Okay, so Joyeu left a review on Just This Once (and if you haven't read it, then you really should 'cuz it'll make me happy) about how the song "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse sounds just like something that Optimus Prime would say to Starscream. I had never heard the song, so I went onto YouTube to listen to it and totally fell in love with it. So this was born. It's Optimus' POV and it's one of their referred-to-but-not-elaborated-on nights of passion. You don't have to have read JTO to understand what's going on, though I do recommend that you listen to the song, if for no other reason than just so you can get into the mood of my little ficcy.

Oh yeah, and this has STICKY SLASH in it.

Enjoy.

He is here, as he always is, perched on his rock, still as a statue but twice as beautiful. His gorgeous silver wings flutter a little in anticipation as he senses my approach before it is quickly subdued in favor of insouciance. He can pretend all he wants that these meetings mean nothing to him, but I know better. He doesn't think I see the almost imperceptibly relieved slump when he sees me coming, or how he always approaches me just a little too quickly, a little too eagerly. I know what this means to him. I know what it means to me. And it is why I can't stop myself from going back.

I need to see him. It is not just a mere lust, that I only want to see him writhing beneath me, panting and screaming my name for all and no one to hear. I have to. Because I know, after it is over, what he must go back to. Who he must go back to.

My engine revs in anger. It isn't fair. It isn't right that he bears the mark of my rival, considering what he is put through at the mercy of those ebony hands. But it does not matter because, after tonight, he will bear the marks of our love making. He will sport my paint, not my rival's. And he will be that much closer to being where he belongs.

I transform only a few feet from him and he leisurely gets off his rock, putting up the mask of indifference that he insists on wearing, even though I can see right through it.

"Late again, Optimus?" he says, optics bright with an anticipation that I expect and an innocence that still takes me by surprise.

This Seeker, this particular Seeker, who is so cunningly ruthless on the battlefield, so masterful at weaving lies and deceit to get his way, so astonishingly clever with a sharp glossa that constantly aches to lash out at the closest mech, is yet so innocent, in possession of a youth that no mask can cover up. And I am the only one he lets see it. He allows me the honor of seeing him in his most vulnerable moments. He extends such a trust to me and he probably doesn't even know it. Doesn't know that I know what he really wants. From me? I don't know. But I don't think he would allow himself to be taken unless he wanted it and, for reasons unbeknownst to me, he gives himself to me.

I apologize to him, making up some damned excuse about why I was kept from the one place, the one mech, that I truly and deeply want to be with. He nods distractedly and I know he was not listening to me. I wasn't listening to myself. It seems fair.

We talk for a while. Not long, just long enough so that he doesn't appear as desperate as I know he is. And, really, can I blame him? He is proud, I will admit as much. He knows that I know what he goes through back at his base. He knows that this is the only reprieve from it that he will receive for another month until we meet again. Yet he will deny himself what he wants more than anything else in the universe for a little longer because he can. Because he has to prove that he is in control. That there is something in this universe that he can control. And I grant him that small favor. I do not pressure him into doing what we both came here to do. It is up to him when we start. I will not force him.

I doubt that he knows that I do this for him, but it does not matter. I do not grant favors in expectation of something in return. He gives me enough as it is. This is the least I can do.

He is ready. I sense his internal temperature rise and I know that he is ready. I move forward to embrace him, feeling his lithe form fold into mine immediately. His mask crumbles. He looks up at me with such honesty, such openness, and I am overwhelmed. I know no one sees him like this. I am the privileged mech that gets to see this beautiful, vibrant creature in all of his virtuous glory. It is normally hidden beneath a bitter, scathing front, designed to keep others at a distance. But here, now, I embrace him, I hold him tenderly against my chassis, next to my Spark, where he belongs.

What I do is unfair. I will be the first to admit it. He lets his guard down, lets me in, lets me see all of him. I do not return the favor. I keep my mask on, firmly in place, to maintain that nonexistent distance that he wanted when all of this started. It isn't right. But it frightens me, allowing myself to be so vulnerable. Not because of who I am with since, despite his reputation, I would trust him with my Spark. But I am afraid of what it would do to me. He means so much to me as it is. It is hard enough watching him leave me with that one barrier intact. To let it all down, let him see everything as he lets me with him… I would surely lose my mind.

But he does not seem to care. He does not seem to recognize the imbalance of our trysts. He only moans softly as I trace the contour of his face, his cheek, his chin, his lips. He tosses his head back in bliss when I pluck at the sensitive tip of his wing. A sensual gasp floats past his lips and I feel myself becoming undone. Primus, he drives me crazy.

His delicate blue hands find their way down to my grill and I rev my engine in desire. Small fingers slip beneath the slates, touching and exploring. Each touch is like a gust of wind fanning a flame, driving it higher and wilder. I want him. I always want him. No, I need him. I don't know how I managed to go this long without him. Before when I would see him across the battlefield, my Spark would ache with pity at his situation and wasted potential. Now when I see him, it takes every ounce of my self-control to not grab him and take him away from it all. The pain, the war, his undeserving commander. But I don't. I know the political reasons of why I don't, but they seem unimportant when compared to the price of my inaction.

