What the Prime would get in return was slightly less... idealistic, slightly less pure.
The want and desire was as simple, even innocent that it would get.
Beneath, beyond that...
A wish for better treatment, of less corruption, but a cynical mind that deemed most unable to carry through such a thing without being directed... But maybe his Prime could do it with help.
A desire to reach outwards, to impress their species' capabilities on the rest of the universe... But not only because he thought cybetronians fit to rule above everybody else. Beneath it was a lurking darkness, a vague sense of responsibility for a universe unprepared.
He was cynical, ruthless enough that without a counter, that would be expressed in a less than pleasant fashion.
Megatron felt no shame, no, but there was a vague flare of defensiveness; Optimus was much to innocent, too idealistic despite his past, to accept what he was, surely...
Aware that the moment he thought that, his Prime would have gotten some sense of it, and if he only had a short time left (for why would that be acceptable?)...
Engine revving and his vents expelling a gust of hot, wasted air as Optimus' hands raked down his frame, setting nodes alight, he somehow managed to flip them, resting one hand on the couch's back to balance himself.
Optics dim and glowing livid ruby, Megatron unceremoniously clenched his knees about his Prime's waist and hips and lowered himself down onto Optimus' spike, tensing as the charge coursing through his/their frames like lightning found yet another connection.
Caliphers and the delicate, thousands of tiny filaments inside his valve spasmed again.
no subject
The want and desire was as simple, even innocent that it would get.
Beneath, beyond that...
A wish for better treatment, of less corruption, but a cynical mind that deemed most unable to carry through such a thing without being directed... But maybe his Prime could do it with help.
A desire to reach outwards, to impress their species' capabilities on the rest of the universe... But not only because he thought cybetronians fit to rule above everybody else. Beneath it was a lurking darkness, a vague sense of responsibility for a universe unprepared.
He was cynical, ruthless enough that without a counter, that would be expressed in a less than pleasant fashion.
Megatron felt no shame, no, but there was a vague flare of defensiveness; Optimus was much to innocent, too idealistic despite his past, to accept what he was, surely...
Aware that the moment he thought that, his Prime would have gotten some sense of it, and if he only had a short time left (for why would that be acceptable?)...
Engine revving and his vents expelling a gust of hot, wasted air as Optimus' hands raked down his frame, setting nodes alight, he somehow managed to flip them, resting one hand on the couch's back to balance himself.
Optics dim and glowing livid ruby, Megatron unceremoniously clenched his knees about his Prime's waist and hips and lowered himself down onto Optimus' spike, tensing as the charge coursing through his/their frames like lightning found yet another connection.
Caliphers and the delicate, thousands of tiny filaments inside his valve spasmed again.