviate the burning in his faceplate, but his processor only continued whirling. Megatronus in the gardens, Megatronus at the towers, Megatronus sitting awkwardly in one of those tiny chairs at the cafe down the street, Megatronus sampling energon candies, Megatronus gazing at the moons-

His processor was awash. He was somehow adrift and tethered, the siren’s song of his workstation and the narrator’s voice in him whispering to him that devastatingly simple question:

‘what happens next?’

It should have been enough.

A simple, platonic, totally normal, absolutely

not

yearning moment in the crystal beds of the gardens should have been enough. That should have been a satisfying place to stop, a way to tie this damned thing up with a metaphorical bow and put it finally behind him.

But…

But…

Orion’s optics flicked over to the glowing screen of his workstation where his draft sat, the cursor blinking in and out, in and out beckoning him back.

Moonrise.

There was still moonrise, and perhaps with a bit more of this type of self indulgence he could find the satisfying ending that seemed to elude him.

His pedes tapped lightly against the floor as he was drawn back to the chair before his workstation. His servos raised, digits splaying over the keys.

His logic systems screamed at him to get away.

The lingering part of Orion Pax that understood proper social graces shrieked in tandem with them.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Megatronus’s though- it purred deep in his helm, ideas for dialogue spinning into being.

And so, spurred on by the ideas practically overflowing from his processor, Orion lowered his servos and began to type.

“Chapter Two, Part Three: By the Inconstant Moons

The twin moons had risen and were nearly at their zenith as the two of you left the crystal beds, navigating to the epicenter of the gardens.

In the middle was one of the ancient treasures of the gardens, an artificial energon pool, made to mimic a naturally occurring spring, and with a delicately hidden set of jets along its side at the hour, the mechanism would activate, creating a shower of energon that drew quite the crowd during the day. Now though, the gardens were empty save for yourself and Megatronus, the wide paths silvered in the moonlight and the rippling reflection of the faintly glowing energon in the pools cast the whole scene in a soft, pale haze.

Yet nothing was softer than the way Megatronus looked at you.

You had caught him staring twice now, and each time more unabashed than the last, yet somehow you were the one to recoil with flustered apologies springing to your glossa. You had tried in vain to focus your attention on the night sky, the distant stars, the ground beneath you, the slowly opening, night-flowering plants- anywhere but at Megatronus.

But still, somehow, he drew your optics with an almost magnetic force.

You were captivated by the way his optics seemingly drank in the moonlight, the way his plating shone every shade of silver, the way his presence was drawing closer to yours, the way his steps outpaced your own effortlessly until the two of you stood with pede points practically touching in front of the energon fountain.

“The moons are unfaithful, you know.” He broke the silence between you with a soft murmur, and then cast his gaze upwards, at the twin moons, your watchful chaperones.

“However so?” You looked up at him, optics roving over the deep shadows his helm cast upon his faceplate.

His dermas quirked upwards with a hint of an amused smile. “They wax, and they wane. At times they cast their full face upon us and at others they leave us shrouded in darkness. Now the stars-”

He turned to you then, optics unspeakably blue and so so piercing that you felt as though you had been speared on his blade, transfixed, the very contents of your spark pouring down your plating as he continued.

“-the stars may shift with the motion of Cybertron below us, but they return. Each in their season they return, remaining constant, never wavering in their light.”

He was closer now, faceplate impossibly near to yours and you felt the world around you grind to a halt. There was something licking at the edges of his tightly reined in field, something unreadable and too vast for your processor to comprehend, locked on the closing distance between you and calculating every single motion of his frame.

“Would you not call that true devotion?” His voice was reverent, quiet, but still carried all the gravitas you had known it to carry in his speeches and in the arena. Still Megatronus just… softer.

You tore your gaze away from him and looked to the moons’ reflection on the surface of the energon pools, murmuring softly “I suppose I had never thought of it that way”

A shift rippled in the air.

He took a step closer.

And then his voice- scarcely above a whisper, low, rumbling, devastating-

“Then allow me to open your mind.”

Your entire frame stilled, vents frozen, optics wide, processor grinding to a shattering halt.

The moment stretched between you, long and delicate and tenuous. He was inexorably closer, the distance between you eclipsed by his frame until he filled your field of vision entirely, shadow falling dark and long across you. Your spark screamed and writhed in its chamber, a fluttering wingless thing.

There was a moment,

a whisper

, of hesitation.

A final moment to step back, to say some joke, to pretend that you had not just been effortlessly undone by a few mere words-

And then his dermas met yours.

It was not the kind of kiss written about in epics, nor the kind that came with millions of fireworks, this was not a breathless battle for dominance, no-

This was far softer than that: Gentle, calm, languid, reverent even.

This was a contract and you willingly signed yourself over to him, with a brush of his dermas to seal your fate, the moons and stars overhead your silent witnesses as the space between you closed, his frame and yours pressing together.

His claws traced over your dorsal plating, over your pauldrons, over your jaw, memorizing the slope and shape of you with an artist’s touch.

You ex-vented into the space between you as you parted, and he swallowed the sound as though it was precious with one last lingering brush of his dermas against yours.

And as the great clock at the heart of Iacon struck midnight and the energon pools began to send jets of shimmering liquid skyward, as the moons reached their zenith you stood, entranced, trapped and inexorably, irrevocably changed in the arms of Megatronus.

The skies opened before you and you swore- not by the inconstant moons, but by the pale hopeful stars that you would follow this mech into the very maw of the pit should he ask it.

But for now you remained in his arms, and leaning in for another kiss, and another until you were certain the number of kisses you had claimed from those silver dermas rivalled the number of stars in the skies above”

Orion hit the final period, leaning back in his chair with an absolutely gutted exvent. It felt as though he had pried loose a part of his emotional processing subunit and left it splattered across the screen of his workstation in the form of neat little glyphs in perfect 12 point Times New Cybertronian font.

The embarrassment of having spoken these words into existence was great, to be certain, but the catharsis of having expelled them? That was far greater.

He let his optics cycle a few times, trying to focus on something- anything- that wasn’t the still glowing screen of his workstation, taunting him with the words he had just written. He felt hollowed out and full at the same time, as though something had been expelled from the very epicenter of his spark that had been lodged there for far too long.

He had exorcised the burgeoning, fluttering, frantic emotions from him with an efficiency that startled him. And Primus help him-

It felt…

good

.

He sagged forward, the weight of two days without real recharge slamming into him with all the grace of one of Megatronus’s famed right hooks and with just as much impact. His processor was fried, there was a grainy quality to his optical feed that would not go away no matter how many times he cycled them and his frame suddenly felt heavy, as though the very energon in his lines had been replaced with liquid lead.

And yet-

His spark was happy.

Pleased and sated.

It settled into a strange sort of peace that Orion had not known since he had met Megatronus’s devastatingly blue optics that fateful night in the oilhouse.

And perhaps even before.

His vents stretched, a deep pull of air in and then an equally deep puff out, a sigh of completion.

This was it. This was enough.

Orion knew he needed to sleep. Now. Immediately. Before he slumped over his workstation and woke up the next morning with a devastating kink in his dorsal struts in addition to the existential regret he was certain was looming just on the horizon of his currently placid processor.

But first-

He had written this to

educate

. At least the first part would serve that goal. That much he could justify.

The rest?

He could deal with the fallout in the morning.

When he was better rested.

Without sparing it a single, rational thought, Orion Pax slapped the publish button.

He powered off his workstation.

He unplugged it from its power source for good measure.

He turned off the notification center in his HUD.

And without another single thought, Orion Pax, fanfic author extraordinaire, staggered to his berth, flopped unceremoniously onto the flat surface, and wrapped himself around his Megatronus body pillow like a sparksick newbuild, slipping into blissful recharge with a pleased, tired exvent.

Elsewhere the Databank burned.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The next morning came far too early, but for the first time in a while… Orion felt rested. His processor was humming and purring as he came online, cheerful pings from his HUD informing him that his systems were all powering on without any issue, his fuel level a bit low, but other than that, his HUD informed him that he was in perfect condition. His frame felt lighter, and every joint practically seemed to sing as he took stock of his systems. He felt downright unburdened, as though some great weight had been lifted from his spark overnight.That… That was nice. In fact, Orion Pax could not remember the last time he had awoken so utterly at peace. His internals were not thrumming with the near constant buzz of anxiety and stress and nagging deadlines for work, his frame was loose and languid and not at all stiff and if his internal calendar was correct, he didn’t even have a shift at the archives today, he could just rest and revel in this blissful warmth. Orion was cozy. His berth was comfortable, his plating warm from recharge, his frame tucked just right around this plush polycloth and-His optics cracked open, only to be met with the printed optics of Megatronus, half lidded and plastered across the pillowcase of Orion's custom body pillow. And suddenly everything hit him.His optics flew open fully as the memories of the previous night slammed into him with brutal efficiency. The fic. Oh sweet Primus, he had updated the fic last night. Orion groaned and pressed the base of his servos into his optics, flailing his pedes for a moment before allowing himself to flop back against the berth. This… this was fine. Wasn’t it?Of course it was fine!He had simply sat down to write a somewhat educational rebuke of a close-minded commenter, spiralled into something much less educational, poured his spark out into a document and somehow, somehow thought it was a good idea to publish the thing! 
WHY?
He was angry with himself for a moment before he recalled just how effective it had been at clearing and soothing his frantic processor. Despite his reservations, writing had… felt good. His spark certainly felt lighter. The catharsis the sheer action of writing had provided had been real . And besides, it wasn’t like it was bad. Other fic authors did this! They wrote and updated and posted thousands upon thousands of words about nearly every subject imaginable and continued to do it on a somewhat regular schedule! Orion was simply overreacting. His fic was a single drop in the veritable sea of works available, and there were certainly works far more questionable than his own. My Immortal Gladiator for example. Besides, with such a wide array of works to choose from, it was not like anyone really cared that he had updated last night… right?Orion slid his gaze to the silenced notification center in the corner of his HUD. Oh. 
Oh.
That was…. A lot of notifications. He should probably check that. He rolled over, unable to meet the optics of Megatronus even if they were just his stupid body pillow. This measure of avoidance was… perfectly normal. He was coping remarkably well. And furthermore he had no reason to be so avoidant! Orion Pax was an archivist, and this fic was simply cataloging a fascinating theoretical exercise. This fic was not a form of yearning. This whole writing process was purely academic, not weird or concerning in the slightest.And besides, Megatronus was never going to see it. This was not a mistake-It was simply a literary endeavor. A way to whet the blade of his processor in a  completely platonic-His eyes met half lidded piercing, printed blue on his Megatronus body pillow. Okay… so maybe it was a little bit not platonic. The flutter of his spark when he had written that final kiss scene still seemed to linger in his processor. But still! Orion was coping! He was putting these feelings aside like a good little mech and not dwelling on them in the slightest because talking to Megatronus while thinking about him like that AND writing fanfiction about him? Now THAT would be weird. And not academic. Orion needed to not look at this pillow anymore, it was mocking him. Orion snatched the pillow off of his berth and shoved it (gently, carefully, and with no real malice) face down onto the berth as if suffocating its smugness. There. Problem solved. Feeling only marginally less pathetic, Orion heaved a long, world-weary exvent and began the funerary march to his workstation. Time to rip the metaphorical medical patch off and see how bad the damage was. It took him a few moments to realize that in his exhaustion last night he had severed the power to his workstation. It took a few more to restore it. It took several more for Orion to stop pacing the floor of his habsuite and summon the courage to confront the predicament of his own making. He eventually managed it after several minutes of assuring himself that “This is fine. Your friends will never find out. It is a form of processing emotion. You are a well-adjusted and functional mech. This is fine.”  Before he could allow the apprehension to climb any further he scrolled straight to the already growing number of comments on Chapter 2. "Comment on Chapter 2 of “Towards Peace, Towards You”: @BlasterMaster: TWO UPDATES IN TWO DAYS? AUTHOR, ARE YOU WELL?!!"Orion was perfectly fine. He was. He was . "Reply to @BlasterMaster: @GladiatorGasket: is the AUTHOR okay??? Are WE okay??? I am physically UNWELL! That last line???""Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @FlawlessFinish: I need to reconsider my definition of romance, honestly. My Conjunx could stand to take notes. “Not by the inconstant moons but the pale hopeful stars” Author can you write him a manual? I want to hear these lines whispered into my audial.""Reply to @FlawlessFinish: @turbomirage777: Right? When i tell you i had to take a lap of my habsuite? The effect this has on my sparkbeat should be ILLEGAL. AUTHOR, THIS HAS TO BE ILLEGAL." "Reply to @turbomirage777: @Luna_Racerrr: This line right here, enforcer! “He caught your gaze, held it and he tilted his helm” I WANT MEGATRONUS TO LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. I WANT THIS. GIVE ME THREE SEASONS AND A MOVIE." "Reply to @Luna_Racerrr: @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: I HAVE SAID IT BEFORE AND I WILL SAY IT AGAIN, THE AUTHOR HAS TO KNOW MEGATRONUS IRL OR AT LEAST HAVE BEEN CLOSE ENOUGH TO SEE THIS EXPRESSION. LIKE? HOW DOES THE AUTHOR KNOW HOW MEGATRONUS SMIRKS? HOW DOES THE AUTHOR KNOW HOW HIS OPTICS FLICKER WHEN HE THINKS? This is INSANE." "Reply to @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: @LogisticalLoyalist: The Author writes as though they are observing Megatronus and simply transcribing his motions. I, for one, am in Awe." "Reply to @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: @GladiatorGasket: So not to say I told you so buuuuttt…""Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @turbomirage777: Right, right, that mystery mech from the oilhouse is the one who wrote this. I mean it makes sense. He said he was from Iacon right?""Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @TallG8: WAIT WHAT??? CONTEXT????" "Reply to @TallG8: @GladiatorGasket: OH right okay, so basically two days ago, I saw Megatronus at the oilhouse after his fight, and this tiny mech just went feral defending him. Like, full crash out, word-for-word what the fic says. And Megatronus? Grinning into his drink like it was the best show in Kaon. I didn’t think much of it until I read this, and now I’m convinced the author was THERE. Anyway, here’s a link to the original comment thread: [LINK EMBED]""Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @turbomirage777: Think the author was there? Speak for yourself! Some of us think the author IS the mystery mech." Orion groaned as he began typing. He needed to stop this growing thread, preferably before they managed to find his designation and habsuite address and potentially his archive credentials-"Reply to @turbomirage777: @OreeonPicks: and, as the author, I have repeatedly and vehemently denied such an assumption. All of this is merely coincidence and conjecture!"There was a moment of silence. And then a comment cropped up"Reply to @OreeonPicks: @TallG8: Okay… am i the ONLY ONE who is getting the crazy suspicious vibes off that comment?""Reply to @TallG8: @GladiatorGasket: Nah, mech’s in denial. Like… DEEP in denial." Orion was NOT in denial, these mecha were simply nosy about things that did not concern them and they needed to drop the subject preferably before Orion combusted! Honestly, the nerve of these commenters- Orion began tapping out a response."Reply to @GladiatorGasket: @OreeonPicks: I most assuredly am NOT in denial! I am simply addressing your baseless assertion with the passionate vehemence it deserves! Truly, do you have nothing better with which to occupy your time?" Three comments rolled in almost instantaneously."Reply to @OreeonPicks: @Luna_Racerrr: Nope." "Reply to @OreeonPicks: @Stick_ur_HotRod_in_me: Nuh uh.""Reply to @OreeonPicks: @LogisticalLoyalist: Negative." Orion cycled his optics once. Twice. Three times, just to be sure. He was being absolutely ripped to shreds in his own comment section . He continued to scroll, even as the comments continued. "Reply to @TallG8: @LogisticalLoyalist: But back to your original request for context, by my estimation two things are true: 1) This author is in love with Megatronus. 2) The connection between the author and this “mystery mech” grows more likely with each denial the author makes.""Reply to @TallG8: @WhirlyBird: Yeah! And if you ever feel bad about yourself, just remember: You’re not the one writing the most horrifically sappy description of Megatronus on the databank while potentially knowing him irl." The insult prickled and Orion felt his plating puff a bit in defense. The GALL! The AUDACITY! How dare this WhirlyBird insinuate…. That ? He was most assuredly NOT in love with Megatronus! This… literary adventure was simply a thought exercise, or rather a way to sort through his emotions in a constructive way! He was coping perfectly well and surely one more well worded denial would finally set theses commeters straight-"Reply to @WhirlyBird: @OreeonPicks: this is absolutely absurd! You have no evidence and furthermore, I am NOT in love with Megatronus! This is simply a thought exercise!""Reply to @OreeonPicks: @Luna_Racerrr: Oh yeah. Sure. Author DEFINITELY has platonic feelings for Megatronus and DEFINITELY doesn’t know him IRL."Orion sagged with a sigh of relief, expelling tension he hadn’t known was coiling tight in his struts with a puff of air though his vents. Finally, a commentator with some sense. He owed this Luna_Racerrr his very spark. At last he was getting through to them. See? See? He mentally called to the other commenters, This is purely a work of fiction wrought by the overactive imagination of one mech!  Indeed, these were perfectly reasonable, entirely theoretical and purely platonic musings that he had seen fit to pen. Nothing more and certainly not a cause for whatever suspicion these commenters were launching themselves into. Orion leaned back in his chair, triumph and relief mingling in a heady combination as he took another deep pull of air in.They would see reason. They would drop these absurd accusations. These commenters would see that all his feelings were normal and that this was purely a thought exercise and Orion was functioning perfectly well and-Something sparked in his neural net, logic systems whirring to life as he processed the comment in full. Oh.  Oh.  Oh, frag. That was sarcasm wasn’t it?A strangled, static-laced groan ripped from his vocalizer as he slotted that comment in with the others he had been frantically scrolling through. This commenter wasn’t agreeing with him. No, they were mocking him . And Orion had practically handed these circling cyber-vultures his very spark, exposed and spinning, on a platter for them to dissect. It was mortifying and he had half a processor to delete the fic now and be done with it-Orion’s optics were inexplicably drawn to a single, innocuous notification there in his HUD. His vents hitched. His optics cycled. He felt the fuel in his lines suddenly go so very very cold, the heat of his embarrassment slowly ebbing as the notification took his whole focus.Orion zeroed in on the sender, flashing like a beacon amid the sea of the backlog in his HUD.
From: Des: D-16/Megatronus

To: Orion Pax

::Going a full day without your messages has proven to be quite the ordeal. It is rather unprecedented::
It was time stamped for late in the night, and Orion grimaced that he had been fast asleep and notifications turned off for very good reason. Right below the message was another:
::I assume you have finally managed to recharge. Sleep well, Orion::
Orion felt a wretched, jumping sort of feeling beginning in his tanks. To think, he had ignored Megatronus for so long! Megatronus probably thought he was cold, indifferent or disinterested. That couldn’t be further from the truth, Orion was so interested it was practically woven into his lines. He penned a comm as quickly as he could. 
::Apologies for the delay in my response, my friend. You were correct! I finally indulged in some much needed recharge and am faring much better today! Good morning to you!::
My friend. My friend . Orion’s traitorous spark writhed and he felt the surge of disappointment at that moniker surge in his field but he tamped it down. That was the whole point of writing, right? To get this out of your system? Stop being WEIRD! Orion didn’t expect a response, especially after he had been so tardy to respond to Megatronus in the first place…But there was the ‘typing’ indicator. The message came through a beat later, and some part of orion simultaneously writhed in joy and squeezed in agony. 
::Good Morning, Orion::
Orion felt the stress bleed from his limbs, the earlier sinking horror of the comments fading to a pleasant background noise as he tossed another comm to Megatronus, unable to stop the besotted smile from slipping across his faceplate.(Excerpts below from the Comm Log between Orion Pax and D/16-Megatronus)
OP::Megatronus, I was reviewing your most recent speech earlier today. As always, your prose is inspiring! I couldn’t help but notice a particular turn of phrase - “the weight of a civilization is borne by the struts of the mechanisms it deems as menial”. That was a twisting of another philosopher, was it not?::

M::An excellent audial as always, Orion! I drew inspiration from one of the texts I most recently managed to acquire, a treatise from a mech by the name of Tomebyte.::

OP::Ah! A bold choice. Tomebyte is not known to be for the weak of spark. His circuitous logic and deconstruction of many of the then-reigning-Prime’s edicts make him a controversial choice in many circles as well. Did you enjoy his work?::

M::To be completely candid: it was rather dry. But I can see the appeal. Tomebyte was an extraordinary mech. His treatise on the nature of civilization was weighty, but most enlightening.::

OP::I am so glad to hear you enjoyed it! If you enjoyed Tomebyte, have you had much experience with the conundrum put forward by philosophers around that time surrounding the nature of Primus?::

M::Ah, the ‘Divine manufacturer’ Theorem! You never recoil from the heavy topics, do you, my little Archivist?::

OP::Of course not! The very nature of academic progress and learning itself demands nothing less.::

M::Hmmmm perhaps I owe you an apology then for calling you a coward after our first meeting.::

OP::Perhaps you do, Megatronus. But do not fret, you are already forgiven for any transgression in my optics.::

M::What a bold statement! Circling back to the subject at hand though ‘to forgive is to invite repetition, and to hope is to ignore history.’ Do you, as well as many of the laconian masses, ignore history in front of them?::

OP::Tomebyte again! You must have enjoyed his work to reference it twice in such short succession.::

M::Or perhaps, I mean to impress a certain archivist with my newfound knowledge.::

:OP:Well, you have certainly achieved that!::

M::You are far too forthcoming with your praise. Are all mecha in your company treated to these lavish declarations?::

OP::Of course not. But those that wade their way through some of the densest work of political theorization I have ever witnessed in the archives certainly deserve the praise and more. Not many know of Tomebyte beyond his reputation for verbosity, as it is well deserved::

M::You will find I know many things, Orion Pax.::

OP::Of that I have never had any doubt, Megatronus.::

M::Orion, You know, it is generally easier to function when one recharges properly::

OP::Megatronus, it is hardly my fault if you kept me awake with your, frankly, abhorrent opinions about the works of Rimeforge!::

M::Abhorrent? My opinions are correct. The works he put out into the world are simplistic and far inferior to the works of other, lesser known poets.::

