#Megatron is a cocksure aft but has genuine concern

[birthdaycakeplate]

Optimus getting pampered because he deserves it-

We love that boi-

💖Oh! Oh 💕a stranger 💖who loves💗💕me! Ohhhhh!!! OHHHHHH, I love you 💗💝too ✨stranger💞

💘Thank you for this chance to project💘

I shortened it to heck and back, please believe me, but this is fic length, again.

I’ve also been sick for a couple weeks and really channeled that humiliation into ruining Optimus here. He’s baby to the max.

✨Warnings are in the tags✨

💕Thanks everyone💕

——- ————- —-

“Are you paid hourly, sniveling whelp?”

Optimus tilted his helm up towards the blur of navy and violet, looming in tall, twisted shapes above him.

This particular Decepticon apparently had much to hate him for -maybe more so than Sentinel at times. Thankfully, Optimus had learned this mech would never dare to pose anymore a threat to him than being an infinite source of insults and condescendence. Much like Sentinel...

And while he hadn’t a clue what he’d done to offend him so, this was thankfully a normal enough occurrence that Optimus knew he wasn’t in any real danger. Which was good, because he could barely suffer to stand upright at the moment.

Optimus, in his haggard state, only then remembered that he was holding a very breakable datapad in hand and scrambled with pitifully shaky servos to right his grip. Somehow this minuscule task was an entire feat to accomplish. It predictably earned him a sneer from the other mech.

As far as this ‘Cyclonus’ with all his unrepressed hate, standing there only half expecting to get a real reaction out of the smaller bot went, Optimus figured he’d do well enough to give him his usual proud flick of the finial and continue his work. Seemingly unbothered. Seemingly undisturbed by tonnes of angry war frame that’d like to crack open his helm for invading his terf and enraging him by simply existing.

But right now, the floor was precariously close to spinning out from underneath him, and he couldn’t remember for the life of him what his work actually was.

7 cyberweeks of pathetic bits of recharge. Nothing solid, nothing deep enough to free up all the clustered data he’d tried to shove in on 14 hour shifts.

Getting used to life on the Nemesis, the work expected of him from the Magnus as the sole mech trusted enough to handle the raging rouge that was Megatron -while also not being a terrible loss if all his leaders’ worst fears that they were dealing with unreachable beasts in this truce attempt came true- had left him seriously sleep deprived.

There was plenty to keep him awake at night.

His leaders, for example, had left him with little faith in any of their futures. Optimus had known from the start of this arrangement he had a far better grasp on the genuine civility of war frames than an out of term council who were quite stuck in their ways. Including the likelihood an entire enemy faction were going to open up for them before they did a grunt with little say in anything without the desire for confrontation than the history books had shown his superiors had. Demanding respect, demanding conformance.

Obviously Optimus was just hoping to survive this ordeal, and made him leagues more approachable than the council did. In that sense, the route they’d chosen to take with his role here was a much better idea than their direct involvement.

It still pained him to think they’d be so eager to shunt him off with what they believed were hoards of dangerous, raving lunatics still. It’d definitely kept him from having a peaceful recharge for some cycles now.

He couldn’t say he was surprised they had, however. And there was evidently some consolation in admitting the roots of this bizarre culture of mecha to be undoubtedly absurd, and thus somewhat a lot of raving lunatics. They had absolutely proved to be unnatural forces of crazy-

But still quite reasonable. Still Cybertronian. Still worthy of a chance.

One rather ethereal creature from the dark depths of Tarn in particular had proven so.

Optimus would kick himself in the aft for prioritizing thoughts of Megatron of all horrid creatures over whatever he’d been standing in the command center at this hour for.

His struts ached, his vents rattled, his helm felt muddled and cloudy.

He could hardly make sense of what Cyclonus’ weary once-over meant -his lagging processor trying to focus much too hard on the datapad down in his servo and why he’d brought it in here.

After another beat of uneventful silence, the dark mech finally chose to move on with his gruesome morning, and Optimus watched him go.

“Don’t vorry about zat lu-lu.” Blitzwing chirped happily from somewhere behind him. Optimus would need to see the medic onboard about his shorting audio receptors when it came through with a touch of static.

Blitzwing carried on.

“He’s a bit of a vild card! Always causing a stir, ja?”

Optimus nodded like he knew all about the terror from the sky that was Cyclonus, and his supposed antics. Deciding then that a walk about the place would jog his processor back up to speed.

He moved a bit sluggishly, careful not to hover too long at someone’s shoulder.... Lest he make another enemy among these easily offended sparks.

Then someone, he couldn’t imagine what kind of Decepticon would be concerned for him in anyway -or if maybe he’d just hallucinated the voice whispering things in his audial in the first place- mentioned something about him being a hazard, and that he didn’t belong on deck in this state.

Which was war frame for, ‘You need a break, bud’, and Optimus couldn’t help but feel a bit endeared by it. Wheezing through ex-vents, or not, he was starting to recognize a place for himself here.

