More from the RP...

[stainless]

Since several of you really liked the snippet I posted earlier today from my RP, I decided to post a bit more of it.

Unlike the first, which was all written by me because I write all the 'Con parts, this is written both by me (writing Megatron's part) and aeon_entwined (writing the bits from Optimus Prime's POV.) It is also slashy (spark-sex), which the other snippet had none of.

It's also a bit long and ends rather abruptly, because I was at a loss for where to cut it.

Alsoooooooo.... any of you who like my Megatron have aeon_entwined to thank for him existing at all. I was too scared I'd fail to do the character justice to even write him until she convinced me the world would not end if I tried.

Nota Bene: The concept of Optimus's scar and where it comes from is derived from this wonderful piece of fanart.

Optimus bowed his helm, trembling from his shoulder struts to his pedes. The battle was over ... but at what cost? So many innocent lives, so much devastation, so many losses ... on both sides. The Decepticon second in command and the rest of his mildly shocked forces quickly took to the air, more than likely to plot their next move.

Then, the Prime lifted his head and rose on shaky legs, nearly collapsing once again at his nemesis' side, his battle mask sliding apart to reveal his nose and mouth. The warlord was obviously gravely injured, and it only pulled more at Optimus' spark that most of it was at his own hand. You do what is necessary to save the most lives, but sometimes that means sacrificing your own moral code. Something that rested heavily on the commander's spark.

Cautiously, he reached out, cradling Megatron's helm in his hand as he rested his right on the mech's cracked faction symbol. "I did what I must ... I ... I'm sorry." he murmured, watching the faint flickers of light within those crimson optics he knew only too well.

Megatron struggled to keep his failing optics online. This fight... he should have won it. Would have, if not for that fleshling. That weapon... where had it come from? The humans' guns did nothing, not to him... /It must have come from one of us,/ he realized. Perhaps the puny creatures were more resourceful than he gave them credit for being.

Through flickering optics, he watched Starscream fly off. The jet was unusually somber. Most would have expected him to immediately proclaim his ascension as loudly as he could, but he and the others simply... left. Megatron smiled grimly. He knew what that was about. Starscream would never admit to being displeased, but he would be nonetheless. The dream in his spark was of /winning,/ whether through prowess or through the execution of some cunning plan, not of being handed victory by some disgusting insect. If he realized Megatron was still alive... he'd be back.

A low growl escaped Megatron's vocalizer. If he survived this... he'd be ready for it.

If.

And then there was Prime, the big Autobot looming above his broken frame. Gloating? He wouldn't have expected that, not even given how long they had been fighting.

His optics widened as the other mech reached down to touch his helm. He hissed a warning, then sighed and slumped back down again. What could he do, this close to offline anyway?

The other mech's touch was gentle, concerned. "I did what I must ..." he said, his voice quiet and earnest. "I ... I'm sorry."

Megatron lifted his head. "Only you," he murmured, smiling wryly, "would defeat your archenemy and apologize for it."

A small smile quirked the Prime's lip components, and a soft laugh escaped his vocalizer. "I don't count this as a victory. This isn't what I wanted. I despise the amount of violence our battle has incurred."

He flicked his gaze to the warlord's optics, absorbing the amount of pain he could see reflected in them. Then, he shifted his hands, slipping his left beneath the mech's shoulders and his right beneath the other's legs.

"Try not to talk ... you need to conserve what little strength you have." Optimus stated, bracing himself and slowly rising to his feet, supporting his fallen nemesis' weight in his arms. If they could make it to Omega Supreme, they had a chance at resolving this. If not ... well ... the Prime didn't really want to consider the possibilities.

Later, Megatron barely remembered the journey they made. He remembered the Prime picking him up, as gently as he might have picked up a protoform. He remembered growling in protest. He'd fallen in battle, as he'd always intended to fall. The least his nemesis could do was allow him the dignity of a good death, not carry him off to perish in some polished medbay, without pain and without honor.