OP::Oh? And which “lesser known poets” would you have taking Rimeforge’s place in the sparks of the populace? The melancholy Pinion, with his “quoth the avianoid, nevermore”? Or perhaps you are simply masochistic and believe more weight should be placed on Stratospark and his old cybertronian tragedies?::

M::So enjoying the cadence of old cybertronian makes one a masochist in your optics then?::

OP::Indubitably.::

M::Spoken with such emphatic certainty! I suppose, I should have expected no less, little archivist, especially after our first meeting.::

OP::Megatronus, that is hardly relevant-::
M::And however is it not relevant? It was, after all, such a nice experience.::
OP::I take it all back. You are not a masochist but a sadist of the greatest variety.::

M::Oh, Orion, A gentlemech never kisses and tells::

OP::This is hardly appropriate conversation-::

M::Hardly appropriate? Poetry is a collection of glyphs spoken from the spark in the throes of true passion, is it not? So the desires of the spark go hand in hand with such ardent expression. Now back to your futile defense of Rimeforge?::
 
M::Orion? Are you available?::

OP::Of course, Megatronus! What do you require of me?::

M::A favor if you would. I find myself rather stuck with a turn of phrase and I think another set of optics may be just what I need to finally conclude this section::

OP::Of course! I would be glad to assist. More than glad! Please send the file or section at your earliest convenience.::

M::[data packet attachment]::

OP::and which of this seems to be troubling you?::

M::the segment with the brackets, beneath the paragraph on the inevitability of conflict.::

OP::ah! I see it. Please give me a moment to look it over!::

M::take your time::

OP::I must say, Megatronus, patience is not a trait I would have readily attributed to you. The reputation that precedes you, especially in many Iaconian circles, is one of ruthlessness and single minded ferocity. So for you to calmly wait for feedback from one so insignificant as myself? It is rather… unexpected.::

M::Orion Pax, you are far from insignificant. I assure you, patience is in fact, one of my many virtues. But somehow many mecha seem to forget that. It simply fits with the image of ‘brawler’ they have conjured up, I suppose, that I possess a short fuse, incapable of waiting a few kliks. Theatrics of the arena and whatnot. Alas, Mecha do frequently see only that which they wish to- Particularly in Iacon::

OP::I assure you, I do not ascribe to such ideals at all. But for the sake of clarification, would you mind elaborating a bit on what you mean by Iaconian?::

M::I do not mind in the slightest. I have simply found that many of the mecha who dwell within the gilded city are limited in the scope of their perception in that they see only what is in front of them. It is rarely intentional, let alone malicious, but it does blind them to the growing issues before them.::

OP::I… apologize if I have given that impression, or been so limited in my own perspectives. I see you as nothing less than a spectacular conversationalist, a brilliant orator, a profoundly skilled sportsmech and if I may be so bold, a friend that I hold quite dear. If I have ever given the impression that I am as shallow or blind  as some of the Iaconians you refer to, I have gravely misspoken.::

M::You needn’t be so serious, little archivist. You have never given such an impression. But i do thank you for your clarification. However, even when you were fumbling over your words at our first meeting you have been nothing but extremely complimentary of me. Your character was never in any doubt. However my point about many other Iaconian mecha… that was spoken with the utmost sincerity.::

OP::I see…::

M::And I can practically sense your pout from here! Come now, Archivist, you have not upset me, there is no need for dramatics. Besides, your faceplate will stick like that if you continue to make that dour expression::

OP::How do you know what expression I am making?::

M::Hmmmmm call it an educated guess.::

OP::.... My faceplate will not stick like this. That is simply something told to sparklings to get them to behave. And I am quite upset with you.::

M::Upset? That will never do! Perhaps some sincerity will soften that grouchy expression?::

OP::....perhaps. Although I am hardly so shallow a mech that I will be so easily swayed with flowery words of praise::

M::Oh, you wound me! But if true honesty is what you require- I value your insight, Orion. Yours is a perspective that is both refreshing and honing. You are, frankly, a marvel. When I had first made your acquaintance, I had no idea the kind of mechanism I had encountered or that you would become so embroiled in my processor. I find myself craving your input on many things, from the mundane to the more pressing matters. You are pervasive, Orion Pax. Pervasive in my processor and in the words I write. And furthermore despite your comfortable upbringing and elevated caste, you do not shy away from the uncomfortable truths of our world, no, you launch right into them with a fervor that rivals my own.::

OP::you are… far too generous in your assessment of me, Megatronus. I am simply an archivist that possesses a passing fascination with philosophy.::

M::Orion Pax, you have quoted poetry of several different genres, political theory, historical texts, even the odd metareview of scientific literature simply to prove your points, some of which were in an extremely entertaining attempt to defend my honor. You have challenged me on views where we differ and honed me on views where we align, to the point where my speeches and indeed, my processor in general, is now sharper and faster, by virtue of simply having you as a thought partner. And throughout it all, even when we disagree, you regard me as an equal. You listen and engage with no presumption of your own, never once lording your status over me as many have done before. You are by no means, “just an archivist”.::

OP::That… is quite the compliment, Megatronus::

M::It is merely the truth as I see it::

OP::Truth or not, You regard me far too kindly and speak of me with far too much praise. I am merely a data caste mech with a penchant for arguing, Megatronus. You on the other servo? You speak like the generals you so often reference, words fluid and bright and the fact that I can have some part in them is beyond the scope of anything I had dared to dream. Your words are determined and resolute, and I have always admired that aspect of your speeches: motivating, yet determined. Succinct, yet filled with enough metaphor to keep my analysis subroutines busy for days at a time. You… You speak like a poet. Like a poet-general, as though you are preparing for battle, and summon your troops’ resolve with each stanza.::

M::Would it be so strange if I were? Resolve is needed for the future, and battle is an apt metaphor for what it holds. Any mech can see change is on the horizon. Perhaps I am simply preparing those who hear me, and hopefully stubborn little archivists, for the struggle it will inevitably bring::

OP::... Struggle? Battle? An odd choice of words, Megatronus. You make it sound as though conflict is an inevitability and not a possibility.::

M::Orion, you of all mecha should know. When in our world’s long history has change ever been brought about without strife? Real, lasting change is rarely born of comfort; it must instead be forged. And we are standing on the precipice now, the very world beneath our feet seems to shift a bit more with each passing day! You are not blind, nor deaf, do you truly not see the fissures in the unity the Primes seem determined to shove down our intakes?::

OP::I… I see more than you think, Megatronus. Your speeches have ensured that.::

M::I am pleased then, that they have served their purpose. But Orion, do you truly see? Or do you merely observe that which is convenient?::

OP::I… hope I am in the former. The divide is widening between castes, and the Primacy… while undoubtedly not blind to the issue, has done precious little to act upon it. Change is inevitable, as you say, but even knowing you may call me privileged, I do so hope that the change you allude to can be an easy one without the violence many seem to expect.::

M::You are an idealist, Orion. But I will not fault you for it.::

OP::thank you Megatronus. And for the record, while we are on the topic of sincerity, I was genuine when I professed your rhetoric as history in the making ever so long ago. I simply hope that I will remain online long enough to be able to archive your words with the care and honor they deserve and place them in the Hall of Records::

M::You flatter me, as always, but I readily admit I am greatly relieved to hear you do not find my stance entirely unreasonable, little archivist.::

OP::You are one of the most reasonable mecha I have ever met, most of the time. You can be a bit… grouchy in the mornings::

M::And you can be insufferable when it is past your recharge time.::

OP::And yet, you still comm me. What does that say about you?::

M::Vector Sigma, Orion, you are something else today. But back to the subject at hand: what of my pesky phrasing?::
 
OP::Megatronus?::

M::Good evening, Orion, it is rather late for you to be up. Is something the matter?::

OP::Yes. Well, no. well, not anything incredibly urgent-::

M::Orion, I am unable to assist if you do not tell me what is the matter.::

OP::yes yes quite right as always. It is just- do you truly agree with Tomebytes assessment of forgiveness?::

M::hmmm. A thought provoking question indeed.::

OP::Yet one that can be answered with a simple yes or no. But somehow I have a distinct feeling you are on the verge of writing me a treatise on par with Tomebytes own works::

M::you wound me, Orion. But for your sake I will endeavor to keep this to a reasonable length to appease the delicate sensibilities of your feeble processor::

OP::your feeble processor-ed archivist thanks you for your consideration::

M::hah! You are in rare form tonight, Orion! But nonetheless I would be remiss if I did not remind you that you are truly magnificently well read and scintillating company. But back to the question at hand: there exist transgressions that warrant forgiveness. Those include events born of happenstance, for instance a mech bumping into you in the streets, or an accident wherein neither party possessed awareness of the consequences. The key distinction there being that there was no intent to cause the harm that came from the action. Forgiveness is therefore acceptable in these cases. However, when an action is premeditated, true absolution becomes far more elusive… Remorse may be professed with the glossa and vocalizer but not truly felt. Many mecha seek to absolve themselves with words, but rarely feel true contrition in their spark. And as for actions that lie between deliberate malice and blameless misfortune- those where intent was present but consequences unforeseen, no universal system can fit each individual circumstance. Therefore, I suppose one should withhold judgement until the situation has been properly considered.::

OP::hmmmm::

M::you are beginning to sound like me, little archivist. I did not think my analysis so profound to render you utterly speechless::

OP::it is simply quite a bit to process! But I have questions::

M::I thought you might. It would take an act of Primus to render you entirely silent. It is, after all, one of the qualities I find most agreeable about you::

OP::you… like that I’m talkative?::

M::hardly a sufficient word for it! Loquacious feels far more apt. But only in the best possible way.::

OP::[static]::

M::Archivist?::

OP::back to the question at hand!::
M::loquacious and adorable::
OP::according to the framework you have placed, say a mech took an action which would be conceived as invasive against another mech - one they admire greatly.::

M::hmmmm such as surveillance? Or something more sinister?::

OP::nothing sinister! Just… perhaps using their likeness in an artistic work? Without their permission or knowledge?::

M::that can be very sinister, depending on the work. I require more context before exerting a final judgement::

OP::well purely for the sake of argument, assume that the subject is a public figure and a mech has rendered their likeness in an artistic form, which is then gaining traction::

M::Orion.::

OP::Yes, Megatronus?::

M::It is currently the middle of the night, and you have professed to being afflicted with an inability to recharge, and you are awake pondering the ethics of… fanart?::

OP::Not fanart! Simply… a creative representation of an individual’s likeness where the individual happens to be a public figure::

M::Orion, you have simply defined fanart.::

OP::I would like to unequivocally state that this is NOT about fanart. It is, as many of our conversations tend to be, purely within the bounds of the hypothetical::

M::Of course. And this purely hypothetical scenario is one that is evidently causing you enough distress to disrupt your already precarious recharge schedule?::

OP::I simply wish to hear your stance on whether rendering an individual's likeness without their express permission is an action worthy of condemnation!::

M::Very well. I think it would, once again, be entirely dependent on the intent with which the piece was made. For instance if it is a tribute, the intent is undoubtedly to honor. If such an act is worthy of condemnation, then nearly every artist that ever graced the face of cybertron would be guilty of this transgression, and I find myself rather fond of some of their works. However, if the work was made with exploitative, unflattering or even malicious intent that is another matter entirely. I’m afraid that without more context regarding the situation, and work, at hand, this is really the best I can hope to provide.::

OP::I assure you the work in question is not meant with malicious intent in the slightest::

M::So not malicious then? Interesting. And what of the subject of this rendition? Do they remain unaware of this work? I only ask for contextual clarification::

OP::Of course! I should hope that the subject remains unaware. Or rather, the work in question is one that is deeply personal and the creator would most assuredly prefer if it remained unseen, as the revelation of such a work to its muse would undoubtedly cause severe anguish for the creator-::

M::Ah, so the work is deeply personal. I see. Deeply personal and somehow also purely hypothetical. A fascinating study in contradictions, little archivist::

OP::Megatronus, you are twisting my words!::
M::I am doing no such thing, I am merely following the logic you have laid out before me. A deeply personal work of art, one that the subject remains unaware of, the subject of which is a public figure and per your original missive the work is recently gaining some notoriety, although you did not specify positive or negative. And furthermore a creator of which you have seemingly intimate knowledge, enough to hypothesize their intent, who would be mortified should this piece ever come to light- Oh, Orion , what have you done ?::
OP::NOTHING::

M::A single, bisyllabic answer. Growth, but not much.::

OP::I have done nothing. This is merely a hypothetical scenario!::

M::Hmmm of course. And if one were to peruse the net for the work central in such a “hypothetical scenario” what should the search terms be?::

OP::Megatronus, I swear upon Primus himself-::

M::At ease, little archivist. I merely jest. Besides, such creative works exist in abundance! I myself have several that depict my likeness.::

OP::Yes, but that does not mean they should be read by those they depict!::

M::Ah, so it is literature then. Fascinating. And here I was under the impression that we were discussing an illustration::

OP::I AM GOING TO RECHARGE RIGHT NOW::

M::Is that so? Quite a vehement avoidance::

OP::NO. GOOD NIGHT MEGATRONUS::

M::And a good night to you as well, little archivist. I wish you a pleasant recharge and sweet dreams to accompany it.::
Somewhere in Kaon, a gladiator found something he oughtn’t have, much to his delight.
M::Good Morning, Orion. I trust you had a pleasant recharge?::

OP::Quite! Although I have, in fact, been at the archives for several groons now.::

M::Oh? And what manner of delights does the Hall of Records hold for her favorite clerk today?::

OP::I would hardly be so bold as to call myself her favorite, but it has been a lovely day! I just engaged in a spirited discussion with a fellow archivist about historical revisionism, and the tasks for today are mostly complete, meaning my obligations will soon draw to a close!::

M::How wonderful to hear. But will you keep me wondering?::

OP::About what, Megatronus?::

M::Your stance on historical revisionism, of course!::

OP::Well, I should think it is quite obvious. As an archivist, I am a staunch defender of cataloging the truth in a form as close to objective as one can be. How else will future generations be able to accurately understand the full extent of their history if it has been sanitized to be more palatable for the public’s consumption?::

M::I see, I see. So all forms of revisionism are detestable then?::

OP::....I have learned better than to use the words “all” and “never” in your presence, Megatronus.::

M::Humor me, Orion::

OP::Fine. Then, Yes. All forms of revisionism are reprehensible and should be avoided at all costs.::

M::Well then dear archivist, what of artistic liberty?::

OP::What about artistic liberty, Megatronus?::

M::It is a form of historical revisionism, is it not? Many artists, and authors, take liberties with their subjects. Even when those subjects are historical, or even so called “history-in-the-making”. Do you find it reprehensible, then?::

OP::..... Megatronus you are being pedantic. And cryptic.::

M::Am I being cryptic? Or do you truly detest utilizing a historical figure as the basis for art? What if the figure was romanticized? Would you take umbrage then?::

OP::Romanticized? I-well, I suppose that would depend on the execution. If the work were respectful and well-researched, then it could serve as a means of inspiration for those who read it.::

M::Ah, so context matters? Fascinating::

OP::I fail to see how this is fascinating, I provided an objective answer to one of our usual theoretical questions::

M::A purely theoretical question. yes….::

OP::....Megatronus, this is beginning to feel targeted.::

M::Perish the thought::

OP::....does this have something to do with our earlier hypothetical?::

M::Ah, you mean the purely hypothetical scenario in which a mech created art using a public figure’s likeness and is purely hypothetically terrified the subject will find it? And whether such an act was worthy of forgiveness?::

OP::You and I have very different recollections of that conversation, Megatronus.::

M::that was not a denial, Orion.::

OP::Nor was it a confirmation::

M::Hmmmm, no, I suppose it was not. But it is… fascinating, isn’t it? How much of a creator can be exposed through their work? It is as though the words they write are a window to their spark. Their earnest, adorable spark.::

OP::Megatronus, I must ask what in Primus’ name you are referring to…::

M::Oh, nothing of note, just some fascinating literature I had the fortune of stumbling across just the other day.::

OP::....what nature of Literature?::

M::one might call it historical fiction? I rather would like to turn it into historical fact, though::

OP::I- that is certainly bold, Megatronus.::

M::A truly exquisite work, if I do say so. The prose is clearly filled with passion, the descriptions are detailed… and the subject is rendered in an almost adoring manner.::

OP::Well, there is no shortage of historical fiction for your perusal. It is a popular genre, after all::

M::Indeed. But… this piece stood out to me. It felt oddly… Personal::

OP::then the author must have been truly inspired by their subject::

M::Oh, undoubtedly. One might say they were even enamored with them::

OP::I do not doubt it. Many historical figures have quite the devoted following.::

M::How fortunate for some of them, to have such exquisite prose rendered in their name::

OP::....Megatronus you are being odd.::

M::Am I? Give it no thought, Orion. I am merely pondering::

OP::Well, ponder all you like, but I must return to my tasks. I owe a fellow archivist a rather large favor, it would seem::

M::A pity. I had wanted to share my analysis of certain scenes of the aforementioned work! The tension, the emotional spirals, the devastatingly detailed descriptions of-::

OP::Megatronus, I have to go!::

M::Of course, in typical Orion Pax fashion, you are called away just as I begin to corner you. You will not always be so lucky, little archivist.::

OP::This is not fleeing, I have obligations, as I stated before and at the start of this conversation!::

M::Of course. But do take care. You never know when your luck may run out…::

OP::Again with the riddles? Megatronus, you are insufferable!::

M::And yet you keep coming back to me.::

OP::GOODBYE!::

M::Until next time, Orion.::

OP::Good afternoon, Megatronus!::

M::and to you as well, Orion. How has your shift been thus far?::

OP::entirely unremarkable. And you? What had your day held?::

M::much the same. A morning spar, a match this evening with an opponent I am sure to triumph over. And unfortunately no wide-opticed little archivist sitting rinkside to catch my attention and make the match worth my while::

OP::you are far too generous with your praise, Megatronus.::

M::and you, it seems, are prone to repetition. I seem to recall making this exact point about a decacycle prior::

OP::And yet who among us consistently employs repetition in their speeches? If either of us is prone to repetition, Megatronus, it is you::

M::Ah, you are in rare form today, Orion. Has something gotten you in such high spirits?::

OP::Now that you mention it, yes! I recently had the privilege of working on a rather wonderful collection of philosophy and poetry.::

M::Orion if this is an attempt to get me to tolerate Rimeforge’s pedantic verses it is a feeble one indeed.::

OP::Far from it! This collection contained some of the early works of Diogenix. A recent excavation unearthed a previously-unknown snippet of his work, and as such, the hall of records has been aflutter trying to place it in the proper sequence with its brethren::

M::Diogenix? I was under the impression that his works were not permitted for the general public to peruse::

OP::Oh, far from it!::

M::How fascinating. All the works of his that I have seen have been heavily fragmented, with many sections missing. I confess my ignorance in this arena, as I have never read a complete work by the mech::

OP::Never?::

M::Not once in my functioning.::

OP::....would you like to?::

M::Where are you going with this, Orion?::

OP::Well… as an archivist I may or may not have a copy that I have saved for when I have to work on my personal workstation should you like to peruse it I would be more than happy to send it your way!::

M::I- Orion I would appreciate that more than you know.::

OP::Then think nothing of it! I think you will find it intriguing, some of the assessments of societal norms are almost poetic in their descriptions, and the logic is positively gripping!::

M::Well, with such high praise, How can I not look forward to reading it?::

OP::[data packet attachment]::

M::Hmmm this is far different from the few sections of his work I have seen. In particular, this line stands out to me: ‘when I look upon medics, and mechanisms of similar such learning, our race is fair and wise. But when i look upon the Primes, our race is foolish indeed.’::

OP::Ah! I thought that section might catch your optic! Are you aware of the historical context in which it was spoken?::

M::Not in the slightest. Please do enlighten me, Orion::

OP::Megatronus I must say, I am thoroughly scandalized::

M::Oh? Do tell, little archivist. Workplace pettiness? A neighbor perhaps? An errant comment on the Net?::

OP::Nothing so banal. You have been in possession of Diogenix's work for going on a full day now, and have yet to give me your final thoughts. I am thoroughly wounded. Gravely. Deeply. Mortally.::

M::Ah, such dramatics! Whatever shall I provide in recompense for this most grievous slight?::

OP::Your thoughts on Diogenix will suffice! I am most curious to hear what you think.::

M::Well if my little archivist insists. I found it largely compelling, the areas where he speaks about the nature of leadership were particularly intriguing. However towards the end, he began to take on a more resigned tone. A pity truly, his early work contained such fire, to see it reduced to such a state of cynicism was most disappointing.::

OP::Can you truly blame him, Megatronus? He witnessed the decline of two city-states in his lifetime, the assassination of a beloved senator and furthermore an economic recession. He was merely reacting to the world in which he lived.::

M::And what of you, Orion? Would you be content, like Diogenix, to simply sit idly while the world shifts and crumbles? To resign that idealistic spark to cynicism in the face of a shifting political landscape? Remain in your archives and watch the world move and change?::

OP::Megatronus that is quite the change in subject-::

M::I simply cannot see it. I simply cannot see you shackled to the halls for the remainder of your functioning. Your talents, Orion Pax, are absolutely wasted as an archivist.::

OP::Wasted? You flatter me, Megatronus, certainly, but this is the functioning for which i was assigned, and I am simply an archivist-::

M::Orion, you are not simply anything. Other than simply a fool for thinking so little of yourself.::

OP::And you are, as always, far too generous with your praise::

M::Not generous enough, I should think, if you continue to underestimate yourself. Something I will take great pleasure in correcting::

OP::Megatronus…::

M::Yes archivist? Would you not trust me to teach you? To inform you of how utterly brilliant and scintillatingly clever you are?::

OP::and now you are simply teasing.::

M::Perish the thought.::

OP::I do not believe you, Megatronus.::

M::You wound me, Orion. And after I have been nothing but honest with you::

OP::Honest? What you call honest I call hyperbole of the highest order.::

M::Hyperbole? I would never. If there is anything I have learned from our time together it is the weight of words. I always choose mine with great care, especially where our little chats are concerned. I would argue that I have exercised an amount of restraint that Primus himself would commend me for.::

OP::This is restrained?::

M::Would you care to hear the unrestrained version little archivist? I assure you, I could paint you with words so lavish it would put your precious Rimeforge to shame::

OP::That is entirely unnecessary.::

M::Is that so? Pity. I had so hoped to hear your arguments devolve into static like they did the last time I got under your plating like this.::