As for their lack of faith that he wasn’t about to tumble over the nearest control panel and send them all careening into a star, well... Optimus was terribly offended. Maybe he could have used a few more kliks in recharge, sure. But he could do his job!

Everyone needed him to!

Whatever that job was exactly....

He surely looked like a lost turbo-puppy, shuffling aimlessly about, finials dipping low. Out of breath from his rigorous traipse across 3 war frame sized stairs. Thankfully, though, he noticed a rather quiet spot that was practically void of bots at the top and center of the room, overlooking the organized chaos below.

Optimus hardly registered his pedes carrying there until he was nestled into the nice, dim quiet. His optics long since adjusted to the strategical use of black light on the main deck.

Having a moment to stop and rest, he found it the slightest bit easier to think up here. He took a labored breath that did nothing to clear his vents and held his datapad up to optic level.

He blinked down at the same header he strangely remembered reading over and over a few hours ago before the glyphs had started to merge and the room began to spin. Clearly he’d been in this poor shape for a while now and had had far too many chances to fix the issue. He deserved everything coming to slap him ‘round the faceplate for it.

Optimus stared intently at the pad like that would unlock all the secrets it possessed, staring numbly with helm swimming, until the datapad began to move father and farther away. Farther and farther, and then-

Warm, blissful silence.

——- ————- ————

Megatron had watched the little fiend stagger around the room in a kind of daze, wandering like he hadn’t spent the last 3 deca-cycles leaving his prints around the place. Pestering Megatron about ethical nonsense the entire time.

Clearly his processor was vacant enough not to know which way was up, as the little bot eventually came to stand on tired pedes beside him at Megatron’s throne of all places. Likely having moved there completely subconsciously in an effort to find somewhere quiet and soothing in his addled state.

His absolutely desolate state, really... poor thing wasn’t processing slag.

Megatron was surprised to find him take his place among him, wondering -hoping- if Optimus had perhaps *sought* his company out by some kind of instinct.

They certainly seemed to calm in each other’s presence under more cordial circumstances. Mostly notably during their occasional evening fuelings together where they entertained themselves by digging at some of their favorite tasteless literature -a hobby of sorts which they looked forward to, though the evenings were never actually planned.

And during the short briefings he’d decided at last to give the Prime a part in- the two quickly devolving into thinly veiled teasing in favor of committing to their very important work. Giving each other backhanded compliments until someone cracked and it turned in to full on sass and a mockery of the command room.

And during their trips across opposite ends of the near infinite ‘vessel from hell’, stopping when they came across each other to whittle away hours upon hours on stunted small talk, talk that Megatron would have sooner shot the jaw plate right off of anyone else who thought they should waste his time with. Optimus’ most common subject of interest being about how pretty the nearest constellation looked that evening.

Weirdly enough, running in to each other after having not seen the other for the length of that cycle doused the tension in something intimate. Those little talks always felt the most fragile and precious.

It was inevitable really. Wasting that time away doing nothing more than yammering about their ridiculous time on Earth in some kind of reminiscing that old friends do. Things that Megatron had hardly even made sense of at the time and felt strange and surreal they’d even shared those moments together -volatile as they were.

And sometimes it was them discussing their favorite theater (and Megatron’s endless surprise that Optimus even had such) until one of them remembered they were long overdue somewhere important.

Drawn to each other, like magnets.

Maybe, truthfully, he was romanticizing any time they spent together. Megatron was familiar -Optimus was likely only lured so easily by his company, because he was the only familiarity on an entire fleet of hostile faces.

But he could hope, because....

Well, because.... Because *Megatron* certainly liked having his company.

There, he breathed it into being. Couldn’t pretend it wasn’t so now that he’d spared so much thought about Optimus’ taste in defensive maneuvers over early fuelings, now could he?

Right now, though, the little Prime’s normally welcome presence was overshadowed by one anxious warlord with fists clenched, watching as the smaller mech began to sway.

The little fool hadn’t done a thing he’d been told about keeping his own schedule for recharge when he’d come aboard. The place was a chaotic mess, no one would be there to remind him to do ‘self care’ -a word that made most ‘Cons cringe away.

Of course, head strong, young and eager to prove himself, Optimus hadn’t listened... So sure he wouldn’t be struggling to keep up with powerful war type engines with enough stamina to work a kilocycle without a defrag (Megatron thought fondly of Shockwave).

Optimus simply had gone and overclocked himself like an aft. Megatron had noticed a disturbing pattern that involved Optimus not listening to anything concerning his health that wasn’t life or death. He’d seen a small instance of such when the bot showed blatant disregard for a gouging burn in his servo from his accidental contact with the lovely Sunstorm, convinced Ultra Magnus needed his report more than he needed emergency repairs. He couldn’t feel it, after all, so why couldn’t it wait another solar cycle?

For all his levelheadedness and practically, Optimus had failed further to recognize that sleep, at least, *was* life or death.

