Chapter Text
Sherma had turned his attentions to the party. It was a lively affair, and not in the slightest disturbed by the would-be attacker and the ruckus he'd caused.
Curious, how he’d gotten all the way up here and known exactly which room the medic in question and his enforcer had been in.
There were no coincidences like that.
He sipped on a drink, playing the gracious host in Momus’ temporary absence. They had something to discuss, but it would never do to end a party early. Especially not one hosted by this particular senator.
Momus didn’t hurry back. It wouldn’t do for him to lose his cool, even like this. His arrival was effortless, smooth, and welcomed by all. His image demanded it. When asked about the damages and the attacker, he simply shrugged, sardonic grin in place, and let fly a quip that lowered the tension by a mile.
“Security here is appalling ,” he said once he found his way to Sherma’s side, “The rabble keep finding their way in. It almost makes one think there’s a higher power at work.”
His optics glinted with amusement as he said that. He surveyed the party. Most of the mecha here were manual class, like he’d been once. “Someone’s going to owe me money for the damages here,” Momus cackled softly, “Glitches better cough up quick-like, they kicked down the door for the sitting room. Slaggers.”
Clever blue optics slid over to Sherma, sly. “These Decepticons really are a menace,” he said, mouth curling up into a smirk, “Such a danger to the public and innocent senators. However will we stop them?”
“With every means necessary , of course,” Sherma allowed himself to return said smirk, shaking his helm a moment later. Really, the Senate were getting wiley beyond all measure. That insignia had been so poorly painted on the mech that Sherma had practically seen it drip down his wings.
“Of course, it’s a little concerning, isn’t it? How little regard there is for the courtesy of not ruining the furniture on every assassination attempt.”
“I prefer to ruin my furniture myself .” Momus grinned before nudging Sherma with his hip. “Preferably with you, sweetspark.” He was still smirking as he leaned back, idly tapping his pede to the music.
“What do you think of our guests? Besides their endearing cluelessness, of course. Sorta like those organic things – mushrooms, that’s their name! You put them in the dark and feed them slag until they’re big enough to poke their heads out of the ground.”
“Sometimes it’s very obvious you’re from Helex, you know?” Sherma allowed himself to relax. Momus’ parties weren’t nearly as pretentious as they should be, given their host’s position and their location in the most luxurious tower to call home in all of Cybertron. There was still a certain etiquette to uphold, but none of the dagger glares and silent arguments with other senators at various other occasions.
“I think our guests need the night to settle. They certainly were ready to be cozy on the way here,” he chuckled, offering a drink to Momus, knowing exactly how many rust flakes the mech preferred to be gulping down.
“Could barely keep their servos off of each other. It’s very convenient, for an enforcer to be in love with the medic he’s supposed to protect. I think there’s a romance novel waiting to be written here. It would be spark-wrenching and so very risque, a story of caste taboos.”
“Don’t play cool, you’re in love with my rakish Helexian humor.”
Momus glanced in the direction of the hab he’d dumped their guests in. Thank Primus for soundproofing.“You can be the author. You’re an expert at the taboo.”
Rather than take the drink, Momus merely leaned down and drank while Sherma held it. “You’re a romantic spark, darling, but I think for them, we should be making the jump from romantic to erotica .”
A low laugh. Momus played with the straw in the drink Sherma still held, casual. His air of irreverence still didn’t fade even as his field dimmed into a more sober cast. “We need to increase security ‘round here,” he said softly, “Red Alert’s good with keeping out the strays, but he can’t stop the Senate. It takes one slip. Then we’ll have a right mess on our hands, won’t we? Not good for parties.”
“I think parties will be the least of our worries if there is to be a mess, my dear,” Sherma didn’t mind Momus’ mannerisms, less than perfect for a senator and yet completely accepted by those he surrounded himself with. Momus’ wit charmed nearly everyone he came into contact with, even some of the more skeptical mecha who had sneered at his origins. Scratch that, that was over half the senate. Not that it disturbed the handsome mech at his side. Gold and white plating shimmered with more luxury than Momus enjoyed. Sherma liked their effect, the way the lighting played over the orange derma and slid off into the cool white and warm gold.