OP::You are utterly insufferable!::

M::And you are adorable when you are flustered. I can practically see the furrow in your little brow ridge from here:

OP::Good NIGHT, Megatronus.::

M::Retreating, hmm? Well then, sleep well Orion, and know that I will be dreaming of you as well::
The past few weeks had been absolutely blissful. Where Orion's schedule had formerly been a landscape of frantic stress followed by long, drawn out periods of solitude and silence, now he found even his quiet moments starting to take on the shape of Megatronus. Their comms exchanges had grown fast and frequent and now Orion awoke nearly every morning to the gladiator bidding him a good morning, and shuttered his optics to him wishing the same. It was… pleasant. At the beginning, shortly after that beloathed second chapter had been uploaded, Orion had been so certain that Megatronus had found him out that he had all but begged him for forgiveness. He had spent the first few exchanges scouring Megatronus’ every word, looking for even the faintest indication that he knew, but it had never come.And after enough time had passed, he allowed himself to believe he was in the clear. He had not, however, written anything since. It was not for lack of trying. Megatronus was… a scintillating conversationalist and at times was so suave and charming that it left Orion absolutely wrecked , spark fluttering and vents coming in gasps and the rumble of his engine emanating from deep in his chassis. But then, when Orion sat down to expel those feelings, to tamp them down through the written word, he found his processor absolutely blank, as though the seemingly depthless wellspring of words that had once flowed like bountiful energon had now, suddenly, run dry. Each time he had opened his draft on the databank, he had begun with some image fresh in his HUD, some feeling bursting from his transformation seams and then as soon as his servos hovered over the keys, digits splayed and in position, nothing came. It was unbearable. And the worst part was, Orion knew exactly why. He was fixated on the very real possibility that Megatronus could find it. That Megatronus would find it and worse that Megatronus would read it and then become disgusted with Orion and cease all communications and that whatever burgeoning relationship the two were now fostering would be ground into the unforgiving dust beneath Megatronus’s very shapely heel struts- And it was that particular brand of spiral which had poisoned whatever urge to create lay dormant in his processor, the thought of being cast aside, of losing this blooming banter they shared so horrific that Orion’s servos were stilled. So instead, he spiraled. Fixated. Analyzed every word Megatronus sent, every clever turn of phrase, every carefully constructed argument. The more Orion interacted with Megatronus the more he was struck by just how eloquent the gladiator was. His prose was elegant, even in the casual comms they exchanged. His rhetoric had a gravity about it that Orion had rarely seen outside of the ancient datapads he shelved and perused. His words, they were revolutions in their own right, each carrying weight. They meant something . He was deliberate, and funny, and somehow desperately, terribly clever-And with every comm they exchanged, Orion found some other facet of Megatronus’s personality that he hoarded jealously, placing them in a safe place in his mind, and slowly piecing together the puzzle that was his unlikely new friend. But the trouble with all of this mental labour was that it left precious little processor power for much else. Orion’s work productivity had dipped quite a bit, not into an area of concern, but enough so that the other archivists were starting to notice. The snide comments about “Pokey Pax” were quiet enough that they thought they were being subtle, but Orion had always had good audials, and well- whispers were loud as shouts in the hushed halls of the archives. Orion Pax was adrift in several aspects, but somehow with each aspect of his daily life that came unmoored, he found himself further and further tethered to Megatronus. When he was awake in the middle of the night, he was no longer alone. Megatronus also seemed to keep odd hours, so company in those still, quiet hours was a simple message away. And after every fight, Orion would hesitantly reach out, commenting on some aspect of the match itself and making sure that his friend was recovering well from the brutal physicality of life in the arena. Midday meal breaks were now spent exchanging jokes, or swapping poetry recommendations (Megatronus absolutely detested Rimeforge, which Orion found endlessly endearing. A poet who wrote about nature and its splendor, and Megatronus rebuked every syllable.)And sometimes…And sometimes they talked about politics.Those conversations always left Orion a bit uneasy.Megatronus was… well, his armor was made of shades of grey and silver, but somehow he saw the world in a very black and white sort of lens. Orion… he wasn’t certain what to think. He agreed with Megatronus on many points. And he knew that the actions taken by the primacy especially with regards to the citizens of Kaon had been reprehensible to say the least. He had actually been the archivist to work on cataloguing the shipment records of energon rations being sent to Kaon and well- He had a quick enough processor to know when something was up. Megatronus had never lied to him before and Orion might not have been a revolutionary in action, but with each passing day he found himself agreeing more and more with the rhetoric wielded in Megaotrnus’s many speeches. Change was coming. That much was certain, something was shifting. Megatronus, determined and fierce of spark seemed set upon confronting it head on And with the growing crowds at each and every one of Megatornus’s speeches and the headlines which seemed to shift day by day- Orion was a bit concerned when the subject shifted to politics. But beyond politics, the discussions of history?
Oh, the history.
Orion had always known Megatronus was brilliant- any fool with functional audials could tell as much from his speeches alone. But knowing it and being on the receiving end of his multi-paragraph comms about the texts Orion cherished? That was something else entirely.Their conversation on Tomebyte’s works alone had spanned a decacycle, Megatronus picking apart the dense prose with the same precise ferocity he wielded in the arena. What had started as simple literary discussions had evolved into something much deeper - a back-and-forth of philosophy and debate and historical events that left Orion breathless in the best possible way.Megatronus’s hunger for new texts was insatiable, fixating on the language of old legal codes, losing himself in the structure of government put forward by old philosophers, analyzing line after line of works by senators past and present- and Orion was simply happy to be there alongside him, debating and conversing and bantering as though they had known each other their whole functioning rather than just the few decacycles they had actually. But Megatronus didn’t just take; he offered in turn.For every obscure treatise Orion dug from the archives, Megatronus had another to counter with. Spoken poetry from Kaon, old histories from Vos, even a shanty from the civilizations that bloomed around the Rust sea long ago- treasures Orion had never before seen, even with his near encyclopedic knowledge of what the hall of records contained. . “I think you will find this interesting” Megatronus would write, and Orion always did. The texts, and occasional songs, were thrilling, raw and unfiltered in a way that had Orion’s processor whirling with each new turn of phrase, sampling the unfamiliar words as they rolled across his glossa and finally expanding the horizons of academia beyond the hallowed halls of his post. Orion Pax was learning.Learning and growing and beginning to understand. Beginning to see as Megatronus put it. his processor was more alight than it had ever been, save perhaps the guilty self indulgent scrolls of the databank he would indulge in when he felt particularly lonesome. The prose on the databank was… wonderful, but no match for the speeches Orion had been helping to form. Megatronus’s speeches had grown, not only in length but also in fervor. Orion couldn’t deny the flush of pride that always swelled in his spark when he saw some indication of their discussions in the woven rhetoric, inklings of their late night debates scattered like stars in the sky: a phrase here, a reference there- all coming together before a growing, rapt crowd. Their discussions were growing longer, the speeches louder and Orion felt honored to be the theoretical whetstone for the blade of Megatronus’s ideals. Because that was all this was, just theory!And if Megatronus occasionally asked for specifics: which Prime had enacted a decree, more historical context, the key players in certain ancient political maneuvers, the outcome of certain legal codes-That was just his insatiable, wonderful processor at work, wasn’t it?Orion found himself scouring the news more often these days, if anything just to see some report of what was happening, some recording of the movement that Megatronus was building in Kaon, but it was the same things day in and day out. Entertainment news about holo-dramas, sports news about the gladiatorial circuit and strat ball, the political news indicating nothing but the shining era of prosperity that Zeta Prime had made his hallmark. The recordings of Megatronus’s speeches these days were few and far between and Orion had sometimes had to settle with a blurry recording taken by an observer, encrusted with sonic interference that made his finials twitch if he lingered on it too long-Orion huffed as he scrolled through his datapad. All that wonderful rhetoric and it was trapped in Kaon. It was buried by the sheer volume of the rest of the news cycle and any passing mention was hastily drowned out by other, trendier stories. Orion had to hunt to even find recordings, and he knew where to look!Did other mecha?Regardless of the deplorable state of what passed for journalism in Iacon, the notifications were plentiful. And between them and the incessant pings of his fic, still garnering attention from fans even these many weeks later, he had set a filter on his notifications, only allowing direct pings from his internals or comms from trusted contacts through. It was a system that had worked remarkably well thus far and he perked up when he received a comm from Megatronus. It was… rather early, usually Megatronus was still embroiled in his afternoon commitments at this point in time, but today he had commed Orion nearly a half groon early!Orion opened it with a flutter of lightness in his spark, hoping for a continuation of their earlier discussion. Megatronus and Orion had been in the midst of a spirited debate around free will and the authority of Primus when Megatronus had been called away. Orion had spent most of the time since his last message turning Megatronus’s points over and over in his processor and was now reasonably confident that he had found a sufficient rebuttal. Oh this would be delectable, Megatronus was always so entertaining when he was backpedaling in their little verbal spars, it had Orion wondering what his faceplate looked like at those moments when he read them. Did he gasp? Did he worry his derma between his dentae? Did he grin like he did before almost every match, that wicked, assured thing that never failed to send Orion’s spark spinning on its axis like a crazed dwarf planet orbiting a dying star? Surely not. He was far too dignified for such an immature reaction. But still, Orion was eagerly awaiting that argument to continue as he opened the comm. 
From: Des: D-16/Megatronus

To: Des: Orion Pax

::Good afternoon, Orion::

::And a good afternoon to you as well, Megatronus! You are earlier in your return than usual, are you that eager to concede regarding our earlier discussion?::

::HAH! In your dreams, perhaps. No, I merely concluded my commitments in a far more timely manner than usual. I actually have a query to pose.::
Orion hummed, penning a reply with an inquisitive tilt of his helm.
::Whatever might it be? We have already covered much of the questions you originally had found from the most recent work we analyzed, unless another one has sprung to your mind.::
The reply came nearly immediately. 
::Nothing so academic. I will simply be in Iacon in approximately a decacycle for a guild event and I should like to visit you while I am there.::
Orion’s world ground to a shattering halt.He very nearly dropped his datapad.Megatronus? In Iacon?The Iacon where Orion lived?The Iacon where Orion breathed, existed, and currently sat, panicking?Oh.
Oh, sweet Primus.

::I- yes. I shouldn’t have a shift that day. I will be available::
Available. Orion was certainly available. He could have had lunch scheduled with Zeta Prime himself and he would have found a way to be available for Megatronus. It had been so long since he had seen Megatronus. It had been so long since Orion had felt the careful prickle of that reined-in field, the solid weight of Megatronus’s arm looping around Orion’s waist, the brush of Megatronus’s helm against his audial- his sensitive finial catching on the ridge of Megatronus’s plating-So long since he had heard that wonderful voice, so long since their contact had been more than just glyphs spelled out over a comm, so long since Orion had been set off his axis, spinning wildly about in the gravitational pull that Megatronus exuded. So long since he had felt the rumble of engines at his side and felt so wonderfully, perfectly, challenged , so evenly matched, so seen , so heard-  Orion would have moved skies above and cybertron below him if it meant he could see Megatronus again. He let out a wistful puff of air through his vents, optics unfocused and hazy as he stared off into the distance, pleasant daydreams supplied by his processor spinning and tumbling into existence. A notification cropped up:
::Excellent. And please know, I expect nothing but the finest from my own personal tour guide.::
Orion’s entire neural net seemed to freeze. His logic intake dropped open and his processor suddenly was flooded with notifications of rising internal temperature, before he remembered to vent, the rush of air starting to help the errors abate. But Orion still wanted to shriek.That…that was a line from his fic.The fic that he wrote.The fic that Megatronus should not, under any circumstances, have any idea existed.Did… did he know? No, that was simply impossible. There was no way. Megatronus should have no idea about the fic, and even if he did, it was hidden behind an anonymous user ID, and as long as he didn’t read the comments, it could easily be attributed to someone that was not Orion penning the damn thing!Orion could save this. He could . He just had to play it cool. Cool and casual. Like he was a functional mech with a functional processor and not, a walking catastrophe on the verge of overheating in the corner of the break room at the archives and glitching out so catastrophically even Ratchet wouldn’t be able to bring him back from the brink-
::A- A tour? I would be more than happy to oblige but… where would you like to see? Iacon is a large city and with only a day I fear I must strategize where we spend our time.::
Orion was not in fact playing it cool and was certain he was about to explode at any second.Megatronus responded quickly however, and it somehow went from bad to worse-
::Well I had rather hoped to see the Hanging Towers, they are quite famous, and perhaps the gardens? But I will defer to your exquisite guidance, Orion.::
OH FRAG. HE KNEW.No. No, nonsense. Of course he didn’t.Those were very popular locations. Practically rites of passage for any tourist! Total coincidence . Orion’s digits trembled slightly as he replied.
::Ah of course! Those are well documented points of interest! I will be certain to include those on the tour!::

::So I have heard. And please… Do not put in too much extra work on my behalf. So long as I am in your company, I am certain the visit will be wonderful indeed.::
Orion let out a gutted, half-wheezing noise of total despair, burying his helm in his servos and massaging the aching metal with his splayed digits. Megatronus was coming. Here. to Iacon. And, inevitably, that meant he would probably see Orion’s habsuite - where Orion lived. His personal space. His home .And Orion’s habsuite looked like a fragging shrine. There were posters on the walls, shelves of figurines, framed holo-cards, that damned tapestry , a collection of plushies and Vector Sigma, a custom body pillow- He…. He needed to clean. He needed to clean now. Primus spare him, he just hoped he had enough closet space to store it all. Because if Megatronus caught a glimpse of how much of a disaster Orion Pax actually was?He would be well and truly fragged.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Megatronus was in an excellent mood.

He had just placed the final punctuation mark on the speech he had been grappling with for days. The glyphs were neat and orderly and, most importantly, approved by Soundwave. His stoic friend had applauded the cadence, citing its rhythmic nature as “compelling” and the content as “sufficient” which, for the quiet mech, were tantamount to the highest of praises.

And Orion Pax - brilliant, eloquent,

utterly besotted

Orion Pax- had been effusive with his usual glowing approval.

It was precious, Megatronus mused, that the archivist was so enthusiastic about the speech when he had been instrumental in its formation. Megatronus was loath to admit reliance on any other mecha (outside of Soundwave, of course) but Orion had quickly become indispensable.

Editing was now no longer a solitary activity, the long lonely nights spent agonizing over rhetoric were now punctuated with Orion's quick wit, his input, his

presence

. The evenings that before would have tempted Megatronus to seek a berth mate- if only to stave off the chill of isolation - were now blessedly less lonesome.

In short: Orion Pax had woven his way into Megatronus’s functioning with admirable efficacy.

It was almost dizzying how quickly something so seemingly small could shift his mood so drastically.

And speaking of dizzying-

Orion Pax certainly was. He was blindingly smart, witty enough that he had Megatronus on the defensive more often than not in their little debates, and frequently posed queries that set Megatronus’s arguments reeling, only for him to then piece the logic back together, stronger than it was before.

It was…. delightful. 
He was… delightful. 
It was, after all, not every day that a gladiator heard his praises sung not for his physical prowess in the arena, but for his intellect. And in a crowded oilhouse, following a match, from the vocalizer of a higher caste mech who clearly had no idea what he was doing - but was so confident in his points nonetheless!

Adorable.

The memory still made him chuckle.

Orion was a marvel, Megatronus had come to find, in more ways than one. Even after he had swept the little mech away from the prying optics and too-attentive audials of the oilhouse, Orion had babbled - the flow of words so vast and quick that Megatronus found himself wanting to reach for something with which to take notes several times during their conversation.

Primus

the things that came from that little archivist’s vocalizer!

He was brilliant.

Architecture, philosophy, rhetoric, rhyme - thrown about with the ease of second nature. Megatronus could count on one servo the amount of times a mech had engaged with him on that intellectual level before. But this was the only time the mech had looked upon him not as an amusing turbofox doing some form of a trick, but as an equal.

Or perhaps-

something more.

Orion had practically gazed at him with stars in his optics and yet-

His clever little archivist remained elusive.

It was… thrilling.

Orion was quick, witty and somehow pranced just out of reach of Megatronus’s verbal snares. Megatronus was used to his conquests being like his matches of late in the arena: an assured victory and over with quickly.

Orion Pax was definitely an assured victory - the fluttering nerves and sheer glowing admiration in his field were blatant indicators of just what he thought of Megatronus-

And yet- he had certainly not been conquered quickly.

Or at all.

Megatronus ought to have been enormously frustrated, bordering on impatient, really. But with Orion Pax?

The chase was proving well worth the effort.

And now here he was - bordering on absolute victory.

Orion Pax, brilliant and loquacious archivist, was absolutely tripping over his own pedes in attempts to impress Megatronus. It was absolutely

adorable

. He had become bolder, of late, responding with barbed words, bordering on flirtation, and then quickly backpedaling as though to diminish the sheer ardor in his words.

As though it was any use.

Megatronus could see his true intentions and had already decided-

He would have Orion Pax. The archivist would be his.

Megatronus had been subtle to get to this point.

Painfully

so. The territory of wooing a mech with a great distance between them was not one that Megatronus was familiar with in the slightest, but he had risen to the occasion beautifully, if he did say so himself. Philosophy had become inexplicably intertwined with praise, flirtation and poetry, rhetoric and romantic lines overt enough that Soundwave had learned to make a new face to express the depths of his disgust.

And Orion-

Orion was responding beautifully.

He was interested, plainly so, despite his insistence on that painful moniker of “My dear friend” that he plastered in their communications. It was no matter though, that would change soon enough.

Megatronus was certain that he could sway Orion fully once he saw him again.

And not only could he sway Orion-

He could ply him as well.

The little archivist had, after all, quickly become his top source for inside records and information for the burgeoning counterforce that he was assembling to challenge the cruelties of the Primacy in Kaon.

It had started simply enough with an unabridged work by Diogenix, for which Megatronus remained most grateful, but since then Orion (the absolute marvel that he was) had somehow managed to procure legal code, histories and in one case, records that had all but confirmed the diversion of Energon meant for Kaon. It was… an unprecedented and overwhelming victory for their little movement and he had Orion Pax to thank for it.

And he certainly intended on thanking him. Wooing him. Taking him apart slowly and intimately until the little data-class defector was crying his designation and his plating was crackling with charge, ozone so thick in the air Megatronus could taste it-

His comm pinged.

From: Des: Soundwave

To: Des: D-16/Megatronus

::Plans for trip to Iacon complete. Work to continue despite absence::

Megatronus hummed thoughtfully as he tapped out his response.

::Thank you Soundwave. Efficient as always.::

::ദ്ദി ( ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ ) Megatronus. Query.::

He sighed. Knowing Soundwave this was probably something pertaining to the plans for the days he would be absent. Something to do with scheduling, security, surveillance- something utterly mundane. It was odd though, that he hadn’t led with the question before proclaiming the matter settled.

::Yes?::

::Pertaining to Orion Pax::

Ahhhh there it was. Ever since the pesky (and deeply amusing) matter of that little…

literary endeavor

Soundwave had uncovered, he had been extraordinarily skeptical of the little archivist, calling his intentions into question at any given opportunity. Megatronus had no such reservations and simply found it adorable. And flattering. But mostly adorable.

To think, his little archivist longed for him so terribly that he sat down at his workstation in the dead of the night and composed veritable poetry about the depths of his intelligence, and odes to the brush of his dermas. It was oddly earnest. And so very helpful.

Orion Pax had almost written a road map to his own seduction and Megatronus fully planned to exploit every syllable of it.

But first he had a loyal, if insufferably skeptical, friend to answer-

::Yes, Soundwave?::

::Orion Pax: Oblivious.::

::That was not a query, my friend.::

::( ｡ •`ᴖ´• ｡)::

::I jest, I jest. What is troubling you?::

::Orion Pax:: Oblivious. To both romantic advances and involvement in rebellion.::

Megatronus laughed.

Certainly not! He had been blatant in both of those regards. Orion Pax would have to be denser than a neutron star to have confused his attentions as anything other than blatant interest. And as for the intelligence Orion had been providing? Surely Orion was aware of the interests he was serving. Megatronus had been more subtle there, but that was out of necessity. He had certainly

implied

his true aim. His speeches, their discussions, all carefully maneuvered to assess Orion’s allegiance. And Orion had sided with the revolution every

single

time Megatronus steered the conversation in that direction, despite his stubbornly idealistic nature.

So truly, it was as obvious as the sun in the sky. Someone as smart as Orion surely would have noticed-

::Nonsense. Orion Pax cannot be so foolish as to be unaware of my intentions on either front::

::Megatronus: blinded by sentiment. Orion Pax: Dense. Orion Pax: Unaware of revolution, unaware of intentions. Query: Has he confirmed involvement in revolution or acknowledged potential of courtship?::

Megatronus bristled. He hadn’t acknowledged it

per se

, but he hadn’t outright denied either!

::That is irrelevant, Soundwave. He is sympathetic to our cause and furthermore even if he is not aware of the intent behind our communication, it will be made perfectly clear by our visit!::

::Megatronus: Has seduced an oblivious, overenthusiastic librarian. Soundwave: deeply disappointed in Megatronus’s taste in mecha.::

Megatronus let out a startled wheeze of laughter.

::I have not seduced him
yet
. Give me a few groons once I get to Iacon::

The reply was almost immediate:

::... (=_=;)::

Megatronus chuckled to himself as he closed the comm, a pleased rumble beginning in his chassis as he recalled the feeling of Orion tucked against his side. So warm. Warmer than expected. So pleasant.

The mech had been so pliant, so impossibly sincere. His field had been worn so wide and expressive that Megatronus had practically been able to taste it, and it left his circuitry humming with the desire to feel it again, that little prickle of nearness and sheer

admiration

Orion seemed to always exude.

Soon. Soon he would Be in Iacon, and Orion would be under his arm and that adoration would finally shift to the abject desire that he knew Orion undoubtedly felt and all would be right with the world.

Megatronus’s smirk returned. He simply could not wait.

Orion was decidedly

not

in a good mood.

His morning had been frantic, last minute cleaning and straightening and - most importantly -

hiding.

It had consumed the entirety of the time usually spent on his rare days off diving into a new book or comming Megatronus. Usually little commitments like this cropping up were irritating, causing Orion to sulk inwardly but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset at the disruption in his routine.

This work was far too important.