The other hadn't listened, of course, and to Megatron's dismay he'd felt his hold on consciousness slipping. He'd slid into the blackness and back out of it several times, and little of what happened had made its way into his memory banks. He remembered Prime gripping him tightly once, when he'd awakened, clutching him close and telling him, as he felt himself drifting again, to hang on.

He'd tried. Something in his enemy's voice had caught and held him. Optimus hadn't been talking about "soothing" his dying moments. He meant, for whatever unfathomable reason, to fight for his enemy's life. If there was a way to get out of this... Megatron would take it. If only because dying would mean not surviving to see that.

Even though Ratchet wouldn't let up with his constant prodding and admonishing, Optimus did not leave the Decepticon leader's side. He remained in the medbay for two diurnal cycles straight, unmoving and stoic. There were some points where he almost gave up. Everything Ratchet and First Aid attempted wasn't working, and Megatron was fading. Then, as he slipped his hand beneath the mech's helm, , looking him straight in the optics and ordering him to hold on, he felt something shift in the other. Something shifted into place and the crimson light of the warlord's optics intensified slightly before he once again fell unconscious.

After that, Optimus knew the mech was fighting for his life, rather than waiting for death to claim him. But he still did not leave his former rival's side. He didn't know exactly what it was keeping him there, but something was telling him to just stay. He watched the medics go about their business, and soon, they had done all they could. It was the two commanders left alone.

Tired and fatigued by his own battle injuries (which had been scantily repaired thanks to his insistence that he was in no immediate danger), Optimus occasionally lulled himself into a light recharge, although he immediately awakening if the injured warlord regained consciousness.

Towards the end of the second cycle, Optimus was seated in the same position. His left hand supported his helm, and his right held Megatron's hand, absently rubbing his thumb against the mech's palm as he drifted somewhere between a light stasis and consciousness. He wanted so desperately to resolve this mess; he wanted it more than anything. And if the Decepticon commander didn't survive this, then all hope was lost. And Optimus wasn't about to give up that easily.

Megatron drifted, his vision unfocused. Shaking his head, he forced himself to concentrate, and his vision cleared.

What he saw perplexed him almost as much as the indistinct shapes and colors had. He was apparently... inside the Autobots' base?

He would have thought that his logic circuits were malfunctioning, but near the berth he laid on, optics narrowed in a light stasis, sat Optimus Prime. One of the Autobot's hands rested on the end of the berth, as if protecting someone he cared for.

That sent memories flooding through Megatron's processor. Prime had... saved him.

His optics widened as he looked over at the other mech's hand. He knew that Autobots valued life, and he'd seen them spare Decepticons before. But this strange familiarity... there was more to it than even the Autobots' ridiculous value system. Why had his nemesis saved him?

He tried to think. It was more difficult than it should have been. Although he bore no obvious damage, he felt intense fatigue, and found concentration difficult.

He sighed, guessing what must be wrong. His systems must not be processing fuel properly. Turning his head, he could see thick wires connecting himself to the wall behind him. If he tried to disconnect himself from them, he would soon collapse from exhaustion all over again.

He smiled bitterly. There was no way they could have repaired him so extensively and yet had difficulty fixing that. Which meant they'd failed to do so on purpose. Whatever Prime wanted, the others weren't taking any chances.

Experimentally, he made a small, groaning sound. The other immediately awoke, turning to him with brightening optics.

"It appears we're both awake," the warlord said. "I suppose I owe your mechs my gratitude for repairing me. Still, if they really meant to do so, they could finish the job."

The commander's battle mask was back in place, an unconscious precaution whenever he recharged, so his voice was slightly muffled. "If I had my way, you would be fully repaired. A few of my men, however, did not take too kindly to my wishes. Which I understand completely." Optimus replied evenly, meeting those crimson optics unflinchingly.

He made to move his slightly stiff arm, but as he did so, his fingertips brushed against the warlord's dark hand. The Prime glanced down briefly, then opened his mouth to voice his thought. "You're still in pain ... is there anything I can do?"