Well, then. Megatron, as a great and glorious leader, would just have to fix this mess himself. Possibly the only bot in existence that’d ever deserved Megatron’s kindness, and he wasn’t even cognitive enough to appreciate it.

A big, black servo engulfed a little, blue one and pulled.

Down went Optimus without a bit of fight in him, yanked right off his pedes and into Megatron’s lap. His optics had already offlined before he’d even landed, and he lay there silently, chest moving with every soft ex-vent.

Megatron shifted his thighs wider to offer more support to the little figure of exhaustion below, keeping him cradled. Observing the way his finials slipped lower down his helm and feeling rather enamored with the sight.

Getting Optimus in a state that wasn’t ‘suspicious’ or ‘cautious’ or ‘completely untrusting of a single mech in his vicinity’ was impossibly rare. It meant Megatron never got to see him with his guard down -something he’d have loved to see more of in their time on earth while they’d been at each other’s throats.

This look on him was surprisingly very much preferred -perfectly content to slumber away in his lap, unbothered, if Megatron didn’t know any better.

He couldn’t help but indulge in the sight of the little mech looking at ease, curling into his warmth. Incapable of being weighed down by the eternal war he seemed to wage with himself about whatever benign thing a pure spark had to guilt themself over.

The terror of Kaon, far too pleased with his new trophy however temporary, dared any curious optics looking their way that might settle for even a nanoklik a look of his own that promised slow, painful death. No one accepted his challenge and kept their helms down and about their busy lives.

Satisfied, Megatron looked down at his little menace from Iacon. The battered mech that’d both found his way onto Megatron’s pristine warship and -somehow- into the bounds of Megatron’s limited patience. And like a fool that wasn’t experienced for millennia in using good sense, Megatron had willingly opened both up to Optimus’ delightful presence, forcing them to allow him entrance and respect. Impossible to ignore.

Megatron would maybe admit he’d given in long before this truce and the bot’s position here.

Maybe around the time Optimus had snapped back at his attempts to break him with far too much confidence for a mech half his size. Maybe when he’d hauled him off his aft into custody with more nobility and honor than Megatron had ever seen an Autobot possess.

Optimus’ vents stuttered, worrying him further that something serious might be wrong.

Had he worked himself sick? Megatron had seen Lugnut do it -he’d seen Starscream do it.

He’d seen all his driven, loyal subordinates do it at one point or another.

This one was not the same, though. This one was small and easy to exhaust with pretentious has-beens like Ultra Magnus demanding the work of 5 mechs from him. From the few instances he’d seen him interact with the more sociable ‘Cons, he’d noticed Optimus was rather easy to guilt, too. Megatron had found that startling revelation quite a detriment to the little one’s health. A guilty Optimus, whatever had set him off, proved himself a workaholic and struggled to think of himself as more than just a cog in the machine. The ‘greater good’ outweighed the needs of the overworked few.

Megatron had no doubt in this case he had worked himself to sickness out of sheer guilt that some other bot might be even slightly inconvenienced by his absence.

Megatron bristled as he wondered who of his men could have put it in his processor that they mattered even remotely as much as Optimus’ well being did. Who was possibly more important than this weary one here?

A big, warm palm moved to fiddle idly with a windshield, stroking the glass, careful of its skewering claws. He received a tilted helm burying into his side in response.

Megatron was perceptive, and he’d directed that towards learning a bit about the thoroughly guarded bot below. When he considered every option, the chances were that Optimus had put the thought that he should be forgoing his health for the sake of his work in his own head. He seem predisposed to such from what Megatron had seen of Shockwave’s academy records of the Prime. Those very sensitive, very interesting records.

The little truck slumbered away. So frighteningly beyond the limits of a simple restful recharge with the hitch in his vents that Megatron was pushed to call in Hook. Fearful a permanent stasis was fast approaching.

Little fool....

—— ————-

Optimus awoke to a large warmth draped across his side, and the generous padding beneath his backstrut he could blearily make out as his berth. The pad felt near infinite, stretching on whichever way he sprawled, molding to his tired frame.

No.

No, not *his* berth.

Optics going wide, Optimus frantically looked over his surroundings, processor stalling when a visual feed finally made sense of things with smell and touch quickly following.

That large warmth was an impossibly large war frame lying a servo over him, pressed against his side. The smell of gun smoke, of something decidedly mech filled his olfactory. Without a thought he breathed deep, venting that heady mix deeper into his chest.

“You’re awake already?” Megatron -of all the horrifying creations in the galaxy- was sitting in a chair that’d been moved flush against the berth, so he could easily reach for his diminishing patient atop it.

Optimus willed his spark to extinguish then and there and let his frame sink into the padding, and further still, into oblivion.

Primus, just offline him now...

He clutched at the arm across him with hands he’d steadied through sheer force of will.

“I-where am I- what am I doing here- what are *you* doing here?”

