Part of the 'The way of your World' series. May contain spoilers and archaic versions of present-day terms used within the 'verse. The theme song for the Four is A Flame for Freedom by Dragonforce. For the curious: 'Orion' looks like his Prime version, and Gigatron the RID 2001 Megatron.
The only thing I own is Windsheer, and she's supposed to mimic SG!Starscream's colours.
Cybertron Empire, about 4.8 teravorns ago (45+mya)
The Prime was certain of a number of things: The recent riots had ended, and the Destrons - no, the Warbuilds seemed placated, even if Gigatron was not. They all knew it was a quick fix at best, one in need of a long-term solution and soon. They had the support of the (still so young) Lord of the Skies and her Seekers -Leitandi. The Colonies were no longer in turmoil either. It wouldn't have mattered if they were; the Prime would still have come to this one. He thought it called Animatros.
A pretty planet where what one's build was didn't matter.
The Prime had chosen it to get away from it all. A breather he –they- desperately needed. It wasn't even official. They'd simply come.
The Senate... The Senate was unhappy. The Prime did not care. Let them whinge and wheedle, bow and scrape and play their little power games. It wouldn't change what he was trying to do. What he was doing. He wasn't going to sit and do nothing. He wasn't going to be a figurehead or let the people of his Empire suffer.
Or, he thought ruefully as he stared at the black-purple-red form of Gigatron rather possessively half-sprawled over him. Be a berth.
The Senate would have fits if they knew. Ratbat would call for their heads. Alpha Trion would be furious. Beta would think it cute.
The blue-red-white chuckled darkly. Of course most'd have fits. It wasn't seemly for the Prime to be anything other than pristinely Untouched by another, even their own Protector. At the same time, it was expected the Protector be sullied and touched not only there, but in the spark; all in the name of 'protecting' the Prime, of course. He knew for a fact Gigatron was as Untouched as he. Yet here he was, half under one purring Terror of Iacon. It wasn't as disconcerting or as worrying as it should be. It felt right.
He wanted more than the cuddles.
Hmm. Perhaps there was truth in the old tales Devcon was fond of.
A glance to the Imperial Guard led the Prime to reset his optics. Windsheer was curled in Devcon's lap, the bulkier not seem to notice or care he was in possession of a lap full of white-red Seeker Matria. She was young – no Trine, no Harem, yet she'd already claimed her Sparkright. Probably not much younger than the Prime himself had been when he'd claimed his own Sparkright.
No. Not claimed. Had it - shining and Singing and seeking to nest against his Spark and offer its wisdom - thrust upon him one megacycle when he'd wandered too far from the 'docks and out towards the ganglands of Novus Heights. It'd been a confusing haze of fear and terror and Rightness and Gigatron's growled 'I did not find you only for you to get yourself killed. MOVE.'
He'd seen the power of Warbuilds. Of Gigatron. Of what a 'thug' with superior firepower could do.
And Gigatron could fly.
Something stirred in the depths of his processor, then settled with a rightness in his Spark. "What...?"
"Prime?" Ice-silver optics blinked online as Gigatron stirred with what could pass as a yawn.
"Off." He might have been faintly amused at the situation; he'd certainly gone for recharge alone, only to wake to a cuddling Gigatron and an amused Devcon, but now his amusement was on the wane. Lord Protector he might be, the older mech was still dangerous. And heavy. More heavythan dangerous. "Now."
Gigatron arched an opticridge and promptly made himself more comfortable, much to the Prime's shock. It didn't stop arms from wrapping around the Protector's waist. Gigatron smirked, fangs showing, EM-field bleeding contentment. "Mmm. Later."
"It's not up for negotiation."
"Neither is this, Prime."
"Let him, Orion," Devcon said, one Primus-blue optic cracked open. "No harm in it. It's settled you both. Like Windy on me settles her royalself."
"Royalself?" Orion blinked.
Devcon smirked. "She's smart. She knows she's good, and she can be a pain the aft like all newly adults."
"She needs her Harem to ride herd on," Gigatron growled. "Everyone knows Leitandi mechs are headless things without a Matria."
"Is that... true?" Orion boggled. The Seeker - Leitandi, he needed to remember Windsheer called them that- mechs he'd met had been normal...?
"Yea. Leitandi are a weird bunch. The mechs need a Matria to lead them, and a Matria needs her mechs to ride herd on. It's like with Trines. They need it, or they go loopy real fast," Devcon shrugged. "Windy can explain better than me."
Orion nodded. "I'll ask her, then."
Of them all, Devcon was the oldest. He was The Imperial Guard - the Vörður as Windsheer called him- the one who anchored the otherwise turbulent personalities and roles of Lord of the Skies, Lord Protector, Prime.
Rumour claimed he was Primus-Kindled, not Allspark- or Spark-Kindled. Warbuilds and Seekers Spark-Kindled and the rest generally did not; they claimed it was perverse. It was a divide starting to grow, and it needed to be fixed.
"... Very well." Orion couldn't deny the Rightness having all of them in a room brought. The Senate would be so very, very inflamed.
Let them, he thought. Let them inflame themselves. It won't change anything.
The Senate could -would- do nothing, of that Orion was certain.