"Pain?" the warlord smirked. "You Autobots are a soft lot. I can handle the pain. I'd rather endure pain ten times worse than this than remain immobile, hooked up to this ridiculous machine of yours."

His optics widened as he felt the Autobot's hand brush against his own. He looked up, remembering that Optimus's faceplate had come loose in the earlier battle. Perhaps the other mech's expression would hold a clue to why he was behaving this way.

Besides, he'd caught a glimpse of Prime's face during the battle. He'd noticed a scar near the other's mouth. He remembered it, too: vorns ago, he'd tricked a young mech who idolized him. When the youth had tried to stop him, he'd shot him. The blast had reduced half of the fallen youth's face to a twisted mass of metal, sparking feebly. Megatron had turned and left the young mech to die.

He'd seen that visage only once since: A new, young Prime rose to challenge him, his features obscured by a face mask. This new enemy had fought better than any other, with a determination Megatron had never seen from his corrupt, lazy enemies. Impressed, he'd asked the other who he was and where he'd come from, and been met with his only glimpse of the face behind the mask. Since then, he'd never seen it again.

Until it had come loose in this last battle. It surprised him, the emotion he'd felt seeing his mark, etched indelible and unmistakable on the other's metal.

Now, however, the Autobot's battlemask had been repaired, gleaming even in the dim light of the medbay. And once again, a powerful and unexpected feeling gripped the warlord: the sudden desire to reach out, tear the mask off, and behold his mark on the other's face again.

Optimus stared silently at his former enemy, his optics contemplative. Then, he spoke. "Pain and immobility aside, if you want to survive, you are going to be forced to trust me."

As he continued to watch Megatron, he noticed strange emotions flickering across the mech's faceplates. They were almost tangible, it was almost as though he could feel them as well. Then, he noticed that the crimson optics had settle fixedly on his battle mask. Strangely, he knew why.

With an almost imperceptible shudder at the memory, he retracted the mask, his optics flaring as the cool evening air from outside the medbay washed over his now bare faceplates. Then, he glanced down again, his expression a mix of distant pain and current hope.

"Is this ... what you wanted?" he asked, his lip components moving fluidly despite the scar marring the side of his mouth.

Megatron reached out his arm, cursing the wires holding it back. He gritted his dental plates and tried again, stretching the wires as taut as they would go.

The tips of his fingers brushed against the jagged metal in front of them. He traced its rough surface again and again, his fingertips seeking to memorize its texture.

"Yes," he answered, staring directly into the other's optics as they flashed with some emotion he couldn't decipher. "Yes, it is."

Optimus leaned just slightly closer, marveling at the fact that despite the intensive scarring, he could feel Megatron's fingers touching his face as if the plating had never been damaged. He returned the warlord's crimson gaze, suddenly at a loss for words.

Then, he lifted his hand, curled his finger's around the Decepticon commander's, and pulled it away, still keeping his grip on the other's hand. "This ... is because of you," he stated, his tone even but simmering slightly with vorns-old anger. "This was your first gift to me. They could have erased it completely, but I refused. It is part of who I am. And I bore this reminder every vorn since our first encounter."

"Oh, I'm the last mech who would begrudge you your anger," Megatron answered, looking down at their interlocked hands. "Power does not arise from comfort. Destiny does not come from serenity. Would you have ascended as far as you did if your rage had not driven you?"

He regarded the other for a long moment and then spoke again. "I mistook your defiance for foolhardiness, and I have no interest in letting fools live." He winced. "I misjudged you. And I have paid for it."

"Still, you called it a gift. You're right." His lip slowly curled into a smile. "I gave you your destiny."

Optimus narrowed his azure optics slightly, closely examining the warlord. Then, he opened his mouth again. "You gave me a destiny I did not want. I was once Orion Pax, a mere dock-worker. I never asked for this life. But after your benediction and my continuing perseverance to cease the rebellion, the Matrix chose me, and I assumed the mantle of Optimus Prime."