“These are my private quarters, and I was told you’d be in recharge for at least a week.”

Megatron’s private quarters- with said mammoth of metal and muscle casually draping a servo over his unconscious figure? Great.

And this talk that he’d be in recharge for a week? A whole week?

Why in the Allspark would he-

Everything suddenly became more clear to him than it had since his steady decline of sleep on the Nemsis some deca-cycles ago. Awareness crashing into him all at once, cutting through his consciousness, and the unfortunate conclusion was-

“Oh... Oh no!” Optimus felt his spark sink to his tanks.

“I have to order rations for the crew on Kleese side! I have to secure a line between the expedition team that joined-“

In panic and sleep deprivation and whatever thing had made his helm all staticky, Optimus processor quickly got away from him.

“If we have another Phantom Fleet, it’ll all be *my* fault!” He cried, Megatron looking completely at a loss for *that* statement.

“I need to confirm I’m an available resource manager- they don’t even know I exist yet! They don’t have the proper facilities without someone to work the line! I have to report to Ultra Magnus- I-“ Optimus stopped with optics wide and rolled with great effort onto his side to level with the bigger mech.

“*How long have I been in recharge*?”

Megatron frowned accordingly.

“A few solar cycles.”

“No! *No*!” Optimus had to force himself to loosen his grip on the giant servo to keep from denting it. Easy enough, when defeat began to mingle with exhaustion.

He’d let everyone down, again...

That thought alone was enough to renew his vigor and send him practically crawling up the berth to escape Megatron’s hold.

“It’s too late, the expedition team will be starved to death already! I have to arrange a list of casualties-“

Free of one serval tonne servo, Optimus swiftly sat himself up, and was immediately met with a hot palm splaying over his chest plate. Pushing him back down with half the effort it’d take to restrain a fully functional Optimus.

“I have to get back, Megatron! The party have families waiting-“

“They’ve got everything they need, Prime!” Megatron said, half hysterical. The absolute delusion a frantic Optimus could conjure in his guilt. His *bizarre*, outlandish guilt.

“You aren’t the only communications source for my men- what an ordeal that would be.” Megatron had the audacity to roll his optics at the other’s mortal coil.

“But I-“

That servo moved from his chest to reach beneath him and lift his weakened frame just enough to stuff a pillow that was definitely not standard issue for the common rabble underneath his helm. Optimus’ aching shoulders fell into it gratefully.

Megatron continued to undo the tension tying him into knots with more of his usual bleak, hopeless reassurances. The ones Optimus was oddly endeared by and appreciated the familiarity of, despite the cold honesty.

“This alliance between our people is a glorified test run, and, inevitably, an excuse to continue the war when your leaders choose the most damning evidence you’ve unwittingly presented to them these past cycles to declare us ireedemable by Primus. And further, a wasted effort. Others far more capable at the moment have your position filled, Optimus Prime.”

No, Optimus wasn’t sure his leaders were actually so eager for the war to wage on- more like they had little to no hope an alternative was truly possible.

Which, why send him here in the first place then?

It was at that moment Megatron’s shameless spark burst to life, and a thick digit reached out to tentatively trace over the vents in Optimus’ abdomen. Up and down, crossing over the dull, bladed edges of his grille with a ‘clink’ when his claws caught over each fold. Careful not to bare down.

“W-what are you,” Optimus cleared his vocalizer and pushed that warm palm putting a flutter in his tanks away.

“What are you doing?”

‘It’s me, Optimus. Not that you remember my name when it doesn’t explicitly suit you.’ Was what he’d wanted to say. But how *exactly* could he deny how weirdly intimate their encounters had been as of late, anyway?

What with long, pointless conversations at late hours in empty corridors about Megatron’s extensive exploits from long before Optimus’ creation. Or asking, perhaps a bit too forwardly, to hear of his recreational works -which Megatron would deny him, though clearly flattered all the same. Or actively seeking the other’s gaze to share an eye roll with at the insanity of morning refuelings with all the ‘Cons who’d happily see each other pushed down a quarry forced to interact, providing endless entertainment of the violent sort.

One more unabashed display from this deplorable mech was hardly a surprise.

Even if this had been the first time their.... weird relationship had delved into this side of something genuine -like Megatron appearing honestly concerned for his well being.

Which was ludicrous, of course, but...

He had dragged him into his berth after all.

How and why had he ended up here, again?

Megatron looked unbothered by Optimus’ sudden shyness.

“I was merely trying to keep you relaxed. I need to keep you comfortable.” Megatron purred, like being in his berth wasn’t already questionable enough without *that* particular tone.

“Hook was quite clear that you needed ‘proper’ rest -and so, are you feeling content? How can I put your processor at ease?”

Optimus stalled.

Hook? The medic that’d threatened to throw Skywarp’s dismembered arms into a smelter instead of helping reattach them, but a medic no less? Optimus could only figure he’d fainted then, since he was missing such a large chunk of his memory in the time before Megatron’s overwhelmingly big berth was all he’d come to know.

