Work Text:
“‘Exclusive: Supposed Political Enemies, Prime and Lord Protector, Horrify Opera Goers With Obscene Show Of Their Own’,” Optimus read off the news-file the next cycle. “Well, it’s not ‘exclusive’ because it’s on every site.”
Megatron snatched the news-file from him and threw it back on the stack of data-pads that had been delivered to him that morning. “I told you not to read those.”
“Don’t be such grouch, Megatron,” Optimus reproached, picking up another one anyway. “Some are actually quite funny. Listen to this one-“
“No.”
“-‘Primes, Protectorates and Perverts; Lord Megatron Caught With His Servo Under Sacred Panels.’ Sacred panels?” He repeated, frowning. He glancing down at himself. “What do they think is under there?”
“Is this what passes for legitimate journalism these cycles?” Megatron ranted, snatching up a news-file at random and showing the front image to Optimus, as if he hadn’t already seen it a dozen times over; on the rolling holo-news, on every news-file, as a billboard outside his apartment, and an image file sent to his comm by Elita One that morning that he was still too scared to answer.
The image in question, taken moments after his and Megatron’s discovery in the private box at the opera house where they had unfortunately but innocently fallen to the floor and ended up entwined together, did look rather condemning. Optimus was flat on his back, wrists pinned above his helm, with Megatron sat atop him holding him down, both wearing expressions of guilt and surprise.
But that was because they weren’t supposed to be seen in public together. Not because they had been interfacing during an operatic performance.
Honestly, if Optimus was going to interface in public it would probably be on the balcony leading off from the High Lord Protector’s office, overlooking the Crystal Lakes, so high up that if anyone did happen to look their way there was no chance they would have been able to make a positive ID.
Megatron sat heavily at the table next to him and buried his face in his servos with a sigh of defeat, and then Optimus’s amusement over the situation died.
He felt sympathetic. He really did. Megatron was in an elected position, one he had worked tremendously hard for. Whilst Optimus himself had been chosen in a vision from Primus to bear the Matrix of Power and enact the creator-god’s will on Cybertron as a conduit of his power. So the ramifications of this situation were …different for him.
A blown-out-of-proportion scandal couldn’t get him voted out of office, like it could Megatron.
He laid a servo on Megatron’s shoulder, “I’ll make a statement.”
Megatron dropped his servos away from his face and looked at him. “For the sake of my career, do not do that.”
“I can help!” Optimus protested.
“You are in no way equipped to handle this situation.” Megatron told him firmly. “This is what spin doctors and PR agents are for.”
“You have a PR agent?” Optimus was surprised.
“Of course I do.” Megatron stared at him in concern. “So do you.”
“No I don’t.”
“Jazz?” Megatron reminded him.
Optimus blinked, “…That’s his job?”
“What did you think it was?”
“Honestly, I just assumed he was a friend of Prowl’s.”
“I’m sure he is, but he’s also on your staff. So comm him.” Megatron advised. “And that sadistic harpy of yours, Elita One. And anyone else you probably don’t realise is on your crisis management team.”
Optimus sighed, “I don’t want to bother everyone over a silly tabloid story. They’ve made it so ridiculous I doubt anyone will believe it anyway. Why would we have sex at the opera of all places? It would make a lot more sense if we’d been at a concert with decent music.”
“Some mecha enjoy opera.” Megatron sounded annoyed, because he was one of those mecha.
Optimus was digressing anyway. He waved a servo. “I’m sure this will blow over in cycle or two.”
Megatron stared at Optimus for a moment, before picking up a news-file at random and turning it on.
“‘Raining Mech Fluid; Testimony From Eye Witnesses Beneath Lord Protector’s Private Box’.” He read. “‘A member of the audience was treated on scene for optical related trauma as a result of the erosive chemical makeup contained within transfluid falling from the private viewing box in question.”
“There is no way that’s what’s written.” Optimus folded his arms.
Megatron turned the news-file around.
Well, Unicron’s Hubcaps, it did say that.
The accusations of them being debauched enough to partake in intimate relations in public were actually only a very small part of the issue, Elita One had shouted at him over the comm the next evening, once he was brave enough to switch his comm back online and answer her. It was the deception that the public would be angry about.
“Deception?” Optimus repeated.
“You sneaking around with fragging Megatron!” Elita One continued to rant, and it was a miracle she hadn’t blown her vocaliser out yet. “Honestly, Optimus! Years you’ve been at each others throats; slinging mud in the press, snubbing each other during political events, that time he accused you of being a puppet of the Senate-“
Optimus frowned. He had forgotten about that. Megatron had never apologised.
“Was it all just a front to hide this affair you’ve been having?!” She demanded. “This is the kind of stuff you’re supposed to tell me about.”
“We aren’t having an affair.” Optimus stood up for himself. “Neither of us are in a relationship with someone else-“
“You’re supposed to be conjunxed to Primus.”
“Primus doesn't …clang me.” Optimus muttered into the comm quietly, embarrassed, but it needed to be said.
“Well if Primus did clang you he wouldn’t do it at the fragging opera in front of half the city-state! How long, Optimus?”
Optimus thought back, but it was difficult to pinpoint an exact moment. It had all been so gradual, the shift from dislike and distrust, to teasing banter, then familiar conversation. They’d chat out in the gardens during parties, away from curious audials, then they had begun to stop by one another’s offices after hours, to ask advice or complain about new legislation. They shared a few cubes, and Megatron had turned out to be witty, and clever, and steadfast in his beliefs; a surprisingly contrast to the many senators Optimus had come to know.
