Revel

• Knuckles brushing your back even as he feels guilty about mining your field, he rumbles as your melancholy mood spills into him. “Did I do something? Or forget to do something?” He asks warily and you roll over onto your back, an arm across your face. ‘No, just my work sucking. I’m being laid off,’ you say and he relaxes. “You’ll find something else. I can cover the bills until then. It’s not the coming of Unicron or anything,” he soothes and you lift your arm to wrinkle your nose. ‘Remind me who that is? Cybertronian Satan or-’ You trail off and he shakes his head. “Heathen,” he growls affectionately as you smile.

• Staring at the ceiling, anywhere but him as he leans over you, it’s hard to not feel embarrassed even though the job situation isn’t your fault. Had nothing to do with you at all. “You’ll find something better,” he says, stretching out on his side facing you and sounding so confident that you give him a look. ‘We’re barely making it as is,’ you whisper anxiously and he drags you into him. His energon is so expensive and then there’s your groceries. The rent and utilities. ‘What if we have to move in with my parents?’

• “It’s going to be fine,” he insists, feeling you working yourself up and you turn on your side to face him, eyes worried. “If you can’t find anything, I can always take a second job.” Anything but having your parents constantly hounding him about sparklings since that’s their favorite topic at every family get together. And you groan, hiding your face against his chassis as his servos tunnel into your hair to cup the back of your head. “We’ll figure it out together.” Feels you wiggle to press your face against his neck and he rumbles soothingly.

• “He doesn’t abandon people like some mechs do just because they’re afraid to make changes to their lifestyle,” you mutter loudly, annoyed with him for coming back here. And at yourself for still caring about him when he’d left you. He’d decided that it was too hard to be a bounty hunter and protect you and he’d made his choice. Had dumped you on Flatline like a kitten he didn’t want. Like you meant nothing at all to him. ‘That so,’ Lockdown growls as you roll your eyes at him, pretending you don’t care.

• Venting softly and uncomfortable with the whole situation, Flatline pulls up the scan results. Aware of you smacking a hand against Lockdown while you angrily tell him to lift a plating panel. And you’re tearing loose a strip of medical tape with your teeth to make him grimace, because that’s not what he taught you. “I’m seeing an internal leak that needs to be dealt with,” Flatline mutters, watching you taping a line with quick, angry movements.

• “Lots of people have commitment issues,” you say, giving him a dismissive look. “It would have been nice if you’d had the balls to just tell me. But then, you don’t have any,” you add, brows lifting at him as his optics narrow. When did you get so fragging sassy? You’d been scared of your own shadow when he’d left you here. Rumbling as he glances at the medic, Lockdown’s jaw works. ‘You an expert on Cybertronian anatomy now? You two fragging?” He asks, trying to sound like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t want to lunge for the medic and rip his throat out with his denta.

• “What do you care?” You snap, hating that maybe you take a tiny bit of satisfaction in the idea that he might care. “I’m nothing to you. Remember?” You demand, hating that dull ache. That even though you’re with Flatline and happy, you still miss Lockdown. Miss his attitude and snark. ‘I never said that,’ he growls as you tape another bleed and turn your back on him. “I’ll need your hands for that internal bleed,” Flatline says before you can stalk away to hide until Lockdown leaves. “It’s severe,” the medic adds and you turn to look up at the bounty hunter as worry whispers through you. ‘I’ve had worse,’ Lockdown mutters and you finally register how drawn his expression is, that he’s in pain. Swearing softly, you wrap your arms around yourself.

• Studying him as he cleans his giant, alien space guns, you keep picking at the knot he’d tied. Trying to undo it without him noticing. Even not knowing what he was saying, you’re positive that he’d been fussing at you about it. And you still when he growls at you, hearing the cadence of the noises- the whirs, clicks, and rasps of his language hostile sounding and impossible to replicate. Skin prickling, you look over at him and he gestures at you with the weapon. If he’s expecting some sort of response, he’s going to be waiting a long time.

• “Stop messing with it,” he mutters and you chirp, shoulders lifting and falling before you gesture at him. And his optics narrow as he realizes what you’re doing. Pretending to hold a weapon. Venting softly, he taps a finger on his weapon and you’re tapping the same finger in the air as you stare intently at him. “What are you doing?” He mutters, turning and setting his weapon down. Aware that you’re actively mimicking him now. Are you playing? Or trying to communicate? “That’s not the least bit endearing,” he adds, arms folding across his chassis and you follow suit.