And if the medic involved had assigned him here, then he’d been put on berth rest...

How humiliating.

Now he wished he’d just taken the extra care to recharge before he’d passed out in front of his superior.

His superior? Was Megatron even? Optimus was incredibly grateful his role and orders when given this position were so painfully vague now, and didn’t have to worry too much about his insubordinate streak towards both factions if it meant he didn’t have to consider *Megatron* his *superior*.

He made to move again, feeling he had to do *something*. He sat up again and got as far as swinging his legs over the edge of the berth before Megatron proved he was apparently happy to follow doctor’s orders for once -A miracle, considering the time he’d walked around on poisoned Energon once, refusing a system flush. He’d thrived off the contaminated fuel even, by pure spite to Starscream alone.

Optimus was really ready to get out of berth now.

“You’re staying here.”

Fantastic....

“Can’t I stay in my own room?” He pushed at the mech invading his space and blocking his escape.

“Certainly. And I will ensure you stick to doctor’s orders while you do so.”

Optimus’ finials tipped forward threateningly. Megatron ignored the pitiful display.

After a moment of unwavering wills clashing together and filling the expansive room with tension, Optimus had to sigh and swallow his shattered pride. Hoping this wasn’t the kind of thing he’d have to make a report about that would inevitably end up in the hands of Ratchet for future physicals.

He looked down at the big servo resting on the berth beside his thigh, waiting with deadly precision to jump out and snag him around the waist should he attempt freedom once more.

Controlling bastard.

“What sort of orders do I have?” Optimus growled, finials flat to his helm in an entirely different kind of threat.

“Luckily, the simple sort. And all very manageable by me.”

“You? You’re my keeper now?” Optimus hoped sassing would provoke the other into releasing him. Even if that was relatively hard to do.

“Can you afford to add ‘Nemesis Din Mother’ to your terrifying list of aliases?”

“I couldn’t very well afford ‘Forsaker of the Only Mech I Find Tolerable And At Times Reasonable’, now could I? But seeing as now isn’t one of your more sensible moments, I will assume the role as ‘Temporary Carer’.”

“Why?” Slipped out before Optimus could think better of ruffling the only bot concerned with his safety -and even with his scratchy vocalizer, he’d manage to sound quite demanding.

Who could blame him? With a history composed of violence and distrust once, this was the stuff of fever dreams.

Regardless, “Weren’t you listening?” was the significantly bemused response he received, and it was nowhere near satisfying enough an answer.

He supposed he would have to let ‘coworkers’ via ‘peace time’ be good enough a reason. As if that normalized being doted on in a work associate’s bed.

—— ———— —

Stuck in a berth on medical leave was one of the most painful experiences in Optimus’ lifecycle.

He was trapped there on special orders in a room where his former archenemy, who’d never bothered to remember his name at one time, could just waltz in and irritate him with news about the ship’s perfect functioning while their martyr took a much needed break. Aft.

Optimus could handle the sarcasm and pigheadedness -he’d gotten both from his Earth crew and Sari regularly. The awkward doting, however, when Megatron would bring him cubes and wait patiently (unnecessarily) for him to finish them before asking if he was still hungry was another thing.

As were the extra berth sheets that’d slowly started accumulating around Optimus, until he was practically lying fluffed up and wrapped inside a nest.

As were the corrosive polishes freshly bought and presented to him to use for a quick buffing when a private wash rack was a door away.

Confusing- mind blowing- so, so unnecessary- so, so humiliating.

He could have done without all this, yes, but he wasn’t sure if he’d have been saved the same fate if he’d demanded to suffer alone in his own quarters. Megatron was clearly actively seeking him out.

Finding the ex war lord locked inside his private room any other time was a rarity, ever present and foreboding someplace on the ship where there were blithering mechs to scare.

Now that Optimus couldn’t even get rid of him with Cyber-bear mace if he tried, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been something of a personal target of his since coming aboard the Nemesis. They did have a way of running in to each other, but *this*.... Megatron was always fluttering about his room now, having such important paperwork to do all the sudden -the sort he’d shuck off on Shockwave prior- and leaving Optimus to endure his frequent company.

Which wouldn’t be so bad- Optimus couldn’t pretend he didn’t enjoy the niche similarities they did share. Who else honestly thought tactical maneuvers was a fun subject? Or that the great wars the bigger mech had weathered made for interesting story time?

But the fact that he was spending hours lying uselessly around a cushiony little nest, accepting warm fuelings, Megatron’s personal literature, and allowing himself to doze to the sound of that baritone voice when there were bots upstairs working themselves to stasis -and not by their own doing- was just plain unacceptable.

“Don’t rush your recovery, Optimus. Your system functions need time to come back online- and to do that you need adequate recharge for all the cycles you missed. And fuel.” Megatron extended a servo to the pouting mech, holding a mesmerizing, swirling cube of Energon.