He tightened his grip on Megatron's hand, a concerned expression settling on his faceplates as the other mech winced noticeably. "What is it?" he questioned, unable to disguise the worry in his tone. Though he wanted to deny it, he despised seeing the other in pain, no matter his crimes and no matter how many times they'd fought.

"A destiny you didn't want? You embraced it eagerly enough." The warlord winced again, half-collapsing.

Gritting his dental plates, he forced himself to focus. "Or do you mean to tell me that you would have been satisfied working those docks for vorn after vorn?" He shook his head. "I don't think so. The others under you, perhaps, would be satisfied with such a placid existence... but not you. Sooner or later, the hunger for a greater destiny would have seized you... as it did me."

Seeing the other's concern, he frowned. "It's nothing," he croaked as a new spasm of pain twisted his features. "Or maybe it is something. Apparently your medic is less competent than I thought. If not intentionally ensuring that I continue to malfunction."

"The repairs are complete, but Ratchet ensured that your fuel lines would not become fully functional until you were no longer deemed a threat," Optimus replied, rising to his feet, still holding the mech's hand. "I can finish the process, but it might be less than comfortable."

He reached behind the warlord, and began cueing commands into the various machines connecting Megatron to the wall via fuel lines and cabling. At his discretion, the fresh energon flowing from the storage units into the Decepticon's fatigued body. It was enough to replenish what Megatron had lost, but not enough to give him the energy to battle his way out, no matter if he wanted to or not. Then, the cabling began the slow process of disconnecting, Something Optimus found a bit painful himself, and he gave the mech's hand a slight squeeze to translate the sympathy.

After so long hooked up to the fuel processing systems, the refueling felt oddly invasive, as though Megatron were being forced full of something foreign and uncomfortable. Despite his logic circuits reassuring him that this was for the best, he felt dizzy and sick, and he thought he might purge what little fuel the Prime was feeding him at any moment. He willed away those feelings, determined not to reveal any weakness.

But his nausea was nothing compared to what happened next. Racked with pain, Megatron's body arched involuntarily as the cabling tore free. Perhaps this was unavoidable. Perhaps it was a parting gift from a still-distrustful or angry Ratchet. Either way, searing agony lanced through his every circuit, tearing a scream from his vocalizer before he could mute it.

When he returned to himself, he felt someone gently squeezing his hand. He looked over to see Optimus's hand wrapped around his own. His first thought was to tear his hand away after revealing such weakness. Instead, he looked over at the other. If his nemesis had goaded him half as much, he would have simply cut off the support and watched his enemy die.

Instead... here he was, very much alive, free of the confining machine, his archenemy's hand wrapped tightly around his own.

Optimus made no sound, and merely lowered himself onto the medbay cot beside his nemesis. He kept both pedes on the floor, but sat close enough to see the faint flecks of dried energon from the small now-formed scars scattered across the Decepticon’s visage.

He did not release his grip on the mech’s hand, knowing if he did, the moment would vanish. With a slightly awkward air, he lifted his free hand and placing it lightly at the center of the warlord’s back, gently rubbing at the buckled, scarred, but mended plating.

“Are you alright?” he spoke quietly, looking straight into Megatron’s crimson optics as he did. The connection between them was almost this physical thing, a crackling, sparking tendril of tension in the still air.

Megatron stared back at the azure optics looking into his. He felt the other's hand at his back, exploring the new scars there as he had explored Prime's scarred face shortly before. The idea of being touched so intimately by an Autobot repulsed him, but the touch itself was pleasant, soothing away the last twinges of pain crackling through his circuitry.

His mouth twitched into a slight smile, and he suddenly realized just how close the other's face was to his own. "Your concern for my welfare never ceases to surprise me, Optimus. But yes, I am all right... now."

Optimus gave an imperceptible shiver as the Decepticon spoke, he could almost feel the mech's cycled breath on his cheek. Try as he might, he couldn't break optic-contact.