• Frowning back at him because he’s frowning at you, you’ve at least got his attention. Slowly raising your own arm, you touch your hand to your chest and say your name. Meeting his optics, you repeat the gesture while slowly enunciating your name. And he just stares at you. Blowing out a breath, you repeat yourself as it dimly occurs to you that this is first contact with an alien race. That this is huge and you’re probably screwing it up, because you have no idea what you’re doing. That somebody a lot more qualified should be doing this. Rumbling, he growls something so far off it makes you wince and then touches his hand to his own chassis.

• Head tilting as you groan and shake your head, you wave your arms like you’re trying to clear away smoke. Before repeating your noises and touching your chest. Isn’t that what he just did? Scowling, he tries to make your strange chirping sounds and touches his chassis again. And you make a flurry of warbling chirps, legs drawing up against yourself as you hide your face in your hands. Shaking his head, he picks his weapon back up and starts cleaning it again. Doesn’t know what you’re doing, but you’re interesting to watch, at least.

• Trying to pull him back down to you, he smiles crookedly, that deep rumbling of his spilling into you. Lips brushing the corner of your mouth and skimming along your jaw to your neck, he vents to wash you in warm air. “If we do this, you need to understand what it means when I say that I want everything,” he growls, his low brogue whispering through you to make you shiver. “All of you.” Feel his mouth open against your neck, the press of his teeth as you squirm against him and his big hand flexes on your butt. ‘Then take it,’ you plead, breath hitching when he bites gently. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that he’s probably going to leave marks.

• Gentle. Keeps struggling against his own instincts. Against the urge to lay you down and just claim you. “Do you understand what I’m asking for?” He demands, denta scraping your shoulder as he vents, servos smoothing up your back to fist in the material of your shirt. “What I need?” It’s so hard to lean back, to grip your upper arms and make himself get some space between your bodies. Growling at how you look, clearly flustered and eyes dark with need, his optics flick to your neck. To the barely visible marks he’s already left on your as satisfaction twists through him.

• Legs tightening on him where they’re hooked around his waist, you can’t figure out why he’s stopping. “Megatron,” you protest and he smiles faintly to soften how fierce he looks staring down at you. And his plating shifts to startle you with the pulse and light of his spark. Right there and arching with energy like he’s reaching for you. Needing you like you need him. ‘Everything or nothing,’ he growls like he thinks this is a deal breaker. Like you might say no.

• “Everything,” you breathe, stretching out a hand and he groans, frame straining when your fingertips touch him. And you’re there, pouring into him in a cascade of emotions and memories. Surrendering without hesitation to him. Had known it would be intimate, but it’s shockingly so. Your life, all that you are, spilling into him just like he knows you’re seeing all of him. The good and the bad. The things that he’s done that shame him, that he’d prefer to hide, they’re all yours. Just like you’re his.

• Smiling as his servos map you out in gentle touches, you can still feel him drifting into you in little waves of peace that wash away the worry and anxiety until it feels like there’s nothing left but the two of you. “It’s like my people were meant to find yours,” he adds, handsome face twisting with a slight frown and you smooth a hand over his chassis. ‘Maybe you were,’ you agree as you meet his optics. “Destiny?” He asks, a servo feathering against your cheek and you shrug. ‘Why not?’

• Feels the shift in your field. That you like the thought. Or maybe that you need it. Wanting there to be reason. Purpose in him finding you and he feels the rightness of it echo through him. Like he’s always known you, he’d just been waiting to find you again. “Sometimes, I swear it feels like we’ve done this before. Many times,” he admits and you smile faintly. ‘Done what?’ You ask and his mouth brushes the corner of yours. “This. All of it.”

• Like you’re following steps in a dance that you didn’t even know that you knew. Understand the feeling, but you’d thought it was just you. “Maybe we have,” you say, teasing as the last of the tension slowly ebbs. ‘In another lifetime?’ He suggests, lips ghosting against your own in something that’s not quite a kiss. “Do you think we always find each other then?” You ask, feeling the warmth of his venting fan against you. “Will you always find me?”

• “Always,” he growls, mouth covering yours. Isn’t even sure where this conviction came from. But he knows it’s true somehow. That no matter what happens, what form you take, where you are, he’ll find you again if you’re separated from him. That he’s done it before. That he can’t not find you. Rumbling as you arch into him, mouth sliding against his, you’re distracting him from the thought before he can try to puzzle out why he’s so sure of that. You’re looping your arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss, his field a tide that washes into you and carries your own back into him.

