Fic: Tribute, Optimus Prime/Sideswipe - sword dancers
Title: Tribute
‘Verse: Bayverse
Rating: M
Pairing: Optimus Prime/Sideswipe, and Megatron/Sunstreaker
Summary: Weekly Request fill for the prompt Bayverse Prompt, Optimus Prime/Sideswipe - sword dancers
Notes: Not very descriptive tactile, AU, unbeta’d
In his office the Prime sat at his desk. His helm rested on his hand as his slowly downloaded a report he had complied throughout the day. Something he had learned was that there was no rest. Cybertron had been saved from war. Megatron had woken from his madness and the deaths of the crew in charge of transporting the Fallen’s entrapment had ended up a small price to pay. It had taken a while to piece what happened together. Long enough that the genocide of Praxis was barely prevented.
His optics looked down at the progress bar on his desktop. It had been close. Too - close. He cycled air. This was the first chance the young Prime had to rest since the emergency. He was terribly run down. His helm slowly sank till it was resting on his desk, his optics powered down, and his shoulders finally lowered.
It was this position his guards had found him. They pulled him off his desk, and out of his chair, the large mech’s form almost sank to the floor from how much the leader weighed but more guards were called, and medics soon arrived. He was tended to, made to rest and when he was allowed to work again he found that a schedule had been made for him. It was meant to keep him from needing this care again… It was not going to work.
____
The nomads had arrived in Iacon. It was rare but after the near war they had felt the need to change their route, and pay tribute to the Prime and Lord High Protector. The relationship between the nomads and the rule Sentinel Prime had formed was tenuous at best and volatile at worst but under Optimus it grew more stable, confirming their right to travel, and their rights as people without city-states.
The first night came a festival-like atmosphere and the second had made Optimus double check his schedule. It was a tribute night. He was to accompany his brother to the nomad’s camp. He took the time to message the mech that had made the schedule. It was confirmed and when he needled the mech for more information he had only gotten two words, “Sword Dancers.”
It was joors later that he was led by his guards into the common grounds of the city where the camp had been build. Optimus was observant and gracious, he spoke to mechs, and younglings, he smiled and bowed at the few femmes before they disappeared into the travel domes.
The nomads had different customs than most. Their femmes hid away, thought of as sacred for their ability to craft frames, and generate sparks. Most were assigned a guard much older when they were created. Oddly the mech to femme ratios were much more balanced among the nomads. There had been theories whispered in the academy that their was perhaps the aborting of mech sparks but there had never been proof.
He had arrived at his destination much quicker than he had expected. It was one of the larger domes in the camp. He was ushered to take his seat and when he looked across a raised circular platform he saw his brother. It was the second time he had seen Megatron since he had recovered from his madness. The Lord High Protector had kept his helm down, had let Optimus tell the populace of his error, his weakness.
Slim mech, most likely a two engine build, took timed steps up to the stage. He lifted himself up and announced the show, “I, Knock Out, creation of the troop leader, welcome the Lord High Protector, and our Prime to this evening, and I won’t forget to mention their guards.” He clapped his to his left in praise of the High Protector’s guards and to the right the Prime’s guard. Guards were highly respected again due to their association in the nomad’s culture to femmes.
“This show will have our best, our most skilled, or most trained. They have studied since they were created and we could not find a more suitable pair.” The green and white mech stepped back as two mechs entered. They shone even in the dim light of the dome. “These, are Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe.” Lifting his hands over his helm Knock Out clapped as he retreated to let the gold and silver mech’s take the platform.
The Prime tilted him helm slightly. He had never seen mechs with they build these two shared. They had sharp wings jutting from their backs, and broad fronts like Praxians, but smooth lines like those from Kalis, and the back bent style of their legs mimicked the flight-gifted inhabitants of Vos. They should have been horrid, but they had a beauty that was their own and as Optimus looked across the stage he could see Megatron shift his attention to the two mech was obvious.
Music started, and the mechs rolled forward into their positions. It was at that point that the stage suddenly seemed too small but they moved perfectly. The blades mounted on their forearms hummed with a wicked energy. It sent a nervous thrill through him, to know that there was a chance of injury and he almost spoke to cut it off, make them not risk themselves but then they started to dance.
It was fluid, and sharp, and just watching it made the Prime’s systems warm. The preciseness was something he have never seen from a living being. They were mirrored, and it was at it had said, that had been trained since creation. The mutual guard both he and the Lord Protector shared was a Praxian, and from the focus the guard and assistant showed it had caught him. Optimus smirked even the stiff Praxian had been caught in the visual wonder.
Sideswipe did not appreciate the Prime’s optics leaving him. Silently he spoke with his golden twin, as they punched their blades beside the other’s helm. It was time to move. They have never tried this with anyone of this importance but their boss had said to try. Pulling away from each other they switched sides first motioning to the opposite of their targets then they switched again. They motioned with their arms for the Prime and Lord High Protector to come closer, the bent at the midsection mimed pulled in sync. Their people needed the good relations this could bring. One night, for a vorn of good blessings.
Megatron had moved first, and the Prime followed. The swords folded back revealing three fingered hands, which gripped armor and pulled their prey close. The tribute was accepted and the guards pretended to ignore the dancers as they used the height to push the rulers down. They continued to ignore the dancers as their fingers dug into the gaps between plating, and managed to draw moans from their Prime, and snarls from their Lord. The silver and gold mechs remained by their troop’s guests long after their overloads had passed. Their smooth line pressed nicely into their guest’s sides.
Sideswipe’s glossa ran along one of the flares on the Prime’s helm. “I could get used to this stopping in Iacon more often schedule.” He murmured with he derma pressed closed to the larger mech’s audio sensor.