“We better be careful about beefing up security. Too much and someone might suspect we have something to hide. ”
“Something to hide? Me?” Momus pitched his voice, so it was louder than the music. “Oi! Does everyone here think I have something to hide?!”
Various answers came back from his guests.
“Your illicit love affairs!”
“The army of dead Cybertronians in your basement!”
“Your horrible taste!”
“Your lovechild with Nominus Prime!”
Raucous laughter rippled through them as Momus turned to Sherma. “I guess I do have something to hide,” he said, amused. “It’ll take a parade of shareware through here, and no one will question me since they’ll be too busy jonesing for an invite to my spectacular orgies. Give them something to see , Sherma, and no one questions what you’re really doing.”
Sherma waited to speak until the next piece of music began to play, filling the hall with cheers and dancing. Momus’ parties were always so much livelier than a stuffy high society event. Sherma had fallen to their charm and their host a long time ago. He sighed wistfully.
“I remember how it was, so long ago, that sensation of falling in love. Of course, now that you’re so old and your paint is peeling, that feeling has waned into nothing more than long-suffering resignation.” He smirked broadly at Momus.
Momus cackled again, mockingly slapped Sherma’s arm. “Pfff, what you call resignation is what half of Cybertron calls mad lust for me. Me, Momus the great. Momus the successful.” He leaned over, into Sherma’s space. “Momus the devastatingly attractive spike-slayer.”
“You’re killing it, that mad lust ,” Sherma retorted, dryly. Momus was a sensation all by himself, and his fellow senator had always admired him for it. Although he’d certainly not describe himself as ‘slain’ by any definition of the word. Especially considering how very needy Momus could be in berth. Not that Sherma minded. He didn’t have many outlets, his vocation taxing in every way possible. It was always good to let off steam together.
Momus, for his loud mouth, could be a downright spoiled little pet in berth.
“Last I recall, you were panting madly for my spike, sweetspark. Do you need a reminder of it already?”
“Ma-aybe?” He stretched the word, taking two syllables and giving it four. Momus’ smirk went from sly to coy as he tilted his helm. “Are you going to show me something naughty if I say yes, sir ?”
It was only half-joking. Momus tilted Sherma’s drink closer to himself, optics hooded and dim as he watched the mech. Political intrigue was their bread and butter, and they liked playing the big game with all the other mecha, but sometimes one needed some private entertainment. They fit each other’s criterias rather snugly.
In Momus’ own words: “Sweetspark, we’re planning a revolution against our planet-wide government that has audials in our own brain modules. Let’s throw a party and get naughty before we die horribly.”
Intrigue was their livelihood, but they’d found something enriching within each other. Not only someone to trust, but someone to spin on the hopes and new ideas that could not be shared with others. Not in their positions, not in this functionist age. Momus was living proof that the old regime was, for lack of better terms, absolute slag . Something obsolete and broken and reeking of corruption that needed to be overturned, burned down and replaced.
They’d already committed their lives to that purpose. What little pleasures they could glean from the small spaces in between, they indulged in fully.
“I don’t know about naughty, sweetspark, but I’ll certainly show you something .” Sherma closed the distance between them a little further, now only separated by less than a servo’s length and the drink Momus was still sucking on. Sherma would see that straw replaced with something more substantial if they were alone.
Even though Momus’ parties were relaxed affairs, there was a limit to how much Sherma exposed their relationship, although Momus constantly undermined that process.
Momus sucked in air through his dentae, optics bright. “I do love it when you start playing along,” he said, hooking his leg around Sherma’s ankle to pull him a little closer. “Now, come on, darling, everyone here and their pet cybercat knows we’re banging out the formation of Cybertron in the berth. Why hide it?”
He took plucked the drink away and set it on the table. Putting his servo on Sherma’s thick waist, Momus leered. “Remember when you were still prim and proper, and I ended up scandalizing you every time we met? It took me years and years to bag you.”
