The Trouble With Bonding
I own nothing. Slash, inter species, mech/human/mech, torture, gore scenes, barfing.
It is assumed before you read this that Megatron and Optimus are bonded. Being bonded means that they feel everything that happens to the other, and if one dies, the other will as well. The only reason that Optimus didn't die from the Allspark was because it was a giver of life, and deemed Optimus worthy of continuation. It's kind of like a godess/god. The whole 'you'll live if I want ya to' thing. Ummm, yeah. I hope you like it, MO!!
--
Silence.
Nothingness.
Stillness.
These are all I know as I float, bodiless and empty, in the waiting pool of sparks. The Pit will be a horror I do not wish to think on, but until then, I am as physically content as I can be without a physical form. I think back on all that I had known in my past life, and it haunts me as I live through what all of my victims felt in their final moments and, although many things vary, some do not. There is always the spark-wrenching fear, the CPU-shorting pain, and then…nothing.
I cannot help but feel sorry for all that I have done. Those beings that were killed at my hands now torment my wretched spark. I know what will happen when Primus comes. I know I am doomed to the Pit.
Silently, I swear on my spark that if ever I were to be given a second chance, to live and to love, the first thing I would do would be to apologize to my bonded partner, the ever-strong Optimus Prime. The second would be to study the human culture. For a new and primitive species, they were interesting, occasionally.
Suddenly, I feel a strain on my spark, lifting me out and, for a moment, I believe that this is Primus coming to end me.
Powering up my optics, I see not Primus, the great god, but a small, human boy by the name of Trent.
--
My name is Optimus Prime and I send this to you, Trent DeMarco. I send you a letter of gratitude for your promise to keep our existence a secret, in return for allowance of access to our base. I do regret that the Allspark has found shelter within your body, but as Ratchet has said, there was no way of knowing it would happen when you touched the cube's remains. Once again, thank you, and please stop by frequently for check ups and readings.
Optimus Prime
This was the letter Trent had read earlier that day on his computer, checking his e-mail before leaving to go to the beach.
The red and blue truck sat faithfully in the otherwise-deserted driveway, engine roaring to life as the boy approached it.
"Good morning, Mr. DeMarco. I assume you have received my letter?" it spoke, driver's door popping open as an invitation.
"Yup! You're welcome. Hey, Optimus, can we go to the beach?" Trent questioned, knowing the answer would be yes, but asking anyway.
"Of course, Mr. DeMarco," Optimus replied as Trent sat in the front seat, ego all but glowing at being called by his surname instead of just Trent. The loud roar of a fierce diesel engine starting up filled the air as the Peterbilt backed out of the driveway and drove off toward the golden beach of LA.
When they reached the beach, Optimus found himself contemplating his old mate, Megatron, and discovering just how much Trent reminded him of what Megatron was like before the war. Not the false, cruel display that was put up in public or around company, but the true, altruistic, loving heart that dwelled just beneath the surface of the sinister façade of the teenager.
Optimus dropped Trent off at the beach and drove off to speak to Ratchet about the possibility of taking a human spark mate, leaving the Allspark-charged teen to explore the deserted cove of the beach on his own.
After two hours, Trent was thoroughly lost in the thick foliage of the cove's neighboring forest, wandering aimlessly about, searching for an exit. Finding a particularly thick section, Trent dared to venture into the greenery, but only got about three steps in before he collided with something hard and metallic, falling backward with a resounding 'Oomph!'
Glancing up at the offending object, Trent saw a shimmer of cold silver, terrifyingly sharp and easily recognizable as the dark Decepticon leader himself: Megatron.
Gasping as he leapt to his feat, he recalled Optimus's tale of how Megatron was killed and dumped in the Laurentian Abyss. Logic suggested that the underwater currents must have carried him there.
Slowly, tentatively, Trent approached the metallic behemoth, crawling up his side and seating himself on the angular plating above the gaping hole. Something inside him stirred at the sight and Trent instinctively reached out to run his hands along the giant's graceful, horrific face, smooth dermal plating caressing his hands as he knew, without a shred of doubt, what he wanted to do, what he had to do. He had to bring this creature back.
Summoning forth his newly-found abilities, Trent allowed a discharge of Allspark energy to flow forth from his hands into the body of the giant, cold, shattered optics healing as the energy coated the body in a massive wave of silver, soaking in and revealing a live, beautiful being: Megatron.
Crimson optics, newly formed and glinting in the sunlight, powered up and seemed to hold a depth of billions of years of knowledge, sorrow, and remorse. This was no tyrant. This was a repentant being. This was a mech reborn. This was a beautiful creature.
And that was all Trent knew as consciousness fled him and he collapsed on the Cybertronian's chest.
--
Megatron felt himself awaking with a light pressure on his chest. It was warm and bright, peaceful at the least, dreamy and musical and perfect at best. He did not want to wake up from this, but as his optics powered themselves up he found he had no choice. Grimacing slightly, he looked up to see the transparent green that shimmered above him, light playing with his sensors, warming his chilled body for the first moment of true peace in many millions of years. Content and carefree, Megatron glanced down to see a young boy standing on his chest, power emanating from his body in waves so like the Allspark that he knew, without a shred of doubt, this was the Neo Allspark. This human was the source of life.
This was his savior.
Hand unconsciously darting out, the boy fell back onto the proffered appendage. Megatron felt compelled to bow, kneel, something to show reverence, but as the receiver of said action was unlikely to be able to notice any of these actions, he simply settled for allowing the boy to rest against his hard, metallic chassis as he leaned on one of the strong, organically ancient trees behind him, softly stroking his head, offering comfort.