And now Orion stood before his great adversary:

The storage closet in his habsuite.

It was a small thing, lined with shelving along the walls. Ordinarily, this was a purely utilitarian space, where Orion kept spare cushions, sheets, absorbent polycloth- the mundane trappings of daily life. But all of it had been shoved unceremoniously to the side (and in some cases dropped in a pile onto the floor) to make room for his great work:

Making his habsuite look normal.

It had taken three days for Orion to find enough time to clear out all of his Megatronus merch from shelves.

It had taken another three to find ways to repurpose the backlit display case in his living room (it currently was repurposed as a shelf for his ever-growing “to be read” pile of datapads, half of which were Megatronus fic at this point),

And the final three days had been spent removing every framed print, various ornaments and commemorative ribbon from the walls - leaving them bare and positively minimalist.

Orion had hated it.

It had looked… sanitized. Cold in a way he had not attributed to his habsuite since he had first occupied the space. It had sent a prickle of unease through him and threatened to distract him, threatened to draw his attention into the looming spiral of the precious trove in front of him-

But he had to resist.

Orion was so close to his objective, after all. His figures had been carefully arranged on the closet shelves, spaced just far enough apart to prevent the delicately painted plating spikes from brushing together and chipping. His holocards, in their frames and binders, were stacked lovingly in the corners. And the accursed body pillow had been shoved precariously into the back, Megatronus’s printed form grotesquely warped by the unfortunate angle.

The closet was full to bursting.

Orion braced as he stepped over the swaying piles of what would not fit on the shelves (his tapestry for one, and the collection of plushies he had plucked from their resting place by his workstation), but he eventually, by the grace of Primus, managed to escape the closet.

Except now the door wouldn’t shut.

He tried again, tugging it with all his might-

And YES! The latch creaked as it engaged, groaning against the sheer volume of contraband lurking just on the other side of the innocuous panel.

He let out an exvent of relief as he stepped back.

One day.

That door just had to stay closed and hold for one day.

But with a habsuite that, now devoid of merch, looked more akin to a cell than a dwelling, Orion had found salvation in an unlikely source.

Orion thanked whatever eddies of Primus’s will he had pleased to wind up with a friend like Jazz.

Jazz, who miraculously had not asked questions when Orion had said he needed help. And furniture. Jazz had merely showed up, lamps and a small crate in tow and smiled with far too many dentae as he began the journey to make Orion's habsuite “less fragging hideous”.

Orion Pax took great offense to the assessment of his habsuite as “hideous” as even before his abrupt redecoration it may have been a bit… busy, but to call it hideous was a step too far. But all reservations aside, Orion had to admit, Jazz had certainly come through.

The overhead lighting, which Orion rarely used, was now dimmed to something much less harsh on the optics, and the space was suffused with a soft violet glow from the lamps Jazz had painstakingly arranged. A subtle scent of fresh polish and something sweet wafted through the air, emanating from the tiny mysterious cube Jazz had placed in the corner. He had smacked Orion’s servo away when he touched it, more of a blow to the pride than anything. The wall hangings Jazz had brought “to cover that horrible tapestry so you don’t scare off whatever mech you’re trying to impress” were not at all something Orion would have ever picked for himself, but… he had to admit…

They looked fetching.

In short: everything was as good as it was going to get.

Orion gave his habsuite one last critical look, and seeing nothing of note, closed the door behind him and began the walk to where he and Megatronus had agreed to meet.

Orion Pax was going to purge his tanks.

Every single step seemed to cement that fact into his processor, his frantic whirling thoughts and lack of a morning refuel coming together to tie his internal lines into intricate knots.

He was seeing Megatronus.

Again

.

The

Megatronus.

The famed Champion of Kaon.

The mech that delivered the greatest speeches Orion had ever seen in their era.

The mech that he talked to until early in the mornings.

The mech who asked about his day.

The mech who made his spark writhe whenever his designation cropped up in Orion’s notifications.

The mech that he most

certainly

did not harbor romantic feelings for.

He….he could turn back. That was still an option. Retreat into his habsuite, pass all the pretty trappings Jazz had painstakingly helped him arrange in preparation for this visit and crawl into the storage closet where his collection  was safely ensconced and not come out for at least a vorn-

But there he was.

Megatronus looked just as Orion had envisioned, cutting a striking figure as he stood on the sidewalk, optics roving over the wares displayed in the window of a nearby shop and hunched slightly as he perused. His plating was magnificent, silvered and freshly buffed, red accents gleaming like the thready light of dawn and Orion felt something traitorous and eager flutter in his spark.

His frame responded of its own accord, dashing across the street without even looking both ways (unconscionable), and bounding towards Megatronus with a raised servo and a joyous cry on his dermas.

Orion barely had time to slow before he was upon Megatronus. Orion’s field was filled nearly to bursting with sheer jubilation, worn wide and earnest and open as he screeched to a halt at Megatronus’s side. He hinged slightly at the hip to catch the gladiator’s gaze, words tumbling from him faster than his processor could even register them.

“Megatronus! Primus, You’re- You’re here! It has been so long since I saw you last! Well, of course I kept up with your matches on the net, but you, of course, know precisely what I mean! It is… It is simply marvelous to see you!”

Megatronus looked down at him, optics twinkling a depthless blue. “I am indeed here, Orion. Did you think I was but a figment of your overactive imagination?”

Orion had most certainly thought that a few times.

After all, it was so unlikely that he, a mere archivist, had somehow caught the attention of

the

Megatronus. And yet, here he stood. All towering and gleaming and oh-so-real in the midday light-

He chuckled, a low lilting cadence to his voice and Orion felt his knee joints go all wobbly in a totally normal and extremely platonic way.

“You’re staring, little archivist. Or are you simply appreciating the view?”

Oh Orion was appreciating the view all right.

The view was magnificent, all swells and spikes and curves tapering into a waist so slender that Orion was certain there had to be legal precedent that made it positively criminal to look that good. He had admired that form on his holopads before, and had certainly appreciated it but seeing it again? This close? Orion was going to blow a gasket by the time the day was up.

“I- I was simply admiring the-” He trailed off as Megatronus shifted his hips, plating making the subtle

shink

of well oiled components as the gladiator placed those magnificent, clawed servos on the flared jut of his hip struts and Orion felt his intake suddenly go very

very

dry.

Megatronus followed his optics and raised a brow ridge with a knowing smirk. “And to think, I have already rendered you speechless this early into our time together. I wonder what comes after this stammering. Will you begin to deflect? Turn a shade of blue to rival your optics? Or perhaps even-”

Megatronus lifted one of Orion’s servos, deadly,

wicked

claws curving around the delicate circuitry and lines on his wrist. And those same claws skated reverently over the delicate metal, entrancing, mesmerizing,

hypnotizing, romantic-

“Sputtering?” Megatronus’s voice was cool, deeply amused and entirely too sure of himself. And entirely too pleased with the way he could effortlessly unravel Orion pax, notoriously strait-laced archivist and evidently, a fool for a gladiator.

Before Orion’s rapidly overclocking processor could process the movement, Megatronus brought Orion’s captive servo to his dermas, pressing the joints of Orion’s digits to his dermas that- Orion’s frantic processor most unhelpfully supplied- were impossibly plush. It was a simple, elegant gesture, and not a single mech around them had even shuttered an optic in their direction at it having taken place.

It was Orion’s undoing.

Orion’s vocalizer let out what could only be described as a strangled, static-laced whine, something akin to a turbofox crying while also somehow mixed with those ceremonial vosian horns he had heard of in his research. It was a most undignified sound. And an utterly mortifying one. And, altogether wholly unnecessary!

This was simply a form of greeting. An antiquated one, and one rarely used in polite company anymore, but a form of greeting nonetheless!

It was simply Megatronus being polite, that was all there was to it.

Orion, as usual, was simply overthinking.

He frantically dismissed the internal pop-ups warning him of increased internal temperature, rising charge past his usual parameters, engines increasing output, cooling fans on?

He indicated ‘NO’ on that last one with a bit more force than was necessary, his HUD winking a displeased green as the notification blinked out of existence.

Megatronus had not moved to release Orion’s servo, instead regarding him with a look that Orion found he could scarcely parse the meaning of. The shadows of his strong Brow ridges made the illumination of his optics that much more pronounced, the whorling hexagonal depths cycling and dilating and roving over Orion as though he were something to be marveled at.

An absolutely preposterous thought.

“Megatronus, I-”, Orion reset his vocalizer, but his words were still staticy and far too tremulous to play off the turmoil currently being waged against his internals by his companion’s attentions: “I am most certainly not doing any of those things!”

Megatronus squeezed Orion’s digits for just a moment before he drew back with an amused tilt of his helm. “Lying does not suit you, Orion.”

Orion felt some manner of witty, perfect wonderful retort brewing on his glossa, but all that came out was a startled squeak and an, admittedly, spluttering “I am NOT-”

But his dignity was saved by an unlikely source.

And also doomed.

Because there was suddenly, with a cry of “Oh sweet Primus, it’s YOU! Champion Megatronus!” a small femme, about a helm and a half shorter than Orion, between them. She was bright yellow, and accented with startling purple paint, standing on the points of her pedes as she struggled to gain enough height to catch Megatronus’s optics.

“Can- Can I get a picture with you?” Her little voice was high pitched and hopeful and Megatronus simply inclined his helm like a gentlemech from one of those old holo-films that Orion sometimes watched on days when he was feeling particularly morose.

Why, Megatronus didn’t seem put out at all, just graciously rumbling out an “of course” and donning a public-worthy smile.

Orion moved to slip away, tugging his servo from Megatronus’s grip, but the mech was too quick. He darted out his other, freer servo and nestled it in the small dip of Orion’s dorsal struts, tugging him closer, and thoroughly trapping him

Not helping.

Not helping

at all

.

The fan held up her datapad, her little, rounded finials twitching with emotion and snapped a few pictures, before turning to Megatronus and beaming. “Thank you so much!” She tucked her datapad back into her subspace with a giggle and as she practically skipped away called over her shoulder plate “and you two have a good date!”

Orion’s world crashed into a singularity the likes of which would make a black hole seem like a passing blip.

Because while his frame was locked, frozen in place as his processor raced and whirled at this new possibility, Megatronus simply tightened the grip on his lower dorsals.

And did not correct her.

Orion made a noise. A very undignified noise. A noise that had Megatronus looking down at him with another tilt of that damned helm, like he knew some divine secret and could see straight into the very core of Orion’s spark as easily as he could raise a blade. But Surely, anyone could see this was not a date! They were simply two mecha enjoying each other’s company and Orion had to make sure that the leaving femme knew that!

He called after her “This is NOT-”

Megatronus silenced him with a tug on Orion’s lower back, pressing the side of Orion’s hip against Megatronus’s warm plating. “Come, Orion.” He smiled down, a disarming beautiful thing. “We have quite the day ahead of us.”

The sincerity in his expression made Orion pause.

Because Megatronus,

the

Megatronus, the mech who could have been on a date with someone far prettier than Orion, who could have had a legion of berthwarmers clamoring for his attention, who could have brought an entire arena of mecha to their knees, he was not laughing.

He wasn’t smirking, wasn’t teasing, wasn’t prodding at Orion’s obvious panic-

No, he was simply looking down at Orion with that same calm, patient, attentive expression as he had worn back in Kaon when they had met for the first time. He was… resolute. Unshaken.

As though the fan’s assumption didn’t require challenging in the slightest.

As though it wasn’t worth acknowledgement, as though it were a truth universally acknowledged, as though it was only natural-

Orion swivelled his helm down to hide the growing splash of blue across his cheeks and pointedly stared with wide optics at the ground between his pedes.

Orion made a decision in that moment. The best, and only, way forward, his processor supplied, was simply to pretend that it had never happened.

He squared his shoulders and looked back up at Megatronus, pulling his field in tight to keep the frantic spinnings of his spark from spilling into the space between them.

Yes, this was the only logical course of action.

Because this simply wasn’t a date!

It wasn’t!

No matter how much the little voice in the back of his processor would like it to be.

This “Not a date” was so far panning out to be a disaster.

Orion morosely tabbed through his meticulous, color-coded itinerary with dismay. He had planned this visit down to the nanoklik, from what transports they would need to board, what time certain establishments opened, what time tours were conducted (He had further penned an entire fourteen page document of just corrections to what the tour guides would say, in addition to his own musings and thoughts about the various locations he had selected) all the way down to what time certain areas would look the most appealing, factoring in the sunlight and the reflections from any surfaces around them.

He did not know why he was going to this length.

Except that he

did.

He wanted so

so

badly to impress Megatronus, to show him the sights of Iacon, to see that perfect silver faceplate as the processor behind it whorled and analyzed and dissected the world around it. Orion wanted rinkside seats to Megatronus’s musings, to his thoughts, a window to his very spark- his own spark fluttered traitorously at that particular prospect, a surge of unneeded affection and

longing

surging through his field. He clamped it down tightly to avoid Megatronus noticing.

And so Orion tabbed back to the main component of his little dossier on his handheld datapad, thumbing over its rounded corners with a long suffering sigh.

He had spent nearly every spare moment this past decacycle (when he wasn’t panicking, pacing the stacks so often that his coworkers accused him of training for a race, taking deep vent cycles to keep himself from going absolutely insane, or, on rare occasion, actually doing his job) throwing himself into planning with a fervor that had surprised him.

Orion Pax was known to be efficient, but this was a level beyond the pale of anything he had created. It was a masterpiece, timed, intercalated with links to create a master hub of all the information Orion could possibly need while out, complete with a curated collection of political theory, historical records, legal codes, and a medical journal he had badgered Ratchet into procuring him a copy of so he could properly cite his assertions in the inevitable instance of conversation with Megatronus slipping into debate.

He had not even gotten the chance to use half of them.

Because every time their conversation had flowed, finally settling into a familiar rhythm, there came another fan, all starry optics and completely disregarding Orion as they surged forward to beg for an autograph, a photo, and in one case a particularly zealous fan begged Megatronus for his comm frequency, which he politely declined. Orion had felt a surge of vicious vindication at that one, a secretly pleased smile slipping across his faceplate and his field reading cheerful enough that Megatronus had commented on it as the fan slunk away, autograph and stylus in hand.

Orion had simply played it off as excitement about the next part of their schedule, and simple happiness to have his dear friend in Iacon.

Megatronus seemed convinced, but there was an intensifying of the smug grin that had seemingly been plastered on his faceplate most of the day, and his field had belied nothing but a distinct sense of pride.

And now, Orion sulked.

Megatronus was at his side, long strides slowed to a mercifully, more Orion-friendly pace as they entered the gates of the gardens.

They had been meant to be here two and a half groons ago, and Orion kicked at an errant bit of gravel on the path with a bit more force than necessary as he mentally re-arranged the remaining items to maximize the time he still had with Megatronus.

And hopefully to avoid as many of the blushing, grabbing,

vapid

fans that had been so intent on taking his Megatronus’s optics away from him-

Orion shook his helm.

No, that was foolish! He was not Megatronus’s anything, other than acquaintance, thought partner and maybe, if he was particularly lucky, friend. He stamped those thoughts down with a beleaguered sigh and looked up at Megatronus.

He had come to a standstill about a pace and a half from the magnificent energon fountain at the center of the gardens, and from this angle, Orion could not see his faceplate, but his posture and his field gave him all the information he needed.

Wonder. Analysis. Skepticism. And then that prickling frustration that Orion knew all too well. Megatronus had found an injustice, had found something to rail against, and Orion quickly tabbed over to his sources to prepare himself.

For a debate.

Not for a kiss, despite what he had written about this very location just a few decacycles prior.

Despite how much his processor was insisting - screaming, really - that he activate his internal recording feature to capture every moment so he could cross reference the event against his writings. Vector Sigma, he needed to get a hold of himself today.

He dismissed the notification with vigor. This was a friendly outing, and he simply did

not

need to record! Why would he? A friendly outing did not require such detailed analysis at a later date.

He was acting foolish again.

Megatronus’s gaze was past the fountain now, faceplate tilted further upwards towards the spires of Iacon’s skyline. Orion came closer, taking a natural place at his right side and looked up, peering below the shadow of his companion’s helm to scrutinize his expression. Megatronus was unreadable, placid, but for the furrow between his brow ridges.

Orion knew that look.

He had seen it multiple times today, and he had just about surmised its meaning.

Megatronus had an

opinion

.

No sooner had Orion had this realization than Megatronus began to speak.

“They…. Waste so much energon. On

this

.” His voice was measured, even, and to an outsider it would have betrayed no emotion, but Orion had known Megatronus long enough, and had spoken with him enough to learn to read the heat simmering underneath that tone. “Kaon’s rationing grows tighter by the cycle, and Iacon squanders limited resources on

this?

”

Megatronus gestured broadly to the gardens stretching before them. The beds were lush and filled with carefully manicured flora, and Orion knew from experience they remained that way year round, despite the tilt of Cybertron’s axis resulting in a subtle shift in climate that should, in theory, have caused fluctuation in the plant life. But through the power of the architects and botanists and other mecha that supervised the place it was kept flowering and verdant - perfect, crystalline, delicate blooms always open and budding.

Megatronus was right. The resources that went into this place were significant. However, Orion had in fact predicted this line of questioning, and further, had predicted Megatronus’s stance. He had a rebuttal.

Sources

, even. They were somewhere in this datapad-

He looked up at Megatronus as he flipped to the tab that contained the “light reading” he had packed. He felt his unspooling words unravel in his processor, thoroughly distracted by the image before him. Megatronus looked so… majestic standing there. So

tall

. Objectively Orion knew that the height difference between them was not that significant - he was hardly a minibot - but the difference in their frames always felt so stark when seeing Megatronus like this. He was strong- strong and luminous in the golden sun, the points and sharp edges of his heavy armor rendered soft by the gentle light of the early evening.

Oh.

Oh

no.

Orion felt the urge to write well up in his digits, the urge to

immortalize

this moment washing through him like an almost physical compulsion. His traitorous systems rebelled against him and before he could stop or trigger a manual override - Click - image captured.

Megtronus’s expresion shifted into an inquisitive, unbearably smug grin as he tilted his helm and swivelled down a bit to meet Orion’s gaze. “What is this? No rebuttal? I expected more of you, Orion.”

Orion scrambled to collect himself.

“I- I do have a response! Not a rebuttal, per se, but a few points to consider and-” He rambled, aimless words flowing from him as he tabbed through his sources. He had written about four pages on this very subject in preparation- it was past the poetry, in the orange tab-

Ah HA!

Orion held up his datapad, nearly smacking himself directly in the crest of his helm in his haste. He began to read, smiling as he saw the embedded abstracts below his argument. “There are numerous studies, I have pulled several of them for our discussion today, that have established a link between lowered stress responses and green spaces especially in urban areas! Admittedly, I do agree with you that efficiency in the use of energon in such spaces should be improved, however that is by no means a justification to remove them entirely and-”

Megatronus took a step closer.

Orion’s glossa stilled as his vocalizer let loose a startled bleat of static.

He cycled the offending component several times as Megatronus hinged at the hip and leaned over Orion, caging him in with his sheer bulk, despite not actually raising a servo.

“Are you

reading

at me, Orion Pax?”

Orion was. But that was entirely besides the point, by the Pit, he had prepared for this, and he had enough sources to back himself up that he would undoubtedly be able to communicate himself effectively!

“I am simply utilizing sources to ensure my argument is sufficiently supported with evidence. And I happen, as you said, to be reading a prepared statement.”

“A prepared statement? For a walk in the gardens? You act as though I am a visiting dignitary, or someone of such renown. I was sincere when I said no extra effort need be taken at my behest.”

Megatronus had said that. Orion remembered it vividly.

He had read those comms more times than was probably normal.

But was it so wrong, was it so

abnormal

to want to impress his friend? Surely not.

Megatronus took a step closer.

“You are lecturing as though I were a student, showcasing knowledge about subjects you are well-versed in- Orion Pax are you

showing off?”

No!

Well, yes,

But No- Megatronus didn’t need to know that-

Megatronus took another step forward.

Orion mirrored, taking a hesitant step backwards.

“Of course not!” His denial came out a bit squeaky, but Orion pressed onwards, “I am simply citing my sources and practicing proper academic communication with the ultimate goal of sharing knowledge with one who will be able to use it wisely-”

“Is that what you think, little archivist?” Megatronus chuckled, optics alight. “That I will use your knowledge wisely?”

He pressed forwards again, something dark and unreadable fluttering just out of reach in his field and Orion instinctively stepped back.

His pede met nothing but air.

He felt, rather than saw, his world begin to tilt, his balancing gyros whirling frantically to right him as he felt his frame begin to lurch towards the ground. This was it, this was how he died, not from the fall, no, from the catastrophic embarrassment that would surely come from falling directly on his aft in the middle of a public place with Megatronus as his witness-

He braced for impact, squeezing his optics shut and tensing his struts.

The impact never came.

Instead, he was suddenly warm. So warm.  Held suspended, weightless, vulnerable even as the points of his pedes barely touched the ground. The sudden fall backwards had disoriented him a bit and his gyros were still calibrating. They helpfully informed him that he was falling, falling,

falling

- but he wasn’t. How odd.

He cracked open his optics.

Megatronus had…

Oh sweet Primus, Megatronus had caught him.

Megatronus had both arms wrapped around Orion, one splayed out across his dorsal plating, each point of contact of his clawed digits sending pure charge racing through Orion’s plating. The other servo- the other servo was braced on his hip, digits squeezing ever-so-slightly, gentle enough that Orion barely registered it as he took in the grim, horrific reality of what faced him.

Megatronus had not just caught him-

Megatronus had dipped him.

Was currently dipping him?

Tenses and words were suddenly very very hard as his processor was currently melting into slag from the rising core temperature of his frame.

Megatronus had him in an

undeniably intimate hold

in

public.

In the gardens.

With mecha all around. Whispering, observing,

judging

mecha-

But his logic systems, the parts of him that urged him to struggle out of that hold, to preserve his dignity at all costs, paled in comparison to the notifications coming from his sensory net.

Megatronus was holding him close, close enough that Orion could feel the delicate puff of air from the vents along his sides. Megatronus’s servos were cradling him like something precious, Megatronus was looking at him with those

stunning

optics, and that

damnable

smirk, and-

Oh sweet Primus.

That was a servo on his aft.

That was a

servo

on his aft.

