#size difference ftw

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He doesn’t need it, really. He’s learnt to live by himself, in solitude, accompanied only by the void of space. He knows how to busy himself and doesn’t need anyone around. And there are not many mechs who’d even consider him as a possible companion. Partner. Lover.

Friend.

But Prime – Optimus Prime is different. The size of his frame doesn’t seem to matter, although Metroplex, if he wanted, could crush him with his fingers. But he doesn’t want to: he’s looking at the mech standing on his palm and feels the EM field reaching to him, blooming into his direction. He... he could stop it at any time but he doesn’t want to. The Prime looks at him, with his servo touching the chestplates’ locks. “Go ahead,” the titan wants to say but just watches the other mech closely, zooming his optics to the small - fragile - fingers right over the spark casing. “Yes,” he finally says, still a bit uncertain. It’s not what usually happens to him; he hasn’t interfaced with anyone for aeons. He doesn’t feel the urge; but he feels the curiosity and the rare emotion for someone who cares about him enough to share anything. He curls his fingers. Prime smiles, unafraid. “Yes,” the titan repeats.

Prime unlocks his chest plates. There’s something hypnotizing about that gesture, about the token of trust and invitation. The titan feels the wave of energy being released, uncovered. The warm tendrils of it touching his fingers. It’s the first time he shivers: the Prime’s energy starts flowing from its source and gently weaves into Metroplex’s systems. He’s heavily armored – but it doesn’t seem to matter. The warmth, the pulse of the uncovered spark starts seeping into his fingers. And this – this is enough. His frame begins re-igniting a whole set of dormant subroutines, completely ignored  for millenias.

It’s so weird to look at such a small mech and feel this... it’s almost absurd and quite possibly the Matrix’s doing. Metroplex can see the artifact too, its pulse mingles with Prime’s. Enhances it, strengthens, elevates. The signals of contact - anchoring - zooms through all of the giant’s systems. His own chest plates locks come off easily. They’ve never been modified; there’s never been a reason to. And Prime – Prime is so miniscule compared to his spark. His whole frame is bathed in the blue glow. Metroplex’s not sure what and how much they can share. The connection is so different and so much dangerous than with ports, charge adapters and other failsafe methods. It’s direct and personal and much more thrilling than any tactile stimulation. Although he could picture Prime... but maybe he shouldn’t. It would be too easy to lose himself. To hurt. Damage.

When he engages the merging protocols he does it carefully and infinitely slow. His optics look for any signs of distress on Prime’s face. Any signs of system shock. Any signs of displeasure. But what he sees – and feels – is completely different. The Prime’s eyes are widening, glowing with his energy. The small spark is pulsing widely – pulling new and new strands of Metroplex’s energy inside, contracting, lighting. He hears a gasp – so loud in his ultra-sensitive audials. He feels the Prime’s energy reaching his own spark, flowing into it, making him feel the other’s pulse. He knows about synchronizing, he knows about anchoring. But this – this is so much different. He regrets he can’t feel the Prime’s frame against his own. The touch, pressure would make it even better. The blue optics alight, suddenly amused and playful: “Ah, I can make you feel that.”