"It shouldn't, considering I fight for every life, regardless of their faction," he replied softly, a small smile quirking the edges of his lips. "Ironic, isn't it ... what you've always considered my greatest weakness, has saved your life." He laughed quietly, but the sound died in his throat as he found himself bowing his helm forward just slightly, inexplicably closing the distance between Megatron and himself.

"Oh, I never asked for you to save me," Megatron murmured, reaching out his hand and wrapping it around the back of Optimus's helm. "You chose to do that. I only chose... to let you."

Smirking again, he pulled the other mech's lips to his and, before he could think better of it, kissed him, hard.

He could feel the contours of the other's lips, the tangle of scars on one side of Optimus's mouth. The roughness pleased him, the mark indelible, the connection unbreakable. He had seized his destiny long ago, forged the Decepticons, and then -- /had it really been an accident?/ he wondered -- forged this mech soon after, the only enemy who had ever truly proven worthy of him.

Optimus jerked slightly in surprise, but quickly stilled, the hand resting on Megatron's back curling into a fist and gripping the plating tightly. As the mech's lips slid against his own, he marveled at the fact that something that he would normally consider completely illogical now felt so right. The warlord had made him, forged him ... they /were/ each other's destiny.

He released his grip on the other's hand and lifted his own to grip Megatron's shoulder, holding tightly as the kiss intensified, a pleased rumble escaping his vocalizer.

Megatron wrapped his other arm around Optimus, drawing him closer. When the other's mouth opened to let out a pleased sound, he slid his tongue inside. /Yes,/ he thought, shivering with the pleasure of feeling the other's mouth opening to admit it. His hand tightened reflexively around the Prime's helm, and then slid down to the sensitive cabling of the other mech's neck.

Optimus balked momentarily at the invasion, but then shuddered and found himself responding, experimentally probing his tongue into the warlord's mouth. His hand on the other's shoulder moved to curl around the mech's neck, keeping the kiss unbroken as they shifted together and he found himself kneeling on the cot. Then, as Megatron's fingers found the sensitive cabling running along his throat, Optimus couldn't quell the youngling-like mewl that escaped his vocalizer.

Megatron twitched with pleasure as the other mech's tongue met his. Then he heard the other's mewling cry. Sensing the desperation behind it, he tightened his grip. His actions had created this... had created and cemented this connection between them. And Optimus, mewling like a youngling, desperate for more from him, would not -- could not -- deny it.

As the Autobot sank to his knees, a surge of desire lanced through the warlord, so intense it almost pained him. Leaning down, he pressed his chest to the other's, his optics narrowing as he felt his spark begin to tremble within its chamber in his chest, flickering with his growing need.

As the Decepticon's chest plates ground against his, Optimus arched slightly, shivering as his own spark throbbed beneath the plating. He quickly shifted his hand so his palm was flat against the mech's chest, feeling the other's spark skipping erratically against it. Then, he probed at the seam in the plating, his fingertips gently prying at the metal.

"Please ..." Optimus murmured against Megatron's lips, his tone soft and pleading. Though he had little experience in these matters, he had never desired something more in his life. He couldn't explain it ... but their connection only made the desire more potent and consuming.

Megatron's spark gave a hard lurch as he listened to the other plead and felt the eager blue fingers dig into the plating over his chest.

Surprising himself with his own gentleness, he brushed the other's hand away. Then the warlord slid his chest plates back as slowly as he could stand. The bright light of his avid spark flooded the darkened medbay.

His lip quirked with pleasure as he watched the other's optics narrow in the bright light, then widen in awe as he stared at the swirling sphere and the energy crackling outward from it.

"You've never done this... have you?" Megatron smirked, moving a hand to the other's chest, feeling the spark skip crazily behind it, and then slowly lowering his hand, waiting.