• Growling as his wings tremble at the sensation of you tangling in him, he’s dimly aware of Flatline muttering that he didn’t mean to do this in his Medbay. Ignoring the medic as he greedily pulls the warmth and light of you into himself, he sifts through you to feel your emotions and memories drifting through him. And you make a soft noise, body trembling as you arch into him, your mouth opening against his jaw. Rumbling as he finds the new spark tangled inside you, he’s dimly aware that he has no idea what to do now. Flatline said to take the spark, but when he tries, it just drifts through him like you do. Feeling you shivering against him, his mouth skims your neck. “I feel it, but I can’t take it,” he growls against your skin, feeling your hands smoothing against his chassis as your legs wrap around him.

• Suddenly aware of the new spark when he keeps trying to take it, you’re resisting him as that exhaustion that’s been plaguing you falls away. And as soon as he brought your awareness to that fragile light, your focus had narrowed to it. “If you’ll stop that, I need to run more tests,” Flatline is saying as you tremble against Skywarp, a thigh sliding against his hip. ‘It’s mine,’ you growl possessively, teeth grazing Skywarp’s chin. “I can’t run tests while you’re doing that.” Feeling his memories sparking through you, it’s hard to pay attention to what the medic is going on about. Hard to focus on anything besides the fact that you want Skywarp. ‘He said I need it,’ Skywarp counters, voice roughening.

• Plating heating as you squirm against him, he’s venting raggedly as you move against him. Knees hitting the berth as his mouth slides against your jaw and cheek, he growls. Had forgotten how it felt to have you tangled in him, your memories spilling into him. The intimacy of it almost frightening even as it’s exhilarating. “It’s mine,” you insist and his mouth covers yours, hands on your butt as you keep moving restlessly against him. ‘Tests? Remember? I need to run tests,’ the medic is grumbling as he walks away.

• Startling when Flatline douses you both with water, Skywarp’s wings flare out aggressively as you sputter and lean back, accidentally severing the connection with his spark to make you shudder. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but please wait until you’re back in your habsuite, or just anywhere that’s not my Medbay to do that,” he’s muttering as Skywarp growls, righting his plating to hide his spark. Blinking owlishly at the medic, embarrassment lifts through you. And you rest your head against Skywarp’s chassis as the medic starts opening drawers. “I’m guessing we’re going the non-traditionally sparked route,” he mutters as you try not to laugh because the medic had dumped water on you both like a couple of cats. Though to be fair, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. But then you’re realizing what he just said as your head lifts. Non-traditionally sparked?

• He’s watching. Even with only that visored mask for a face, you can always tell when his attention is on you and your blood heats as your hands slide down your body, hips swinging. Can admit now that he’d scared you when he’d first showed up looking for work. Just this enormous, faceless alien monster looming over everything and everyone. Using a datapad to stiltedly communicate. Had watched him from the upper floor balcony, hoping he’d be turned away. And his face had tilted up like he’d felt your stare. Now, he’s just always there. A dangerous, angular shadow that’s prowling for trouble and watching you. Making you feel safe instead of unnerved. Stepping over an empty shot glass, you keep dancing and ignore the group of college age guys grinning and trying to coax you closer with a twenty.

• Head turning when a group of human males move closer to you, you’re giving them a dismissive look. Clearly uninterested and satisfaction spills through him at that. Making another sweep for trouble, he hears you yelp and his plating lifts aggressively. Because one of those males has his hands on your thighs trying to get you down from the bar as you smack at his hands. Venting angrily as his cables all unfurl in threat, he strides your way. Furious that they have their hands on you as another human male reaches for you while laughing.

• Swearing as the frat boys try to drag you off the bar, you don’t even realize what’s happening until one of them goes flying to slam into a table. And patrons are screaming and scattering as Soundwave snakes out another cable to snag one of the guys before throwing them bodily away from you. Shocking you when you’ve never seen any shows of temper from the silent mech at all. Watching his plating angrily flare out, the two harassing you are just drunk enough that you can see the bad decision coming before it happens.

• You’re so much a part of his life now that he finds himself wondering what you’re doing when you’re not with him. What you’d think of something he sees or hears. Misses the warmth of you when he’s away from you, the sound of your voice, your smile. When had that happened? When had his world narrowed down to one small organic? Still has his duties to his people, his responsibilities to them. But he also has you. You need him, but make no demands of him. You’re just here. Stretching out beside you, his servos brush your shoulder, a part of him enamored by how small you are compared to him. Even when he mass shifts, he’s still so much bigger than you are. Shouldn’t that unnerve you? Make it harder to trust him not to hurt you?

