REMINDERΒ Β Β Β Β Β Β Β Optimus Prime is a military general, not your dad. He will not be written in a manner that undermines his character or lethality for the sake of niceties. Despite his Autobot status, I have no intention of softening his personality, canon to that of IDW, to fit popular fandom beliefs or to make him more agreeable in roleplay. He will not tolerate blatant harassment or disrespect based on the personal beliefs of other muses (and their writers).
How much engex would it take to put him into a coma? He's going to find out.
@martyrix
βI could kill you. Actually, no. Scratch that. Iβm going to kill you. Again. Iβll make sure you stay that way.β
"Should I bend down so you can reach?"
"No, no. Feel free to continue. Don't stop on my behalf."
He comes back coated in mud. The thick sludge sticky and seeping through his seams. And the only warning anyone will get is the tell-tale clicks of his armour unlocking and plating rattling open before he shakes all the mud off like a dog.
trauma didnt make me soft itβs made me angry and empty
Fragger.
The reply draws a lopsided, shit-eating grin out of him, but he gets it, he truly does. ::Never was one for stealing, be it treasure or kisses. I'm not touching your anything, pal.::
He'll gladly attempt to get drunk with the handsome oaf, though. Laughing under his breath, the hunter shoots up like the bird of prey he is, engines purring as he stretches his wings.
Twirling slowly, feeling playful, he adds the coordinates to his private, inter-dimensional star chart. Once done, he accesses to his port drive and pulls up the corresponding maps. Void offers him her aid, opening rifts for him, and he thanks her with a delighted pulse of his sensors. Shifting back to root-mode, he wonders if he's doing something stupid as he is sent off safely.
They aren't friends, not really.
Enemies? No, not at all.
We're... something.
Whatever it something is, it draws Devcon in; he is no moth, and Optimus certainly is no lamp, but the mech still captures his attention. He is... curious. Has been for a while. The ex-Prime is dangerous, and there's nothing soft about him. Fighting him would be like fighting Dancer, and he's therefore perfect.
Caught up in his thoughts, he doesn't even notice how the next rift literally dumps him in front of one very tall, stupidly handsome Optimus apparently-not-a Prime.
There's nothing spectacular about the way Devcon falls. If anything, only the table Optimus stood at seemed to acknowledge the sudden disturbance of the ex-Prime's visitor, rattling slightly at his impact. Optimus lays a hand against the corner of the book in front of him, keeping it steady on it's stand until the table stills again.
The room is almost pitch black, aside from the few dim screens of sleeping monitors and an unblinking icy, blue stare from across the room that seems fixed on the hunter. He doesn't say a word nor does he make any move to stop working. He merely continues to study the fallen mech and the workshop remains quiet as if holding its breath.
He hadn't expected the ... suddenness of his entry. Maybe a knock on the door, a ship hailing the Last Light, something along the lines of formal normality. Alas, Devcon is far from normal. Optimus hushes Hubble's request to alert the ship's occupants of an intruder and he messages the AI to mark the hunter's signature as a guest and instead sends a quick ping to Megatron.
Optimus then steps around the table, a rumbled, low grunt the only warning that he mercifully decided to end the hunter's torment. His steps are unnaturally light despite his size, almost purposeful as though he was approaching an animal on the near verge of bolting.
And he purrs, the sound somewhat pleased. Teasing. Inviting the hunter to play along.
"Quite the entrance," he says and the tone is nothing but smug.
His gaze lingers on him, a proud mech on his hands and knees, and his optics darken briefly, too quick to be noticed before he bends. His hand then slides beneath the crook of Devcon's arm, coated in fresh splatters of ink, and he lifts him up from the floor as if he weighed nothing. The purr in his chest rises, louder and deeper and it vibrates across the workshop.
He should have let him go the moment he was able to stand, but he doesn't, not yet. His frame towers over him and heat billows from his body as the ex-Prime's hand flexes over smooth, pretty metal, testing the feel of the mech beneath his palm. And suddenly, Optimus drags him closer and a hot breath plumes against the side of the hunter's cheek as Optimus scents him. Checking him over.