As the brilliant light of Megatron's spark illuminated the room, Optimus couldn't help but stare. Then, as the warlord's hand drifted to his chest, the Prime silently complied, parting his chest plates to expose his erratically throbbing spark. Even though he felt no fear, he'd never felt so vulnerable, so naked.

Then, with a barely perceptible shake of his head, he answered the warlord's question. "No ... I have not." his voice was quiet, reserved. He didn't feel ashamed, merely inexperienced. Although, there was a burgeoning curiosity forming at the back of his processor as Megatron smirked down at him.

At the sight of the bright sphere swirling within the other's chest, Megatron's spark crackled with heat and gave another powerful lurch. Gritting his dental plates, the Decepticon forced himself to keep control. His own spark whirled crazily, desperate to resist the will forcing it to stillness.

"Then let me... ensure this is... memorable for you..." Megatron gasped, the energy bursting free from him, searing his circuits as it lanced unerringly toward the other.

Before he could even absorb Megatron's words, their sparks connected. The sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life, it felt as though every circuit in his entire body was engulfed in flame. Optimus' mouth fell open and a howl tore itself from his vocalizer. He grabbed the warlord's shoulders, his fingers scrabbling desperately for purchase as he bucked against the other mech.

Then ... reversal. He could feel the searing heat flowing from his life force into Megatron's, spreading between them and fusing them together. This was what spark-merging had always been described to him as. Powerful, almost liquid heat racing through his body, igniting every sensory node and literally singing in his audios. Optimus panted heavily, his systems heaving as the internal fans worked desperately to cool him. He was beginning to feel a strange twinge at the edge of his consciousness, and he realized it could only be the forewarnings of overload.

Megatron hissed in triumph as the other twitched from the force of his assault, the azure optics narrowing in shock as he threw back his head and howled in passion or pain. Snarling in triumph, he sent more energy at the other, wanting to see him fall.

Then something tugged at the beam of energy, catching and holding it. Growling, the heat electrifying his circuits driving him on, he released more energy, hoping to overwhelm the other. The more relentless he grew, however, the more it absorbed.

Then, in a great burst, the Autobot's spark launched the energy back at him. He staggered once, and then forced himself upright. If the other mech could take this in... so could he.

As his spark caught and held the redirected energy, tendrils of it reached out from his spark to the other's, catching it and pulling it closer. He moaned with sudden pleasure as the other's spark did the same, the lightning crackling out from it into his own, sending sensation thrilling through him.

Narrowing his optics in expectation of the bright light, he hurled another pulse of energy into the spark connected to his. It lanced suddenly and explosively through both, making Megatron shudder once before the white light blazed through him and the other alike, flooding their vision and setting their every circuit aflame as it burned away all else.

As the haze of overload slowly faded, Optimus onlined his optics and slowly shifted his head so he could gaze at Megatron. The warlord was slumped atop his frame, cycling soft breaths and obviously still recharging. The crimson optics were shuttered and a seemingly permanently satisfied expression rested on the mech's faceplates. The Prime's own lips curled into a slightly dazed smile as he recalled the events of the past cycle and he shivered slightly at the memory.

Though he'd always imagined a spark-merge to be a pleasant experience, he'd never even fathomed how incredible the actual act would be. And the first mech whom he ever shared his spark with ... was Megatron? Though the idea simply seemed illogical, it actually couldn't be more appropriate. They'd forged each other, they had been bonded, in a sense, for vorns. Since the very first time they'd encountered one another. This was only a reaffirmation of that connection.

With a slow sigh, Optimus raised his hand and traced his fingers over Megatron's helm. Then, moved to his jaw, admiring the mech's regal beauty for the first time. A small smile quirked the Prime's lips as he enjoyed the peaceful serenity of the warlord's visage in recharge.

Megatron's optics onlined slowly. /Too slowly,/ he thought, running an internal diagnostic to determine just how little fuel Optimus had given him earlier and frowning at its result.

As the haze of white faded, he found the other mech staring at him, the unscarred corner of his enemy's mouth turned up in a slight smile.

