[* * * * *]

Pt. 93: "Politics/Convenience"

[* * * * *]

It's for the best that they never talked about work. Optimus Prime was obsessed with Megatron, and Prowl knew more than was advisable. There was such a thing as 'plausible deniability' in politics, and in the silence between them.

To be honest, what they shared in Optimus' quarters had nothing to do with talking. They were using each other, plain and simple.

If it had been left up to the Prime, Prowl was rather certain they'd frag in the dark. The tight squeeze of Optimus' hands and harsh breathing when Prowl fought back betrayed that their pleasure had little to do with shared affection. In his turn, Prowl found Optimus Prime more amendable to his proposals when sated the night before. It wasn't anything as evil as outright manipulation. It was simply the psychology of familiarity breeding forgiveness. Optimus was far more likely to look upon ideas and think the best of them if he remembered overloading any time he saw Prowl's name under the subject line.

Optimus Prime found a willing body in Prowl. Prowl knew it was crude of him to think that, but most of the time, anyone could have replaced him. Maybe it was only the Prime's declared friendship that made propositioning him acceptable instead of random Autobots. Prowl didn't mind being used all that much. Optimus Prime was, for all his faults, a dedicated lover. An interfacing toy would hardly supply Prowl with as much attention, although sometimes he found the offlined optics distasteful.

But every once and a while, Prowl snarled up at him, trying to force the damn Prime to be there, to see him, to truly understand that the body in his bed wasn't who he pretended. He turned the lights up to maximum and insisted on foreplay, intimate and lengthy, until the Prime growled in that dark, impatient voice underpinned by the rev of a heavyduty engine. Prowl smiled, then, grimly pleased.

The Prime might turn down his next proposal, yes. It was a price Prowl chose to pay.

He thought, mind distant after a particularly violent session, optics vaguely pointed at the ceiling, that other people likely didn't think of political negotiations while interfacing. The thought disturbed him for a brief time, but the Prime stirred, mask scraping on his chest, and Prowl sent a command to dim the lights. Optimus Prime relaxed in the dimness, comforted by imagined company. Prowl settled into the immediate, possessive embrace the half-asleep mech drew him into, and he let the thought go.

For tonight, they'd both pretend to have what they wanted, and want what they had.

[* * * * *]