Optimus sat up, thoroughly reprimanded for acting like a sparkling, and peered over at the dazzling purple slush inside.

“And *that* is supposed to be adequate fuel?”

More than adequate- that was the problem. The ‘that’ in question was an Energon goodie, that much was obvious, and while still very unnecessary, he couldn’t help but wonder about its unusual contents.

Optimus reached for it and gingerly took a sip, finials pricked high upon his helm.

He savored the smooth, sugary gush, optics locked suspiciously on the terrible mech awaiting his approval. A smirk slowly forming.

“This alloy tastes like an Earth solution. Potassium permanganate?”

Very much not a thing a despiser of all things organic would keep aboard his ship.

Further more, no matter how good and sweet it tasted, a splash of medical grade human antiseptic had never occurred to him he might try as a junky little treat. How’d Megatron figure so? Where’d he even get it?

And why hadn’t he stopped taking sips already?

His pout was significantly less effective when plush lips were busy sucking down their fourth fueling in a cycle -and especially so, when it was laced with additives for substantially less health related reasons.

He should really stop accepting this kind of treatment. Maybe if he just reminded Megatron that frivolous expenditures had always been beneath him before Optimus’ self induced injury....

“I’ll fetch you another.” The larger mech said.

He turned towards the door and stopped abruptly to consider his own words. A momentary pause that was dismissed much too quickly for someone who once openly sang of the conquering of Autobot Tyranny and its desire to reduce his people to little more than giant, thoughtless pets, and then he was off to ‘fetch’ his drink.

Leaving Optimus almost inconsolably bewildered, and with a half full cube of treated Energon he’d hardly made a dent in tilted towards his lips.

The absurdity of Megatron practically self proclaiming himself Optimus’ new errand boy seemed to bring him to his senses a bit.

Was Megatron.... coddling him?

Coddling *him*? Optimus Prime?

And also, *Megatron* and *coddling*?

No, no, no, no. Now he was just being an idiot.

First of all, the frequent playfulness in their interactions -yes, he could admit their constant taunting of the other was hardly the stuff of unbridled hate these days- didn’t exactly mean he’d earned himself any special privileges. Optimus was still an inconvenience to him, put here in a measly attempt to keep some control over the affairs of adventurous, destructive war machines in the wake of a shaky truce.

It wasn’t like Megatron’s interest in him went farther than Optimus’ ability to offer him challenging conversation and fresh perspective (on matters he apparently wasn’t being taken seriously in managing here either. Surprise).

And those were Optimus’ own thoughts exactly on the dangerous ‘Con. Megatron was a fun challenge -now that he wasn’t hellbent on his destruction. He was a welcome change to Optimus’ stagnant life.

This surreal, shocking amount of care he’d shown on Optimus’ behalf -which was again, unnecessary- wasn’t anything as outlandish, as *impossible* as Megatron wishing to *coddle* him. To keep him safe and see him back to health once more. It was just.... he was just....

Optimus hadn’t a clue *what* he was doing. He only knew it wasn’t coddling for Primus’ sake. Though still very odd and very much a mystery -one that’d tear him apart at the seams until he had suitable answers. Make him question everything he’d come to know about the Decepticon leader and whether he was just an ambitious, presumptuous mech for even entertaining the idea-

And Optimus should *really* stop frying his circuits over all this and get some much needed recharge.

He sipped his cube with both hands, finally used to the sizable difference in the war class’ servos to his own. It was still warm and sweet, and it lulled him into a comfortable recharge, back down into the pillowy layers of his makeshift nest.

Happily oblivious to Megatron’s heated gaze when he returned with his fifth ration, taking enormous pride in having secured the little mech’s comfort. Though, one more sheet wouldn’t hurt.

——— ———— —-

He’d figured he’d survived the full insanity of his situation and came out on top when his subroutines reverted to his usual standard, and Optimus was able to go more than a few hours without rest again. It wouldn’t be long before he was his old self, and he’d be cleared for the bridge.

So why now, when he was capable of walking himself over to the washroom for solvent showers and fuelings cut to twice a cycle again, was Megatron ten times harder to get rid of?

Optimus couldn’t swing a thigh over the edge of berth before Megatron was subspacing his datapad and hurrying to his side. Offering a hand to take.

“I’m not completely dilapidated,” Optimus mumbled -which he never had been.

“You don’t have to worry about me falling apart if I walk to the mess hall.”

“Why are you walking at all?” Megatron countered and sounded ever so slightly annoyed at the prospect.

Like having a mech who was capable of getting up and walking around to fend for himself was more annoying than having an independent bot with near perfect functioning lying uselessly in his berth.

Megatron was perceptive, calculating. He could see that Optimus was doing fine now, and it was more than a little shocking that he hadn’t decided it time for him to move on and resume their work like normal honestly.

Optimus thought it time he ask him such.

“I can’t thank you enough for watching out for me,” He began, even taking the servo offered in a gesture of goodwill.