A supple leg slips between mine and he looks up with a sensuous smirk that I know would drive lesser mechs to overload on the spot. I can barely keep myself in check as it is. I only offer an unseen smile as I acknowledge his request. I coax him down to the ground, kneeling between his long, elegant legs. I hear his wings scrape against the ground and, again, I feel guilty about the disproportion of our meetings. I wish to take him away from the pain, yet every time we meet, I cover his frame with more dents and scratches than what he already came with. He does not mind it, but I do.

I reach out and caress his smooth, orange cockpit, feeling the heat from his Spark seep through the glass. He arches into my touch with a quiet moan. He is so beautiful. His entrancing ruby optics flicker in ecstasy and he is lost in the pleasure he is receiving. He can only clutch desperately at my shoulders and hold on as I make him forget everything, for at least a little while.

His shoulder vents are huffing madly as they try to cool their owner down. I am always surprised by how easily aroused he is. It only ever takes a few gentle touches, perhaps a soft, murmured word of encouragement and he is ready to engage in our earth-shattering copulation. I think part of it is simply his inexperience at this particular practice and the other part is one that he refuses to acknowledge for the time being.

A sudden scraping of his pelvic plating against mine brings me back to the present, only to have me lost again in the sea of bliss. His face, his beautiful, dark, expressive face, is twisted in pleasured anguish and I know he wants more. He looks up at me, optics on-lined only a fraction, begging me for completion. How can I say "no"?

My hand slips between our bodies, slithering down his body to draw the torture out just a little longer, until it comes to rest on his codpiece. He rocks his scarlet hips up, crying my name so beautifully. I undo his panel, feeling heat rushing out to meet my fingers and slick lubricant dripping down his thigh. He shudders at the sensation as do I.

I consider teasing him a little more, keeping him here with me a little longer, but my own need for satisfaction is quickly becoming overpowering. It is selfish, I know, to want him to stay here longer and increase his chances of being caught as he sneaks back into his base, but I can't help wishing that maybe, just maybe, if I can keep him for a few extra moments, it will convince him to return with me, to leave his other life behind so that he can be safe with me. Because I would never hurt him.

I open my own interface latch and allow myself to fully extend. He looks up me with shining optics, biting his bottom lip in anticipation for what is to come. I brace his hips and slide my spike inside. His hands instinctively tighten against my shoulders and he grinds his dental plating together in blissful agony, until I have entered him completely. He is so small, so tight. I feel him flex against me and it takes every bit of self-control that I have left not to simply pound him into the ground. I draw back almost to the tip before penetrating him again… and again. He pants and squeals and cries out in time with each of my thrusts, squirming deliciously beneath me. I myself can only grunt incoherently as this beautiful mech rocks his hips against mine.

He is so close now. I can feel it. Only a few more thrusts and… he screams. My name has never sounded so beautiful until it has left the vocalizer of my beloved in the throes of passion. His valve spasms against me and it doesn't take long before I am rumbling his name while my own overload consumes me. My arms give out and I collapse on top of him. Though incapacitated, I at least have enough presence of mind to not crush him with my larger bulk.

I look down at him and see his scarlet optics dimming in sensual satisfaction. His dark lips are parted delightfully as they attempt to cycle the chilly night air to cool down his overheated systems. He feels my frame on top of his, feels the thump of my slowing Sparkpulse, and relaxes beneath the security that my body presents. In this moment, he lets me in completely. I see what he wants more than anything and I am more than willing to give it to him. But he will not take it. He will deny it as he always does because he is in control.

And it is why I roll off of him when I have gathered my bearings. I sit next to his prone form, allowing myself to simply feel all that he has given to me. All that he has allowed me to take. And I realize how lucky I am to have this.

My attention is drawn by a faint creaking beside me. He is stretching his stiff joint, bending his back struts, to relieve the discomfort. I watch, mesmerized, as his graceful, lithe form arches up as it had with my ministrations only a few moments earlier. He settles back against the ground and looks at me.

Primus.

He is so peaceful in these moments. So innocent. The way that he should be. Not the angry, bitter, twisted mech that he has been turned into. And it warms my Spark that I can give this to him. I can give him that reprieve away from the hate and violence of the universe. In these moments, he is mine just as I am his.

We talk again. Meaningless banter, most of it, and he lets me know more about him than he probably intended. He is so calm. His usual edgy exterior has been subdued in the afterglow of our experience. But all too soon, he announces that it is late and that he must go. My vocalizer hisses as I bite back the protests trying to escape, since he will hear none of it, but I consent. Because I must.

I watch as he draws up the apathetic mask once more, though, I notice, it is covered by hairline cracks, waiting to shatter. He asks the question that I have grown to hate, "Same time, next month?" because it means another month without him curled up next to me in recharge, another month when he is completely at the mercy of his leader, another month where I must wait helplessly for our next battle so that I can reaffirm that the Spark that my own yearns for still functions.

But I answer all the same, "Of course." Because I could not stop myself from coming if I wanted to.

Another crack, right down the middle of his mask, as his fervent anticipation shines through, but he is all flippancy and togetherness as he turns away from me to take off into the starry night.

And my Spark breaks again. I watch as he flies away, back to the pain and suffering that I can not save him from if he will not let me. There is only so much that I can do in a night, only so much that I can give him. But he is content to keep things this way. And I can only comply.

For at least a little while, I can protect him. For at least a little while, I can satisfy the undisclosed desires of his Spark.

So I really like writing in first-person, present tense. I should do that more often.