[TFP] From This Moment 03

[dracoqueen22]

Part III

At first, they dated in secret.

This did not bother Orion in the slightest. He had no interest in seeing his face splashed in the tabloids, or having the newscasters speculate on his relationship with Rodimus. He liked that their shift from friendship to romance was something few were aware of. It felt like a secret between the two of them, a gift they shared.

It was a part of Rodimus he did not have to give the rest of Cybertron.

It also helped that Orion had no interest in his own life bearing further scrutiny or being put under the microscope. He liked his relative anonymity, save the brief moment of celebrity he experienced when it was revealed he’d verified a Blade of Time. The ruckus from that came and went in a matter of months, as soon as a new scandal from one of the Senators cropped up.

Orion was glad to be left alone, left to concentrate on his work at the Archives, and the building relationship between he and Rodimus, who was ‘not a Prime’ when they were alone together, per Rodimus’ request.

It was astonishingly easy to move from friendship to romance. There was less awkwardness than Orion expected. He found himself reaching to touch Rodimus, and Rodimus leaning in to the touch as though they had always been so physically affectionate. They held hands often, or leaned into one another’s space. There was rarely a moment their fields weren’t knitted together when they were in proximity.

Rodimus was the perfect gentlemech.

Contrary to his reputation, and contrary to the remarks made by those infuriating newscasters, Rodimus was polite and respectful. He didn’t push. He always asked. He kept his touches chaste, his kisses chaste, everything chaste.

A little too chaste in Orion’s opinion.

Frustratingly chaste.

They had been friends for over a year. They were officially courting one another for several months now, and yet Rodimus’ lips had not touched his since the day of their mutual confession. Rodimus was keen to kiss his palm, the back of his hand, a brush of his mouth over Orion’s cheek, but nothing further.

His hands never strayed, never wandered into flirtatious territory.

He would touch Orion’s shoulder, his wrist, his hand. He might, if he were feeling particularly gentlemechly, rest his hand at the base of Orion’s back while guiding him somewhere suitably private for a date outside of the Archives.

There were plenty of places a Prime could arrange to have some privacy and be granted it. Orion found himself soon dining in the most extravagant restaurants, touring the most fascinating buildings without dealing with crowds, and being treated to fancier armor polishings than he’d ever heard of.

And yet!

Rodimus did not kiss him. He did not try at all. If the lack of progress in their physical relationship bothered Rodimus, he showed no sign. There was never heat in his field, or stolen playful touches, or implications in their dialogue.

There was nothing!

Orion was aghast.

He had thought all problems would be solved once he crossed the hurdle of friendship and ventured into the realm of romance, but it was not to be so. Perhaps it felt so easy because nothing had truly changed. Rodimus still saw him as a friend alone, and did not desire him beyond the platonic limits of that friendship.

Worse!

There was every possibility Rodimus was confusing the platonic love of a friendship with the desire for a conjunx.

Perhaps he did not desire Orion at all.

The worry started to keep Orion awake during his recharge cycles. He would pace around and around his quarters, examining every moment of interaction, desperate to find some hint, some clue he had missed.

Rodimus had a reputation. He had berthed many mechs, even if only a quarter of the rumors were true. Rodimus was no stranger to interfacing. He had a desire for interfacing. Orion was sure of this.

Why then did he not seem to desire Orion at all?

“And not so much as a grope?” Ratchet asked when Orion finally broke down and commed his dear friend, spilling his fears in a babbling rush he’d had to repeat because he’d spoken far too fast for Ratchet to make sense of his gibberish.

“No,” Orion bemoaned and stared at himself in the mirror, wondering if there was something wrong with him, to desire the physical intimacy this strongly. Why weren’t the emotional and intellectual intimacy enough for him?

He craved so much more, to trace Rodimus’ flames with his fingertips, to mouth the sensitive nooks and crannies of Rodimus’ frame. He wanted to press Rodimus down into the berth, or have Rodimus curve over him, all smiles and gentle touches. He wanted to feel the heat escalate between them, until they had no choice but to see it through.

Primus, he wanted.

Ratchet grunted into the comm. “You know, one of these days, you’ll call me and it’ll just be to chat, not because you and Rodimus are incapable of sorting out your feelings.”

“I’m sorry, Ratchet,” Orion sighed, instantly full of regret. For it was true, most of his conversations these days tended to revolve around his relationship with Rodimus. “How are you doing? Let’s concentrate on that instead.”

“Bah. I’m fine. Your romantic entanglements are much more interesting anyway,” Ratchet said, and Orion imagined he was waving away Orion’s concerns. “But just so you know, I’m saving this all up, and when I get my own semi-regular partner, you’re obligated to listen to all my whining and complaining.”

Despite it all, Orion managed a smile. “Yes, of course. Though I doubt you will ever settle. You have far too much love in you to give.”

Frankly, Orion was simply relieved Ratchet had finally ended that disastrous entanglement with Pharma. The winged medic had left for grander cities, and Ratchet hadn’t offered so much of a hint about missing him.

Thank Primus.

“Love. Right.” Ratchet snorted. “I don’t think that’s what they’re calling it,” he drawled, and Orion could almost see the lascivious wink.

Orion stared into the mirror once more. His armor was impeccable, his paint a lustrous shine thanks to the last special treatment Rodimus had gifted to him. His colors were plain, true, but Orion was told he had nice hips and a very classic frame. He was not flashy like many of Rodimus’ previous partners, or unique either.

Was he not desirable?

“Enough about me,” Ratchet said. “Let’s talk about you and the fact your former shareware of a Prime is no longer interested in interfacing.”

Orion glared at his reflection. “I think it is me he is not interested in.”

“I doubt that’s the case.”

“One kiss, Ratchet. One,” Orion insisted as he turned away from the mirror and stalked out of his washrack. He no longer wished to examine himself for possible flaws. “I don’t understand.”

Ratchet ex-vented audibly, but there was at least affection in the sound. “Now, this is going to sound like a crazy idea, but have you considered making the move yourself?”

Orion stopped dead in his tracks. “I… beg your pardon?”

“You’ve interfaced before, haven’t you?”

“Of course I have!” Orion spluttered, heat staining his cheeks and flooding his entire frame. “I’ve had my share of flings, but this is different!”

“How?” Ratchet demanded.

“Because…” Orion trailed off, struggling to find an explanation. He started to pace once more, processor gnawing on the question. “Because it’s not proper,” he finally decided.

Ratchet sighed, and this time, it was not affectionate. “Primus help me,” he said, and Orion imagined he was looking to the ceiling, as if Primus would look back at him and offer some patience and guidance. “Is it because he’s a Prime?”