“But I’m good as new -more or less. I can handle myself from here on, so-“

“Allow me to see you to your destination.”

Optimus was cut off, and that was as much a sign as any that Megatron wasn’t leaving this up for debate. Which was *odd*, but fine with Optimus. He liked his company when it wasn’t centered around him being babysat like a mechling.

Optimus dipped his helm and shrugged.

“Fine. Maybe we can get some work done while we walk. I’d like to know where we stand with the crew on Kleese now. Are they receiving full necessities? I’ve noticed you war frames don’t prioritize medical leave in the event of an injury.”

Megatron would like to shake him unconscious and explain to him how that was the greatest hypocrisy of the seven centuries when he awoke.

He walked with Optimus side by side, watching him from the narrow corner of his optic. As if he thought Optimus might be about to bow over and faint any moment. The smaller bot tried not to grind his denta together too loudly.

“Everyone is accounted for, all resources at their disposal, and communications have not been met with interference. They have orders to explore further.”

“But they have access to the home ship at any time?” Optimus asked, as he began to tread a little more slowly.

“What if they go too far?”

Megatron seemed to find the idea amusing.

“You are the only civil frame in our ranks, Optimus. A war frame is capable of amazing arduous feats, immeasurable to the strength of your little engine.”

Not so immeasurable the most powerful of their class couldn’t be beaten down with the Magnus hammer, firstly.

And secondly, ‘part of their ranks’?

“I’m not actually assigned to a position in your military.” Optimus pointed out, finding it a bit difficult to say so. Why was the room getting darker?

Megatron only sighed whimsically.

“Unfortunately, no.”

‘Unfortunately’?! Optimus gawked.

He would argue that the council couldn’t wait to get rid of him, and here his former enemy was acting like he’d make even a decent fit among a lot of cut throats and thugs able to work through recharge and survive whole missing sensory circuits without shedding a tear.

“However,” Megatron continued, unconcerned with Optimus’ inner turmoil.

“You’ve certainly made a place for yourself here. You’re practically one of ours now.”

Optimus went very quiet then, worried the affects of his self induced injury had somehow become contagious and spread to Megatron to damage his processor. Did he hear himself right now?

“Well,” Megatron began, voice deep and thoughtful. So low it was unlikely Optimus was entirely meant to hear his inner musings.

“I consider you so. I’d be a fool not to claim you as quickly and thoroughly as possible.”

“Excuse me?!” Optimus wheezed through his vents. He hadn’t even realized when they’d come to a stop, but that’d been enough of a gut punch to send him clutching at Megatron’s armor like a lifeline.

“You’ve pushed yourself too far, little one.”

Optimus opened his mouth to hiss indignantly at the pet name, and immediately devolved into a coughing fit. His grip loosening, as he curled in on himself.

“I’m calling Hook.” Megatron hummed and almost sounded panicked, but the single palm wrapped around Optimus’ waist, pushing his weight into the bigger mech’s felt calming and sure. Promising the other his grip wouldn’t slip in the slightest.

Beyond feeling like there were slivers of glass cutting at his intake, Optimus decided Megatron’s rather overbearing approach to him as of late wasn’t such a bad thing. If he hadn’t been here, Optimus would have been stuck struggling to vent for however long until someone came walking by. And if it had been Cyclonus who’d found him in this scenario, he wouldn’t have gotten the appropriate care he’d needed.

He let the dizziness blur with his sudden exhaustion and was soon fading into unconsciousness against a sturdy chest plate.

——- ———— -

Optimus woke to that familiar warm servo draped across him sometime later. Now waring the effects of a system flush on Hook’s command, trying to turn the room upside down on him, he had little choice but to listen quietly to the firm lecture Megatron had clearly prepared for him.

“Why do you push yourself? You understand there are consequences to such foolishness, yet you are optimistic the risk will prove worth the punishment. It hasn’t thus far.” Optimus certainly didn’t need reminding of that truth.

“It’s left you in an even worse state now. You must see how much progress this has cost you as opposed to have simply *waiting* until you were fully recovered. Why push yourself?”

There was so much disappointment in his tone, and the little bot couldn’t believe how that could feel more miserable than his aching tanks.

Optimus felt like a bigger idiot than when he’d boarded that ship for Archa Seven.

He was blessedly spared the awful, crushing force of his embarrassment by a system alert to purge. He jolted against the servo pinning him down, but the warning passed as quickly as it came. Faulty code from the flush- it was doing away with contaminants on its own without the need purging. Which means Optimus would just have to lie there uselessly, absolutely swimming in nausea, and endure the seething mech at his side while he fought random alerts to purge his brain module out.

“Sorry.” He croaked. He was only sorry Megatron was the one having to see him act a fool.

He surely made a pathetic display, as Megatron’s other servo came up out of the purest sympathy he hadn’t known him to possess to smash his cheek plate into the palm of his hand, cradling the side of his helm. Thumb stroking a finial. Optimus shivered.

