Divine Intervention
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Story #5 in the "Prime's Right" series and a fill to this prompt at Tfanonkink:
REQ: Any - Optimus/Any Autobot - It's Good to be the Prime, Heat Cycle 2016-07-19 07:35 pm
Any Autobot that goes into heat, once found, is sent to Ironhide to be washed, polished, oiled, and then sent off to Optimus' berth for the night. Hopefully the mech emerges the next morning sparked up by the faction leader, who of course by virtue of the matrix is the fittest, strongest, wisest mech out there. It makes sense for him to be the one siring new sparks.
I'd love to see various Autobots being prepared by Ironhide (or some other lieutenant) and then placed in Optimus' berth to await him. Some could be scared. Some could be excited. Some could be unwilling for various reasons (and Ironhide might have to give them some sort of sedative or even physically restrain them). Some could be so excited they can't even wait and go out looking for the Prime, flinging themselves upon him demanding their turn RIGHT NOW!
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I don't own the characters; Hasbro does. I've only exploited them for entertainment purposes.
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"Silverbolt, if you really don't want to do this, you don't have to," said Arcee softly as she noticed tears in the big white mech's optics again.
Silverbolt's voice was a deep sigh. "I've given everything to the cause. I think this is all I have left, and Prime might as well have that too."
Arcee turned up the temperature of the shower a little. This wasn't the first time a Prime would find a mech in mourning in the faction berth, and certainly it wouldn't be the last. It was a cruel fact of their physiology, that a mech or a femme who had lost a bondmate or gestaltmate would soon after go into heat. The bereaved's spark would be so desperate to fill the sudden emptiness within that it would do anything to find another to cling to, whether it be that of a lover or a sparkling. The coding went right along with it, knowing a mech had been lost and knowing one should be created to fill his place. "You sure? We can have First Aid put you into stasis for a while until the heat passes."
The Aerialbot leader's head snapped around and he glared bitterly at the pink femme. "And what good would that do?! It's not going to bring them back, is it?! It's not going to fill that black hole in my spark now, will it?!" he snarled at her. And suddenly a wave of horror washed over his faceplate and he reached for Arcee timidly. "I'm sorry... I was... I didn't mean to..."
"It's all right," said Arcee, taking the other mech's hands, and stroking them comfortingly. "I know you're not exactly in a good place right now. You've been through a lot."
Silverbolt only leaned into Arcee, the femme embracing him, and sobbed hard tears of loss. She held tightly, trying to give as much comfort as possible. Silverbolt had made the call that had won a decisive victory over Shockwave and taken Cybertron's guardian out of power. But that victory had come at a great price, Silverbolt's four teammates having been sacrificed in that final blow. The leader was hailed as a hero and the loss a noble one. But inside he felt like he'd done the worst thing possible. "I should have died with them," he whimpered.
"Maybe," Arcee answered. "But Primus wanted you alive, Silverbolt. You escaped."
"I didn't try to escape. Somehow I became separated from the others and I was spared."
Arcee held the mech tighter, hot water raining down on them and filling the cool washroom with steam. And when she felt the sobbing slow, she held Silverbolt at arms' length. "Stop beating yourself up over this. I know the guilt must be corroding you from the inside out, but try to forget it for a while."
"I can't forget it. It's always there. Always there reminding me of what I did. Always reminding me that they're gone."
"Try to. Just try to focus on tonight. And once you sparkmerge, you'll see things very differently." She picked up her sponge and continued to wash the big jet. It had been two orns since that fateful day and it looked as if he hadn't bathed since. "War is about death, but this is about life."
"Interfacing isn't going to make me forget..."
"It won't, but trust me on this, interfacing with the Prime is a religious experience, and I mean that literally."
Silverbolt gave Arcee a dubious look.
"Trust me. You'll see what I mean. I know you'll feel much better afterward." A bittersweet smile flitted across her lips. "Others have."
The dubious look continued.
"C'mon. Let's get you finished up and oiled and fueled. You've got a long night ahead of you with Rodimus."