“No,” Orion answered, but he reconsidered after a moment and said, “Maybe.” Reverence for the office of the Prime was built into every bolt and bracket of his being. He was an expert on Primes after all.

“Well, that’s a hang-up you’re just going to have to get over,” Ratchet grunted. “If you can’t-- what? No, I’m handling it.”

Orion blinked, orbital ridge furrowing as Ratchet’s voice got a little distant, as though he was speaking to someone else, before Ratchet returned with an even more aggrieved sigh.

“Switch to vidcomm, Orion. There’s a brat here says he’s got advice, too.”

Who in the world…?

Orion obeyed, moving to his personal console and transferring the comm to the video system. Several dots of a loading screen greeted him before Ratchet flashed into view, and hanging over his left shoulder was none other than Jazz, grinning cheekily and waving.

In the background, rumpled berthcovers told a tale Orion hadn’t ever expected. Since when were Ratchet and Jazz sharing a berth?

Orion wasn’t even aware they knew each other.

“You gotta make the first move, Orion,” Jazz said as Ratchet grumped and rubbed at his temple with one hand. “Roddy’s tryin’ to be all proper and such. You wanna get anywhere with him, you’re gonna have to do it.”

Orion gaped at the screen. “You… I…”

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it,” Ratchet said, rolling his optics, as he tried to nudge Jazz off his shoulder. He might as well have been trying to remove a scraplet. “Besides, Jazz is right. Rodimus is playing it careful because he cares about you.”

Jazz pointed at the screen. “And you’ve gotta show him that you see him as Rodimus and not Prime by treating him same as you would any other mech.”

“That… actually makes sense,” Orion said. Putting aside Ratchet and Jazz together -- it was a curiosity he would explore later -- their advice was sound.

While Rodimus didn’t want to treat Orion like any other mech he had courted, Orion needed to treat Rodimus like the average mech. He should not see Rodimus as Prime, but as Rodimus -- as Hot Rod even. Rodimus did not need another friend awed by the status of a Prime, restrained by the Matrix in his chassis.

Rodimus needed someone who saw him for his spark, for the mech behind the title.

“Just grab him and kiss him!” Jazz said, and when Ratchet tried to make a grab for him, he ducked under the arm and planted himself in Ratchet’s lap with a cheeky grin. “Tackle him if you gotta. I guarantee your life of celibacy will be over then.”

Orion’s face flushed with heat. “Please, Jazz, I don’t need step by step instructions.” He was unskilled in such boldness but for Rodimus, perhaps he could learn. He could be brave.

It was only fair. Every step of their courtship seemed to be led by Rodimus. Orion wanted to do his part as well. He wanted Rodimus to know Orion intended to pursue him as well, not just let himself be pursued.

He wanted Rodimus to know he was wanted.

“Are ya sure?” Jazz asked as Ratchet growled and leaned forward, biting one of his sensory horns.

Jazz yelped, but sounded more like a moan, and squirmed in Ratchet’s lap. “Not fair!”

Orion’s antennae threatened to spit sparks. Both of his friends were shameless. Shameless and attractive, and if they were going to flirt so, he needed to end the comm. He, after all, was suffering through a bout of celibacy, and it was simply cruel for them to tease him in this manner.

“Orion doesn’t need instructions,” Ratchet said around his mouthful before he released Jazz from his denta and looked at the screen. “Right?”

Orion swallowed over a lump in his intake. He nodded. “I can see you two are busy. While I appreciate the advice, perhaps I better let you get back to… errr…. Business.”

Ratchet had a hand on Jazz’s abdomen, and now it was creeping up under his bumper, and whatever he was doing made Jazz go limp in his lap, his visor flickering.

“Business,” Jazz echoed.

Primus.

“Have a good night,” Orion said and hastily ended the comm, right in the middle of one of them saying “good luck!” though he wasn’t sure who in the end.

It didn’t matter.

He had all the advice he needed.

Now he just needed to gather the courage to do what needed to be done.

Or who, for that matter.

~

“Senator Xaaron is strict, but fair. He’s likely to listen to your concerns, but if he feels they dishonor historical measures, he may balk,” Starscream recited as he paced back and forth across the floor, datapad in hand.

Rodimus tried to pay attention. Honestly, he did. He had every intention of taking an active role in the Senate sessions, and being more than just a figurehead. It was all part and parcel of his plan to become a Prime Orion would be proud to know.

“Senator Shockwave is the closest thing to a revolutionary we have in the council,” Starscream continued, wings twitching as he met the end of his route, spun on a heelstrut, and started back the way he’d come. “If a measure benefits the common Cybertronian, he is likely to support it, sometimes without considering the consequences.”

Rodimus sagged further in his chair.

He braced his elbow on the arm of it, his chin on his palm, and stared out the window. It looked like they might be in for an acid storm tonight, what with the grey starting to gather. That was unfortunate.

They really needed to put more research into energon seeding. There would come a point when Cybertron itself would not be able to sustain the population. It was growing at an exponential rate, which Rodimus supposed was the natural result of an era of peace and prosperity.

Orion projected they would outgrow their natural resources within the next couple of centuries, well into Rodimus’ reign, which meant it would be a problem he’d have to solve. Best to consider potential solutions now, rather than when it was too late, and scarcity created tension.

Orion knew a lot about a lot of things. Rodimus could honestly spend hours listening to him babble about all of his different interests. He was adorable when he was passionate, and it took everything Rodimus had not to grab him and kiss him senseless.

Except Orion was special. Orion was not like all the other mechs Rodimus had been with at one time or another. He wanted their relationship to mean something, to last. He didn’t want to move too fast and frighten Orion away. He’d already messed up their first meeting.

He definitely didn’t want to mess up anything else.

A shadow interrupted his view of the window. “Am I interrupting your fantasy time?”

Rodimus startled and looked up at Starscream, whose expression was less annoyance and more amusement. “I was listening,” he said.

“Sure,” Starscream drawled, cocking one hip to rest a hand on top of it. “Which Senator did I speak of last?”

“Shockwave?” Rodimus ventured.

Starscream rolled his optics and handed the datapad over to Rodimus. “I’m not going to give you my advice if you’re not going to listen to it.”

“Sorry, I was distracted,” Rodimus admitted, and tried to urge the datapad back toward Starscream, putting on his best, most pleading look. “I’ll pay attention this time.”

Starscream gave him a long look. “You were thinking about Orion, weren’t you?”

“No,” Rodimus said, a bit too quickly for Starscream to believe him, so he sighed and dipped his head. “Yes.”

Starscream waved the datapad in the air, wings twitching behind him. “Young love,” he sighed, looking up at the ceiling as though seeking patience somewhere other than inside himself. “Is there anything more revolting?”