“I doubt it.” Megatron finally said, and he’d be right.

Optimus had had a job to do, and recharge hadn’t been such a priority. He was much less likely to stand by that now, though, if it meant he’d be withering away in Megatron’s berth for eternity.

He’d rather be here on more pleasant terms.

Or not at all.... Definitely not at all.... yeah... uh...

“Who convinced you to take such little care in yourself, Optimus? Who put it in your processor that you matter so little? *It is appalling*, you understand?”

Optimus would tell him ‘nobody’, if he had half a mind and none of this dizziness making his helm spin. Mostly because he wasn’t even worth most peoples’ processing power.

But without the privilege of good sense and a throat that wasn’t aching with untapped emotions, Optimus simply shrugged and confessed, “I think it’s kind of obvious.” And clung a little tighter to that servo keeping him grounded.

He couldn’t tell what Megatron thought of that- whether it was disgust at the self pity or anger that a mech he apparently considered quite capable and intelligent would let such doubt overwhelm him. His optics kept shuddering, and in the dark, Optimus could barely tell which way was up without Megatron to hold him there.

But a rumble came from a powerful chest above him, rattling through his frame and filling him in a terrifying way for the possessiveness with which it spoke. He leaned into the palm at his cheek and basked in it, thoroughly surprised to find Megatron so doting for his unbecoming confession.

“If that is so obvious, why am I here? I, who wouldn’t waste my time on anything so ‘unworthy’?”

Megatron’s servo slid free to stroke languidly down Optimus’ middle. Seemingly fixated on the blades of his grille like the first time he’d taken him to berth.

And in a voice much deeper than Optimus was sure he’d ever heard it, lulled him into a quiet recharge with the softest confession of his own.

“Your worth isn’t measured by my infatuation, mind you. You are simply enough as you are, Optimus. You.... matter.”

Whether that was true or not, Optimus could hardly hope to deny so. It felt too good to hear it, but especially when it’d been Megatron to say it. Even if he sounded quite out of his depths.

He’d never know Megatron simply felt there were no words to convey the true importance of the brilliant little mech he’d stumbled across by dumb luck. This mech that deserved higher praise than one lowly lord could hope to give him.

——— ———— -

Optimus drifted in and out of recharge, offered plenty of fuel and warm words whispered in his audial between them. A few stabs at the foolishly fearless mech that had once challenged Megatron to a battle back on earth when he was so easily defeated by recharge, too. Optimus had just enough energy to sass back with talk of the pitiful space bridge debacle.

Having turned over to low prone at some point, it earned him a gentle caress along the place between his shoulders, and he was forced to hide his burning face in the hoards of blankets, willing the flutter in his spark to recede with the tension Megatron dutifully rubbed away there.

He’d deny up and down the way his engines purred at the generous touch. Soaking the foreign attention up quicker than he had the Energon.

Megatron’s affections were their own abundant source, apparently, and Optimus felt blessed to be their receiver. Finally allowing himself to give in and believe himself absolutely worthy of this explicit care. Humming and stretching when a particular spot was pushed into just so, turning him into little more than a puddle of mech.

“Roll over.” Megatron ordered, unwilling to entertain protests of any sort. So much so that he took the smaller bot by the hips and flipped him himself.

Optimus felt awash in the sensations of those battle worn hands against his chassis, undoing decades of stress. Pawing at him until his frame felt anew and free of ages of wear. Processor, too.

————— —————

He wasn’t surprised to see the ex warlord in remarkably better spirits when the illness had finally passed, and Optimus had returned to his now substantially more esteemed position. If only because Megatron knew he was taking care to get that precious recharge going forward- in Megatron’s berth, no less.

Optimus took the junky Energon treat the ‘Con shamelessly offered with all the grace of an overprivileged grunt receiving the special treatment of his high commander could. Bringing it over to sip happily from atop his perch on the throne’s armrest, finials flicking at an incensed Cyclonus marching by.

———- ——————-

This is disgustingly fluffy, I know, but I fought against the much worse fluff crimes I am capable of to spare you. And myself. I have to stop outing myself like this.

🤍Stranger, thank you, because this message was so amazing, and I want to give you something in return for allowing me to splurge and humiliate myself appropriately🤍 Being sick was worth it to scribble this thing out and just vent.

#Strong language used #Sick Optimus #Guilty Optimus #Pampered Optimus #Megatron is a cocksure aft but has genuine concern #My strange obsession with eating weird objects showed up in this I’m sorry #Random au #The general chaos of me attempting any kind of half baked lore so I can focus on giving Optimus a tummyache to make better #Megatron indulges in being a provider #Strange and undefined relationships at first #Mentions of the council and Magnus being foolish but generally good bots #Megatron is HOPELESSLY infatuated #Tfa #megop #tfa Optimus prime #GRAMMAR AND SPELLING ERRORS sorry bout that