A/N: Glee! It's on now. Oh, it's SO on.

Resting Comfortably, Part 2

Prime slid into Megatron's dark quarters with a grin of undisguised anticipation. He had waited for the perfect moment, the ultimate conjunction of place, time, and circumstances. Too soon, and Megatron would have expected something like this. Too late, and he would just have been confused. And if Prime wrought his mischief during one of the still-too-frequent crises that the Co-Commanders faced... Well, he was Prime. He drew the line at irresponsibility.

But now everything was perfect. All was quiet. Megatron lay unsuspecting on his bunk... Lay in perfect, proper placement on his bunk.

Optimus stared down at him, and pondered all his options. The big gray mech's fingers were laced across his chest, his elbows locked against his sides, his legs ramrod-straight and aligned; his toes pointing up to a spot on the ceiling. His face was set in a neutral expression: a studied study of 'the Decepticon Commander at rest.' He showed no emotion, but looked at the same time ready to show plenty if the situation called for it.

Inspired, Prime indulged in an evil laugh (something he had never had adequate chances to employ), and set to his nefarious work.

First he loosened Megatron's fingers, and laid his long arms at his sides. Then with a heave, he rolled the big mech over on his side. With some effort, he hefted his erstwhile arch-enemy's shoulders, moving them to one edge of the bunk; then repositioned the legs as well. The bunk was narrow, and Prime needed more room to complete his introductory maneuver. Prime straightened, popped a backstrut into place, and heaved again. This time, Megatron wound up on his stomach, with his right arm pinned beneath him. Prime let out a low chuckle. So far, so good. So satisfying.

He stopped and planned his next move. This was tricky – if he accidentally pinched a duct, both Hook and Ratchet would come after him... probably waving some choice implements of their trade.

He checked the joints – all clear so far – and got down to business.

He bent Megatron's leg until he could just tuck the knee up under the Decepticon's red abdomen. Then he repeated his efforts on the other side. Now the first thing to greet an entrant to the warlord's private sanctum would be a view of the warlord's raised afterparts. Optimus cackled in an undertone, greatly pleased with this result.

Prime jerked, jimmied, and jostled the pinned right arm, till he finally tugged it free. Then he laid it straight, palm upwards, alongside the big Decepticon. The black fingers on its hand curled gently upwards as they rested on the bunk, beside his rear.

Now for the final touch.

Prime turned Megatron's head on its side, drew up the corresponding arm, pried open his heavy jaw, and stuffed the fearsome fighter's big black thumb between his teeth.

Then, yes, he chortled. Who wouldn't? Megatron lay on his tummy, with his bottom in the air and his thumb lodged firmly in his mouth. This was enough, he thought. This would do well.

He left the room, locking the door behind him with a Command-only passcode – there was a difference between teasing and cruelty, after all – and walked away, whistling.

To greet the gray mech on reboot, he sent a read-only message to the Decepticon Commander's memo-net: Score 1 for the slag-faced twerp, Brother. But don't worry – I did not sell tickets. Bring it on, old man. Prime out.