Such a beautiful creature he had not seen since his lover, and even then, just barely. Yet the two were of different beauties. Optimus was a warm, hard, sharp beauty that cut into his very being, rough hands and forceful lips, no secrets left unknown, no mystery left unsolved. Trent was warm, but instead of the sharp, almost painful beauty that Optimus gave off, his was a soft, curbed beauty that radiated from his eyes and heated everything about him, youth and naivety resonating in his wake. The human's softness was something worthy of praise, sculpted and chiseled, yet smooth and curvy. Megatron could rest here for quite a while if only to watch the human make the silent rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, in a harmony with his heartbeat and the small sounds that escaped his throat as he breathed. And so that was what he did, figuring Optimus would understand the delay.
--
Optimus exited the base, spark lighter than it had been for quite some time. Organics could bond to Cybertronians, given time and love. It would be a different kind of bond, though they would still share thoughts and feelings, when Trent died, it would allow him to recreate the boy, bring him back, make him immortal like Optimus was. If Trent really did love him, and his pheromone levels strongly suggested he did, then the two of them could be together.
Optimus was not trying to replace his lover, he simply loved the boy, and so he would pursue him. Although a Cybertronian could take as many spark mates as they desired, few had more than one, if they had any at all. It was rare to find anyone who had fallen for more than one bot, but no one cared either way, it wasn't bad or against anything to have more than one lover. Optimus just prayed Trent would see it the same way.
Transforming, Optimus began rolling for the beach and Trent. Too bad he would never get the chance to see him again.
As Optimus sped along the freeway toward the lake, his spark leapt within his chassis. Something was wrong.
A round of heavy fire battered the ground before him, asphalt soaring about him; screams of those hit and injured tearing at his audios in a disconnected way. It was as if he was witnessing the attack from above, seeing it without being a part of it.
And then it hit.
Pain, anguish ripped at him, burning and eating away at his innards, shrieking across his chest and beating his spark chamber. Nanites. Dangerous and powerful, they ate at his body as he fought and struggled against them, tearing off his plating in a frenzied attempt to rid himself of the microscopic murderers. Agony clouded his vision as he felt himself topple over, not recalling exactly when he had transformed, realizing he had just lost his legs, and was still losing more.
The nanites continued their feast undeterred by the blaze of Optimus's arm cannon, a desperate try at ridding himself of his lower body. It would hurt and take nearly a year to repair, but he could be repaired. If these nanites ate him, there would not be anything left to repair.
As they neared his spark chamber, Optimus felt tears pricking the back of his optics. He did not want to die. As willing as he was to go for his troops, he had not expected it to end like this, alone and fearful, barely aware of the laughter of Starscream above him, sobbing that he did not want to go. He gave one last hiccup as the final cable connecting him to his spark was cut and his life force was extinguished, final thoughts of Megatron and Trent.
--
A mechanical, inhuman scream tore Trent from his pleasant dreams as he was thrown from his resting place by Megatron's sudden, jerking motions. He writhed and clawed at his metallic skin as if it were on fire, tossing back and forth, throwing his head back and screaming as his sensors overloaded in what should have been a peaking of pleasure, leaving him breathless and gasping, claws gouging valleys in the ground as he cried out, tears streaming from his burning optics, panting and shouting for it to stop.
Trent could do nothing but stand there, mortified, rooted to the spot, Megatron's name dribbling from his lips like some sick, heathen prayer, begging for more than he could grant.
And then it was over.
Trent stood in a dark, fiery chamber between his two infatuations, Megatron and Optimus, dead. Not just dead, destroyed, hanging from thousands of chains, thin and thick, slicing into their inanimate bodies, clanging together in a twisted melody that sang of their agony. He could barely make out the form of Optimus, bare circuitry and skeletal structures all that remained. The only hint that he had ever been the Peterbilt was the mask, still across what little remained of his grayed, crumbling face, dangling by a rusted hinge. Megatron was easier to figure out, but Trent had wished he had not been. A look of the utmost horror and anguish was spread across the rusted features of the once-proud, god-like being, mouth agape, optics shattered, helm dulled, no longer sparkling like the sun. His body was melted through, heated slag dribbling down pre-carved tunnels, rivulets shimmering in a disgustingly beautiful way.
The scene tore at the boy, so horrified he could not tear his eyes away as he felt bile rising up within his throat, his lunch burning as he sat up, screaming, leaning over the edge of the bed, a mural of colors and smells being emptied on the ground beside him, cool night air caressing his naked body as he felt a hand on his back, a small gasp escaping one of his bed mates.
"Trent, are you alright? What's wrong, youngling?" the low voice dipped into his heart and warmth filled his body, allowing a shuddering breath to leave his mouth as he threw his arms around his lover's body, feeling the older men both stroke him, whispering comfort to the child.
The man within Trent's death grip was a pale, well-muscled man with silver hair that spiked backward, red eyes boring into his very soul in such a pleasant way, face harshly beautiful, all angles perfectly calculated, a model if ever one was seen.
The other man was softer. His dusty tan skin was tightly pulled against defined muscles, ebony hair cut short, blue eyes cool and soothing, a welcoming and kind appearance worth swooning over, especially considering his clothing, or lack thereof.
"It was horrible. I couldn't – I can't – don't make me relive it, please, I just want to forget, please, don't ever leave me," Trent cried into his mate's chest.
"It's okay, Trent. You needn't tell us anything unless you want to. We'll protect you, love," spoke the tan man, a low rumble that reminded him of a mix between a lawyer and a grandfather.
The two calmed Trent for a long time until finally he was ready to try to sleep again. As the three laid down, Trent in the middle, both men hugging him tightly to their exposed bodies, caressing whatever skin was closest to their hands, a small smile graced the boy's face in the light of the harvest moon outside, illuminating the entire room.
"Goodnight, Optimus and Megatron. Love you," whispered Trent as he drifted back to sleep, dreams filled with their endless love.