“Blurr’s out of town, huh?” Rodimus asked with a smirk.

Starscream narrowed his optics, and aimed the datapad at Rodimus’ face, giving it a shake. “We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you and your lack of attention span. Why is Orion on your mind? Let’s talk about it so maybe I can get some use out of you today.”

Rodimus gently pushed the datapad away from his face with the back of his hand. “We have more important work to do.”

“Obviously not.” Starscream tucked the datapad under his arm and flicked the tip of Rodimus’ spoiler. “What is it, bitlet?”

Rodimus twitched out of reach of the terrible assault on his delicate frame. “Can’t a mech daydream about his romantic partner in peace around here? Sheesh.”

“Just romance?” Starscream leaned in, optics narrowing, and mischief curved at his lips. “Is that the smell of frustration I detect?”

“It’s not like that,” Rodimus spluttered, his face going hot as Starscream zeroed in on the exact cause of his distraction without any effort. “Orion’s different. Special. We’re taking our time.”

“Are you?” Starscream arched an orbital ridge and leaned back, head tilted. “By your choice or his?”

“Mine, if you must know.” Rodimus huffed and spun back around to his desk, feigning full interest in the datapad Thundercracker brought earlier -- a summary of the tasks the Senate was set to discuss today. “I want to make sure he knows I want him for more than the berth, all right?”

Blessed silence rang from behind him.

Good.

Until Starscream circled around the desk, looked at him, and said, “You’ve been dating for several months, longer if you want to count your friendship. You’re telling me you’ve not taken him to berth yet?”

“For your information, I have not,” Rodimus said tartly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Starscream stared at him. “Do you desire him?”

“Of course I do!” Rodimus threw his hands into the air, exasperation hissing out of his vents. “I mean, have you looked at him? Those hips, those legs, his tires. I just want to--”

“Enough, I get it.” Starscream held up a hand before pinching the bridge of his nasal ridge. “But Rodimus, if I’m wondering whether or not you desire him, did you ever stop to think he might be wondering the same thing?”

Rodimus cycled his optics. “What do you mean?” He dragged his hands over his head. “I’m trying to be respectful here. I’m trying to do this the right way. Are you telling me I’m still fragging it up?”

Starscream, however, was already shaking his head, one taloned finger tapping the tip of his chin. “Though if Orion has not made a move either… what is he? A priest? Honestly, the two of you…” He mumbled, more to himself than Rodimus.

“Are you going to tell me or are you just going to keep talking to yourself?” Rodimus demanded.

Starscream slanted him a look. “There is a point where restraining yourself does more harm than good. I suggest you let Orion know you desire him sooner rather than later, even if you only use your words.”

“He should know that already,” Rodimus huffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chassis. “I asked him out, didn’t I?”

“Few things are as obvious as we think they are,” Starscream said. He untucked the datapad from beneath his arm and swept his fingers over the screen. “Now, may I have your attention, please? This session is in a few hours.”

“You’re the one who changed the subject,” Rodimus grumbled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Starscream leaned back into his own space and peered at the screen. “Senator Highbrow is a pompous--”

Beep-beep.

Rodimus’ console chirped.

Starscream’s optics narrowed.

Rodimus glanced at the screen, fully intending to ignore the message, but it was from Orion. He held up a finger. “One minute,” he said, and skimmed the burst of text, a smile growing on his face.

Orion wanted to go on a date tonight. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, but it was rare enough, each time was a special treat. There was some concert he wanted to attend and he’d been gifted private seats at the event, so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

How could Rodimus resist?

He agreed and sent back his reply, excitement curling in his belly. It was like this every time he and Orion arranged to see each other, fitting in dates around their respective busy schedules.

“All right,” Rodimus said, beaming up at Starscream. “You have my full attention now.”

Starscream snorted a laugh. “I doubt that, but I’ll try to keep it.” He returned his gaze to the datapad, though he added, “Let him know you desire him, Rodimus. Mechs like to know when they’re wanted.”

“Weren’t you telling me about Senator Highbrow?” Rodimus prompted.

“Yes,” Starscream drawled. “He’s a pompous aft.”

There was more to Highbrow than his poor attitude, and this time, Rodimus listened diligently. The more attentive he was now, the quicker the session after this would pass, and the sooner he could meet Orion for their date.

He couldn’t wait.

~

The hardest part about dating the Prime wasn’t the retinue of guards that went everywhere Rodimus did -- Orion had learned their names and grown fond of the Seekers, each unique in their own right.

It wasn’t how very busy Rodimus was either. Orion had quite the full schedule himself, so they’d learned the value of their time together, and how best to maximize it.

It wasn’t even battling against the internal awe of being in the presence of a Prime carrying a holy artifact in his chassis.

It was the paparazzi. No matter how carefully they tried to hide, to maintain their privacy, there was always the danger of some newsmech with a camera spying them, and splashing their relationship all over the front page.

Orion knew it was only a matter of time before their secret was out, he’d simply hoped they had longer to share each other, before they had to share themselves with the planet.

If only the damned usher had kept his mouth shut like he was supposed to, rather than be lured by a wad of credits into spilling the bolts about what guest had taken one of the private balcony boxes. Orion’s evening of careful seduction had gone to the Pit the minute their transport rounded the corner and found the paparazzi camped around every entrance to the theater.

“Damn it,” Rodimus muttered.

“So much for their discretion,” Orion sighed. He grabbed Rodimus’ hand, tangling their fingers together.

The transport came to a halt. The driver buzzed back to them. “Are you staying, sir?”

Rodimus looked at Orion. Orion looked at Rodimus. He wasn’t ready, but then, he didn’t suppose he ever would be. Perhaps tonight would have to be the night.

Rodimus smiled at him, apologetic and a little sad. “Would it offend you if I suggested we skip the show and go somewhere we can be alone instead?”

Relief crashed over Orion. He hoped it didn’t show on his face. “Only if it doesn’t offend you that I’m not ready for… that.” He gestured through the privacy screen to the flood of flashes and hungry reporters, eager to see who had arrived in the expensive transport known to be the favorite vehicle of Rodimus Prime.

Rodimus brought Orion’s hand up to his lips, pressing one of his chaste, tender kisses over Orion’s knuckles. “Honestly, I’d like to keep you to myself for as long as possible.”

Orion’s spark throbbed. “I have last year’s concert on a datadisc back at my apartment,” he suggested, dizzy with his own boldness, but dizzier with the possibility of what the night might bring. He’d already decided to be bold and brave.

“Come on, Roddy,” said Skywarp, his voice crackling through the speakers. “Are we staying or are we going?”

