Chapter Text
Optimus Prime hadn’t given Megatron’s body any thought since he had been Orion Pax- the Archivist had been smitten by the broad shoulders, nicely rounded chest, thick thighs...
The Prime shifted, uncomfortable. The point was, the Warlord hadn’t changed his appearance for Optimus to consciously think about the way his enemy looked. Mostly.
Perhaps it had been because Megatron had been away for a few years, or maybe it was the way the lighting was hitting Megatron's plating- but either way, Megatron looked…
…bigger.
The deep, vibrant color of his protoform made it all the easier to see the mesh bulging between silver plating. Straining silver plating at that. The Decepticon had kept his over all shape, it was just…thicker in places. Optimus stared at Megatron’s middle, not quite sure how he felt about the extra mass.
Definitely not the lighting.
He decided to simply ignore it when narrowed crimson optics met his.
“Prime,” Megatron sneered, his hands hanging at his sides. He somehow always managed to make the casual stance commanding. “Have you missed me?”
They weren’t quite close enough for Optimus to get a good read on Megatron’s EM field, but he could tell the mech was keeping it close to himself, which was peculiar. Megatron usually used it almost like a weapon, using bursts of extreme bouts of emotions - usually rage or unbridled, although twisted, joy - to stun his opponent long enough to force a physical advantage. Optimus had been the victim of said attacks for so long he had anticipated and, predictably, found ways to ignore Megatron’s pulsing, strong field. But now that his enemy was hiding it, keeping it tucked close to his plating, Optimus found himself thrown for a loop. Again.
It was a wonder the Prime hadn’t suffered, along with his many, many other injuries inflicted upon him by the one time gladiator, whiplash from Megatron’s volatility. Of course, the queerness of the situation, probably, had a lot to do with Megatron’s…changed appearance.
Optimus was suddenly at a loss for words, and so left Megatron’s question unanswered. He kept his gaze as steady as ever though, and hoped that the other would mistake his silence for anger. But Megatron was sensitive when it came to his arch enemy’s reactions, even with his own field tucked neatly near his armor, and Optimus braced himself when he saw that maw clench with a hateful snap.
“Not in the mood for talking, are we? Fine,” Megatron said as he released the sword built into his arm. “We’ll cut right to the chase, then.”
The joke was heard, logged away with the rest of them, and Optimus Prime charged, his own blade appearing.
They clashed with a loud, screeching sound. Optimus took in Megatron’s larger form, finding himself dangerously distracted by the…changes. Really, Optimus never really had a taste for purple, but the sight of it protruding through tight plating, soft and warm to the touch (probably), easily massaged and kneaded between his hands-
He felt his cooling fans kick on.
With a grunt, he managed to push Megatron back. Optimus felt disturbed by the sudden lapse, but didn’t have time to think too much about it. He had to collect himself; Megatron was no light weight.
Optimus paused, a strange urge bubbling up his throat. Before he could process it, or even control himself, he laughed. Optimus Prime laughed. Not only that, he had made a joke. He stopped, however, when Megatron’s field slammed into him, all angry and biting. Optimus lifted his head, remembering where he was and what he was doing.
“Optimus Prime laughing?” Megatron said, trying to sound amused but doing a terrible job of it. Optimus could hear laced in the words a distinct sort of frustration. “May I ask what’s so funny, Prime?”
Optimus glanced at the ground, gathering his thoughts. Not wanting to give Megatron any ideas, he answered quickly. “What use do you have for Dark Energon?” Yes, because changing topics wouldn’t give Megatron any ideas. Optimus kept tense, waiting for a blow, physical or otherwise, while waiting for a response. Megatron, while sometimes rash, was not stupid by any means of the word.
“Unicron’s life blood is power, Prime,” he answered. “Unless you’re weak enough to fall to it’s…effects.” The sneer had returned, and Optimus allowed himself to relax just a tiny bit at the expression; Megatron was going to ignore the sudden change of focus it would seem. Which only added to the queerness of they way Megatron was acting. If Optimus didn’t know any better, he would say his enemy was self-conscious about his appearance.
To his complete shock and horror, Optimus had to fight to keep his fans from kicking on again.
“You will learn the full extent of it’s power soon enough.” Now Megatron was just flat out grinning, his field bursting into life. Optimus, proud of himself for it, stood his ground, allowing wave after wave of hatred to wash over him. His own field did crackle slightly, but he kept it tight. No need in letting Megatron know he was fighting arousal.
He transformed his arm, aiming his gun at Megatron’s chest. “I cannot allow you to use Dark Energon on this planet, Megatron. The humans-”
“That will be the last of their problems.” Megatron suddenly fired his cannon, and Optimus barely dodged a blast to his middle. He heard the sound of jet engines before having the chance to look back up. “I have no time to play with you now, Prime.” The Decepticon was hovering in the air a few feet above Optimus's head. “But I do look forward to our next encounter.”
And with that he flew off, his engines roaring. Optimus stood to his full height, staring after his enemy. He should have been concerned with what Megatron had planned with Dark Energon, the dangerous substance harmful enough on it’s own, and he hadn’t a clue what Megatron was planning with it, but…
All he could think about was how he had regretted not getting a good view of Megatron's aft.
As if to add insult to injury, his cooling fans sputtered back to life at that line of thought and he groaned, covering his face with his hand. Oh Primus take him.
He gave himself a moment to calm his systems down before opening a comm. line to base. “Ratchet, I require a ground bridge.”