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Silverbolt tried to ignore what was happening outside of his processors. Rodimus was there, touching him enthusiastically, holding him protectively, building tremendous charges in his sensornet and then releasing them in a series of intense overloads. It shouldn't have worked, but Silverbolt's frame continued to betray him. He tried to stay focused on his fallen teammates, faces and sparks he'd never see again, but the young Prime kept pulling him away into a haze of love and pleasure. As much as he just tried to lie there, mentally and emotionally detached, there was no escaping it.
When at last Rodimus nudged at the catches that kept the secondary armor plates in place over Silverbolt's spark chamber, letting him know the final act had come, Silverbolt opened his chest without hesitation. Get it over with. Let the insistent Prime finish and he could go back to his mourning.
He heard Rodimus' chest open and felt a wave of warmth and radiation flow out. But neither dissipated as Silverbolt expected them to. Instead he felt a third presence inside of him that seemed intent on reaching his spark, a huge presence he couldn't grasp, a presence that seemed intent on overwhelming him. The Matrix? It had to be.
"No. Go away," he told it. "I just want to be left alone."
"You opened for them. Won't you open for them now?"
"Them?"
"Your teammates. Your brothers."
"They're dead."
"Yes."
Something was trying to pull open his sparkchamber. He could feel fingers against it, but on onlining his optics he saw that Rodimus' hands were still on his shoulders.
"Open for us, Silverbolt," came the voice again.
Us?
Bah... Who cared about 'us'. Silverbolt didn't care if he died or lived. If he conceived or failed to. Nothing mattered any longer. Why not throw caution to the wind and hope for anything to relieve the agony of his loss. He flung open the gates of his spark chamber, almost hoping his soul would dissipate, that he'd dissolve into the light of Primus, the light assailing him now.
The light of Primus...
Suddenly there was not once presence but six. He could feel Rodimus there, a pale orange force burning in one corner of his conscience. Then there was the bright, overwhelming nova of the Matrix, a force that threatened to engulf him if he couldn't keep his distance. And there were four others, four sparks nearly identical to his own, four that felt so comfortable and familiar.
"These are yours to bear," came the voice of the Matrix... perhaps the voice of Primus himself. "Your brothers shall now be your sons."
"My brothers?" Silverbolt concentrated on the four presences now pressing into his spark chamber.
"They were insistent," said the voice with an unexpectedly mirthful giggle.
He could feel each spark as it connected with his, fingers of pure energy reaching reaching out for him and his own soul reaching back, ethereal fingers entwining, two beings grasping onto each other. And then came their voices, calling him in joy and love. First Air Raid, then Slingshot, then Skydive, and finally Fireflight. Fireflight... always last to the party. Silverbolt held them close, his spark burning with the ecstasy of their reunion. "Primus... Primus, thank you," he whimpered.
And suddenly he found himself onlining in the dark room. The warmth and light and music that had been swelling around him were gone and everything seemed dark and cold and still. The transition seemed strangely abrupt.
Beside him on the berth Rodimus was in a deep recharge, and apparently had been for some time as his frame had cooled and no longer radiated the heat of passion. The room itself seemed unnaturally still and quiet.
Had he imagined it? Had his grief-stricken psyche conjured some fantasy to help him through the mating? And the more he lay there thinking about it the more unreal it all seemed.
There was a message for him from his frame.
Reproductive requirements satisfied. Initiate reproductive processes?
Hesitating, Silverbolt thought a moment before answering 'yes.' So a newspark had been conceived. Give the faction what it needed.
Four newsparks detected. Engage reproductive processes for how many?
Silverbolt gasped. Four? Four!? He carried four newsparks? He lay there looking at the ceiling trying to wrap his processors around this information.
And then he laughed. He continued to laugh. He laughed as he never had before, waking Rodimus who then stared at the flyer as if the big white mech had gone insane.
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The "Prime's Right" series in G1 Chronological Order:
Story #6: "Other Options" - Optimus/ Sideswipe-Sunstreaker
Story #3: "Gently. Lovingly. Quickly." - Optimus/ Jazz
Story #1: "More Than Okay" - Optimus/ Bumblebee
Story #2: "Second Place" - Optimus/ Mirage
Story #4: "Want It Now" - Optimus/ Grimlock
Story #7: "Inevitably" - Rodimus./Jazz
Story #5: "Divine Intervention" - Rodimus/ Silverbolt