"You're not damaged are you?"
It's often hard for me to admitβ but I do long to be taken care of. I'm so tired.
I'm so tired of having to be stronger than I feel I'm even capable of being. I'm so tired of having to be in survival mode all the time. I'm so tired of always pretending like I'm okay.
I want to relax. I want to feel safe. I want to let go.
I want to ease my exhausted body into the arms of someone who cares. Someone who wants me to feel not alone. Someone who can see the burdens I've carried and say, "I see you. I acknowledge your strengthβ your sacrifices. Let me take over for a while. Let me take care of you. You've been so brave. Your only job now is to rest."
::True that.::
Thereβs an easy grin in his face, and his vocals stay low and pleasant - this one he likes. Nothing like a mech whoβll tease his programming while being perfectly able to kick his aft.
Moving about in Havenβs kitchen, he subspaces a few snacks along with the vintage energon heβd bought some while ago. Itβs good and potent - a perfect gift to break the ice with.Β
When the big oaf speaks up again, heβs already airborne, ready to break out of Voidβs artificial atmosphere.Β
::Am I allowed into your sanctum?:: Ex-Prime or not, the mech still reeks of Primus for the hunterβs sensors. ::Mine is... complicated,:: he admits softly, transforming in mid-air. ::I wonβt attack, and youβd give me too much trouble anyway. And, we could bond over a mutual hate of Primus.::
His workshop is a cluttering shamble of ancient texts and unearthed artifacts from alien worlds. No light dares to filter through the shuttered windows and the air is cool here, a constant temperature as he works in the quiet, listening intently to the hunter.
The book he has before him is old, its bindings rotting from its leather seams. His optics flicker, blue lenses clicking as he delicately cleans the surface of the pages with a hand that is too large to be so gentle.
:: Here? :: His gaze glows in the darkness as he considers the mech's request and he rolls the idea of it around. He suddenly barks a soft laugh, deep and low as he returns to his book. :: Wandering my halls like a thief in the night? Touching what's mine? ::
By nature, he is territorial and selfish though he does his best to hide the humiliation it brings. But he is obsessive, driven by a maddening hunger that stirs within the depths of his tanks that demands he protects what is his.
He knows the air of the ship will be stained by the hunter, his presence would still linger long after he had left, refusing to leave him be.
His peace would be ruptured until the essence of him was no more and the thought of it makes his armor bristle, rising and rattling as if to ward off the mech.
But his voice remains level, despite the mischievous thrum of his sub-vocals.
:: I'll allow it. Just this once. ::
And he sends his coordinates.
"Why accept drinks from a creepy stranger when you could give me, your creepy pain-in-the-ass almost-boyfriend that you are in denial of attention instead? I am owed and so is my counterpart."
"Also, I'm sexier."
"Mhm, deprived aren't you?"
Optimus leans down to brush his knuckles across his jaw, gentle and yet, it's edged with something sharp. Possessive. And suddenly he is upon him, the solid wall of his massive frame pressing down on the mech as his arms, caging him against a door. He bends, his faceplate hovering so close against his neck that it nearly brushes across. A hot ex-vent stirs against Megatron's exposed neck cables as he rumbles a laugh, amused.
"Come then, collect what you're owed, Princess."
::Rude.::
Don't die where he can know about it, mech. Be a good Optimus self-sacrificing-Prime and die when he's not there to know about it. Or see it. He'd rather not see another Prime die, thank you very much.
::You up for a drink?::
Because he is but a hunter, and he can scent a deathwish in the vast ocean of stars.
::Is that what I am now? I'd like to think I am an acquired taste."
Time spent away must have made the hunter needy if he is requesting his attention. He wants to question him for it, make him admit to something but Optimus isn't quite sure of what.
You have others, don't you? Of all people, surely you could find better company.
But the ex-Prime hesitates within the beat of silence shared between them. Maybe he is the one who is needy, eager for distraction and Devcon seems all too willing to give himself up on a mere whim.
::Do you have a location in mind?::
If you had a butthole, I would crawl inside it and live there.
He can never know.