That was

Megatronus’s

servo on his-

Orion’s cooling fans clicked on all at once, overriding the manual controls in his HUD, an eager, deafening wall of sound erupting from his vents as the hot air was expelled into the space between them. He could

hear them

, giddy and delighted, as they broadcast his embarrassingly flustered state to the world, and worse- Megatronus, with seemingly no regard for self-preservation.

That…That servo placement had to be accidental. But the effect it had had on Orion’s frame was undeniable.

Maybe Megatronus hadn’t heard?

Maybe the fans weren’t as loud as Orion thought?

Maybe there was still hope-

Megatronus’s expression shifted, determined and fond smile slipping into a wicked, knowing,

amused

smirk.

Oh frag.

He definitely heard them.

And then Orion felt the squeeze this time, Megatronus’s servo trailing downward, the slow, deliberate brush of claws along the delicate plating of his aft, as though Megatronus were mapping the very shape of him-

That was undoubtedly intentional.

That was without a doubt deliberate.

Orion sputtered.

“Lets-” his voice crackled with static, cutting him off. He manually reset his vocalizer, praying that his frame would not embarrass him further. “Let’s just pretend this never happened.”

Megatronus simply arched a brow ridge, not loosening his hold in the slightest. His optics dragged slowly downward over Orion’s frame and then back up, analyzing, drinking him in. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Orion’s fans surged.

Oh no. Oh no no

no-

Orion’s processor whirled with anxiety about what he could mean- No, he wouldn’t forget? No, he wouldn’t forget and would hold it against Orion for being so ridiculous that his fans would kick on when Megatronus simply caught him?

But there was the servo on his aft- Orion was certain he wasn’t imagining that sensation, considering the servo was still there-

No, Megatronus would not let him go? That was hardly logical or practical, no there was another meaning? No, Megatronus would not forget this because he wanted Orion in the same way that Orion wanted him? In the same way that Orion’s desperate cooling fans had practically screamed from the rooftops?

Megatronus had been teasing Orion all day, free with his touches, tugging Orion to his side at every given opportunity, gazing at him as though Orion were the best thing in the city, despite the marvels of Iacon all around them that Orion had carefully selected to impress him. Despite the whole city and legion of fans vying for Megatronus’s attention at every turn. Megatronus was flush against him now, field warm and prickling against Orion’s own, no barriers, no restraint, no

accident-

“Megatronus-” Orion began, pesky static once again encroaching into the tones of his vocalizer. His cooling fans started to surge again, in response to that vicious, unhelpful part of his processor providing him with the

most unhelpful fact

that Megatronus was holding his full weight aloft as though it was nothing. As though Orion, though not a small mech, weighed no more than a handheld datapad.

“No.” Megatronus repeated, completely unrepentant. His optics gleamed as he righted Orion ever-so slowly.

Too slowly

. His gaze lingered, as did his touch, keeping Orion pressed firmly to his chassis, the planes of Orion’s front flush against the smooth silver plating of his armored chestplate. He lingered in Orion’s space, allowing Orion to feel the sheer strength in those arms, that frame, tightening his grip almost imperceptibly for just a moment before finally -

finally

- releasing him.

Except for one fleeting, ghosting brush of a servo across the curved plating of Orion’s aft as he let the archivist go.

A fleeting brush that most certainly was

not

accidental.

Orion felt his processor return to a state of near glitching out, notifications of increased core temperature and activating fans and elevating charge springing up in his HUD as though they had never left, and Orion groaned, covering his faceplate with his servos in an effort to hide the mortification he felt at his frame betraying his interests. His ridiculous,

unrequited

interests. His dignity lay in ruins and his cooling fans had sold him out and Megatronus was looking at him like he was the most entertaining thing in all of Iacon.

Megatronus, damn him, just chuckled and stepped back, finally giving Orion the blessed space he needed. “Well, we have a garden to explore, little clerk. Or would you like me to lead this particular leg of our tour, given that you can barely keep yourself upright?”

Orion felt as though his joints would give out at any moment, as fragile and wobbly as a newly forged cyberbuck.

What… What was all of this?

Megatronus had to be joking. That was all this was, all this had to be, this was simply a game to the gladiator, or perhaps a Kaonian custom to be more…. Tactile with one’s acquaintances? That had to be it.

Cultural differences.

That was why Megatronus’s optics were so deeply hungry, and so full of intent when he looked at Orion. That was why all day Megatronus had pulled Orion close to him for each and every photograph a fan snapped, as though proclaiming to the world that Orion Pax was to be seen at the side of Megatronus. That was why he had shared the last of the energon trifle at lunch when Orion had confessed to skipping his morning refuel due to a nervous tank. It was all a game, it was all cultural differences.

Because if it wasn’t-

Orion mumbled a decidedly undignified series of curses under his vents and trudged forward, pulling the next set of sources from his collection on his datapad.

This was certainly

not a date

. There was no way. But regardless, whatever it was, it was most certainly not going well.

This date was going well.

Exceptionally well.

Well enough that Megatronus was practically preening as he followed his archivist down yet another glittering, Iaconian street.

It wasn’t due to the surroundings, no. He had simply been pleasantly surprised. He had been expecting sneers. Thinly veiled disgust. Poorly masked whispers as he passed. He had seen a few of those, yes, but what he had seen more of?

Admiration

.

The mechanisms of Iacon had recognized him. Recognized him as a gladiator, to be certain, although a few of the mecha that had interrupted him had whispered little snippets of his speeches back to him, as though speaking in some kind of hidden language. His reputation had preceded him. His reputation as an orator, his reputation as a mech of knowledge, his reputation as one who should be heard- he was being heard in Iacon of all places.

And Megatronus- he was greatly pleased by that fact.

Here he was, a

filthy disposable

as many had spat at him, here he was in the gilded city, settling into its joints like a drop of much needed oil, blending in and slipping through and standing tall and proud amongst the mecha that had been declared

his betters

. Standing tall and proud and swaying a few to his side with only his words.

His power was growing, his influence blooming and Orion Pax?

Orion Pax would stand at his side, a sheathed dagger in the form of a mech as he continued his work.

And speaking of his little archivist-

Orion Pax had certainly not disappointed in the slightest. He had created an itinerary of all things, ensuring he would be able to show Megatronus as much of Iacon as possible. The day had been filled with architectural marvels, needless opulence and passing stares, and interruptions, of countless mecha, and yet, Megatronus found himself only passingly engaged.

No, his focus was on Orion.

His little archivist-turned-informant was a marvel, taking to spywork as easily as Megatronus had taken to literature, barely an indication in his words or field of his revolutionary activities. Soundwave might have competition.

He hummed, allowing himself a moment to bask in his satisfaction as Orion prattled on about the histories of the gardens they had just visited, referencing the Praxian elements with enough fervor that passersby seemed to give them a wide berth. Megatronus had been right about this little clerk, it would seem.

Orion was intelligent, beyond a doubt. Passionate, undoubtedly, but above all? He was

receptive.

Oh, the little archivist might insist otherwise, might cling to those shining, hopeful ideals like a lifeline, might try to keep their debates to purely the realm of theoreticals, but Megatronus knew the truth. Orion was already one of them.

Orion was a member of their little force in all but name, a fact that Megatronus could certainly remedy very easily enough. After all, Orion was simply

so easy

to lead.

Everytime Megatronus made a comment about the inequality rampant in their society, no matter how subtle, Orion rose to the occasion, agreeing with him emphatically. Everytime Megatronus alluded to the failures of the caste system, Orion would consider, tilting his helm just so and then take the argument a bit further, following the subtle trails of the argument Megatronus had so carefully laid. Every time Megatronus pressed a bit further, Orion did not pull back. No, he

leaned in

.

He hadn’t needed to lie, twist, manipulate- No, Orion had practically tumbled into his lap, all wide, earnest field and clear optics and so

so

clever. And above all- So

his

. Megatronus knew it was only a matter of time before he had laid claim to the archivist entirely.

After all, it would be simple.

Orion

liked

him.

Beyond just a gladiator, beyond an orator, beyond the

dear friend

that Orion consistently referred to him as in their comms-

No, Despite Orion’s sheer insistence on that ridiculous moniker, Megatronus knew the truth. He had seen admiration before, he had seen his fair share of adoring masses. He had even felt the ardent hero worship that came from some of his…. More devoted fans. He had felt the prickle and rush of those fields, hard and fast enough to nearly knock him off balance. But Orion- there was something deeper. Something beneath the admiration. Something even deeper still underneath the bond that was blooming between them. Something that he could practically taste with each cutting comment that Orion volleyed at Megatronus. Each playful jibe, each quirk of his dermas into that little smile-

Orion Pax was his.

Or as good as.

Soundwave would be most impressed to know how little time it had taken him to thoroughly sway the little archivist. And of course by impressed Megatronus of course meant thoroughly disinterested.

Which only made it all the more enjoyable.

Megatronus activated his comm.

From: Des: D-16/Megatronus

To: Des: Soundwave

::Good afternoon, Soundwave::

The comm pinged almost immediately.

::Megatronus: distracting with pleasantries. Query: Mission status, subject: Orion Pax::

Megatronus looked at the little archivist in question, still lecturing about the latter half of the reign of Solus Prime and her plethora of social works. His optics were shuttered, but for a moment, a single digit held into the air. He opened them again, the delicate components around his optics cycling as they dilated, his bright components catching the afternoon light and his smile widened imperceptibly as he regarded Megatronus.

Every inch the besotted, perfect, pliable clerk Megatronus had come to Iacon to see. The guild event, while important to his continued work to ensure his fame was a component he could leverage, was a secondary objective.

Before him stood the first.

::Mission status: spectacular. Orion Pax is proving most accommodating::

The answer came but a nanoklik later:

::Elaborate::

Megatronus looked back at Orion, at the way he swung his servo in a wide arc to indicate the passage of time. At the way those little pauldrons hitched up whenever he was preparing to make a particularly vigorous statement. At the way he imperceptibly shifted his weight from pede to pede, swaying those hips that had been blessed by a merciful Primus himself.

He felt a smile tug at his lip plates as he penned a response.

::He is charming. Earnest. Passionate. Eager to impress me. I am nearly certain I have captured his affections::

There was a long pause. Then:

::Context: Romantic or Revolutionary?::

Megatronus smirked.

::Yes.::

::Megatronus: difficult::

::Fine, if you must know, Orion Pax has all but laid the path for his own conversion. And he has done so beautifully, might I add. Have I told you recently how expressive he is? How his field lights up when I so much as say his name? He is absolutely adorable, Soundwave. Irresistibly so.::

::Megatronus: Obnoxious::

Megatronus chuckled to himself.

::I think you mean “successful”. Orion Pax is as good as mine::

::!!! Megatronus: has confirmed Orion Pax’s official involvement in revolution and confirmed reciprocated affections?::

Megatronus winced. He had…. Not had a chance to confirm either without a shadow of a doubt. They had been in

public

most of the day, Soundwave surely must understand.

::Not as of yet. But soon::

::Megatronus: inefficient. Mission Status: in jeopardy::

Megatronus rolled his optics.

::I will tell him when the moment is right, Soundwave. He is so close. I just need a little more time. And privacy::

::Megatronus: Deluded. Orion Pax: besotted fanmech with passable writing skills. Not revolutionary::

Ah, and

there

it was.

::You’re simply upset about the fact that Orion Pax is far more useful than you originally gave him credit for. You were incorrect in your assumptions, dear friend::

::Assessment: Incorrect. Soundwave: Unimpressed with Orion Pax. Megatronus: allowing flattery to cloud judgement. Orion Pax: Writes indulgent prose about your dermas. Evidence: Available.::

Megatronus nearly choked on the rush of energon in his lines.

He did not need the reminder.

He had read and re-read that little work so many times it was practically seared into his memory banks.

Orion Pax was a compelling writer - painfully earnest, shamelessly poetic, and whose turns of phrase were effective and evocative. The work was… a

touch

melodramatic,

yes

. But Megatronus had read far worse. This however, he had read. And re-read for research purposes prior to their little visit.

And besides, he should probably not be thinking of said work when Orion was right here in front of him, innocent as anything, field pushing sheer contentment and joy, smile earnest and soft and completely unaware that Megatronus had found every single word that Orion had penned about him.

::I fail to see the issue, Soundwave. He has already written odes to my intelligence prior to once mentioning my dermas. Clearly he is halfway in love with me for my processor, rather than my frame::

::Megatronus: intolerable. Orion Pax: not a revolutionary. Merely obsessed.::

::Perhaps. But if that were the case, then the obsession should have faded with our prolonged absence from the other’s side. Why then, is Orion Pax following me so easily?::

::Coincidence. Stronger obsession than initially assessed. Poor taste.::

Megatronus couldn’t control the muffled wheeze of laughter that slipped from his dermas then.

Orion turned to him, all earnest optics and inquisitive tilts of his helm.

“Megatronus is everything all right?”

Adorable

.

“Of course, Orion. Simply a friend from Kaon checking in.”

Orion nodded, rocking back and forth on his pedes, waiting patiently for Megatronus before continuing.

::I will prove you wrong, Soundwave. Orion Pax will be swayed, with minimal effort, and will continue to be an invaluable asset. Mark my words. I will need them for gloating later::

::( ¬▂¬)::

Megatronus closed the comm, attention drifting back to where it should have been from the start.

Orion was smiling at him, so sweet and open, as though Megatronus’s very presence was the only thing that brought him joy. He pulled up the itinerary on a datapad he had stored in his subspace and pointed at the next entry. Some energon confectionery that Megatronus was only passingly interested in.

But he would follow Orion there, and he would gladly endure whatever askance looks he would undoubtedly garner, if only to keep that field warm and open. And later, once the time was right, perhaps in his hotel suite, perhaps in some dark corner of an alley, perhaps in an oilhouse that was sufficiently welcoming to the disposable caste- Orion Pax would be truly his.

It was only a matter of time.

Time had flown far too quickly.

Before Orion Pax had known, the day had slipped behind them, the ever burning eye of the sun slowly lidding into the ruddy pinkish hues of sunset. It was beautiful, the streets beginning to clear as mecha filed dutifully back toward their places of rest.

In fact, Orion had barely known that time had progressed as quickly as it had, only realizing when the light began to shift and change color and when he had pulled up his itinerary, typed neatly out on his datapad.

He frowned, feeling a strange tug in his spark.

Truly, that could not be it, there was so much more to see, so much more to do-

He looked up at Megatronus, who held a single digit to the side of his helm, thoroughly engrossed in his comm. His brow ridges tugged forward, a furrow forming between them in the delicate silver metal of his faceplate.

It was adorable.

Orion had found himself more and more at ease in Megatronus’s company as the day had worn on, field shifting from fluttering nerves and hyperanalysis of every gesture and word to anxiety about said gestures and words, and now to an easy sort of warmth, basking in the nearness of his dear…..

Friend

.

Somehow that didn’t seem right.

Megatronus was a dear friend to be certain, and Orion knew he should not want more than that, despite how he had written to the contrary. But in his defense, he had only been writing in an effort to keep the caprices of his spark at bay! Purely for that reason! However, now the sheer

longing

was nearly impossible to hold back, seeing Megatronus almost brilliant beneath the reddening light of the setting sun.

Soon it would be night time, and the pale, blue light of the moons would cast down upon them and if the golden light of the evening was this potent, the light of the moons would be absolutely catastrophic for his fluttering, yearning spark.

Megatronus himself tugged Orion from his reverie, frown intensifying to such a state that Orion winced. Surely something must have caused this, while his friend was certainly taciturn, this level of outward displeasure was far from his norm. Especially with no apparent cause.

Orion stepped closer.

“Megatronus? Is everything alright?”

Megatronus startled, optics cycling as he processed Orion’s voice, as though he had been lost in his own processor. Then, with a slight tilt of his helm he turned to face Orion, although a touch of irritation lingered in the set corners of his dermas, and that furrowed brow ridge.

“Ah…My accommodations for the evening appear to have been…. Revoked.” His voice was matter of fact, schooling his expression into a mask of indifference. He gestured vaguely with a servo and regarded Orion with a terse smile. “It would seem the disposable caste does not receive much priority when it comes to accommodations. I should have expected this, I suppose.”

Megatronus’s hotel room had been revoked? 
That would never do, Megatronus deserved far more than that. It was an injustice, an unfairness of the highest order and it caused Orion’s plating to flare outward as he expelled a particularly furious puff of air through his vents. Megatronus? The Megatronus? The Champion of Kaon? The mech that had set Orion’s spark ablaze with words, had met him and challenged him and who had similarly inspired countless others? Denied a place to rest simply due to his caste? No, it would NOT stand. It was unthinkable. Untenable! Orion’s processor scrambled for a solution, even as his spark burned white-hot in its chamber- Only to realize, too late, that his vocalizer had betrayed him. 
“You can stay with me.”

The words came from him faster than he could even grasp their meaning, register the sheer, catastrophic

implication

that such an offer would hold. No sooner had he loosed those damning words than Megaotnrus’s optics suddenly

brightened

.

A jolt of heat seemed to spiral its way up Orion's suddenly ramrod-straight spinal strut.

Megatronus was

pleased

.

Far too pleased

.

Orion had inadvertently signed his own writ of execution, inviting Megatronus to the

one

place he should stay

far away

from - if only for the sake of Orion’s dignity. And yet, here he was, his own worst enemy. Orion pax had just put forth an invitation and welcomed his very demise to his home with open arms.

Megatronus peered at him with that dangerous, knowing light flashing deep in his optics, his grin slipping into something just shy of the smirk he usually wore. “Are you

that

eager for my company, Orion? That eager to have me under your roof? Some mecha might call that level of request…

forward.”

Orion’s vocalizer let out a horribly undignified bleat of static.

Oh frag, oh

frag

.

What had he

done?

“Not- Not at all! I- it was not intended as such, it is merely an offer for a place to recharge, not a proposition!”

Not that he wouldn’t like for it to be a proposition -

a vicious, quiet part of his processor supplied, pulling forth lines from some of his

particular

favorite fanfics that set his internals heating rapidly. Orion frantically dismissed the notification to activate his cooling fans.

“It is simply an offer to rectify the injustice dealt to you at the servos of Iacon’s unfairly biased establishments.”

There.

Redirect, Recover, Reassert control of the conversation, Shift to a safer topic, and preferably away from wherever Megatronus had been attempting to steer it-

Megatronus chuckled, low and knowing, optics glinting as he straightened to his usual, regal posture. “Of course.

Nothing untoward.

Simply a place to rest my helm. Purely motivated by that strong, idealistic moral compass of yours.”

“Yes!” Orion blurted, too fast, too loud, drawing the curious optics of a few passersby as they wandered past. “A matter of fairness and nothing more!”

It took exactly one vent cycle, six beats of his spark and entirely too long for the gravity of the situation to hit him.

He… had not planned for this.

Megatronus in Iacon was

one

thing.

Megatronus inside his habsuite was something else entirely.

Primus help him.

Orion had made a fool out of himself in the gardens, fans blaring like a blushing newbuild, not a functional, normal archivist. And while it may have been some form of Kaonian custom, the fact remained that that was how Megatronus acted in public. In

private?

Orion had a sinking feeling he might be doomed.

And beyond just the embarrassment of his frame betraying him, his very habsuite was a veritable minefield of embarrassment as well. Orion had cleaned, admittedly, and even redecorated, but it had been a cursory job at best. And the closet door, the only thing between his collection of Megatronus merch and the mech himself-

It was held closed by his prayers and the blessings of a merciful Primus. A single rough jostle, a careless nudge of a gladiator’s spiked pauldron, if Megatronus so much as vented too hard near it

-

No. He could not think about that.

He

would

not think about that.

He had planned for any visit Megatronus might have paid to his hab to last half a groon at most.

But with Megatronus staying the whole night…

The odds of him being found out were climbing dangerously high.

And furthermore, what were they supposed to do when they got there?

His workstation was an absolute non starter - If Megatronus so much as

glanced

at his search history, Orion would simply implode on the spot. Holovids? It was a decent idea, but the prospect of the two of them huddled side by side on the couch, peering down at the datapad between them, fields brushing together and warmth spreading between them from the proximity alone- that was far too intimate, Orion would simply implode on the spot. Philosophy? More of their spirited theoretical conversations? That was always an option- but they had spent most of the day, in between little tidbits of history and Orion’s impromptu lectures discussing rhetoric and social constructs, Megatronus was probably hungry for a change of pace-

There were so many reasons to simply back down, recant the offer and, help Megatronus find another, more accommodating place to recharge-

And yet-

Orion simply found he could not say no.

He could not simply

retract

the invitation now.

Not now

. Not after Megatronus had accepted so readily, had looked at him like

that-

It would seem even more untoward to withdraw it now.

He had backed himself into a corner of his own making, walked up to the snare and stepped, foolishly, inside.

Fine.

He would face this head on like the proper, dignified archivist that he was.

Orion turned on his heel strut, squaring his pauldrons and lacing his servos together behind him in an effort to hide the tremble that raced through him at the thought of Megatronus,

his

Megatronus, in his habsuite.

“We should get to the transports,” He announced, as if he still had any control over the situation. He could barely control his own frame, processor running wild and that persistent notification of elevated internal temperature pinging away cheerfully in his HUD. “My habsuite is quite a ways away, and it will take me some time to make up the couch for you.”

Megatronus closed the distance between them in two long strides, taking his place at Orion’s side and looking down at him with an amused arch of his brow ridge.

“The couch?” his vocalizer was a half tone higher than usual, quirking up at the end, the lilt denoting sheer humor and….

Satisfaction.

Orion could feel both prickling at the edges of Megatronus’s field.

Orion nodded curtly, maintaining his pace as he mentally prepared a route to the transport station. He took a long, deep vent cycle as he willed away the heat pooling in his lines. The vent cycle did not help as much as he had hoped.

“Yes. The couch.”

He could feel Megatronus’s optics on him, even as he took the lead, a pace and a half ahead of Megatronus.

“I will arrange the cushions,” Orion forged onward, words crisp and determined, brokering no room for argument, and praying to the eddies of Primus that Megatronus wouldn’t hear the subtle waver in each syllable. “and I am certain I have a spare thermal tarp or two. It may not be a hotel room at the Spire, but I am certain it will be

sufficient

for the night.”

There was a long pause.

Orion’s spark hammered wildly in its chamber.