‘Verse: Bayverse
Rating: M
Pairing: Optimus Prime/Sideswipe, and Megatron/Sunstreaker
Summary: Weekly Request fill for the prompt Bayverse Prompt, Optimus Prime/Sideswipe - sword dancers
Notes: Not very descriptive tactile, AU, unbeta’d
In his office the Prime sat at his desk. His helm rested on his hand as his slowly downloaded a report he had complied throughout the day. Something he had learned was that there was no rest. Cybertron had been saved from war. Megatron had woken from his madness and the deaths of the crew in charge of transporting the Fallen’s entrapment had ended up a small price to pay. It had taken a while to piece what happened together. Long enough that the genocide of Praxis was barely prevented.
His optics looked down at the progress bar on his desktop. It had been close. Too - close. He cycled air. This was the first chance the young Prime had to rest since the emergency. He was terribly run down. His helm slowly sank till it was resting on his desk, his optics powered down, and his shoulders finally lowered.
It was this position his guards had found him. They pulled him off his desk, and out of his chair, the large mech’s form almost sank to the floor from how much the leader weighed but more guards were called, and medics soon arrived. He was tended to, made to rest and when he was allowed to work again he found that a schedule had been made for him. It was meant to keep him from needing this care again… It was not going to work.
____
The nomads had arrived in Iacon. It was rare but after the near war they had felt the need to change their route, and pay tribute to the Prime and Lord High Protector. The relationship between the nomads and the rule Sentinel Prime had formed was tenuous at best and volatile at worst but under Optimus it grew more stable, confirming their right to travel, and their rights as people without city-states.
The first night came a festival-like atmosphere and the second had made Optimus double check his schedule. It was a tribute night. He was to accompany his brother to the nomad’s camp. He took the time to message the mech that had made the schedule. It was confirmed and when he needled the mech for more information he had only gotten two words, “Sword Dancers.”
It was joors later that he was led by his guards into the common grounds of the city where the camp had been build. Optimus was observant and gracious, he spoke to mechs, and younglings, he smiled and bowed at the few femmes before they disappeared into the travel domes.
The nomads had different customs than most. Their femmes hid away, thought of as sacred for their ability to craft frames, and generate sparks. Most were assigned a guard much older when they were created. Oddly the mech to femme ratios were much more balanced among the nomads. There had been theories whispered in the academy that their was perhaps the aborting of mech sparks but there had never been proof.
He had arrived at his destination much quicker than he had expected. It was one of the larger domes in the camp. He was ushered to take his seat and when he looked across a raised circular platform he saw his brother. It was the second time he had seen Megatron since he had recovered from his madness. The Lord High Protector had kept his helm down, had let Optimus tell the populace of his error, his weakness.
Slim mech, most likely a two engine build, took timed steps up to the stage. He lifted himself up and announced the show, “I, Knock Out, creation of the troop leader, welcome the Lord High Protector, and our Prime to this evening, and I won’t forget to mention their guards.” He clapped his to his left in praise of the High Protector’s guards and to the right the Prime’s guard. Guards were highly respected again due to their association in the nomad’s culture to femmes.
“This show will have our best, our most skilled, or most trained. They have studied since they were created and we could not find a more suitable pair.” The green and white mech stepped back as two mechs entered. They shone even in the dim light of the dome. “These, are Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe.” Lifting his hands over his helm Knock Out clapped as he retreated to let the gold and silver mech’s take the platform.
The Prime tilted him helm slightly. He had never seen mechs with they build these two shared. They had sharp wings jutting from their backs, and broad fronts like Praxians, but smooth lines like those from Kalis, and the back bent style of their legs mimicked the flight-gifted inhabitants of Vos. They should have been horrid, but they had a beauty that was their own and as Optimus looked across the stage he could see Megatron shift his attention to the two mech was obvious.
Music started, and the mechs rolled forward into their positions. It was at that point that the stage suddenly seemed too small but they moved perfectly. The blades mounted on their forearms hummed with a wicked energy. It sent a nervous thrill through him, to know that there was a chance of injury and he almost spoke to cut it off, make them not risk themselves but then they started to dance.
It was fluid, and sharp, and just watching it made the Prime’s systems warm. The preciseness was something he have never seen from a living being. They were mirrored, and it was at it had said, that had been trained since creation. The mutual guard both he and the Lord Protector shared was a Praxian, and from the focus the guard and assistant showed it had caught him. Optimus smirked even the stiff Praxian had been caught in the visual wonder.
Sideswipe did not appreciate the Prime’s optics leaving him. Silently he spoke with his golden twin, as they punched their blades beside the other’s helm. It was time to move. They have never tried this with anyone of this importance but their boss had said to try. Pulling away from each other they switched sides first motioning to the opposite of their targets then they switched again. They motioned with their arms for the Prime and Lord High Protector to come closer, the bent at the midsection mimed pulled in sync. Their people needed the good relations this could bring. One night, for a vorn of good blessings.
Megatron had moved first, and the Prime followed. The swords folded back revealing three fingered hands, which gripped armor and pulled their prey close. The tribute was accepted and the guards pretended to ignore the dancers as they used the height to push the rulers down. They continued to ignore the dancers as their fingers dug into the gaps between plating, and managed to draw moans from their Prime, and snarls from their Lord. The silver and gold mechs remained by their troop’s guests long after their overloads had passed. Their smooth line pressed nicely into their guest’s sides.
Sideswipe’s glossa ran along one of the flares on the Prime’s helm. “I could get used to this stopping in Iacon more often schedule.” He murmured with he derma pressed closed to the larger mech’s audio sensor.