A little teasing here. “I personally blame you for all the hookers and blow my ascendence into the Senate didn’t get me.”
“I’m inclined not to be sorry in the slightest,” Sherma did enjoy Momus’ blatant desire for him. It was one of his many charming aspects. It even made up for the complete lack of shame the mech was plagued with.
And yes, their relationship was a poorly kept secret. Although most mecha that surrounded the two senators did not make comments on it. Mostly because no one wanted to enter a battle of barbs and wit with Momus, but Sherma could hold his own. He just didn’t have his lover’s brash, Helexian manner about it.
“All the hookers and blow on Cybertron wouldn’t make up for me, Momus. You know that.”
“I am all the hookers and blow on Cybertron, compressed into one handy dandy individual.” He took Sherma’s quiet as permission to press closer, his leg still curled around Sherma’s possessively. The party was dark enough that no one would see, anyway.
“Now, how do I have to bribe you to get you to dance with me? Corruption in the Senate has never been so good.”
He took his servo, tugging it. “One dance, to celebrate the fact that the assassin is dead and I’m still rich and smoking.”
“Bribing a senator? Why, Momus, that’ll cost you more than a dance,” Sherma let himself be pulled into their game, free servo slipping over the golden frame in front of him until he had a good hold on Momus’ waist. Their business was risky, and not all that rewarding. But at least it was working, even with the hitch known as Roller. Shockwave’s input from Pax had been invaluable in tracking down the targeted medic. Another close call. There were plenty of those, lately.
“I’d say it may cost you a night of interfacing, since you’re apparently comprised of hookers.” He whispered into Momus’ audial as he swung him into a lively rhythm. Even if their other guests saw, the senators joining in the celebrations was not all that rare. Not in this hab suite.
Momus’ laugh was startled and giddy as he held on to Sherma. Once he got his pedes, he was swinging his hips with the best of them. Their plating melded into the crush of bodies, light flashing over their paint until they were little more than flashes of metal in motion. “ Only a night?” he teased, “I didn’t know senators came so cheap.”
They danced, carefree and happy in the guarded bubble of their habsuite, surrounded by the poor and rich of Cybertron alike, shedding social graces so they could only be Momus and Sherma, stupidly in love and raring to fight the good fight. It was moments like these that made the daytime worth it, when they put on their public faces and administered injustice over their planet. Stolen moments, golden and glorious.
They twirled through the crowd, holding onto each other. When the song finally changed into something slightly slower, Momus slid straight into Sherma with a snort. “Dare I hope the good senator will stay the night?”
“Only if the bad senator intends to be hospitable.” Sherma held Momus close, no intention of relinquishing his Helexian disaster any time soon. This was how he loved this mech the most; carefree, at ease, satisfied with what they’d made of their lives and how easily they’d become entwined. If only they could keep moments like these stitched together and live in a better world altogether...but someone always had to take the lead. Change didn’t happen on its own. So they had stopped following, and forged their own path. A better one. An equal one.
Sherma only had to incline his helm a little to catch Momus in a kiss. Nothing too preposterous, but also no longer chaste. Momus had gotten rid of that good mannerism in Sherma very easily, and quickly.
“I don’t know if you have the room in your humble abode,” he whispered, grinning against orange derma.
“Oh, yes, sir, I can be real hospitable,” Momus melted into the kiss, even as laughter bubbled up behind his lips. It was finally broken when he broke into chortles, so happy that the emotion refused to be contained inside his spark. “I’ve got plenty of room and board, if you know where to look.” He winked, before looking Sherma up and down so solidly he might as well have touched him right then and there.
Momus’ flirting was like the rest of him – larger than life, overpowering. He simply didn’t relent.
Dancing no longer seemed enough. A dark corner, on the other hand… Momus pressed closer, before sneaking his hand between them for a cheeky squeeze of Sherma’s panel, trusting the darkness to conceal his movement. “Do you ever think,” he said, expression completely straight, “that we might’ve never met if things had been different? I’d be a foreman in Helex, and you’d be here, senatoring away.”