The pair of them paused at an intersection to wait for the flow of traffic. Megatronus’s optics were a tangible force prickling along Orion’s frame and Orion fought the urge to turn and meet that blue, perfect, depthless gaze-

Do not look at him, do not look at him, do not look at him-

Megatronus hummed, a deep, pleased sound, and Orion

almost

flinched when he felt an arm loop possessively around him, servo coming to rest in the dip of his waist, guiding him forward, as if Orion were the one in need of direction.

“Well then,” Megatronus rumbled, deep and delighted, “Lead the way, Orion Pax. I must subject myself to your

tender mercies

for the night, it would seem.”

Orion’s entire frame was suddenly

so very hot

and his joints did not want to move. Megatronus propelled him forward, a warm, constant presence at Orion’s side, and at the moment the only thing keeping his wobbling knee joints from submitting to the will of gravity.

Oh sweet Primus, take me now, this is actually happening.

Megatronus did not seem the least bit concerned about his predicament. No, if anything, he seemed every inch the cyber-cat that had caught and cornered his prey: pleased and very,

very

eager to have his prize.

Orion wanted to let Cybertron swallow him whole.

And as if his traitorous, lecherous, wretched processor had not delighted in tormenting him enough, a single

unhelpful

thought surfaced: his holo-cards, figurines, the tapestry,

that body pillow-

none of them did Megatronus justice.

None of them captured the true source of the fluttering feelings that had been plaguing Orion all day, the warmth of Megatronus at his side, the sheer magnetism of his presence, the way his optics glittered and seemed to burn from within, the way his dermas shifted slightly when he was deep in thought, looking so plush and so,

so

unattainable- none of them captured the way Orion’s frame rebelled against him as Megatronus stepped closer, joints locking and wobbling and spark surging, none of them captured the feelings threatening to burst free, the late night conversations and attraction shifting into something more-

This… this was a catastrophic mistake.

Orion was inviting doom to his very doorstep, and his dignity was doused in accelerant, and Megatronus held the match in his unwitting, beautiful servo.

But somehow… he couldn’t bring himself to regret any of it.