“Sounds perfect to me,” Rodimus murmured before he raised his voice to say, “Going, Skywarp. Head to Orion’s place.”

A teasing whistle rattled back at them. “Sir, yes, sir,” said Skywarp. “I’ll arrange to have something special delivered.”

Orion heard, more than saw, the wink in Skywarp’s tone. The heat crept up his neck, into his face, and lingered.

They pulled away from the chaos outside the theater, and Orion shuffled closer to Rodimus. Their frames aligned, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, and Orion soaked in the Prime’s warmth. Rodimus ran so much hotter than he did.

“I am sorry our date didn’t turn out like I planned,” Orion said. He tilted his head, resting it on the curve of Rodimus’ shoulder, embracing the intimacy.

Rodimus’ fingers flexed around his, gentle and rhythmic. “Time with you is great no matter what we do,” he replied. “Besides, I should be sorry. I’m the one with the crazy life.”

“Neither of you should be sorry!” Skywarp piped in through the speakers, the nosy creature that he was. Orion considered him almost as bad as Jazz.

Rodimus promptly reached over and switched off the intercom.

Orion chuckled. “It’s endearing how much they care about you.”

“That’s one word you could use,” Rodimus said. He stared down at their joined hands, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the back of Orion’s hand. “So long as they give us some privacy, I’ll try not to complain too much.”

Privacy.

Orion’s tanks did a little flip of anticipation.

That was what he hoped for as well.

The paparazzi did not give chase, or Skywarp’s directions ensured they weren’t followed. By the time they arrived at Orion’s building, there was no one to see them furtively exiting the transport, and taking the lift up to Orion’s floor.

Orion’s fellow tenants knew the value of discretion far more than the theater usher. As often as Rodimus had visited, not once had a news reporter showed up at Orion’s door.

They left Skywarp behind, but Thundercracker waited in Orion’s hab-suite, no doubt sent ahead by Starscream to secure the premises. Orion had long since surrendered his passcodes and allowed Rodimus’ security team to install a better system.

Just in case, Skywarp had informed him with a lascivious wink.

If all went well, this would be the first night Rodimus actually stayed with him, and the first night they’d make use of the new precautions.

“Stay away from the window,” Thundercracker cautioned in a tone which allowed for no argument. “Any delivery orders should go through either myself or Skywarp.”

Rodimus rolled his optics and all but shooed Thundercracker out. “I know the drill, come on Thunder. Give me some space. Sheesh.”

Thundercracker’s wings twitched. He hovered in the doorway, his severe stare passing by Rodimus and pinning on Orion instead, as though he knew who would heed the warnings better.

“I will be outside if you have need of any assistance. Skywarp will be on the roof. Starscream is but a comm away,” he said, a stalwart sentinel loitering in the frame.

Orion nodded, smiling his thanks. “I appreciate it, Thundercracker. I promise he’ll be safe.”

“I’m standing right here,” Rodimus complained, and flicked his hands at the pale blue Seeker. “I’m a mature mech with the Matrix. I think I can be left alone with my romantic partner.”

Thundercracker’s stony expression cracked, softening with affection. “Of course. Have a good evening.” He dipped his head and stepped out of the entry, letting the door slide shut. It clicked and locked behind him.

At last, they were alone.

Orion swallowed over a lump in his intake. “I should probably go look for that video,” he said, turning toward his shelving.

“Right,” Rodimus said, and trailed after him. “The concert.”

“You don’t want to watch it?” Orion paused in the midst of scanning his collection. He glanced over his shoulder at Rodimus, who stood there with his hands on his hips, fidgeting of all things.

Rodimus’ mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I want to watch it if you want to watch it.”

Orion’s orbital ridge flattened. “We could do something else. Something we’d both enjoy.”

“Like what?” Rodimus asked. He dropped his hands, swiping his palms over the outside of his thighs, as he ventured closer. Close enough their fields were in contact, buzzing, like two magnets in proximity. “Play a game?”

Orion’s spark skipped an oscillation. “I-I don’t think I have any,” he said, and he purposefully pushed the interfacing game Jazz suggested far, far out of his mind. “Just a lot of datanovels. We could send out for one?”

“I mean, if that’s what you want to do,” Rodimus said with a shrug. He grinned, that crooked, confident grin Orion adored so dearly. “It’s your hab. You make the rules.”

Orion’s glossa flicked over his lips. “I don’t want to play a game.”

“I’m running out of ideas then.” Rodimus chuckled quietly, his optics sparkling. “You’ve gotta tell me what my options are.” He leaned in, shoulder braced on the shelving, all effortless balance and polished armor, and Orion wanted so much to kiss him.

There was no law that said he couldn’t. There was no reason he couldn’t close the distance between them, lean in, and initiate the kiss Rodimus so clearly wanted.

No reason at all.

His door buzzed.

Orion startled so hard he knocked one of his replicas off a shelf. He scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor and shattered, but Rodimus lunged for it, too. They collided in a messy tangle of limbs and armor and stammered apologies.

Orion’s head bounced off Rodimus’ shoulder, and he jabbed Rodimus in the clavicular strut, jamming his finger. The relic bounced harmlessly off the floor, without so much as a dent.

“Sorry,” Rodimus said as Orion cringed and rubbed at his aching finger.

“No, that was my mistake,” Orion said.

The door buzzed again.

“That’s probably Skywarp with the treats he promised,” Rodimus said, backing away a pace, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll go grab those.”

“Great,” Orion said. He tried to smile, and he was sure he showed far too many denta.

Idiot. Stupid, clumsy, useless, idiot.

Maybe he should’ve gotten those lessons from Jazz after all. He was hopeless at this. Why was it so hard? Why couldn’t he just do it?

Orion crouched and picked up the replica, replacing it on the shelf. It was undamaged, unlike his pride, which had taken a sound beating. Surely Rodimus thought him clumsy and awkward and unappealing. He didn’t know how to flirt properly, or make his interest known.

However, nothing would change if he did not fight for what he wanted. If he did not try. Rodimus was worth the ding to his pride, the embarrassment, every bit of it. Orion would make a fool out of himself a thousand times over if it meant Rodimus would be his.

He cycled a ventilation. Two. Then he squared his shoulders, gathered his courage, and marched himself toward the front door and Rodimus, who was clutching a large box with a very familiar designation printed along the side.

Of course it was from Orion’s favorite shop.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Rodimus said as he held up the box with pride. “I think Skywarp ordered the rest of their stock so they could close up early.”

Orion took the box from Rodimus. He turned and set it down on the table near the door, one he rarely used. Then, he turned back toward Rodimus, who blinked at him, orbital ridge furrowed, hands still held in the shape of a box.

