DANGER DILF

No doubt there are more littering the rest of his frame.

Having Optimus squeezing and palming at him is enough to make Megatron’s armor lift slightly from his protoform support underneath, as if inviting the Prime’s fingers deeper. But it would be a waste to spend time trying to get at his wires when his panel also depressurizes, his spike recessed and modest valve still sticky with Optimus’ transfluid from earlier on in the evening.

No doubt there are more littering the rest of his frame.

Optimus watched him from the berth, sat on the edge with his pedes on the floor, optics narrowed to a thin sliver of blue, and considered this. Megatron was all the way over there when he should be on the berth with Optimus. ...right now.

When did Optimus get up? He was so sure the truck was out cold and snoring after the... Primus, third round? Fourth?

"I jes' wanted some coolant," Megatron mutters obstinately, thumbing at a particularly deep mark with a low grumble of his engine before turning back around to eye the mech on the raised berth in the middle of the room.

The sheets and pillows and all these things he's been piling up in Megatron's quarters over the weeks and months, as soft to the touch as Optimus was. Figuratively speaking. And yet. Here these soft things remained, stuffed into the cavity of Megatron's existence. He hasn't the spark to try and eject any of it.

The insatiable Autobot included.

He saunters back into the Prime's proximity as asked, his field curling with dark amusement as he smirks at the mech sat in front of him and nudges Optimus' knees apart with one of his own.

how can you make it Tender?

how can you make it Homoerotic?

how can you make it Implicitly intimate?

how can you make it Noticeably a metaphor for sex?

{ @primalharem }

One of those long, long legs crosses over the other as Megatron makes himself comfortable, absently fishing in his subspace pocket for his reading oculars—

Ah. Optimus.

Megatron turns his whole body to face his Prime with a questioning look, pretty much entirely oblivious to the… generous jiggling.

It took a considerable amount of effort to drag his gaze back up. It took significantly less time for his gaze to drop back down to Megatron's refineries, and.. and he should apologize, perhaps.

..maybe.

Except he was moving closer to hold them, to feel the warmth of him them, the weight of them in his servos, optics cycling a few times as his thumbs swept over the nozzles.

Optimus pulls that expression out of him a lot, come to think of it.

“Yes, well,” the tiltrotor mutters, reaching up to loosely grasp at Optimus’ wrists. “You never pass up an opportunity to take responsibility for things you shouldn’t have to.”

The filtered fuel within Megatron’s pouches must be rich and soon to be reaching his max capacity, given the way his nozzles perk up and dampen slightly at the lightest pressure from Optimus’ touch. The Decepticon looks away first, his frown becoming almost bashful— there was nothing to be ashamed of here, but the intensity of Optimus’ bright optics and the rough underlay of static to his voice felt private, somehow.

Intimate.