….Yet.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Orion regretted everything. Well- not everything. But several things!All his choices from the first time he had spoken up in the oilhouse oh-so very long ago all the way up until now had somehow culminated in the worst possible outcome. Here he was with Megatronus at his side, walking back to his habsuite as though it were his own execution chamber. He cursed the Orion of the past who had extended the invitation. He cursed the Orion of the past who had thought he would be able to handle an entire cycle in Megatronus’s presence without coming apart at the seams. He had been so very very wrong. The walk from the transport station was a familiar one, he had taken it himself many times. He had taken it alone, with Jazz at his side after a night of revelry, with fellow archivists after late nights at the Archives, and he knew every single curve like the back of his servo. He knew every building, every sign, every uneven area in the sidewalk, and the walk was usually an almost meditative act, allowing Orion’s processor to slow and collect itself, spooling the work processes into neat tidy conclusions and terminating any lingering background programs. But Orion had never taken the walk like this. Now he was hyperaware of his surroundings, his processor running at speeds it was never designed to handle. The city was a blur of movement around them, mecha filing by and grounder alt-modes racing along the streets. Megatronus had, ever the gentlemech, placed himself at Orion’s left side, positioning himself between orion and the danger of the speeding traffic. It was…sweet in a way that Orion’s bordering-on-overclocked processor was struggling to fit into his interpretation of the day. Megatronus was unattainable. Orion knew that, he knew he should not want more than the friendship they shared, but here and now that tenuous “more” felt closer than ever. His traitorous spark fluttered in time with his pedesteps on the ground, each beat seeming to whisper “what if? What if?”  Meanwhile Megatronus next to him looked absolutely unbothered, completely oblivious to the whirling thoughts rampant in Orion’s processor. He walked at Orion’s side with all the bearing of the warrior-primes of old, servos clasped behind his back, helm held high, surveying the area with a scrutinizing gaze as he took in the city. His optics roved over the spires, roved over the distant gilded trappings of the upper echelons, took in the wash of the neon signs on the ground before them, all with the practiced ease of one whose existence had hinged on his observational skills. It was captivating to see happen in real time, even if Orion had been doing this same kind of surrepetitious ogling for most of the day. It just felt different now. Something had shifted in the air between them, some kind of crackling tension that Neither one had commented on. Orion was busy hyperanalyzing it and Megatronus-Well, megatronus had the audacity to be enjoying himself. Orion huffed, swivelling his helm to stare straight ahead. He adored his friend. He really and truly did. But at times, he could be so damnably smug -“Are you always this tense after a pleasant evening?” Megatronus’s voice was a low murmur, but it cut through the silence between them like a blade. Oh. 
Oh. 
Orion really needed to learn to stop tempting Primus like that, because if he had thought Megatronus was smug earlier, now he was positively vainglorious. Orion’s pedes stuttered on the pavement. Megatronus had said it so casually, so effortlessly , as though he were making a passing remark about the weather. But underneath that casual demeanor lurked an edge, a teasing lilt, a hint of absolute satisfaction at the way he had Orion so effortlessly dancing in his servos. Orion pressed his derma together. Hard. “I am not tense.”Megatronus hummed in a way that told Orion that his companion was not convinced in the slightest. “Really?” Megtronus drawled, “Then why, pray tell, is your field oozing enough apprehension that no less than three mecha have crossed the streets to get away from us?”Orion… did not have a good answer to that. But then again, his attention had been rather occupied by watching Megatronus and making sure that his frame wasn’t about to betray him again. “I am not tense” Orion stated again, scowling and crossing his arms in front of him petulantly. Megatronus did not bother arguing, and instead just took a sidestep and drew closer.
Too close. 
Orion’s pedes threatened to betray him again. Megatronus’s field brushed against him then, warm and deeply amused, the barest touch of electric energy and it pushed a fond sort of exasperation and sheer presence that had Orion suddenly standing straighter. His plating shifted slightly as he felt a strangled wheeze of air rush through his vents in an effort to cool his internals before-His cooling fans kicked on, their lowest setting a dull whine between them. He knew Megatronus had noticed. He had felt it in that damnable, pressing, wonderful field. But Megatronus seemed content to let Orion suffer, allowing the silence to stretch between them. “You’ve been running hot all evening, Orion.” His voice was soft. Too soft . Orion’s vents hitched and he paused suddenly, regarding megatronus with massive, wide optics. Megatronus just paused. And then, with his voice full of wicked amusement, 
“I wonder why”
Orion nearly shrieked as they finally reached the building that housed his habsuite. He was fine. This was fine. 
He was fine. 
He thought back to Jazz’s words from before Megatronus had arrived, when Orion had been pacing his hab in the still hours of the night and had commed his friend in a panic. “It’s just a friend coming to visit, right? You’ve had me over a buncha times! It’s no biggie, ‘Rion. just relax. It’ll all work out, Jazz’s honor.”  Orion recalled his answering quip that Jazz had no honor to speak of and the resultant laugh Jazz had let out was enough to quiet his nerves and steady his servos as he stepped forward and keyed in the access code for his habsuite.Megatronus waited until Orion had crossed the threshold and stepped in, a midnight chuckle emanating from his massive, rumbling frame. “And here I was worried you’d had second thoughts, Orion. I am pleased to see I was wrong”And oh wasn’t he pleased? Orion could practically taste it in megatronus’s field as they stood in the threshold waiting for the ambient lighting of his hab to click on.As it did, as the reality of te situation he found himself in was cast into stark relief. Megatronus was in his habsuite. And thus the dance would begin. Primus, help him. Megatronus stepped into the space with the same regal grace he had possessed all day, scanning Orion’s habsuite with a critical, interested gaze. Orion watched, vent cycle stalling in his chassis as Megatronus took in the living area, treading forward with a languid, predatory grace. He trailed a clawed servo over the arm of the couch, regarding the gauzy purple curtains and workstation tucked as out of the way as Orion had been able to manage with a barely there smile. “Your habsuite is certainly… cozy”Orion followed, as close as he could without crossing the bounds of propriety. “I am pleased you like it.”Megatronus looked down at the floor. There were obvious marks on the floor where furniture had been moved. He grinned. “You redecorated?”Orion’s smile took on a bit of a forced edge. “Oh! Well, yes. Jazz helped.”Megatronus turned to him now, utterly entertained. “I see.”Orion knew exactly what that look meant: Megatronus was reading into it. There was nothing to read into!He was simply a mech who wanted his habsuite to look nice for when a friend might see it! A friend he admired! A friend he cared for! A friend he might have thought about in a decidedly not friendly way once. Or twice. Or enough to write several pages of kissing him so hard that it stole all logic and rationality from his processor. Nothing to read into at all!Megatronus wandered to the large windows on the far wall of his habsuite, parting the iridescent curtains with the back of his servo. “I am flattered that you went to such lengths, Orion. Although-” His grin turned positively wicked as it slid back to Orion, Megatronus leaning against the wall with a deeply smug look. “-one might think you were preparing for something.”Orion wished for the allspark to claim him. He refused to even acknowledge the assertion, sidestepping as he plucked a datapad from the stack he had artfully arranged in the display case that formerly housed his figures. Orion thumbed the screen, allowing it to exit sleep mode. It looked natural, right? Surely Megatronus didn’t know what that case used to hold. There was no way . Orion reset his vocalizer and prayed the tremor and static in his voice wouldn’t be too noticeable. He had already had a few too many “cooling system malfunctions” today, and Megatronus would surely suspect the traitorous feelings fluttering in Orion’s spark if he hadn;t already should these little “glitches” continue.“The only thing I am expecting is your company. And perhaps your indignation at the composition of the economic reports I managed to source for you.” Orion’s voice was slightly airy, but overall steady and resolute as he walked over to Megatronus. Orion had scoured the archives to find these, and he was certain they could buy him a bit of time while he found the spare thermal tarps and cushions. He placed the datapad in Megatronus’s servos and slipped into his berthroom, trying to think back to where he had put them. The cleaning and redecorating he had done in preparation for Megatronus’s visit had been a whirlwind, and many things were in spots Orion would not usually have left them and he frowned as he looked through the usual places he tucked spare thermal tarps away.Odd. They weren’t in the drawers built into his berth. Nor were they tucked into any of the other places he tended to set things down.It was as if they had vanished, because they simply were not here.But if they were not here then they must be in the-The appearance of a steely presence at his side startled him, and Orion’s helm swivelled. He felt the rush of fuel in his lines seem to freeze for a moment. Because he noticed a few things in rapid succession. Megatronus was in his berthroomThe thermal tarps that he needed must be in the closet. There on the berth sat a plushie. A plushie that he must have tossed aside during the cleaning process and somehow set on the berth and it was there against the cushions that he rested his helm upon and--and Megatronus had seen it. And of course, because the world seemed to hate him, it wasn’t any plushie. No. Of course it was the limited edition Festival of the Primes one, complete with purple polycloth iridescent cape. Orion’s optics flicked to Megatronus. The gladiator looked far too pleased, the corners of his dermas twitching upwards. He was still holding the datapad in one clawed servo but was moving to place it down on the berth, the other reaching out- Towards the plushie -Orion moved faster than he thought he was capable of, servo outstretched, moving to snatch the plushie from the berth and stow it somewhere far far away from those watchful optics, Orion’s engine roared as he activated the highest gear he possessed-But Megatronus beat him there. He picked up the little trinket from the berth, handling it carefully, reverently in his clawed servos, as though it were a treasured artifact and not a monument to Orion’s imminent demise. He turned it over in his servos, studying the details, toying with the iridescent cape and rubbing the fabric between his thumb and index digit as though memorizing its feel-Orion let out a gutted noise that was probably the result of mortification causing his entire being to melt into a vaguely archivist-shaped puddle of molten sentio metallico on the floor.Megatronus was still dragging the moment out and Orion was just about to start rambling, an apology, a plea for forgiveness, a gutted whine, something-“Oh my.” Megatronus purred. “Put that down,” Orion gained enough control over his faculties to whimper out, “Please?”Megatronus did not in fact put it down. Instead he brought it closer to his optics, a grin slipping over his faceplate as he traced the tiny plush helm, the little embossed optic ridges, the delicately embroidered smirk. “I must say,” He murmured, “They captured my likeness quite well with this one. And the cape is a nice touch.” he turned to the shimmering purple polycloth, noting the delicate symbols along the edge. “And a limited edition, no less? You are dedicated , my little clerk.” Orion was. He had stayed up until the small hours of the morning when that edition had dropped, cred chip in hand as he waited outside of the establishment where they would be sold, and rushed in with the fervor of a thousand charging cyberbucks to retrieve his quarry. The quarry that was still being held in the servos of the mech it was modelled after. With a strangled whimper of a battle cry, Orion lunged forward, trying to snatch it from Megatronus’s grasp--only for the gladiator to effortlessly hold it just beyond his reach. “Ah, ah, ah!” Megatronus chuckled. “No grabbing now, Orion. You’ll crease the cape.”Orion tried anyway. Megatronus grinned, effortlessly sidestepping and spinning away with the languid gladiator’s grace that Orion had analyzed in countless recordings of the mech’s achievements in the arena. He hummed and caught Orion’s gaze with a gleam in his optics that spelled trouble-“And for this little thing to be on the berth- Orion Pax, do you sleep with me?” His voice was so deeply amused, absolutely giddy, and utterly dangerous. “NO!” Orion’s vocalizer short circuited, letting out a bleat of alarmed static. Because the truth.. It was so much worse. He didn;t sleep with the plushie, no that would have been a somewhat normal thing to do, no, his deepest shame and the truth of what he truly slept with was still in that closet, that body pillow scrunched up in the corner-Megatronus waved the tiny plushie’s servo, “You wound me, Orion, to be denied with such vehemence. But..” He traced the back of a clawed digit over the little plushie’s fabric cheek. “This little thing has clearly seen much use.” His grin turned absolutely slag-eating. “It appears I am very well loved”Orion made one final, desperate attempt to snatch it back. Megatronus simply lifted it higher, tossing it into the air and catching it with a flourish. Orion pleaded. “Megatronus, please , I will do anything-” Megatronus paused, a predatory, hungry glint in his optics. He lowered the plushie, holding it close enough to his chassis that Orion would have to lunge into his space to get at it, putting him squarely in the Gladiator’s clutches.“Oh really?” he purred, smirk widening imperceptibly, field oozing satisfaction and a tinge of curiosity. “Anything?” A few things hit Orion’s overclocking processor then in rapid succession. They were in Orion’s berth room. Which, by itself, held connotations . Megatronus’s tone was entirely flirtatious . Megatronus was practically inviting Orion to come closer, using that plushie as bait. Megatronus was entirely too close, and if Orion stepped any closer, the gladiator would have him close enough to grapple him with the strength that Orion knew that frame possessed and hurl him back on the berth and-His cooling fans clicked on again. Megatronus laughed then, an uproarious, genuine thing, and placed the little plushie back on the berth, giving it a parting, patronizing pat on its little helm. Orion wanted to walk into the sea. Megatronus simply smiled at him fondly. “Well, if you’ll do anything - I would love some help to spread up the couch. All this wandering today has your poor gladiator growing weary.”Your Gladiator.  Your Gladiator.  YOUR Gladiator . Orion’s fans reached a fever pitch before he registered what had been said. Spread up the couch. Yes he could do that. But he would need to get the tarps and cushions from-His optics flicked over to the closet. The closet where he had thrown the bedding. The closet where he had also thrown the rest of his collection of Megatronus merch. The closet that Megatronus tracked his optics to. The closet that Megatronus was moving towards. Orion moved without thinking, vaulting his berth with a fluid grace that had Megatronus pulling back with a surprised sort of noise, and Orion threw himself bodily in front of the door to the closet, arms splayed wide as if to shield the door from a cannon blast rather than the servos of his inquisitive, wonderful, hab-guest. Megatronus stopped, optics cycling for a moment as he processed the scene before him, analyzing, dissecting, discerning- He chuckled, cocking a hip. “Orion Pax”“Megatronus.” Orion’s voice wobbled a bit. “I cannot help make up the couch if you block the storage where the thermal tarps are kept.”Orion’s processor pinged him with a warning about elevated internal temperature. He ignored it. “Uh.”Megatronus’s optics narrowed in delight. “Unless you would rather we share your berth-”“O-OF COURSE NOT!” Orion spluttered.“What a tragedy.” Megatronus sighed theatrically, “Little plush me remains unconquered in that regard, I suppose”Orion let out a strangled wheeze. “Now move aside, Orion. I would rather like to get on with my exile to the couch, if it is all the same to you.”Orion shook his helm vigorously. “No. You can’t!”Megatronus’s grin, already wide, took on a bemused tilt. “And whyever not?”Orion’s processor was a molten wreck. He scrambled for a believable excuse, a logical reason, some justification, any justification that would get Megatronus to drop this line of inquiry-His cooling fans clicked on again, an involuntary response to the wildly rapid overclocking of his processor.  Think, Orion, think! What could he say to divulge suspicion? He needed to be careful, needed to throw Megatronus off, and he needed to choose his words with care. Megatronus was clever, wickedly so, and would see through all but the most carefully crafted deception-He could feel those optics on him, taking in every inch of his flared plating, his defensive posture, and Orion knew his time was running out- 
Frag fraf frag he needed to say something NOW-
“There’s….. dangerous materials in here!”Not…. entirely inaccurate, but Orion internally smacked himself in the forehelm for his weak excuse.Megatronus’s optics gleamed. “Oh? And what exactly do you have in your storage closet, little clerk?”Orion deadpanned, floundering, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Explosives.”Megatronus arched a brow ridge. 
Oh frag, that was stupid- just say something to fix it ANYTHING-
“..... Acid?” Orion continued.A beat. Orion Pax was NOT fixing things, he was just making them so much worse-BACKTRACK, BACKTRACK- He needed something believable, something that Megatronus would accept as a valid reason to not open the closet something moderately embarrassing but not as embarrassing as the truth-“.... My diary?”Megatronus focused on that immediately. “Your diary?” he sounded far too interested.
OH PRIMUS NO-
Never mind the fact that Orion’s diary was published on the databank of our design and was racking up hits and kudos and bookmarks and snarky comments as they spoke-“.... I meant more explosives!” Orion yelped, frantically doubling down.“Did you?” Megatronus stepped closer, frame caging in Orion's own against the closet door. His voice dropped a semitone. He raised a clawed servo and tapped the door next to Orion's helm. “Now I simply must see inside.”“NOOOOOOO-” Orion shrieked.Megatronus just laughed, full and rich and deeply entertained, and then, before Orion could actually combust where he stood, Megatronus took a step back and fondly ruffled Orion’s helm. “Very well then. I will wait for you in the living area.”And just like that he drew away, casting a deeply amused look at the plushie on the berth before exiting back to the main area of Orion’s habsuite. Oh Primus. Orion nearly slumped to the ground as he peered around, stretching his field as far as it would go to make sure Megatronus was out of sight and not watching before undoing the latch, doing battle with his collection and withdrawing his two coziest thermal tarps and whatever cushions were closest to him. Orion clutched the tarps to him like a lifeline, taking a shaky vent cycle. At least it was over, and it could not get any worse!It…. could certainly get worse. There was a smug gladiator in his living area waiting for an explanation. Orion was still shaking as he brought his bounty out to the living area. Megatronus was…. In rare form tonight, to use the gladiator’s own words. He had met orion at each turn with a quip, a jab, a parry, a feint and Orion was barely holding his own in the arena of their conversation. The shift in location had only exacerbated that feeling of being on the defensive, and Orion worried the soft fabric of the thermal tarp between his digits as he lingered in the doorway. And then there was Megatronus’s reaction to the plushie and closet incidents. Megatronus had watched the entire spectacle of Orion’s demise unfold before him with the easy, self-satisfied amusement of a mech who knew he had already won - who was simply toying with his prize, prolonging the inevitable, waiting for the moment when Orion would finally crumble and submit. He was an enigma, his motivations shrouded in mystery and Orion Pax groaned as he set his processor once more to the impossible task of trying to parse them. Not that Orion even knew what the gladiator wanted. He had a few guesses, but each one made less sense than the last. Megatronus regarded him as a thought partner and a friend and nothing more… right? His tone had been irresistibly warm (bordering on fond, his processor chirped where it was sifting through memory) and he had been tactile though (in the gardens, and after, servos on orion’s waist, pauldrons, aft , faceplate-), and just now, Orion could have sworn that his friend was bordering on flirtation-But that was just preposterous, wasn’t it? Orion was simply reading too much into their interactions, perceiving them as some kind of battle, where the end goal was Megatronus’s absolute victory, and Orion splayed across the berth desperate and wanting and- He frantically toggled off his cooling fans before the noise could alert Megatronus. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t a battle, and even if it was, Megatronus had not been putting forward any kind of offensive!There was none of the ferocity of his arena persona, none of that growl deep in his vocalizer, no force -No, it was just pointed words. Just presence.  And when Orion’s gaze alighted on his guest seated on the couch he was grateful it was not a battle, because if it was? He would be already losing. Megatronus was sprawled across the cushions of Orion’s modest couch, stretching his frame, plating puffing and letting out a leisurely purr as he lounged. Completely at ease. Like he was exactly where he belonged. His optics slid over to Orion, raking up and down once, then twice with an expression that had Orion’s internals all jumbled once again. “You are certainly putting forth a lot of effort to banish me to the couch” He lilted, voice deeply amused at the sight of Orion juggling the mound of plush polycloth in his arms. Orion dumped the pile of bedding into Megatronus’s lap and got to work, busying his servos with spreading one of the thermal tarps across the surface of the couch. “Yes.” His tone brokered no room for argument. “I am.”“How cruel!” Megatronus crooned with dramatic anguish. “And here I thought you would enjoy my company, having invited me back to your habsuite so readily.”Orion smoothed the tarp. He would not engage, he would not even look at Megatronus. But it was becoming more difficult by the second. Megatronus set aside the tarp and cushion, standing up and hefting one of the cushions, giving it an experimental fluff. “It does beg the question though- Do all your habguests receive such treatment?”Orion kept his servos busy, smoothing the other, plusher thermal tarp over the top of the other, hinged at the hip as he worked. The activity kept him from lingering on what Megatronus was crooning and he was infinitely grateful for it. Megatronus was closer now, his deeply amused field prickling at the edges of Orion’s own, tugging it, caressing it, coaxing it until Orion could stand it no more. He turned, standing back up and meeting the gladiator’s gaze. “Or am I simply that special?” His voice was softer now, still teasing but somehow, more intimate. Orion’s frame rumbled as he took a step back. It was imperative that he redirect. Reassert control-“I-” His vocalizer glitched. The damn thing never operated well at elevated core temperatures. Orion manually reset it. “I admire and respect you, Megatronus.”Megatronus stepped closer, Orion stepping back, the familiar dance adopted. “Respect. Admiration. Fascination” Megatronus took another step, voice spooling like midnight breeze in Orion's audials. “But no affection?”Orion’s spark lurched violently. He certainly felt affection for Megatronus. Far too much by his estimation. Enough that it had had his fans at a dull whine since they had stepped foot in his habsuite, despite his repeated manual attempts to shut the damned things off. But no, he couldn’t say anything, because what if Megatronus didn’t feel the same? Orion gripped the cushion in his servos like a lifeline, the polycloth ribbing beneath his stranglehold. He needed to say something- anything-  Megatronus continued, stalking closer to Orion, hinging at the hip and allowing his massive bulk to cage Orion without laying a servo on him. “You know, dear archivist, I said it before, but you have been running hot all evening. Something interesting have your attention?” Megatronus’s voice was full of wicked, gleeful amusement. This… That tone…. It was dangerous. Orion needed to get out of here. Immediately. He needed Megatronus to shut up. This was too much, too unfair, too cruel, to have the object of his dreams and fantasies before him, just a whisper away, it would be so easy for Orion to simply reach out, to see if he had done those plush dermas justice in hsi writings, to feel them against his own-His fans whined. His vents came shallow. Orion instinctively took another step back, Megatronus surging forward in response. “Perhaps…” Megatronus mused, all innocence, “I should call that medic friend of yours. See if he can run a scan on your systems.”Orion’s processor lagged, a noise of confusion coming out of him. 
Ratchet?
Megatronus wanted to comm Ratchet?  For a scan of all things? Was he injured? No, all systems read normal, he just had an elevated core temperature but he knew exactly why that was occurring-“Orion,” Megatronus exvented theatrically, making a show of pinching the bridge of his olfactory between clawed digits, “A malfunction in the cooling systems can be dangerous.” “I do NOT have a malfunction!” Orion protested. “No?” Megatronus leaned in, optics flicking downward, roving over Orion’s frame with that same intensity. “Then perhaps something has you worked up?”Orion made a tiny, strangled sound. Megatronus’s smirk simply widened. “You wouldn’t be the first tongue-tied little mech to invite me back to their habsuite.”Orion took another instinctive step back, only for his dorsal plating to collide with the half-wall separating his little kitchen from the rest of the habsuite. He was trapped. “But those invitations,” Megatronus continued, settling securely in Orion’s space, “Usually came with a desire to drag me into their berth.”Orion’s frame went rigid, his venting froze-Megatronus’s field pressed against him, warm and amused and deeply deeply knowing. “But you-” Megatronus’s voice dropped a half octave. “You are content to banish me to the couch, and this invitation was extended purely from a place of righteous indignation, per your own words.” Orion was frozen. Rigid. About to shut down. His processor pinged frantically about rising charge, elevated temperature, engine launching into a higher gear, error, error, error- “One might wonder, then,” Megatronus murmured, voice pure, lethal, rumbling- “what has your processor so out of sorts.”Orion knew the answer. He knew it and it was standing right in front of him and crooning these strange, horrible things at Orion’s frayed sensor net, and setting these late-night fantasies spinning to the forefront of his processor and oh Primus he was waiting for a response, Orion had to say something, had to do something-Panic surged through him and Orion acted without thinking. He grasped Megatronus firmly by the top ridge of his chest plates and dragged him forwards. Some part of his processor not overclocked, capable of accessing his logic systems and that was working correctly despite his rising temperature screamed at him that this was a bad idea-But Orion did not listen. And kissed Megatronus to shut him up.Orion’s dermas collided with Megatronus’s in an act of pure desperation.It was not planned. It was not strategic. It was not the product of analysis and cross reference and all the clever rhetorical tactics that Orion used in his little conversations with Megatronus. No. it was a frantic bid to spare himself the indignity of his friend speaking further and the catastrophic horrific embarrassment that would have come with that continued line of questioning. And it had worked. For precisely two point four seconds it had worked. Megatronus had gone utterly still, field loosed from his iron grip and bleeding sheer astonishment  with such a fervor that it was practically sparking in the back of Orion’s intake. His vents stuttered and his words were gone, swallowed by the greedy heat of Orion’s gambit. He was, for once, the one on the defensive. Then, all at once, he moved. It began with a clawed servo, skimming up Orion’s dorsal plating to settle just below his pauldron: caressing him, claiming him, leaving charge shimmering in its wake. It was immediately followed by the other servo settling on his hip, squeezing, gripping, pulling and grasping Orion with an undeniably possessive tightening of his grip. In direct contrast to Orion’s earlier desperate kiss, Megatronus was slow, deliberate, methodical. Every single caress was curated, Every motion measured, it was as though Megatronus had been planning this for nearly as long as Orion had been dreaming about it. Orion’s processor caught up for just long enough to register “Oh Primus, this is happening” Before Megatronus took the lead, wresting the vestiges of control from Orion as effortlessly as drawing his blade. He was slow. Deliberate. Claiming. Orion had had control, for all of three seconds. He was the one who had initiated, he was the one who had taken the first step and now?Now he was sinking. Now he was sinking and Megatronus was dragging him under, stealing the very air from his vents and swallowing every desperate gasp and little noise Orion let out. Orion’s struts had long since surrendered to the onslaught of Megatronus’s attentions, his dorsal plating digging into the half wall that was his only savior. Without it he would be a puddle on the floor, he was certain of it. Megatronus deepened the kiss, surging forward and skating a wet glossa across Orion’s captive dermas.Orion gasped on instinct, and Megatronus, with as  much tactical grace as he wielded in battle seized the moment, glossa forging into Orion’s mouth and claiming him. Orion’s vocalizer let out a startled bleat of static, that only served to spur Megatronus on further, servo splayed on his hip skating downward to the curve of Orion’s aft and playfully squeezing. It was too much, Orion’s sensor net was aflame, charge surging and building in him with an embarrassing speed and then just as the current of this heat between them threatened to pull him under entirely, Megatronus pulled back for a moment and… laughed? He was laughing. At Orion. After they had just kissed. Orion felt a small surge of irritation flare in his field. He knew he was hardly the most experienced mech in the matters of interfacing, or even just intimacy in general, but surely his performance had not been so miserable to warrant being laughed off the metaphorical stage. He opened his intake to tell Megatronus as such, only to be cut off. “Oh, Orion,” Megatronus’s voice was so deeply amused, “You should have done that sooner. I’ve been waiting for that since our first meeting.”Orion’s cooling systems and his engine exploded in a deafening wall of noise. His systems were frantically computing, re-running analysis protocols on their interactions, their comms, his stupid fanfic because that line had his already trembling joints practically liquefied, and he felt his processor, already overclocked, devolve into errors. Because it wasn’t possible, was it? Megatronus seeing a little archivist ranting in an oilhouse and deciding then and there to claim him? Surely there was no way. Orion was…. Orion. this … it simply wasn’t possible.But….The evidence directly to the contrary had been spoken into existence right there in front of him. Megatronus wanted him. Had wanted him. Did want him. Orion could simply reach out. Reach out and take and respond-He must have broadcast his incredulity and hope in his field because Megatronus was surging forward once more, cradling Orion’s cheek with a massive servo. “Oh, Orion, my sweet oblivious Orion. Are you just now catching on?”His dermas were a mere whisper away from Orion’s own, his frame caging him in, the air from his vents hot against Orion’s hypersensitive, reeling frame and he simply purred, “I suppose I must make my intentions clearer in the future.”Their dermas met. Where before it had been born of heat, of passion, of desperation, this was slower. Languid, slow and aching and each brush of plush dermas across Orion’s own had something distinctly molten stirring in his frame. He moved without thinking, surging forward to meet each motion of Megatronus’s dermas against his own, pouring his hope and fluttering happiness and overwhelming, strut-shattering relief into his field and moving and venting and tasting and taking and-Orion’s HUD was pinging.Well, it had been pinging with notifications of increased core temperature, increasing cooling system outputs, and general other notifications for most of the evening but now?His comm center was lighting up. His comm center was ringing. Someone was comming him right now. Orion froze his optics flying open wide, cycling as he tried to process the chaotic flurry of alerts in his HUD. His internal cooling systems had been wreaking havoc on his notification center all night, flooding it with a veritable landslide of popups related to the general Megatronus-induced overheating that had been (and was currently) taking place, but now his internal comm interface was lighting up like a blaring warning klaxon. Orion’s fuel stilled in his lines when he saw the designation on the call.  Jazz . Oh Primus. Well obviously he shouldn’t answer. He had enough self preservation to know that at least. But the sheer presence of the call at all had him frozen in Megatronus’s grasp. And well, the difference between his former passion and current pallor were jarring enough that any mech would have taken notice. But Megatronus was observant…. Too observant. He chuckled, pulling back and arching a brow ridge. “Someone clearly wants your attention, Orion.”Orion Pax was a dignified archivist, even when on the verge of being ravished against his kitchen counter. And as such, did not let out the series of curses brewing in his vocalizer. Megatronus was deeply pleased, pressing feather-light kisses along Orion’s cheek, circling his audial, and then in a deeply unfair teasing motion, bit down on the tip of his finial. Orion squeaked. Megatronus simply hummed, doing it again, harder. “Let it go to comm log. They can have you after I’m done.”Orion was inclined to agree. If it was any other mech, that would be the safest thing to do. But Jazz? Jazz was nosy . Jazz knew where Orion lived . Jazz probably more than likely still had the access code to his door . So really ignoring it was not the best course of action. But then if he picked it up-He shuddered as Megatronus’s glossa darted out to trace along the shell of his audial. Well that certainly settled that…. Picking it up was a bad idea too. Orion’s vocalizer had been steadily glitching out more and more and his cooling system was bound to broadcast over the comm connection. Megatronus chuckled. “Well, little archivist? What must a gladiator do to bring this pretty little frame back to the berth?”Orion short circuited. Orion panicked. Orion hit the accept call button. Jazz was speaking in the manner that he always did, words pouring from him as soon as the call connected. “Yo, ‘Rion! Just checking in! How was the day? Make it home safe? How was your guest?” Orion knew Megatronus could not hear any of this, but judging by the displeased look on his face, he had surmised that Orion had, in fact, not listened to him and picked up the comm. Orion let out a noise, taking a deep pull of air in through his vents, across burning internals, and responded in a voice that was entirely too high pitched to pass as normal, “JAZZ! HI! Yes! I-I’m Fine! At home! Safe! ALONE!” Megatronus’s vaguely irritated expression shifted into one of pure delight, and then the smug, self-assured mech pressed a barely-there lick-then-kiss to Orion’s poor, sensitive finial.Orion gasped. Jazz, undeterred, kept talking. “Yeah… so uh first off, has your vocalizer always been this squeaky or did you like bust it from screaming too hard at one of those Megatronus edits again? Because I am NOT covering for you if you did something stupid and broke yourself and Ratchet yells at you- wait hold on, Orion… what was that?”Megatronus inched his way down the side of Orion’s helm, pressing kisses to the plating there and the rapidly warming vents. Orion keened. “NOTHING. I am alone and perfectly fine Jazz, now if you would be so kind-”Jazz cut him off. “Nuh uh, somethin’s up, ‘Rion. Now dish because I know you’re not fine and wait oh BY THE PRIMES-”Megatronus pressed a hot, wet open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive side of Orion’s neck cables. Orion let out a noise that could only be described as a strangled moan. “YOU’RE WITH SOMEONE!” Jazz crowed. Orion longed for the sweet embrace of the Allspark. “No, Jazz, I am perfectly alo-one- oh Primus-” Orion’s voice trailed off into a desperate whine as Megatronus found a spot that was entirely too sensitive and bit down on it, the pinprick of pain and pleasure mixing in Orion’s lines and ripping from his vocalizer as a whorish moan. “Orion. Fragging. Pax . You ARE with someone!” Jazz tittered, an incredulous giggle filtering across the line. “You lucky glitch ! This date went well, I take it?” Orion needed Jazz to stop talking. Jazz did not. “Wait… who was it with? It sounds like they’re pretty good, is it someone from the archives? Do you even know their designation? Wait OH VECTOR SIGMA IS IT PROWL?”Orion opened his mouth to retort, but Megatronus chose that exact moment to wedge a massive, strong, capable thigh in between his knees and give his array cover the faintest, hottest brush of friction. It raced up and down Orion’s spinal struts, his sensor net crackling with heat and a visible flash of charge. The noise that came out of Orion had Jazz cackling. “Oh Primus, so NOT Prowl. That mech doesn’t know his own helm from his array cover. Trust me I should know. Anyway, you sound like you’re getting fragged six ways to the well and back so imma let you gooooo but I am going to find out who this mech is. Bye ‘Rion! Don’t do anything I wouldn't do!”The comm disconnected. Orion slumped with relief. Megatronus just laughed. “Your friend sounds…. Nice .”And Orion put his faceplate in his servos and screeched. Jazz had- and if Jazz knew- then Elita knew, and Ratchet knew and it would be a matter of time before Jazz’s coworkers knew and one of them was dating one of the junior archivists and then that meant everyone would know and everyone would know that strait-laced Orion Pax was getting his back struts blown out by some mysterious suitor and then that was all that anyone would be talking about when he went back to the archives and it was all because Megatronus-Orion’s optics blazed with embarrassment, and he turned his screeching vocalizer on Megatronus. “YOU- YOU- YOU, YOU, YOU-” Megatronus just grinned. “Me?”Orion let out an undignified, anguished sort of sound - a raw, desperate, wanting sort of thing that he was certain would haunt him later - and launched himself at Megatronus again. The force of his momentum had him gripping onto the ridges of Megatronus’s silver plating for purchase, dermas colliding once again with a heated, furious clash of denta. It was messy, feverishly hot, insatiably greedy, all of Orion’s pure mortification, frustration and longing for his friend (… no, oh Primus, his lover- ) spilling into the space between them. It was a rush of steam from vents, it was a rush of passion and it was a chaotic perfect kiss. It was wonderful and exquisite and Orion wanted more . He wanted everything . He surged forward, not just responding to Megatronus’s advances but matching them. Meeting them. Taking them. It was a conversation between them, but instead of words and glyphs and Orion using the thoughts of ancient philosophers as shields and weaponry, he now was the spearhead of his own attack. And he was gaining ground. He was ravenous, surging forward with enough ferocity that he had Megatronus backpedaling, one single step back. Orion stepped forward. He did not want this to end, he wanted to taste every inch of Megatronus, he wanted to learn him, to memorize every swell of his plating, he wanted to be taken, utterly and wholly-He wanted to be ruined.  Because if everyone already would know, then what was the point of pretending otherwise? His foolish fluttering spark had belonged in Megatronus’s servos since he had first heard him speak. Orion pulled back for just a moment and met Megatronus’s optics. He was panting, hot and dizzy, and little puffs of steam came from his vents. “Megatronus… please. Take me .”Megatronus went still for a moment. He cycled his optics once. Then twice. Then he smiled, a wicked bow of his dermas that had Orion’s internals warming. “Oh, little archivist, be careful what you ask for-” Orion stamped his pede against the ground hard enough that he knew for a face that his neighbors would complain but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that. “Megatronus, I know what I am asking for. And what I am asking for is you .”“Orion Pax, to think you would be so bold-” Megatronus let out a soft exvent. “-I rather like this new side of you.”Megatronus’s servos moved. They were clever, skating over Orion’s delicate protoform, nudging claws into transformation seams, coaxing delicate little whimpers and mewls from Orion’s vocalizer and drifting down, down, down -Megatronus purred into his audial. 