“So you’re not hungry?” he said.

“No,” Orion said. “I’m not.”

At least, not for energon.

Orion cycled a ventilation and stepped into Rodimus’ space, resting one hand on the Prime’s shoulder, and allowing the other to rest on Rodimus’ cheek. Rodimus went still, as if holding his vents.

“Orion?”

“I’m going to kiss you,” Orion said, rubbing his thumb over Rodimus’ cheek. “Any objections?”

Rodimus’ optics were wide and bright. “None at all.”

Oh, thank Primus.

“Good.”

Orion rose up to cover the few inches height between them, and pressed his mouth to Rodimus’, not in a chaste kiss, but in a kiss flavored with all the want and affection he felt for Rodimus. Their denta clicked. Their glossas tangled.

Rodimus made a sound against his mouth, and then his arms wrapped around Orion, pulling him closer, tugging their frames into delicious contact. Orion sighed into the kiss, deepening it, the heat of Rodimus’ frame radiating against his own, the pressure of Rodimus’ fingertips on his backstrut keeping them close together.

Orion cupped the back of Rodimus’ neck, holding him place, for a thorough exploration of Rodimus’ mouth. Heat poured through his frame, his lines tingling, desire pooling southward as his field leaked the true breadth of his need.

Rodimus slipped back a step, and Orion went with him, stumbling, until Rodimus’ back hit the door with a quiet thump, his spoiler clattering against it. Pinned, he had nowhere to go, and Orion was free to continue kissing him, one knee slipping between Rodimus’ thighs, and Rodimus moaned, a low sound that sent fire through Orion’s lines.

“I don’t want to listen to the concert,” Orion said between one kiss and the next. “I don’t want to play a game.”

“Okay,” Rodimus breathed, his hands mapping the planes of Orion’s back, his fingertips exploring seams and the cables barely visible within.

“I don’t want to eat the treats,” Orion said as he bit at the curve of Rodimus’ jaw and ground against Rodimus’ frame, his spark swelling in his chassis, as his field twisted tightly around Rodimus’ own. “I want to take you to the berth.”

Rodimus groaned, his hands on Orion’s hips, squeezing tight enough for his plating to creak. “I want that, too.”

Orion looked up at Rodimus and smiled, seeing his own need reflecting in Rodimus’ optics. “Then I think we finally agree on our plans for the evening.”

He took Rodimus’ hand, tangled their fingers together, and moved away from the door. He towed Rodimus with him, spark fluttering wildly in his chassis, as he headed for the privacy of the berthroom.

He wouldn’t put it past Skywarp to listen from the other side of the door.

“Tell me the truth,” Rodimus said. “Was this part of your diabolical plan?”

Orion chuckled. “Would it be a bad thing if it was?”

Rodimus pressed against his back the moment they were beyond the threshold of his berthroom, one hand flat to Orion’s abdomen, the other flexing around their joined fingers. “Not at all,” he breathed, and he nuzzled Orion’s neck, lips fluttering over cables Orion had not realized were so sensitive.

His knees wobbled.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” Rodimus murmured, his hand wandering further south, fingers fluttering over the panel concealing Orion’s interface array. A jolt of desire raced through Orion’s lines. “How much I’ve thought about touching you.”

Orion groaned, clutching at Rodimus’ arm, other hand squeezing Rodimus’. “Then why didn’t you?”

Lips traced the contours of his audial, and the faint touch was fire licking over Orion’s sensory net. Heat grew in his array, his spike thickening in its sheath while his valve throbbed.

“I thought I was being respectful,” Rodimus said as his mouth traveled up and up, glossa flicking over Orion’s antennae.

He moaned, leaning back against Rodimus, vents a sharp staccato. The bare touch to his array became a firmer pressure, sweeping strokes that dipped between his thighs and back up again, teasing the external sensors.

“I think I’m seeing the error of my ways now,” Rodimus said, and there was wicked tease in his voice as palmed Orion’s array and nibbled on his antennae again.

Lights danced in Orion’s optics. His knees shook.

He tore away from Rodimus, spinning in the other mech’s embrace to grab Rodimus and kiss him again while pulling him backward, closer to the berth. He stumbled, and Rodimus stumbled, too, the deep revs of his engine vibrating through their frames. There was a bright need in Rodimus’ optics, in the way his hands roamed over Orion’s frame.

Why had they taken so long to do this?

Rodimus nipped at his lips, and Orion shuddered, his plating separating to vent more heat, charge crackling out from under his armor. The back of his knees hit the edge of the berth and Orion tumbled down, but Rodimus fell with him, crawling up over him, kissing him senseless. He loomed over Orion, beautiful and eager and venting heat, and Orion yanked him down into another hungry kiss.

“Frag me,” he panted against Rodimus’ mouth, surging up against the other mech, his thighs forming a cradle, guiding Rodimus where Orion wanted him most.

Rodimus groaned, his hips rocking down, sliding against Orion’s, a delicious friction of armor against armor that sent static up Orion’s backstrut. “You sure?”

Orion tucked his fingers in Rodimus’ clavicular strut and arched his hips, yanking Rodimus down to meet him. “I think we’ve waited long enough.” Both of his panels popped open, spike surging free as his valve clenched, wisps of air teasing the lubricant already gathered at the rim. He was so hard he ached, pre-fluid beading at the tip, and Orion didn’t care how they interfaced, so long as Rodimus touched him.

Rodimus moaned and pressed his forehead to Orion’s shoulder, his fingers tangling in the berthcovers. A panel clicked open, and Orion didn’t have to look to know it was Rodimus’ spike finally emerging. Though he wanted to look. He was sure it was as beautiful as the rest of Rodimus.

“I should’ve known,” Rodimus said. “You’ve been knocking me for a loop since the moment I met you.” He lifted his head, brushing a kiss over the curve of Orion’s jaw. “Let me taste you first.”

Primus.

Orion shivered, his valve squeezing down on nothing at the mere implication. “I don’t know that I can hold out if you do.”

“I’m counting on it,” Rodimus said, stealing his lips for a fierce kiss before he pulled back and fitted himself between Orion’s splayed legs, his palms smoothing down the length of Orion’s thighs before cupping his hips. He licked his lips, hands sweeping inward, thumbs framing Orion’s bared valve.

Orion groaned and clutched at the berthcovers, heat staining his cheeks. Rodimus looked at him like he’d never seen anything more beautiful, like he couldn’t wait to touch Orion, and it was as unbelievable as it was heady.

“You’re so wet for me already,” Rodimus murmured, his thumbs stroking the outer pleats of Orion’s valve, brushing over smaller, external sensors.