His optics widened in surprise. He had, of course, expected the Prime to enjoy that. Though he'd never expected that he himself would find merging with an Autobot so pleasant.

But he would have thought the other would feel angry now, or guilty, or ashamed. Autobots grew so terribly tetchy about any threat to their carefully constructed -- and equally carefully preserved -- value system. He had expected the other to start an argument of one form or another as soon as the hazy, post-overload feeling disappeared.

Yet here the Autobot was, reaching out his hand to caress the warlord's jaw gently, almost reverently. With anyone else, it would mean he'd won already. With this one, however, winning would not be nearly so easy...

Comments

[swordage]

Oh my goodness. You both write these characters so beautifully. While still clearly an RP log, this has such wonderful depth to it - I have never enjoyed reading an RP before! I absolutely love the long-standing connection between them, and how this new intimacy is not quite affection, nor is it a weapon, though it could easily tip either way. I love how confidently virginal Optimus is! And oh, Megatron - always calculating, always finding a new way to manipulate... Some of his lines just made me wriggle with glee, particularly: "Power does not arise from comfort. Destiny does not come from serenity. Would you have ascended as far as you did if your rage had not driven you?"

This really is delicious, although as with most RPs the pacing is a bit off in a new places - not enough to detract from my enjoyment, clearly, but if you plan to edit it you may want to look at the very beginning, the leadup to the kiss, and maybe the buildup between the kiss and the actual spark-sex. I cannot possibly recommend anything to improve the characters; they are absolutely perfect. I will look forward to reading more by you two - this storyline definitely pushes my buttons in the best of ways. :3

[stainless]

Thank you very much! I'm so thrilled that you like both of our versions of the characters. I really love her Optimus, and find him very easy to play off of.

And yes, I know the pacing is off. The reason the other one is a lot smoother is because I -- being the writer for all of the Decepticons -- wrote the entire thing, rather than taking turns with aeon. This, on the other hand, is the two of us taking turns with minimal editing from me, which means it does get choppy in places.

I'd love to edit the whole thing, but it's actually quite enormous. It's very long, and actually doing that work would take a very, very long time. I would, however, eventually like to turn some of it into stand-alone stories.

[swordage]

I would love to see any stories that come of this! You both truly have a connection with the characters that is inspiring. I've been rereading this (it's just that enjoyable!) and there are so many bits I love - Optimus' little mewl, the part at the very end where Megatron realizes that this isn't something Optimus is ashamed of, isn't something that he can use against Optimus to hurt, but rather something Optimus can use against him with gentleness... That part, I am totally in love with. The idea of Optimus wearing Megatron down with affection. It has so many beautiful possibilities. ♥

[stainless]

Thank you so much! I'm thrilled you agree with me about her lovely Optimus -- IMO she really needs to understand just how slagging good at him she is.

MY PLOT TO FORCE HER TO UNDERSTAND THIS COMES ALL THE CLOSER TO FRUITION. EXCELLENT.

*grin*

I've been rereading this (it's just that enjoyable!) and there are so many bits I love

Thank you so much. *smile* I'm thrilled to hear that.

That part, I am totally in love with. The idea of Optimus wearing Megatron down with affection. It has so many beautiful possibilities.

Heh. I think it's important -- and I'm sure aeon agrees, though I hate to speak for her -- for both characters to have strengths and weaknesses, understandings of the situation and each other that the other one doesn't have or doesn't expect, etc.

To my own mind, the wonderful thing about Transformers really, the thing that actually has made it endure in so many people's hearts and minds, is that when canon isn't being silly and actually gets it right, the Autobots and the Decepticons are both portrayed as members of contrasting cultures, cultures that have admirable aspects and blind spots, and cultures that both color and enrich the attitudes of their members. I think both of us really take that seriously, and I think it helps both of us to make our characters not only rich but also understandable and likable, no matter which side either of us -- or hopefully, any reader -- personally prefers.