“Clearly wasting away wistfully, wondering what was missing in my perfect and proper life,” Sherma chuckled, panel pinging interest at the not unwelcome touch. Momus had absolutely no sense of shame and it was delightful. There were worse things in the universe than to be unabashedly attracted to one another. He tugged on the mildly smaller frame of his fellow senator, managing to bring them both away from the dancefloor and towards a quiet corner near a hallway leading to a balcony, high above the city streets.
“And you’d be such an industrious worker, missing every opportunity you didn’t have to put such prim and proper senators in their place.”
Sherma smiled at Momus. The mech had needed a long time to win him over, but now, nothing but fire and brimstone could tear them apart.
“Our own little worlds, so far we might as well be living in different galaxies.” Momus kissed Sherma as the party went on without them, easily filling in the space they left behind with more bodies. “I’m glad I met you. People like you should always frag people like me.”
Momus pressed Sherma up against the wall, his vulpine smirk lit up by the light of Luna-1 filtering through the windows. “Those two were lucky to have found each other. Every mech that goes out of their caste is lucky. That shouldn’t be happening.”
He got on the tips of his pedes, just enough that he could meet Sherma’s optics. “We’re playing a dangerous game, sweetspark. We might not wake up today, or tomorrow, or all the days after that.”
“I do believe we’ve had this discussion, my dear,” Sherma held him tightly, no longer needing any inches of space between them. Momus and he had long ago decided their new path, and they were both fully aware of potential consequences. It made them careful, and it made them appreciate every moment they had together.
“And what we’ll do if we do wake up. Carry on. Make the changes no one else will. Forge a new world. And in it...” Sherma smiled to himself. This particular promise would always light up his optics, make his frame tingle where it touched Momus. They’d promised themselves to each other, but only once no mech was restrained by caste and could enjoy the same privileges.
“I’ll finally make an honest mech out of you. Primus knows no one else could.”
“Then we need to hurry and get the ball rolling. There’s only so long I can wait.” Momus gave Sherma a watery grin, before wrapping around him in a tight hug. “We’re two fools,” he said, “Primus must’ve made a mistake letting us be together. No time for dying.”
He ran his palm over the smooth curve of Sherma’s helm, before cupping his face. “This better be hush-hush,” he teased, “Can’t let the public know I’m getting weak-kneed over you. It’d ruin me.”
Their fields mingled, mixing together with the ease of long time spent in each other’s company. Restraint was no longer necessary, not between them. “Once we change things,” Momus said, “I’m gonna propose to you, right out in Trion Square. Pop my chestplates and everything, scandalize you one last time before the wagon’s hitched and you get too used to me.”
“I don’t think anyone could ever be too used to you, sweetspark,” Sherma laughed at the thought. Of course Momus would make a scandal out of it, would make sure all of Cybertron knew that Sherma was indisputably weak for him too.
The public nature of their ‘affair’ had ruffled a lot of feathers, and Sherma spent a considerable amount of his life smoothing them back down. They were old news by now.
“Trion square?” he mused the scene. He knew he’d be flustered, even though his vocation demanded Sherma have impeccable control over his reactions and emotions.
“You’ll lose all chances to have any more hookers. Or blow.”
“Are you saying our married life can’t consist of hookers and blow with each other? Sherma, think outside the box ! Haven’t you ever thought what ‘facing on boosters feels like?”
This was an old game between them. They mused on what the future might be like, what they’d do. It was all built on the single, impossible hope that they’d live long enough to see it happen. “Maybe we go out of Cybertron. Tour the galaxy, eat exotic things, ‘face on sacred alien sites. Throw old oil at Proteus and laugh when he cries over his ugly paint.”
Momus sighed wistfully. “Maybe… maybe try for a sparkling. Chances aren’t high but I’m involved, so our success rate automatically gets boosted.”