“Because I want you,” Orion said, sparks dancing off the tips of his antenna, embarrassment surging through his lines.

Rodimus looked at him, his optics so bright and hungry. “You can have me,” he purred as his hands retreated, cupping Orion’s hips once more, grip firm. “But after I get my taste.”

Orion groaned as Rodimus curled forward, lifting and pulling Orion down to meet his mouth, and the first hot sweep of his glossa made Orion’s back bow and a small shout escape his lips. He shoved his knuckles against his mouth, muffling his cries, as Rodimus licked him, again and again, long sweeps over the swollen pleats of his valve, and lingering flicks over the rigid rise of his anterior node.

His thighs trembled, vents coming in sharp bursts, as the pleasure flashed fire through his lines, as Rodimus’ wrapped his mouth around Orion’s valve and sucked. The scrape of his denta over Orion’s anterior node was sheer ecstasy, and when he moaned, the sound vibrated over Orion’s array.

Orion writhed, making helpless noises, engine revving. His thighs pressed inward against Rodimus’ shoulders, and he rolled his hips, rocking against Rodimus’ face, as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in his abdomen.

“Rodimus, I’m not going to last,” he cried, head tossing back against the berth, lightning darting up and down his spinal strut as blue crawls of static danced beneath his armor.

“Good. I don’t want you to,” Rodimus said before he wrapped his mouth around Orion’s anterior node and gave it a good suck, like he was trying to pull the overload right out of Orion.

Orion jerked, bucking up against Rodimus as he tumbled over the edge, overload surging through his frame in a flashfire. He clawed at his berthcover, gnawed on his knuckle, but it did nothing to quiet the embarrassing cries as he rode Rodimus’ mouth and lubricant dribbled out of his valve, only to be caught by Rodimus’ glossa.

He tumbled back onto the berth with a gasp, trembling with little twitches of post-overload ecstasy, as Rodimus lowered him down and crawled up his frame, desperately kissing Orion once more. He tasted himself on Rodimus’ glossa, and moaned into the kiss, clutching at Rodimus, trying to wrap his legs around Rodimus’ waist, as the blunt heat of Rodimus’ spikehead brushed on the inside of his thigh.

“Now you,” Orion said as he hooked his legs over Rodimus’ thighs and hauled himself closer, until Rodimus’ spike nudged at his valve opening, brushing over his yet-swollen nub. “Please, Rodimus, don’t make us wait any longer.”

Rodimus moaned, a helpless sound. He cupped Orion’s hip with one hand, the other braced on the berth, as he tilted his hips, grinding down against Orion’s valve, spike slipping in the combination of lubricant and pre-fluid.

Either he was too desperate or still playing the tease. Orion didn’t care which because he was done waiting.

He hooked an arm around Rodimus’ neck and surged upward, toppling Rodimus back onto his heels. He scrambled into Rodimus’ lap, fitting himself over Rodimus’ array, knees pressing hard into the berth. He grabbed Rodimus’ chin, pulled him into a kiss, and in the same moment, Orion sank down, Rodimus finally sliding into him.

They shuddered in tandem, Rodimus gripping at his hip, one arm banding around his waist, pulling him closer and down, bottoming out within Orion. His calipers flexed and spiraled down, clamping on Rodimus’ spike.

They both groaned into the kiss, Rodimus panting as his hips made tiny thrusts up into Orion. “Perfect,” he panted as his hand slid up, cupping the back of Orion’s neck, keeping him close for each subsequent, hungry kiss. “Primus, you’re perfect.”

Orion’s spark fluttered with joy. Rodimus continued to babble praise in between kisses, rocking up into Orion with an increasingly frantic rhythm. Charge danced out from his substructure, licks of electric-blue fire that zapped Orion and left tingles in their wake. Their chassis pressed together, and Orion swore he could feel the frantic pulse of Rodimus’ spark through their armor.

The ridges on Rodimus’ spike rubbed along the sensors in Orion’s valve. He shivered, grinding down harder, trying to get Rodimus deeper. He wrapped his arms over Rodimus’ shoulders, one hand teasing the leading edge of Rodimus’ spoiler, the other pressing against his back. The angle changed just enough that his spike rutted along Rodimus’ abdomen, and his anterior node caught on a ridge in Rodimus’ armor.

Sheer pleasure flashed through Orion’s sensory net. He cried out and clutched harder to Rodimus, overload building up inside of him once more. The sensation was so overwhelming, it took him too long to notice that his chestplates were juttering, and Rodimus’ were, too.

Wisps of Rodimus’ spark energy slipped through the seam, teasing Orion, and Orion’s spark surged toward the tiny taste, slamming against the confines of his chamber. Curiosity warred with ecstasy as the slimmest taste of Rodimus’ spark was enough to make Orion jerk, his valve clamping down harder on Rodimus’ spike.

Rodimus kissed him again, and Orion moaned into the kiss, their frames moving in a timeless dance, Rodimus’ field molten against his, the need so raw it was overpowering. Rodimus’ chestplates parted further, the bright corona of his spark spilling between them, and Orion moaned as his own frame responded, completely without his permission.

His spark surged forward, and the furthest edges of their sparks touched. Orion jerked as if he’d been shocked, a sharp cry spilling from his lips as the ecstasy lanced through his lines, and his valve spiraled tight. He overloaded in that moment, again, vents stuttering, and clinging to Rodimus as his frame went taut all over.

Rodimus gasped, mumbled a language Orion thought he should recognize, and he thrust up as he pulled Orion down, his spike spurting a bloom of heat deep in Orion’s valve. The charged transfluid washed over Orion’s sensitized nodes, making them sing. Another overload struck on the tails of the first one, and lights danced in Orion’s vision, his awareness going white-hot with utter bliss.

He fell back into his frame moments later, sagging over Rodimus who slumped against him in return. They tilted, two exhausted bots who hadn’t the energy to remain upright, and sprawled in a tangle across the span of Orion’s admittedly small berth.

Little twitches of pleasure still rocked Orion’s frame. Condensation had gathered on his plating, and nips of charge danced out from beneath his substructure. Rodimus seemed in no better state, dragging in ragged vents.

“Has that… ever happened before?” Orion asked as he panted for a ventilation, his fans screaming in their desperation to cool down his frame. He patted at his chassis, but his chestplates had closed and sealed of their own accord.

He frame fairly vibrated in the aftermath of so many powerful overloads back to back.

Rodimus was slow to stir, as if he was having trouble remembering how to work his frame. His chestplates had sealed themselves as well.

He shook his head. “No. Never.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Orion’s shoulder, fatigue as thick in his field as it was in Orion’s. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. It was like I couldn’t stop.”

