A Chaotic Neutral

Title: Playing Along
Universe: Transformers Prime, post-Orion Pax
Characters: Optimus Prime/Megatron
Rating: M
Enticements: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Heat Trope
Description: It’s a perfect excuse for both of them when Optimus stumbles upon Megatron caught in the grips of his heat.

There was something soothing about the steady, yet bumpy roll of his tires over asphalt. Roads in Cybertron had been smooth as glass, save in the poorer districts where planetary funds never managed to find their way. The rough roads on Earth reminded Optimus of a time he was Orion Pax.

Right now, it soothed him as much as it bothered him. The weight of the Matrix sat awkwardly in his chassis, an ill-fitting responsibility, with the memories of his time spent aboard the Nemesis, with Megatron, refusing to tuck neatly away in his archives.

It was quiet, which was as much of a relief as it was a challenge. Quiet meant both sides were licking their wounds, counting their resources, waiting for the next moment to strike. Quiet meant waiting, which left too much time to think. About regrets. About what might have been. About the choices he'd made.

Ping!

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Despicable Me
Chapter Eleven

Smokescreen might be awake, or he might be dreaming, he’s not sure.

There’s a city in his rear-view mirror. It stretches toward a blue, blue sky, sunlight gleaming off metallic towers and crystal windows. He doesn’t recognize the city. It’s too large to be Kaon, too well-constructed.

Is it the past? Is it the future? Whatever it is, he’s speeding away from it, tires eating up the smooth, paved road beneath him. It stretches out for what seems to be infinite miles, and ahead of him is a growing horizon, shapes popping into view -- more buildings, mechs in the skies, a thriving metropolis.

He veers away from the city, however, taking an exit into the vast wilderness, untamed land stretching between the city behind him and the city in front of him. Smokescreen doesn’t know where he is, and he’s not sure he’s the one steering himself either.

It’s weird and a bit creepy, but he’s not afraid, and Smokescreen thinks that must be because he’s already decided this is a dream. He can’t be actually hurt in a dream. And compared to some of the other dreams he’s had, this is a nice one.

He drives.

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Despicable Me
Chapter Nine

Time passes.

Not quickly enough for Megatron’s liking, and far too quickly for hope of Soundwave’s rapid recovery.

It becomes obvious that he is of no use while perched at Soundwave’s bedside. He spends several days doing it anyway, because he doesn't know what else to do with himself. He is assured that the scientists are all working speedily and diligently, and while Megatron is loath to trust the word of an Autobot, he knows he can trust Shockwave’s work ethic when it comes to a scientific quandary.

Idling has never been one of Megatron’s strong points. The longer he watches over Soundwave, the longer the anger burns in his tanks, until it becomes a bubbling mass he can’t ignore. It rises up and up in his intake, and if he doesn’t find something else to do, he’s going to make a decision he’ll regret.

One of which Orion in the corner will highly disapprove.

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Despicable Me
Chapter Seven

Predaking has done alright for himself, carving out a place to come home on the end of a vast landscape of dead things. He’s hollowed out a cave, lined the exterior with sensors, and the interior looks an endless tunnel into darkness.

Smokescreen quite visibly doesn’t want to go inside.

“It’s a courtesy,” he says, shifting from foot to foot, unease in the droop of his sensory panels. “You don’t walk into someone’s house uninvited.” He tilts a chin up at a camera. “He knows we’re here. If he wants to talk, he’ll come out.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Megatron asks, staring hard at the camera, imagining he can see through it, to Predaking and his cronies on the other end.

Smokescreen shrugs. “Then I guess you don’t get to talk to him.”

“That is not an acceptable option.” Megatron eyes the camera, narrowing his optics. “Predaking, get out here and face me.”

“He can’t hear--”

“I was already on my way, Megatron.” Predaking’s voice precedes his arrival. He comes into view, biolights visible first, in mech-mode and flanked by two of his kind, one of whom Megatron does not recognize. “It’s not everyday my former Commander comes to call.” He lifts his chin, amber optics assessing. “We’d thought you dead.”

Smokescreen slides closer to Megatron and eyes Predaking as though he thinks the Predacon is going to eat him.

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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.

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Title: From This Moment
Universe: TFP Alternate Canon
Characters: Rodimus Prime/Orion Pax, Ratchet/Jazz, Ultra Magnus, Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp
Rating: M
Description: Rodimus Prime knows that you only get one chance to make a good, first impression. Lucky for him, Orion Pax is not the only cutest archivist he’s ever met, but also the most forgiving.

Commission for Jeegoo.

Rodimus Prime was not panicking.

Rodimus Prime was not panicking, because Rodimus Prime did not panic. He did not, in fact, have any reason to panic.

Technically, Starscream was in his employ so there was no reason for Rodimus to be searching for the nearest exit like his spark was on the line.

And yet.

Here he was, crouched by an obscenely large vase that had no purpose except to be ugly and provide decent cover for a Prime on the run. Seriously. This thing was hideous. Why were they keeping it in the Municipal Archives except as a monument to their ancestors’ bad taste?

“Rodimus Prime!” Starscream’s voice squawked through the interior of the museum, bouncing off the walls, seeking Rodimus in his hiding spot with unerring accuracy. “So help me Primus if you don’t show yourself--”

“Star, you can’t threaten the Prime,” Skywarp interjected with a laugh, his vocals equally loud, if not more so. “He’s kind of our boss.”

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