• You never shy away from his touch, though. Never hesitate or act like you’re afraid of him. Servos mapping you out over the blankets, you stretch and sleepy eyes open. “Go back to sleep,” he rumbles, immediately feeling guilty for waking you. And you only scoot closer, a leg brushing his chassis. ‘You were out late. Everything okay?’ You ask, a small hand smoothing against him to distractingly play with his altmode’s windshield wiper.

• Smiling faintly when his head lowers, his whole massive frame is slightly curled toward you and you can feel the warm air of his venting fanning you. Studying his alien face, you realize that at some point you’d stopped thinking of him as other. That he’d just become Optimus to you. “Nothing to worry about,” he says and his deep voice rumbles through you to relax you. Hearing the change in his internal systems noise, you bite your lip.

• Mass shifting as you roll onto your back, he leans over you, propping himself up on an arm. “You should go back to sleep,” he murmurs even as you loop your arms around his neck. ‘I’m too awake now,’ you counter, a thigh sliding against his hip and your alien eyes mischievous. Head lowering, his mask retracts and his lips brush yours. Aware that before you, something like this would have likely unsettled him. That even though he was becoming accustomed to humans, your kind were still too alien and strange. All of that feels like a lifetime ago. Mouth moving against yours, the urge to tell you is getting harder to ignore every day. What would you say if he told you that he loved you?

• He’d have thought his untimely end would have gotten a little more sympathy from you. Though since his spark seems stuck here, it’s not really an end. Isn’t really sure what it is. Hadn’t even heard of a spark sticking around like this before, but you had. You’d called him a ghost. Along with several other hysterical and downright rude things. He’s still him, but the lack of a body is frustrating. “Figure out anything on the whole ghost front?” You ask and he scowls.

• “I need a body. A seeker body. There’s not too many of those just lying about,” he growls, drifting through the wall and through you to make your skin crawl in icy pinpricks. ‘What about yours?’ You ask, shivering and barely resisting the urge to tell him not to do that. Mostly because he’s petty enough to do it more often if he knows it bothers you. “If I knew what happened to my body, I wouldn’t still be like this,” he snarls and you eye him.

• Denta clenched, he hangs halfway through the wall of your house, head falling back to go halfway through your legs and hip. And you scoot away on the couch, making a noise in the back of your throat. “A little sympathy wouldn’t kill you,” he growls and you reach out to mime patting his head as his optics narrow. ‘Sorry, I’m just not sure how to deal with all this,’ you say, gesturing at him to make his wings lift in annoyance. ‘Having an alien boyfriend was weird enough, but now I have an alien, ghost boyfriend.’

• “We’re not finished, yet,” Ratchet says, frowning as you shoot him a dirty look. ‘What exactly do you want me to do? Pantomime sex? Do some pelvic thrusts?’ You counter and someone in the class holds up a hand. ‘Pretend my crotch is itchy?’ Scowling at you, the hand slowly goes back down. “This is important. If they don’t know, they’ll keep making the same mistakes over and over. And the medical staff will have to deal with it,” he growls. And the hand is back in the air again.

• “What?” Ratchet growls, turning to scowl at his class. And you raise your brows at Flatline and First Aid, looking for support. ‘How toxic is energon to humans?’ A bot you don’t know asks. ‘Is it like a little is fine deal or instant death?’ Turning to stare at the mech, you’re pretty sure you’re making the same face all the medics are making. “If you’re talking about normal, non-internally processed energon or engex, it’s instant death,” Ratchet says. And you know the question is coming. Can see it in the resignation on all the medics’s faces. ‘If it is ah, internally processed?’ They ask.

• Optics shuttering as he presses his servos against his aching head, he glances over at the other medics. Catching the face you’re making, nose scrunched, he tries to find the strength to deal with this. “Try to limit how much they swallow, you deviant,” Pharma growls, saving him from trying to think of a politer way to say the same thing. “It’s all fun and games until we have to deal with an accidental poisoning.”

• Mouthing the word ‘poisoning’ at Ratchet, the medic grimaces. “It would take a lot to get to that point,” First Aid mutters softly to you as Ratchet gives him a look and your brows lift, filling that bit of unwanted alien trivia away. ‘Like how much?’ You whisper back in morbid curiosity and the same mech in the crowd has his hand back in the air. “Swerve, put your hand down,” Ratchet growls before pointing a servo at First Aid in warning. ‘You could just not frag the fauna and then these questions wouldn’t matter,’ Pharma grumbles.