“Neither could I,” Orion admitted. “I don’t think it’s your fault.” He traced a hand down Rodimus’ chassis, pressing his palm flat over his chestplate, where the Matrix would be nestled just behind it. “Or at least, I don’t think it’s something you had control over.”

Rodimus looked down as though confirming with his optics where Orion had put his hand. “The Matrix?”

“Maybe.” Orion drew in a slow breath and curled closer to Rodimus, tucking himself into the nooks and crannies of Rodimus’ frame. “I’m too tired to think clearly. I feel I should know the answer, but my synapses aren’t firing properly.”

“Good tired?” Rodimus asked with a lop-sided smile, a touch of insecurity in his optics, so difficult to find unless one knew to look for it.

Orion answered by kissing Rodimus, slow and deep, not the hungry claim he’d instigated earlier, but something meant to savor. He could still taste himself on Rodimus’ glossa, and the scent of their overloads hung heavy in the air around them.

“Very good tired,” Orion murmured and tangled their legs together. “Please stay the night? If your guardians won’t mind that is.”

Rodimus tucked himself around Orion as well, until Orion rested his head on Rodimus’ chassis, listening to the steady thrum of his spark. “I think if I tried to leave, both Thundercracker and Starscream would toss me back in.”

Orion managed a tired chuckle. “It is only because they care.” He shuttered his optics, feeling satisfied all the way to his spark, oddly behaving thing that it was. “Thank you, Rodimus.”

“Kind of feel like I should be thanking you,” Rodimus murmured, his hand idly stroking Orion’s back in a soothing rhythm. “If you hadn’t finally kissed me, we’d probably still be a couple of idiots sitting two feet apart on the couch.”

“Then it is a good thing we have friends who are much wiser than we are,” Orion said. He supposed he owed both Jazz and Ratchet a thank you gift of some kind. He might not have had the bolts if it hadn’t been for their encouragement.

Rodimus hummed his agreement. His fingers walked a careful path up Orion’s spinal strut. “And you’re okay?”

“I’m perfect,” Orion said on the heels of a soft ex-vent. “And I’ll be even more so after we both get the recharge our frames desperately need.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Rodimus nuzzled him. “Good night, Orion. Recharge well.”

Orion hummed as their energy fields tangled, knitting together in the same soft sway of satisfaction. He slipped into recharge lulled by the steady cadence of Rodimus’ spark.

~

For Rodimus, recharge did not come easy.

His spark was a tangle of emotions, and not all of them positive. Orion slipped into recharge almost immediately, frame going slack and trusting in Rodimus’ arms. Their fields knitted together, and the thrum of Orion’s spark was reassuring for its steadiness.

Rodimus could not relax so easily, not with the riot of sensation in his chassis, and the worry crouching around his processor. He’d interfaced many times since he’d received the Matrix, but never had his spark -- or the Matrix -- responded the way it had with Orion. Never had his chestplates parted of their own accord, and never had he felt so desperately drawn to spark-merging with another mech.

He hadn’t been able to stop himself, as if some external force was pushing them together. The Matrix had stirred in its housing, for the first time since Rodimus received it, emitting jolts of a sensation Rodimus couldn’t name. It had… reacted to Orion.

Rodimus did not know what it meant, but he had his suspicions. When Nova yet lived, Rodimus himself had been discovered by an inadvertent reaction to a Prime artifact, which identified him as Matrix compatible.

Was Orion Matrix-compatible, too? Or was it a simpler answer? Was the Matrix simply acknowledging Orion as a suitable mate for him?

These were questions for which Rodimus did not have an answer, nor did he know who he’d trust to ask. Ultra Magnus was his advisor, chosen specifically to guide him through the political complexities of rulership as Prime. The Seekers doubled as both his personal guard and as advisors in specific areas -- Thundercracker for law, Starscream for science, and Skywarp for public relations.

No one in Rodimus’ personal, trusted circle was an expert in Primes or the Matrix or any of the mysticism surrounding Primus. For that, Rodimus would need a priest, and he wasn’t sure there was any he trusted with knowledge of Orion Pax. For all that Cybertron was in the height of a golden age, Rodimus knew there were darker threads beneath the surface.

He knew that there were mechs out there just waiting for an opportunity to seize power and claim it for themselves. Contrary to popular belief, Rodimus was not stupid. He pretended to be, so that he would be underestimated, but he was more clever than anyone gave him credit. He’d have to be, with Ultra Magnus and the Seeker’s support.

They wouldn’t have stood by him if they didn’t believe in him.

His circuitous worries were getting him nowhere, however. Nothing could be solved at the moment. It was better that he cuddle Orion, let himself enjoy this new stage in their relationship, and leave the concerns for morning.

It was still late by the time Rodimus managed to slip into recharge, and even then, the unease left for uncomfortable dreams, the likes of which he’d last experienced when he first merged with the Matrix. They were formless and shapeless, featuring faces he did not recognize, but one which could have been Orion -- if Orion were not a librarian, but a fierce warrior, facing down a large grey mech on a battlefield splashed with dark energon.

The two mechs fought -- bitter and ugly, seeking to tear and destroy one another. The sky above them was dark and cloudy, the background landscape unfamiliar to Rodimus. Each of the mechs bore bright badges -- one in crimson, vaguely similar to the symbol the Senate favored. The other was purple and stark, sharp angles and angry.

Rodimus did not recognize either of them, but was certain there was something important about the vision. Their fury, their emotion, the injuries they had sustained, yet which did not stop their relentless fight…

The image stuck with Rodimus, like a photocapture caught at the back of his processor. He onlined, groggy and off-balance, with that image static in his short-term memory core. The Matrix shifted within him, unsettled in its mounts.

Orion recharged peacefully on.

Rodimus tried to disentangle himself, ease from the berth without disturbing Orion, but even in his recharge, Orion held tight. He made the most adorable noise and squirmed closer, one leg tossing itself over Rodimus as if trying to hold him in place.

Frag, he was so cute.

Rodimus smiled and lightly stroked the back of his fingers over Orion’s cheek, his spark swelling with joy. Orion stirred at last, vents clicking from at-rest to active. His optical shutters fluttered a few times before his optics onlined. He hummed and tilted his head into Rodimus’ hand.

“This feels very real to be a dream,” Orion murmured.

Rodimus brushed his thumb over Orion’s bottom lip. “And how often did you dream of me?”

“Often enough.” Orion pursed his lips, pressing a light kiss to Rodimus’ thumb. “This is better than my dreams.”

Indeed it was.

