Title: Indivisible – Part Two
Characters: OptimusxSideswipe
Universe: Bayverse, pre-films
Rating: M
Warnings: tactile 'facing
Description: In the wake of fire and agony and grief, each became solace for the other.
In the wake of fire and agony and spark-searing grief, the broken warrior became a surprising source of solace.
Optimus would seek him out, bitter and exhausted, and Sideswipe would welcome him with open arms and ports, never asking why because he already understood.
Consolation was found in the crackling surges of overload, the comforting warmth of another frame held close to his, the exploration of curious fingers smaller than his own, the searing heat of pleasure that blanked out everything else.
The taste of Sideswipe's spark was as achingly familiar as it was foreign. Optimus drew strength from it and a certain measure of relief. All was not lost. He was not lost. At least, not yet.
That he could offer Sideswipe the same measure of comfort eased the ache in his spark. Because Sideswipe also suffered. What Optimus had considered an act of strength, Sideswipe berated himself for what he called a weakness.
Self-preservation, he claimed. Hurting his twin before the pain could consume him.
Guilt tore ragged holes in what was left of Sideswipe's spark. He didn't recharge so much as shut down all but emergency systems for a short time. He was still a fierce warrior on the battlefield, but in the downtime between one clash and the next, he faltered.
They were both of them broken beyond what a medic could fix. Though Primus knew that Ratchet tried.
"We're going to lose Tyger Pax," Optimus said one grim cycle, slumped as he looked out over Iacon, the last bastion against the Decepticon advance. "And Megatron will claim the Allspark."
His hands clenched on the railing, defeat curdling inside of him like a festering case of cosmic rust. The necessary change in himself had been effected, but it was still not enough. The Decepticons, outnumbering the Autobots nearly two to one, had rampaged across Cybertron and the Autobots were barely able to slow their advance.
The shadows beside him shifted, armor catching a glint of street lighting. "Would that be such a bad thing?"
Optimus' plating rose and fell, clinging tight to his substructure, reflecting the inner turmoil. "I fear what he will do with such unbridled energy. The Allspark, like Cybertron, is a neutral entity."
"And hiding it is of no use."
His helm dipped. "He would tear what remains of Cybertron apart to find it, caring little for who or what might stand in his way."
Hands landed on his hips, sliding around slowly, palms flatting on Optimus' abdominal plating. A frame pressed tight against his backplate, thrumming with a familiar pulse, energy field reaching and coiling with Optimus' own.
"Destroying it isn't an option either," Sideswipe murmured, and it wasn't a question.
Optimus was silent. Neither he nor his cadre of tacticians had an answer. The fact remained, with the Allspark in hand, Megatron would win the war.
Fingers teased over his thoracic ports, a second hand rising to trace the seam of his chestplate. The leisurely exploration and the comfortably familiar touches sought to ease his tension. Optimus wanted to be enveloped in that comfort but his processor would not rest, cycling over and over the problem at large.
"There was an unspoken rule in the Pit," Sideswipe said, and his words were halting, as though pulled from somewhere deeply buried. "If you had something valuable you couldn't protect and couldn't destroy, then you sent it away."
The embrace tightened with a creak of metal on metal, and a long ventilation escaped the warrior's vents. His field rippled, ringed on the edges with age-old grief.
"It was the only way to be sure," Sideswipe added, rebooting his vocalizer to clear the creeping static. "No matter how much it hurt."
Optimus lowered his helm. "That would be the end of Cybertron."
"We're already at the end. With or without the Allspark."
Silence fell, growing between them.
Optimus knew that Sideswipe was right. If he could not defend it, could not destroy it, and could not hide it, what other option did he have but to cast it away?
He turned away from Iacon, shifting in the embrace until he faced Sideswipe, one hand lifting to cup the warrior's helm. "If I asked, would you tell me what it was you sent away?"
Sideswipe's gaze dropped, optics cycling dim. It was an answer without words.
"Do you regret it?"
"Every orn that passes." Sideswipe fingers traced the line of Optimus' backstrut and he lifted his helm. "But I would make the same choice over and over again."
To any other mech, such a statement lacked sense. But Optimus understood it.
"It's late," he said, thumb sweeping over Sideswipe's cheek arch. "Come to berth."
Sideswipe needed no further encouragement. He'd been trying to urge Optimus to recharge and rest all along.
They tumbled into the plush berth, Optimus' only nod to his station. Sideswipe's ports were already open, welcoming, spitting charge and Optimus' cables surged free, clicking home with a snap-crackle of pressing need.
Sideswipe moaned, hands grasping, hooking in thick plates of armor no Prime before Optimus had ever carried. Sideswipe became a frame of motion, rising and falling to the pulse of their connection, need and lust surging in strong bursts through the link.
Pleasure, Optimus reckoned, was simple, easy. He could give and Sideswipe would accept and complications were abandoned in the sweet ebb and flow of charge.
Desire could not be feigned and it rose in Sideswipe's field, blanketing Optimus in unfettered lust. Optimus swallowed the first pleasured cry with a kiss, but his mouth wandered further down, lips tracing Sideswipe's chestplate, following the fine corrugated seams. His glossa nudged the narrowest line down the center, the armor plate humming with warmth beneath his mouth.
Sideswipe shivered from helm to pede, plating rippling, arching up toward Optimus' mouth. Acceptance and permission swirled into one as his chestplate cracked a fraction, pale sparklight seeping through, spilling onto Optimus' face. The heat of it tingled the tactile sensors on his glossa, but his olfactory sensors worked just fine, and he could taste the sheer, undiluted energy, light and heavy all at once, hopelessly addictive.
Optimus cradled the smaller mech with his hands, fingers dipping into broader seams at joints. Their cables grew hot, the scent of heated metal filling the room. Optimus' own chestplates rattled but he didn't dare release them. No matter how much his spark yearned for the touch of another, he couldn't risk it.
Another full-frame shudder struck Sideswipe, whose helm pushed back against the berth, baring the thick cables shielding his intake. He sucked air through his vents, optics dim and unfocused. "Optimus, please."
Need was a molten stream from Sideswipe to Optimus and back again. His circuits hummed with charge and static lit the room, especially inspiring as it reflected off silver armor. Sideswipe's spark flared, fingers gripping tight.
Optimus mouthed the edges of Sideswipe's chestplate, glossa dipping into the narrow split, touching the intangible. He tasted energy and grief and the distinct, sharpness of ozone.
Sideswipe's backstrut arched, frame crackling with electricity, his overload pouring across the link. Pleasure bombarded Optimus, cresting at the first palpable flare of a damaged spark.
Optimus pressed his helm to Sideswipe's chestplate, optics offlining as he shuddered through his own overload. He could feel the warrior thrumming against the platelets of his helm, the heat of Sideswipe's frame a satisfying balm to his inner turmoil.
And still the connection remained hot and hungry between them, one overload never enough to chase away the dark. Sideswipe's eager hands proved his willingness to continue, his systems audibly cycling back up toward blinding ecstasy.
It was several joors yet before Optimus was expected anywhere. He planned to take full advantage of it.
He dragged his mouth up toward Sideswipe's, capturing the warrior's lips for a fierce kiss, moaning as his panels clicked open and Sideswipe's cables sank into his ports immediately thereafter, completing the loop.
This, Optimus decided, was a far more worthwhile venture than recharge.