• “For what?” He asks and one of your shoulders lifts and falls. ‘For being you.’ There’s something more to it. Can tell from your expression. Letting go of your hand, he cups your cheek in his palm, a servo brushing your bottom lip as he waits and you blow out a breath. ‘You never make me feel like I’m being overdramatic. Like I’m the problem for feeling the way I do sometimes,’ you finally say and he frowns. Because the unsaid fact that someone else had made you feel that way is all too obvious.

• “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks and you love that he doesn’t make demands. That he asks. ‘My last therapist could have learned a lot from you,’ you mumble, embarrassed. ‘They just made me feel like I was the problem a lot of the time,’ you add. Why can’t you stop talking? Really don’t want to think about the guy or how they made you feel. Like something was wrong with you. Like it was all in your head.

• “You’re not a problem,” he says, frowning. Because it sounds like your last therapist didn’t even bother to try to understand you. That they didn’t want to help and it irritates him. “Your feelings aren’t invalid,” he adds and you smile, eyes dropping. ‘I’ve been a lot happier since meeting you,’ you say, leaning into his touch as his spark aches.

• Clearing his vents when you start trembling against him, your anxiety pulled him out of recharge when it spilled into him. Again. Reaching to drape an arm around you, he tugs you back into his frame. “Nightmare?” He asks as he finds one of your hands and you blow out a breath. ‘I guess,’ you mumble when his servos rub against your fingers. “It’s hard to adjust to living on a ship, but it gets easier,” he says, guessing that’s the issue since space makes you nervous. They’d lost artificial gravity for a breem at one point and the humans had almost all panicked at the sensation. You’d curled into a ball and screamed as you slowly spun.

• Staring at his big hand holding yours, you make yourself nod. Because it’s better than trying to explain that the ship makes weird noises that freak you out at night. Embarrassed, you feel his chin brush against the top of your head and you try to relax. “Was it hard for you?” You ask and his cheek rubs against yours, a thigh sliding against your own. Like the way his big frame wraps around you when he’s mass displaced. That his big hand can span your middle completely. ‘No, but it was the first time I’d ever been truly free,’ he says. ‘The Nemesis allowed me to go where I wanted. To choose my own path forward.’

• Remembers how angry he’d been at that point. That he’d already decided that the only way to change things was to tear the old system down completely. To remove those in power by force. Feels you wiggle back against him like you’re trying to get closer and his arm tightens around you. Because you don’t sleep well unless he holds you. “I hate the sounds the ship makes in the quiet,” you whisper, sounding embarrassed. Chuckling, his lips brush your earlobe. ‘What about the sounds I make?’ He asks and you huff out a breath.

• Rumbling as he keeps making the face that you’ve used against him so many times, he knows you’re going to agree. That you’re as susceptible to your human warfare as he is. Maybe if he made the sad noises Buster makes that would give you the final nudge you need? Trying it, he has to fight the urge to grin when you mutter under your breath. “Okay. Okay,” you grumble. Just like that? ‘I can go?’ He asks.

• Throwing up your hands in exasperation, you make a face. Because really, it’s not like anyone could stop him if he’s really determined to drop in on your college classes. And at least with him there, you won’t feel like everyone is staring at you since you’re a bit older than your classmates. Giant, alien robot has to beat adult learner in terms of gossip potential. “Sure,” you mutter and you suck in a breath when he mass shifts, grabs you around the waist, and spins you around.

• Grinning as you hang there staring at him, he pulls you in closer, venting to pull your familiar scent deep. “Am I being too clingy? You can tell me if I am. If you’d rather have class time be time away from me,” he says, immediately feeling guilty and you reach up to cup his cheek in your hand. ‘I love our time together. There’s just a possibility that you’re going to give my professor a stroke. The man is seriously ancient,’ you say, smiling.

• “I thought you didn’t really like this human?” He asks and you wrinkle your nose. ‘I don’t, but he is still a human being,’ you mutter with a shrug and his head nudges yours, the warm air from his venting fanning over you. Face tipping up, your mouth slides against his and when he growls, it rumbles through you. ‘Now, my chem professor? I’m not sure he’s human, because nobody delights that much in calling a student out for an incorrect answer. Him you can scare.’