Rodimus pushed away memories of his energon-soaked dreams. “We should get cleaned up and maybe consider those treats we didn’t eat last night.”

“I am low on fuel,” Orion admitted. He shifted, untangling himself, but rather than slide off the berth, he curved back over Rodimus, pressing their foreheads together. “If I’m to believe this is real, I insist you kiss me.”

Rodimus chuckled and cupped the back of Orion’s head, pulling him in for a lazy morning kiss. He could do this, he realized, as often as he wanted because Orion wanted him in return. He did not have to restrain himself. He never did.

“Better?” Rodimus asked against Orion’s lips.

“Much.” Orion smiled and this time, he slid off the berth, wobbling for a moment before he got his feet beneath him.

He turned toward Rodimus and seemed to sway again, one hand briefly rising to his head as his optics flickered.

Rodimus frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I promise.” Orion cycled his optics a few times before he lowered his hand. “My tanks are pinging far emptier than I thought. I can wait until after a shower.” He offered his hand to Rodimus. “Join me? My washrack is small, I’m afraid, but if we are close, we’ll fit.”

“I don’t mind being close.” Rodimus grinned and took Orion’s hand, allowing himself to be tugged to Orion’s washrack.

It was, indeed, quite small. But that only meant Rodimus’ hands could roam as they pleased without too much strain, and he took advantage of that.

To be fair, Orion did as well.

“How are you feeling?” Rodimus asked as he gently soaped up Orion’s chestplate. He kept a weather optic out for scratches and dents and paint transfers, but there were none to be found.

It paid to invest in a higher-quality paint, both for himself and for Orion.

“More than rested.” Orion grabbed Rodimus’ hand and pressed it to his chassis. “There was no harm done, lingering or otherwise, if that’s what you’re worried about. My spark is fine.”

“Good.” Rodimus leaned in, stealing another kiss because he could, and Orion hummed as he tilted his head up to meet Rodimus’ mouth.

They would be in the washrack forever at this rate. Rodimus hoped the solvent system could handle it. He hated cold showers.

“We should talk about what happened,” Rodimus said.

Orion hummed and plucked the scrub mesh from Rodimus’ hand, dampening it with solvent before he took his turn soaping up Rodimus’ chassis. “I suspect it has something to do with the Matrix.”

Rodimus gaped at him. “How do you-- Wait. Nevermind. You’re the foremost authority on Primes. Of course you’d figure it out.”

“An educated guess.” Orion looked up at him. “I’m correct?”

Rodimus hesitated, a moral debate waging a war within his spark. He ought to tell Orion his suspicions, but he knew all too well the weight of what it meant to be a Prime candidate. If anyone found out, Orion would not be able to continue pursuing his love of archival work. He would immediately be set on the path of preparation, just in case something were to happen to Rodimus.

In all likelihood, they’d rarely see each other.

No one would risk their current Prime and their Prime candidate being close together. They’d present a high-value target. The Senate, the Council, frag even Rodimus’ own advisers, would insist that he and Orion separate.

Permanently.

No, Orion couldn’t know.

In fact, no one could know.

Orion loved his job. He loved being an archivist, and studying history and translating old relics, and wandering the archives. He would wilt if they forced him elsewhere. He would do it, because Orion was a mech who understood duty, but it would ruin him.

“Yeah,” Rodimus said as the decision slotted firmly into place, and he was quite sure it was the best route to take. “Looks like Primus approves of you.”

Orion laughed. “I should hope so. I’ve dedicated my life to chronicling his handiwork.” His hand -- and the soapy cloth -- ventured lower, swiping over Rodimus’ hips and groin. “I’ve been very hands-on about it.”

Rodimus groaned at the terrible joke. Orion was lucky he was so cute. He reached around Orion, flicking the switch from solvent to rinse. “I don’t think that’s the kind of worship he had in mind.”

“That’s only because you haven’t read as many historical texts as I have,” Orion said as he tossed the mesh cloth into the bin for later cleaning and pulled Rodimus under the rinse spray. “How we have chosen to honor Primus, and his Primes, has had some very lewd moments in the past.”

Rodimus laughed and grabbed a handful of Orion’s aft, hauling their frames together. “Are you telling me there’s filth in the Archives?”

“Non-fictional retellings of the berth habits of previous Primes,” Orion corrected in a snooty tone, but the curve of his mouth suggested it was meant to be sarcasm. “Nova was hardly the most adventurous of your predecessors.”

Wow.

Rodimus honestly didn’t want to know.

“You can spare me the details. The only berth fun I’m interested in is whatever makes you hot,” Rodimus said as he pulled Orion closer, intending to steal a kiss.

Orion hummed, and his fingers walked a path up Rodimus’ backstrut, toying with the mount for his spoiler. “The easy answer to that, of course, is you.”

“Flatterer,” Rodimus murmured as his lips brushed over Orion’s. He couldn’t get enough of kissing him, and he had months of stupidity to make up for.

Which was the perfect moment for the rinse to abruptly shift to ice-cold.

Rodimus yelped; Orion gasped. They tangled together in a mad scramble to cut off the flow as if it was acid and not merely cold fluid. Orion hit the panel first, but Rodimus slipped in a stray clump of solvent and slammed into Orion, knocking him against the wall.

They fell in a clatter of limbs, Rodimus grabbing and tucking Orion against himself to absorb the brunt of the tumble. His head knocked against the door, which swung open with a loud squeak.

Silence descended, save for their whirling fans, until Orion started to shake. At first, Rodimus thought he was hurt, then he realized Orion was laughing. No, giggling. He looked down at Rodimus, his optics bright and amused, a big smile on his face.

“I think we overreacted,” he said, and Primus.

Primus.

Rodimus cupped Orion’s face with his hands, his spark swelling to three times its usual size and he breathed, “I love you.”

There on the washrack floor, spoiler aching, one of them surely bent, their frames tangled together, and Orion giggling, and looking at him like that -- Rodimus knew it for sure. He was more certain of this than he’d been certain of anything in his entire life.

Orion went still, optics spiraling wide, his field flaring surprise.

“I love you,” Rodimus repeated, more confidently this time, and he let his field unfurl with the true weight of his emotions. All the warmth and joy and trust and desire.

Orion’s vents hitched, and for a moment, Rodimus worried he’d said the worst thing he could possibly say. But then Orion was kissing him, soft and slow, gentle and adoring.

“I love you, too,” he said between one kiss and the next, cupping Rodimus’ jaw, feathering kisses over his face, coming back to his lips again.

Rodimus wrapped his arms around Orion’s frame, keeping him close, elation swelling in his spark, threatening to swallow him.

Orion loved him.

It was the best gift Rodimus had ever been given.

***