Sherma’s optical ridge rose and fell at that. A sparkling with Momus’ temper? The little whirlwind would be an unstoppable force.
“Your virility is always highly recommended. Sweetspark,” Sherma kissed Momus again, noting that wistful edge to his words. They both knew the chances of surviving a large-scale revolution were slim to none. The dreams for a future were hanging by a thin, thin strip of a nail in a foundation made to crumble.
“Perhaps we’ll content ourselves with the present, until we usher in the future. I’m feeling some of that mad, famous lust return.”
“When has it ever left?” Momus splayed his hands over Sherma’s chest, smiling up at him. He slowly slid downwards, trailing light kisses down his chest as he went. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you were looking at, darling. And here we are, all nice and peaceful…”
Momus nuzzled his panel, before kissing it. “Consider this a preview, senator. Free, of course.”
“Free samples. You are a gracious host of course,” Sherma let his servos follow Momus’ path downward. It was perfectly lewd, and perfectly suited to his lover to be so utterly open about it all. They weren’t in a private room. They were just in a darkened corner. Oh Momus did like to show off.
“What do you think you saw me looking at, Momus? Not that I want to keep your mouth from where it so obviously wants to go.”
They could simply move to comms, if they really wanted to keep their playful conversation going. Sherma dimmed his optics, watching Momus cuddle his panel as if it was his best friend.
“My mouth has obvious plans for great things. Unfortunately, something blocks its way.” Momus kissed his panel. “Could you be a dear and remove it for poor old me?”
Momus revelled in this. In the freedom to do things like this, with someone so far above his actual station there was vertigo. His constant social climbing had put him at the pinnacle of where their society ended, and his reward was the opportunity to meet the one mech that put Momus the mech in the place of Momus the ambitious.
“Work, work, work.” Sherma laughed, panel moving aside smoothly for his persistent host. Momus had all the mannerisms of a senator, but only when he wanted to behave. And that was reserved for the stiff round of council that ended in arguments and no improvements made. Such were their grim realities. All the more reason to enjoy the peace of moments like this, when nothing stood between them but their own lack of patience.
“Show me these great things then, sweetspark.”
Momus was always attentive. For all his rugged humour and rogueish wit, he knew how to treat Sherma. He knew how to woo Sherma.
Personally, he had not been among those that greeted Momus’ acceptance into the senate with enthusiasm or contempt. He didn’t mind that the green-sparked mech came from Helex, or that he used to be nothing but a foreman. Sherma didn’t think much of the castes. He’d met plenty of mecha in his own city of Altihex who proved to have intelligence or interests or preferences and talents outside of their station and cast. Sherma had come to the senate a million years ago, full of hope and enthusiasm to make changes to the caste system. But all of his ambitions faltered, layed down and slowly trampled by the reality of the Senate overall, as a whole. Sherma learned their ways, learned not to show who he was, what he thought, without contemplating the impact of it first. He represented his people, and he would only take action when he saw a course that would truly make a difference.
He grew complacent, resigned, defeated by Cybertron’s ways that seemed untouchable, immeasurable, like mountains, impossible to change.
And then.
There had been Momus.
From his history and meteoric rise through social ranks to his brash, clever speeches. The mech was a world of his own, a force to be reckoned with, a rising star in Cybertron’s wilting sky.
Sherma didn’t hitch his wagon to him right away. No. It took time. Conversations, which Momus seemed to seek with him time and time again.
Then, interest. Then, long discussions in private, arguments that lasted until the first light of day, fueled by high grade and passion.
Then...the passion itself leapt from conversation to each other. Sherma admired Momus, and Momus found new sides of Sherma, passion and strength and perseverance.
Love had been a short hike from that point on, and Sherma had played hard to get for over a century, to ensure Momus meant every flattering word. He did.
And here they were. Making a new Cybertron, together. Aiding the Decepticons where they could, when they could, and trying to decipher and hinder the Senate’s ruthless plans.
They played a dangerous game, but they had each other.
Now and always.