“But how can I deny such an earnest request?” 
Orion didn’t register the shift until his pedes were no longer on the ground. A startled, static-laced yelp left his vocalizer as those clever servos swept him off balance, stealing him from the ground with effortless precision. One moment Orion had some semblance of control, and the next he was, for the second time today, weightless and held in Megatronus’s grasp. The motion was fluid. Easy. Practiced. Like Megatronus had known before he even began where best to press for Orion to fall, where to nudge so Orion was in his hold, the curves of his plating fitting against Megatronus like he had always been meant to be there. Orion’s thighs spread, parting against the intrusion of Megatronus’s unyielding silvered plating. The heat growing behind his panel was stifling and the friction from even just the subtle bump-grind against Megatronus’s own complicated modesty plate had his internal temperature spiking. Oh no, bad choice of words. Megatronus’s hold on Orion’s aft remained tight and possessive, rivalled only by the ferocity with which he plundered Orion’s intake. He hadn’t even paused while whisking Orion into his hold. He was like a mech starved of energon, a mech with single-minded focus, and a mech who was unfairly skilled with his glossa. It was hot and Orion let out a soft mewl from his vocalizer that he would deny making until his last sparkbeat. And then they were moving. Megatronus moved through Orion’s habsuite with the confidence of a conqueror, the grace of a gladiator and the momentum of a mech who was accustomed to the bounds of his frame and intimately aware of just how to move it. He strode backwards and spun on a heel strut as he propelled the pair of them across the floor. Orion clung to Megatronus with a yelp as he was effortlessly carted across the familiar floor. His thighs were beginning to tremble from how they were parted around Megatronus’s flared hips, and every murmur, every protest was swallowed by Megatronus as the gladiator seemingly did his level best to devour the words straight from Orion's glossa. Orion had no idea they were at the door until he heard the dull thunk of a latch disengaging. He barely processed the cooler, less-perfumed air of his berthroom as Megatronus carried him across the threshold. He only noticed when Megatronus’s spiked pauldron caught on the side of the doorframe with a thunk that rattled the very wall for a moment, the force jarring through both of their frames. “Mega- tronus- Wha?” Orion began, but was just as soon silenced by Megatronus once more as he was hauled into the berthroom. “Shhhh Orion. Unless you’d rather I take you on the couch?”  Ah. Orion shut up immediately. The way with which Megatronus said that with such certainty, as though possessing Orion utterly was as much a fact as the sun rising and the moons taking her place during the night cycle was something that shouldn’t have been as tempting as it was, but here he was. Here he was, practically trembling with anticipation. At least he wasn’t the only one affected though. Megatronus was a bit breathless, undoubtedly from the kiss, Orion thought a bit smugly, as he knew for a fact that the specifications of megatronus’s frame would have allowed him to carry Orion for a much longer period of time without flagging. His net search history was definitely something he needed to keep away from the gladiator he was currently clinging to. Megatronus chuckled, deep and indulgent, the rumble vibrating through Orion’s plating where their frames contacted. And then he moved. Orion yelped as his balance shifted as Megatronus shifted his hold - one servo sliding down, squeezing the metal of his curved thigh and the other splaying across the small of his dorsal plating. And then, with the effortless grace the champion of Kaon was known for, Megatronus tossed him. Orion landed on the berth with a startled puff of air out of his vents. Had he? Had Megatronus just? He lay there for a moment, brow ridges furrowed and cooling systems warring between the sheer audacity of being tossed about like some frag toy and the sheer heat that raced through his frame at being tossed about like some frag toy. He laid there for a moment, blinking up at his ceiling. This… was most certainly not how he had expected this evening to go in the slightest. Why, if someone had told him that he would be ending the day with the same servos he had written about in the dead of the night gripping him, caressing him and tossing him onto his own berth as though he weighed absolutely nothing? Orion would have thought the mech that dared speak such a preposterous thought into existence was suffering from a major processor glitch. But here he was. Sprawled on his own berth, the polycloth soft against his plating. In the moment that it had taken his processor to catch up, Megatronus was on him, crawling partially onto the berth, looming over Orion, one knee braced off to the side as he surveyed the archivist splayed before him. He shifted forward, crowding into Orion’s space until escape was no longer an option.His optics were hungry, and Megatronus looked down at Orion with such satisfaction that it sent a shudder through Orion. Orion was no stranger to this particular fantasy. He had dreamt about it in the dark of night before and after a few too many late night databank scrolls. But somehow the capricious fantasies of his processor and having the real thing happening in real time were so overwhelmingly different from each other that the rush of charge he was feeling was almost surprising to him. “Hmmmmm, Much better,” Megatronus murmured, pleased, smug, utterly and infuriatingly in control. He let his servo drift to the crook of Orion’s knee and in one fluid motion, tugged Orion down the berth until his aft was very nearly at the edge of it, and then Megatronus, gladiator, orator, mechanism of renowned silver glossa, hooked Orion’s knee over his pauldron and dropped to his knees. Between Orion’s legs. Like he was planning to-OH Primus . Orion was here, this was happening, he had asked for this. Begged for it even, and here it was, Megatronus finally poised to take him apart. Orion Pax was certain he had never wanted anything more. His fingers flexed on the berth, fisting in the plush coverings as he watched Megatronus settle, eyeing orion like he was a feast laid out before him.  “Megatronus-” Orion whispered, a fervent whisper, a delicate thing, almost a prayer. Megatronus pressed a kiss to where Orion’s knee was hooked over his pauldron. “What, little archivist, no treatise to read at me this time? No prepared statements?” Megatronus seemed oblivious to the currently molten state of Orion’s processor and settled a bit, lilting softly into the air between them-Orion’s systems betrayed him and the audible click of an image capture filled the space. Megatronus laughed again, optics crinkling fondly as he regarded Orion from his post between Orion’s splayed thighs. “Well I have my answer I suppose. An image is worth a thousand words, as they say ” He pressed in, the warmth of him searing through Orion’s very plating. “If I had known a few kisses and some well placed handling was all it took to reduce you to this state-”He tilted his helm, one clawed servo skimming over Orion’s scaldingly hot interface array cover. “- I would have been far more forward when first we met in Kaon.” With a snick of mechanical components, Orion’s modesty panel pulled back, baring his embarrassingly lubricated valve to megatronus’s discerning gaze. Megatronus simply purred, “ Good bot, Orion.” Before he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Orion’s blinking anterior node. Orion’s hips jolted, but Megatronus was undeterred. He descended upon Orion as though there was nowhere else he would rather be, as though the lubricant seeping from Orion’s valve was the exact thing he craved. It was dizzying. Megatronus, like on the battlefield, showed no mercy, and Orion was splayed out, subject to his whims as he pressed his faceplate further into the plush protoform of Orion’s charged up array. After a few moments of scintillating, searing charge, he pulled back, leaving Orion with servos fisted in the polycloth coverings of his berth. Megatronus simply chuckled, the low vibration of his amusement racing through Orion with a tremor that Orion was unable to place- was it simply charge in his sensor net or was it the physical rumble of Megatronus’s frame emanating from where they were linked?Orion didn’t have the processor space to spare to parse it. “What a sight you are.” Megatronus murmured, laving a long flat lick across the weeping opening of Orion’s valve. “The loquacious Orion Pax, the archivist with so much to say he can match me at every turn- utterly lost for words. Mmmmm I really should have made you mine so much sooner.”Orion whimpered. He really didn’t mean to, he really didn’t, but his processor was overclocking, his systems overheating, his sensor net and interface subsystem beginning to overcharge- and the noise just slipped out of him before he could help it. “I wonder,” Megatronus continued, ignoring the desperate noises coming from Orion’s vocalizer, “If this was what you envisioned when you first passed me that unabridged Diogenix all those decacycles ago.” His vents fanned across the sensitive protoform of Orion’s valve, one of Megatronus’s servos coming up to gently pump Orion’s neglected spike with a languid stroke of his wrist.“When you pored over my speeches until late in the night.” He skated a claw across the weeping head of Orion’s spike. “When you set your digits to the keys of your workstation to write for me-”Orion bucked into his servos, into his touch, reply dying on his glossa as Megatronus pressed his faceplate back in. He was a sadist of the highest order, Orion concluded, as Megatronus sealed his dermas around Orion’s engorged node and hollowed his cheekplates to suck in time with the slow pumps of Orion’s spike. Orion’s processor went blank, long-disused interface protocols taking control of his frame to writhe and buck and keen and shift his delicate sensory nodes closer to the mech between his legs, closer to that pleasure, closer to the shimmering overload that Orion could feel beginning to form-Orion let out a gutted moan, “Mega- tronus-” Megatronus pulled back again and Orion almost screeched in indignation. “There, that’s what you needed, isn’t it?” He licked his dermas, the silver plating stained a pale blue with Orion’s lubricant, “Mmmmm Orion. SO eager. SO devoted. SO good for me.”Orion was starting to wonder if he might enjoy positive reinforcement more than he originally thought. Megatronus’s praise certainly was doing something absolutely indescribable to his internals. And oh he liked it . Just the thought of Megatronus listening to him, watching him, praising him, acknowledging him, seeing him -Orion keened as Megatronus shifted his servos, one still pumping Orion’s spike slowly, but the other one- it came to rest on Orion’s hip, pressing him down to the berth and keeping him steady.  ‘Why would he need to do that?’ Orion wondered to himself, ‘It’s not like I can go anywhere with my knee immobilized-’ The thoughts died as Megatronus leaned forward and thrust his glossa forward and into Orion’s valve. Orion’s hips bucked and his spinal strut arched, and his vocalizer emitted a noise that he was surprised he could even make. It was somewhere between a howl and a moan and it tapered off into glitching static as Megatronus continued, lapping at sensitive internal mesh, activating sensory nodes with each swipe of that hot, wet appendage inside Orion’s depths. It was pure heat, and Orion scrabbled for purchase on the berth, one servo coming to reso on Megatronus’s helm, a warning, his charge was building and fast and Orion knew he would not last much longer, not with the way his internals were pinging, not with the cresting charge pooling in his lines rapidly becoming liquid heat-Megatronus didn’t stop, just pressed Orion down further into the plush polycloth coverings of Orion’s berth, withdrawing his glossa to lavish attention on Orion’s node. Orion tried to stammer out a protest, a warning anything-“Oh Primus- Megatronus-” He barely recognized the voice that filled the air. It was his voice, but… wanton . It was breathy and whining and Orion was almost embarrassed that it came from him. Megatronus didn’t slow, didn’t stop, didn’t yield and with a motion so fluid and quick Orion scarcely had time to process a single digit slid cautiously into Orion’s dripping, lubricated valve. The pressure was glorious, the intrusion and friction against deeper sensory nodes reaching deep into Orion’s very core sending a jolt of searing heat and charge racing through his neural net. It offlined any previous processes, any thoughts lying half formed in his processor, any words devolving into whimpers and a desperate cry of something that could have been Megatronus’s name. Orion Pax overloaded harder than he ever had in his functioning. Orion’s entire frame went taut, struts bowing in an arc he had not known himself capable of making, heat and charge mingling through him in cresting waves. The waves grew higher and higher and hotter and Orion was barely holding on as the feeling overtook him. His calipers cycled down desperately around megatronus’s digit, his spike spurted a scalding few ropes of transfluid across his abdomen, a few drops landing on the glass of his chestplate, but Orion had no wherewithal to care. No, Orion was gone, lost in the sensation racing through his frame and his vocalizer devolved into desperate, glitching static. Megatronus worked him through it, all gentle touches and slow pumps of his digit in and out of Orion’s channel with a subtle hook forward on each inward thrust. It felt like forever until he collapsed, weak and strutless against the berth, tension he had not even known he was holding leaving his frame. His vents were coming shallow, but slowly deepening and his cooling systems, which had been at a dull whine this whole while, were slowly starting to dip down into a more normal range. Megatronus pulled back, and Orion, even in his dazed state, could feel the smug satisfaction rippling in his field. It was nearly eclipsed by sheer desire. He sat back, meeting Orion’s gaze with molten intensity and-Oh sweet primus Orion had made a mess of him. His silvered faceplate was dripping with lubricant and he was absolutely nonplussed, simply withdrawing his digit from Orion’s valve and raising it to his mouth. Orion watched transfixed as Megatronus made a show of taking that clawed digit into his intake, glossa winding around it and suckign it clean-The noise that came out of Orion’s vocalizer was nearly eclipsed by his hiccuping vents as he struggled to restore his internal temperature to its usual equilibrium. By the Pit, that had no right to be as hot as it was. Megatronus hummed slightly, and as he withdrew his digit from his intake licked his dermas with such a slow torturous swipe of his glossa that he appeared to be savoring every last drop of Orion he had drunk down. As if he was committing the taste to memory. As if Orion was the most delectable thing he had ever sampled, as if Orion Pax was something to be devoured- Orion’s frame twitched valiantly at the thought, a jolt of charge ripping a whimper from his vocalizer. Megatronus chuckled, optics deeply satisfied as he leaned in, running one clawed digit down the trembling plating of Orion’s abdomen. “Oh Orion, one digit? That is all it took?” Megatronus chuckled as he unhooked Orion’s knee from the valley between the spikes on his pauldron. “It is…. Adorable how responsive your pretty little array is.”Orion could only groan in response as Megatronus set his trembling legs to either side and rose to his pedes. Megatronus laughed at that, looking over Orion’s strutlessly slumped frame with a bemused sort of grin. The same one he had worn when Orion had hurled himself in front of his storage closet what felt like aeons ago. “Still with us little archivist?”Orion barely processed the words, canting his hips up in a wordless response, a clear invitation. Megatronus only hummed, that bemused grin slipping into something distinctly hungry . “ Mmmmmmm. There’s my good bot.” Orion barely had time to process his statement before Megatronus moved, fluid and graceful as he hitched Orion’s knees up once more, his hip joints creaking with an incensed whine as he was folded nearly in half. Orion huffed, but any retort he might have had died on his glossa as he peeked between Megatronus’s thighs. The gladiator was uh…. To put it politely…. Massive.  His spike bobbed obscenely between his thighs, all glistening gunmetal gray and smooth just like the rest of him. The only variation in texture came from the subtle swell in the middle and the pulse of dark crimson biolights that glinted malevolently as Megatronus began to line himself up. The flared head was leaking a few fat droplets of transfluid from its tip and Orion knew at that very instant that the writers of the many, many fics he had read had most assuredly not prepared him for this moment. Megatronus was going to ruin him. Ruin him absolutely and beyond a shadow of a doubt. And Orion couldn’t deny the flutter of warmth and charge that sent through his still sparking lines. His vision focused in once more on that spike, Megatronus’s subtle shift drawing his attention back to the present. Orion’s processor was overlocked, overheated and not even fully online, but he managed to spark a few spare processes together just in time to think “Is that even going to fit?” No sooner had his processor spun the query that Megatronus notched the flared tip of his spike against Orion’s dripping valve and began to nudge himself inside. It was a revelation. It was friction. It was sheer heat. It was… really fragging big. Megatronus pushed in, the head slipping easily inside of Orion’s valve and with a subtle press of his hips just kept going . Inch after inch of searing, stretching massive spike was impaling Orion, ripping charge and heat through his internals. It was so much, too much.  “ Vector Sigma , Orion, relax. You're so tight-” Megatronus let out a groan, shifting his hips forward a bit. Easier said than done. Orion was panting, the lips of his valve yielding and stretching to make room for the massive intrusion of Megatronus’s spike. His calipers were slowly working open as Megatronus kept shifting forward. His entire frame was crying out, working in tandem to pull Megatronus further and all Orion could do was simply lie there, servos fisted in the now-ruined polycloth of his berth. He bucked almost imperceptibly and Meatronus swore, hips jolting forward past another set of calipers. Orion’s neural net lit up with shimmering crackles of charge. His cooling fans and Orion pax let out a noise that would have been more at home in a smutty holo-vid than the lips of a strait-laced archivist. “Megatronus- please, I can take it I promise”He was not certain if his statement was fact, but he did know that this agonizing, tense moment of Megatronus seating himself in Orion was one of the most excruciating moments of tension he had felt in a long time. Megatronus grunted and tightened his grip on Orion's hips. “Archivist-”Orion keened and with a muffled curse, Megatronus worked his spike the rest of the way inside. Orion’s optics glitched off for a minute. The sensation was…transcendent. It sparked in his melting processor, it pooled in his lines, it coiled effortlessly low in his abdomen, and he could feel the arousal and charge pooling in his spike, the appendage pressurizing valiantly with a small hiss. He was… so impossibly full. The fullest he had ever been in his entire functioning. Not that he was a mech who “got around” as they said, but his frantic digits working over his array in the middle of the night had nothing compared to this. He was stretched to capacity, taking Megatronus’s spike as though it were the very thing he had been forged to do. The thought sent a prickle of charge through him.Oh Primus, the fic authors hadn’t exaggerated when they had described this part as blissful. Orion could feel the stretch and sensation mingling together with enough pleasure to nearly short out his entire processor. Megatronus stilled as he sheathed himself fully in Orion. For a moment he stood still, vents long and deep as though he were centering himself before a match. As though he were preparing to recite poetry before the masses, as though he were about to rail against the injustice of the world. He looked down at Orion, his crystal clear, perfect blue optics meeting Orion’s own and grinned. “I warned you, didn’t I?” He shifted his hips forward imperceptibly, grinding the firm, unyielding plane of his pelvic plate against Orion’s throbbing anterior node. Orion gasped. Megatronus just chuckled, an amused lilt undercut by a faintly breathless rasp. “Are you alright, Orion?”Orion was better than alright. He had just had his valve kissed and caressed and devoured until he had overloaded hard enough to nearly take his entire frame offline and now here he was halfway up to that same peak, only this time the gladiator of his literal dreams, his friend, the mech who he had grown to care for was sheathed inside of him, servos trembling as he struggled to contain himself. Orion was absolutely fantastic. “Fine, Megatronus, why do you ask?” The sarcastic drawl he had tried to imbue within his words was almost entirely negated by the breathiness in his words, by the climbing whine of his fans, by the urgent blink of his node between Megatronus’s hips and his own. “Because you’re shaking, little archivist.” Megatronus simply arched a brow ridge. “And I haven’t even started moving yet.”He… made a very fair point. Orion opened his mouth to retort, but was quickly silenced by that same brush of blessed charge as Megatronus ground their hips together. He let out a pitiful whimper instead. “Oh Orion -” He purred, voice taking on a razor’s edge as he pulled his hips back. The slide out was agonizing, each inch, each hardfought inch leaving Orion and leaving sensory nodes crying out for the pressure they had lost. Orion mewled pitifully. Megatronus just let out a soft huff of air through his vents. His grip on Orion’s frame was ironclad, pinning the archivist to the berth. “I don’t think I can be gentle with you.”And with that Megatronus slammed his hips home. Orion howled. The sensation was a crescendoing wave, each thrust, each little bump-grind of those divine plates against his anterior node, each kiss of the head of Megatronus’s spike against his ceiling node, it all tangled together, a confusing mess of sensations roiling and racing through orion’s lines in the form of pure charge. Megatronus just set a faster pace.Orion’s spike bobbed between them, leaking droplets of transfluid onto Orion’s already soiled midsection. His valve fluttered weakly, as if in protest of the massive spike splitting it open. Orion’s frame arched and curved and swivelled, begging for more, for that final nudge of charge that would send him catapulting forward across the edge he could feel rapidly cresting in his systems, the charge level starting to spark a few error messages in his glitching processor. “You give yourself to me so willingly, Orion.” Megatronus groaned. The drag of his spike out of Orion stuttered for a moment before Megatronus punctuated his statement with a sharp thrust forward. “No hesitation.” Another thrust“No fear.” Another.  “It is like Primus himself forged you for me.” Megatronus groaned for a moment, pauldrons trembling and for a moment Orion thought he had tipped over the edge. But then his thrusts redoubled in speed and he rutted into Orion like a mech with single minded focus. Orion was not going to be able to move normally tomorrow.His entire frame shuddered and Orion knew he would not last much longer. Not when each thrust was accompanied with such glorious pressure on his node, not when each press inward had the head of Megatronus’s spike kissing his ceiling node, had his internals roiling with enough charge that his vocalizer was unable to do much more than spit meaningless static-Orion longed to recite poetry, sing the words of the great romances of Cybertronian history, to use the delicately spun prose to tell Megatronus exactly what havoc he was wreaking upon Orion’s internals; longed to enunciate exactly what feelings he was wrenching from deep within systems that had never known such bliss. But he was left with a stuttering, glitching wreck. Megatronus was not much better, his rhythm was rapidly becoming more syncopated, hips stuttering on each inward stroke. His grip had tightened, the force from those powerful servos enough that Orion was effectively unable to do much else but simply take what Megatronus would give him. “You trust me.” Megatronus growled, a statement, not a question. “Completely”A shallow rutting thrust. “Totally”He slammed home and stilled there for a moment. “I can taste it in your field, Orion.” he paused and took a ragged vent cycle, his optics meeting Orion’s and Orion met the gaze and held it. “Would you stay by my side if everything changed?”Orion knew the answer to that. Knew it as surely as he knew his own designation. Megatronus had won him, had claimed him, had a hold on him so profound it would take an act of Primus himself to wrench Orion from Megatronus’s grasp. He longed to utter those words, to swear to Megatronus that he would stand with him, would rise and fall, as long as he could keep those optics on him, keep that beautiful mind locked with his own- but Orion could do scarce more than whimper as Megatronus rutted frantically into him, taking them both closer and closer to that edge. Orion released his hold on the berth covering, tugging Megatronus downward and for the third time that evening, capturing those perfect dermas and that silver glossa in a kiss, whispering a soft, fervent, static-laced “yes” in the nanoklik before the space between them closed. No sooner had he tugged Megatronus downward than the gladiator groaned into the kiss. His hips jerked forward as he rutted once, twice, and then spilled inside of Orion. It was transcendent. It was scintillating. It was all hot and searing and crackling with enough charge that Orion could not tell where he began and Megatronus ended. The surge of charge crackling in his lines was enough that Orion finally tipped over the edge, his calipers cycling down and spike weakly spurting between them as he clung to his gladiator. His frame was rigid, every strut locked into position as he arched beneath Megatronus, completely and utterly claimed. Orion pax was marked, filled, taken, owned . And Megatronus was holding him close, his own hips stuttering weakly as the pair of them rode out their release together. Orion slumped back to the berth, absolutely strutless, completely limp, and thoroughly sated. His cooling systems were screaming, vents expelling what felt like an almost unreal quantity of heat, his optics unable to focus on anything, save for the ceiling above. And the gladiator - the mech that was responsible for reducing Orion to this fragged out mess of circuitry and transfluid and charge - was slowly hauling himself off of Orion’s trembling frame, spike slipping from his well-used valve with a rush of transfluid. “Megatronus…” Orion groaned, his static-tinged voice barely holding together “That was…”“Amazing? Astounding? The best you’ve ever had?” Megatronus grinned, utterly insufferable, utterly confident, in spite of the air of breathlessness that tinged his words. “ DO go on, little archivist.”Orion tried valiantly to prop himself up on his elbows to fix Megatronus with the glare he deserved. He failed spectacularly. He flopped back to the surface of the berth, arm twitching uselessly and a twinge of tenderness emanating from deep within his abdomen. “It was ... Nice ” His vocalizer glitched at the end, and Orion manually reset it, trying to clear the last of the static from his voice. Megatronus threw back his helm with a laugh as he stood, standing with the easy grace of a mech who had not just fragged Orion Pax into oblivion. He stretched his spinal strut and twisted side to side as though their interfacing had been nothing more than a slight bit of leisurely exercise.“ Nice. ” he echoed, deeply amused, “And yet, you are ruined. I ought to feel guilty about that, but alas-” He exvented with a tinge of teasing satisfaction. “-I truly cannot find it within my spark.” He was pleased, a soft rumble emanating from his chassis. Orion huffed a laugh, weak but genuine, making another feeble attempt to prop himself up.“I- We- We should clean up.” He paused, a horrible realization dawning. “And preferably before Jazz decides to break in and interrogate us.”Megatronus laughed. “I am almost certain your friend has already drawn his own conclusions.”Orion groaned and let his helm thunk back against the berth.He…. had a point. Jazz had always had a nearly supernatural deductive mind, and well- Orion hadn’t exactly been subtle earlier.Not when he had whimpered, moaned, keened loud enough that Jazz had heard even across the connection of their comm line-Orion twitched violently, trying to shake the thoughts from his helm in an effort to dislodge the embarrassment that surged with them. A soft chuckle reached his audials, and then, unexpectedly, Megatronus pressed a gentle kiss to the low flare of Orion's helm crest.  Orion’s optics cycled wide. Megatronus had never done that before. A kiss. It was not teasing, not probing, not hungry, it was just…. 
A kiss. 
A clawed servo smoothed across Orion’s chestplate, a lingering, tender touch, and then Megaotrnus stepped back. “Stay, Pax. I will be back in a moment.” As though Orion could do anything else. Orion barely registered Megatronus leaving, but a few familiar noises brought his processor closer to awareness as it slowly struggled to recover from the successive overloads. A rustle of polycloth. The flow of solvent.Megatronus sighing, low and indulgent, solvent splattering against plating. Then, pedesteps. Heavy. Unhurried.Megatronus returned, settling on the berth next to Orion, a polycloth soaked in solvent clutched in his digits. Orion barely twitched as Megaotrnus pressed the cloth to the inside of Orion’s thigh, cleaning the errant and drying transfluid, evidence of their coupling, from the silvered metal. “Hmmmm a mess indeed.” Megatronus rumbled, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Orion protested with a groan, reaching for the cloth. “You really do not have to, Megatronus, I can handle myself-”Megatronus simply shook his helm, utterly unimpressed. The cloth moved across Orion’s array next, gently cleaning the sensitive protoform and coaxing Orion’s modesty panel back into place. “Nonsense.” Megatronus said with a purr in his voice, “It would be absolutely reprehensible to simply leave you in such a state.”Orion Pax could do little else but watch as Megatronus cleaned him, too exhausted to protest further as Megatronus worked with surprising patience - scrubbing the drying transfluid from his abdomen, the seams of his plating, his hip joints, all with the care of a mech who was accustomed to such fine detail work. His clawed servos were gentle and Megatronus was mindful of where the talons lay, avoiding any unpleasant pricks along Orion’s protoform. It was… tender. Kind in a way that many would not expect from Megatronus. But Orion?Orion had seen that from the beginning, seen that passion lurking in the spark that roared into the unforgiving air of Kaon, that spoke words of hope and power to the downtrodden, that spun speeches into existence that had brought Orion to his knees-Orion had always known. And now, with his systems slowly starting to succumb to the pull of recharge, Orion felt positively vindicated. Megatronus set the cloth aside. “There. Much better.” Megatronus smiled down at Orion, something small and imperceptible for a moment before he cast the soiled cloth into a receptacle. That smile widened to contain just a hint of his usual smirk. “I suppose I shall take my exile to the couch then. Sleep well, Orion Pax.”Orion, already halfway lost to exhaustion, frowned. Megtronus had fragged him halfway into the Well and now was going to….leave? That would simply not stand- “No.” Orion mumbled, voice little more than a static laced murmur. “Megatronus… please… stay?” Megatronus stilled. Then, slowly, he smiled. “Mmmmm. Gladly .”He settled on the berth, utterly at home, effortlessly drawing Orion in and allowing the smaller mech to fold into his side as if Orion were naught more than an errant piece of kibble. It was… wonderful. It was…. A definite upgrade from the body pillow still languishing in Orion’s closet.Orion laid his helm on the curve of Megatronus's chassis, his servo resting absently over Megatronus’s spark. Megaotronus threw an arm around Orion, settling in the crook of Orion’s waist. Possessive. Protective. Inevitable.  It was warm. It was domestic. It was… undoubtedly the most comfortable Orion had ever been. And as recharge slowly surged up to claim him, Orion’s systems began to wink off one by one. First his optics. Then his neural netThen, as Orion began to submit to the call of his sleep cycle, Orion barely registered the rumbling murmur pressed against the curve of his helm. “I do not even need to ask, do I? You are mine.” Orion hummed happily, barely processing the words.“In every way that matters, you are mine.”That was true. Orion knew. He was Megatronus’s and Megatronus was his. Orion was drowsy and content, and Megatronus was his. He was warm and perfect and clever and brilliant and wonderful and insufferable and so so sweet- Orion Pax smiled as he slipped into recharge.Megatronus had not been referring to the berth at all. Nor the way Orion Pax had yielded to him. He had been referring to something far greater than them. Far more important. Megatronus slipped into recharge with thoughts of Kaon on his mind--and a beautiful, brilliant, utterly claimed mech curled against his side. His weapon. His archivist. 
His.