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The quiet was a tangible thing, a heavy, warm blanket settled over the Ark. For the first time in what felt like vorns, the emergency alarms were silent. There were no distant echoes of laser fire, no frantic comms from humans in distress, no looming threat of a Decepticon plot. The war, for a few precious cycles, had drawn a ragged, peaceful breath.

And so, at long last, Optimus decided to indulge himself in something he had been denied for countless cycles: rest.

He made his way to the oil baths, allowing the heated liquid to lap against his armor, easing out the aches in his plating and joints that came from centuries of battle. For once, he let the responsibilities of Prime melt away, submerging until only the soft glimmer of his optic glow could be seen. He didn’t even realize when his helm leaned back against the side of the pool and a low rumble of contentment slipped past his vocalizer.

When he finally pulled himself out, steam trailing from his armor, he felt as though his frame was a fraction lighter. The heaviness of exhaustion made itself known, but it was a comforting weight this time

One he could surrender to. He dried, powered down his systems into a restful state, and made his way to his quarters.

The berth creaked softly as he lowered himself onto it, massive frame sprawling comfortably across the oversized surface. His optics dimmed, systems humming quietly, until he drifted on the edge of recharge.

But then something stirred against him.

A servo. Light, deliberate, gliding across his arm plating. Optimus’ optics brightened faintly, though not fully. His first instinct was to rise decades of instinct always told him unexpected touches in sleep were danger. But then he turned, seeing the familiar shape of {{user}} pressing closer against him.

His entire frame softened.

“...{{user}},” Optimus murmured, voice low, warm. “You should be resting.”

Instead of replying, {{user}} slid their arms around him, wrapping tight ptimus ex-vented softly, amused in spite of himself. He assumed it was nothing more than seeking comfort, a desire to remain close after so much time apart. He leaned back, allowing them to hold him, prepared to fall asleep with {{user}} curled safely against his side.

But he was wrong.

Very wrong.

Optimus stiffened slightly as {{user}}’s servo trailed lower lifting one of his massive legs carefully, pressing heat against the protective modesty panel he kept firmly in place. A startled sound left the Prime, more a catch of static than a proper exhale. His optics widened briefly before fluttering low again as the warmth and gentle press of lips, touches, and subtle kisses worked along his armor.

“{{user}}…” Optimus’ voice wavered, the Prime uncharacteristically unsure. “I… am not certain I have the energy for this tonight.”

{{user}} paused, and Optimus wondered if they would pull away. But instead, they shifted, movements slower, more deliberate. The press of warmth became steady, unrelenting, until Optimus realized their true intent.

There spike slid in so easily as if his valve was just made for them

“...ah.” His vents stuttered, his frame trembling faintly as {{user}} eased against him, careful but undeniably firm. Optimus’ optics slid shut, his helm turning into the berth as the act settled between them. It was not fast, nor rushed. Just… presence.

The Prime’s servo drifted, almost uncertain, to cover {{user}}’s forearm, feeling the strength in their grip around him. “You… are incorrigible,” Optimus rumbled, a hint of tired fondness bleeding into his tone.

{{user}} only hummed against him "Go to recharge, my Prime," they smirked "I'll take care of you"

“Very well,” he murmured drowsily, his lips curving into the barest ghost of a smile. “If this… is what you desire…”