He had kissed him for the first time on the opulent balcony attached to his office, late and in the dark, the turquoise glow of the luminous Crystal Lakes below shading Megatron’s optics a mesmerising purple. It had been less than half a year ago.
So he supposed it was then.
“Months.” He admitted.
“So what else is going to come out?” Elita demanded, “if it’s been months, that’s means you’ve been doing more than just falling over during opera performances with him.”
“That is not- it’s hardly necessary for you to have that information.” Optimus argued, thinking he’d be mortified if he had to share the intimate details of his relationship with Elita One, even if she was a friend.
“Megatron is having this exact same conversation with his team.”
Optimus felt his face bloom with heat. He retracted his mask to let some of it escape.
“Whatever you don’t tell me, Jazz is just gonna get out of Shockwave.” Elita pressed.
Mortification clawed at Optimus’s spark at the idea of Megatron’s entire political office knowing every naughty, private detail of their time together. But at the same time, he just couldn’t picture Megatron spilling those secrets.
But if he had to walk into the senate tomorrow knowing the majority of the Decepticon party knew information like how he’d once hidden under Megatron’s desk for an hour-long staff meeting because he hadn’t had time to slip out the side door before everyone had arrived, and exactly what he had been doing to Megatron under the desk over the course of that hour, he would never be able to look any of them in the optic ever again.
“Let Jazz try and find out.” He held his ground, but swallowed nervously. “I have nothing to hide.”
Elita One snorted loudly on her end of the comm, then the line went dead.
Optimus wasn’t offended. That was her usual way of ending a comm anyway.
“You cannot be together.” Alpha Trion told him, tearing down any ideas Optimus had initially had about confiding in him. “By law there must be separation between the office of the Lord Protector, the Senate, and Primus.”
“I’m not Primus.” Optimus reminded Alpha Trion, just in case he had forgotten, being quite old as he was.
“I am aware.” Alpha Trion acknowledged humourlessly. “You are the Prime. You speak for Primus.”
“Only figuratively.”
“Your relationship with the Lord Protector combines your authority and puts the Senate at a disadvantage. You must see that.”
“None of this is political. We’re just two mecha in a relationship who happen to hold positions of power. It doesn’t change anything, politically speaking.”
“To the public it will. To the Senate, it already has. When you speak it is with Primus’s voice, but will they be Megatron’s words?”
“I have no idea what Megatron is even going on about most of the time.” Optimus said helplessly. “He’s not using me for some political agenda.”
Alpha Trion said nothing.
“He’s not.” Optimus said heatedly. “I know him. I love him.”
“Love has no place in Primus’s chosen vessel.”
Optimus squared his shoulders. “I am more than a vessel.”
Alpha Trion turned his nose up at him. “Not to Cybertron.”
“Would you be with me if I wasn’t the Prime?” Optimus asked Megatron later, during a refuel at his apartment.
For obvious reasons they couldn’t venture out into public, which was frustrating for a whole new reason now. Since the entire planet knew about their relationship, for the very first time they could have gone out on a date, to a fuelling station or a bar. They could have entered through the front door, held servos at the table, could even have kissed.
But the scandal and media interest had made than impossible. Optimus couldn’t cross the landing pad of his apartment without being inundated with media drones.
Megatron didn’t even look up from the work he was doing at the table. He grunted, clearly not listening.
“If I wasn’t the Prime.” Optimus repeated himself. “Would you be with me?”
Megatron shrugged, “Perhaps. Though it’s possible we wouldn’t have met.”
“No, I mean now, if I abdicated the Matrix?”
Megatron looked up, now paying proper attention. “I was under the impression it could not be removed.”
There were occasions wherein it could, but that information wasn’t for Megatron’s audials. Or anyone’s really.
“Hypothetical situation.” Optimus brushed it off.
“Why wouldn’t I be with you?” Megatron challenged, looking suspicious. “Has someone said something to you?”
“What would they have said?” Optimus asked innocently.
“I would be with you whatever embarrassing career you might choose to abandon the Primacy for.” Megatron said impatiently. “Stop dancing around the question. What brought this on?”
“I have been told our relationship is ill advised.” Optimus admitted sadly, worried about his reaction.
“Of course it is,” but Megatron wasn’t surprised at all. “Why do you think we were keeping it a secret?”
Honestly, Optimus thought it was because everyone assumed they hated each other and would make a big fuss if they learned they had started dating, not because of serious political ramifications like conflicts of interest and abuses of power.
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing.” Megatron turned back to his work. “Let the Senate whine and posture.”
“It’s not just the Senate. The people-“
“Are free to vote me out next term.” Megatron growled. “But they do not have the right to dictate who I can and cannot conjunx.”
Optimus felt a rush of affection, but it was tainted by guilt. “You worked hard for your position. You’ve served Cybertron for centuries. I can’t let you throw away all that work for-“
“I’m not throwing anything away. If someone asked me to choose between the office of the Lord Protector and the mech I love, it would be no choice at all.”
Optimus felt his spark warm all over again. “You love me?”
“Somehow.” Megatron grunted, ducking his helm and going back to his work, but Optimus knew it was to hide his blush.
“I love you too.”
Megatron grumbled and bent closer to the table, his face glowing with embarrassment.