Lord

Using his hip to push away from the desk he'd been leaned over, preening in really, he came to rest in from of Megatron, tapping a finger to his chassis.

Please. Help him. The Terrans have not taken the time change well and now Megatron is stuck where he is under a pile of recharging younglings.

"I'm afraid I can't save you, Megatron. Your fate has been sealed," Optimus said, with all the grim seriousness he could muster.

D-16 regards this massive (no, really, how tall is this mech?) cogged bot with no small amount of suspicion.

Even though Dee does take the half-cube of Energon 'Optimus' offered him. Better to have a full tank if weird stuff is happening. Or if he's going to be... Well, actually, he has no idea what any of this has to do with him at all.

Megatron sighs heavily, squoon halfway to his mouth.

Honestly. How had he spent so many years fighting this mech? Optimus was a mess.

Not that he didn't immensely enjoy shopping with Megatron, who made a list, while Optimus often simply grabbed something he thought they might need, even though this occasionally led to silly things like Megatron shouting, "why'd ya even pick up a can'o that, ye numpty, ye dinnae even like that one!"

Megatron sighs heavily, squoon halfway to his mouth.

All that stern, authoritarian confidence turns bashful and awkward at Optimus’ playful flirtations. Megatron shuffles in place, shoulder plating flaring as he glances away, flustered.

Megatron had likewise spent the day glancing over at Optimus when the truck was busy with other things, which it seemed Optimus often was; it felt as if the truck couldn’t go more than a few kliks without doing something. He was always moving. Always touching things, or fidgeting with a stylus, or biting his lip, or being unreasonable.

Being the Prime only made that habit worse. Now it wasn’t just that Orion was a pest, it was Optimus ‘receiving visions from the past Primes’ or ‘being a pest but with divine permission’.

It was. Wildly distracting.

Hooking his chin over Megatron's shoulder, he laced his servos underneath Megatron's chassis, and made a content hum, optics slanting with how pleased he was with himself. And Megatron was nice and warm- mmm.

Maybe he could lean his weight on Megatron. ..just a little.

Optimus has long stopped registering as a threat on Megatron’s internal radar. It had been, to Megatron’s skewed memory, laughably easy for Optimus to convince his subsystems to let him back in; his handshake codes for wired linkup were still the same as Pax’s, and Megatron had simply never reconfigured himself to let go of Orion. It was unthinkable to him to wipe Orion’s access permissions, and as far as he’d known Optimus had an entire new suite of installations and security protocols…

Well, it had saved them some moments of uncomfortable finagling, in the end, so he couldn’t complain too much.

Megatron still twitches forward at Optimus’ servo coming to rest at the base of his spinal strut.

"My favoritism," Optimus' tone went lower, so close to being sub-vocal without quite dipping into plating rattling territory. Lips brushed the side of Megatron's helmet. "It's not necessarily that you didn't know he was there, was it? Megatron... you're doing that thing, again, aren't you? The one where you don't rest, get a bit grumpy, and then snap at the closest mech?" They both knew that if Bumblebee had really startled him -unlikely- that Megatron simply would've jumped a little, and then fussed at Bee. Not outright snarled at him. Optimus' other servo squeezed at Megatron's hip. It was all the warning he was giving the mech before he was bending, twisting his top half to pick Megatron up.

And promptly put him on his shoulder.

He ex-vents in a huff, armor rustling. Even now that the GHOST base had been cleared of human operatives and the… bizarre androids created by Croft… Megatron dislikes it. It was more human than Cybertronian aesthetic for the simple fact that the humans were the ones to initially construct the space and had to retrofit for Cybertronian utility; even the places where Wheeljack had remodeled for his own uses were still left with human touches behind. Not for the first time does Megatron find himself missing the Nemesis, for all her leaky pipes and drafty upper decks.

“I rest plenty— hey!”

Optimus hauls all the weight of him up like Megatron weighed nothing more than the worries stacking up in his processor. The mech was implacable, built to carry and pull heavy burdens over incredible distances. Megatron thunks blunt fists against the idiot’s upper back and cusses at him.

Megatron wasn't.. wrong, he supposed, but that wasn't necessarily the point of this. They could sit down and discuss that later, if that was something that Megatron truly found to be an issue- Optimus could be.. stubborn, he would admit, but. He didn't want to get in the way of Bee's own accomplishments and future.

As it was, he wasn't going to listen right this moment because Megatron was being tired and grouchy. Which meant he was not, in fact, resting enough.

Fists drumming against his plating, Optimus can't help his little laugh about it, optics squinting in amusement. "Now now, Megatron, language- Dot wouldn't be happy if the Terrans started repeating some of that, I don't think." Funny- Dot wasn't often a threat he could use against Megatron, but they both knew she wouldn't hesitate to tear him a 'new one' if she found out he'd taught her babies a few new, choice words. "Aren't you supposed to be a poet? You can't be a little more creative than that?" A warm servo settled on his aft plate, patting at him absently as he made his way to their own rooms. His or Megatrons, he wondered, only briefly, before deciding that yes, they should take Optimus'. Megatron slept with so few pillows and liked to complain about his over abundance of them, but even Megatron fell into recharge amongst them.