Firing Line

[heliopauseentertainments]

For

tf_rare_pairing  for July's prompt - "Megatron/Prowl - Trigger Happy"

 

Series: This Is Not The Queerplatonic Relationship We Wanted

Rating: General

Continuity: IDW1

Relationship: Megatron/Prowl

Characters: Megatron & Prowl

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Notes: Aroace characters

Summary: In which as part of a "bonding" activity, Prowl takes Megatron to a gun range.

Crossposting: AO3 | Tumblr | DW tf_rare_pairing post | Pillowfort

Fic under cut.
 

“Prowl, I’m insulted.”

Not again. Megatron always had a complaint.

“What by this time?” Prowl asked, keeping the muzzle of Megatron’s alt-mode pointed at the target at the end of the range. Visiting Kaon’s gun range on occasion has been one of the ideas they’d come up with to try and build a level of rapport in the wake of their legal binding post-war.

If you had to live with someone for the sake of peace, might as well attempt to be civil. Both Prowl and Megatron were the sorts of people who were more than willing to make someone’s life a living hell. So, for the sake of the greater good (or whatever Megatron’s equivalent was), they had decided to parley.

Unfortunately, Megatron seemed to enjoy making that difficult by being contrary and critical at every possible opportunity.

He apparently still considered that “civil” but given that he had to endure Starscream’s presence for ages on end, perhaps he just didn’t really have an accurate grasp of what constituted “civility” for most people anymore.

“Your grip is shaky.” The whining continued. “You are wielding the most powerful living weapon in the universe—“ Not this again. “—And your hands are trembling.”

And probably making Megatron nauseated, assuming he could even see. He’d never actually asked if he could see in that alt-mode. He might very well be blind or have a very restricted field of view. Why would he choose to be modified to have such a vulnerable alt-mode?

“All of my previous guns have been inanimate,” he spat, flipping the safety back on and setting Megatron down on the bench, “this one talks back.”

While true, that wasn’t the real reason for Prowl’s wiggly arms.

Prowl had millions of years of experience with weaponry, including small arms, which had been frequently used in his security operations before and during the war. They were well-suited to urban environments where space could be limited and they were easier to conceal.

Unfortunately, now, Prowl found himself worried that, despite his confidence with firearms, he might accidentally drop Megatron.

Which was stupid.

Not only would that not hurt the bastard, there was little reason for Prowl to be worried about hurting him in the first place. It wasn’t like Megatron didn’t deserve it. A little drop wasn’t a political marriage-ending disaster.

“If all of your previous guns could talk, they would say the same! It’s a wonder you ever hit anything during the war with the inability to stabilize your line of sight. You keep waving me around like a blasted flag at a parade—“

Prowl clenched his jaw shut and fired, the simple sheet metal target at the end of the range sporting a new hole dead center from the burst of energy.

“Better?” he asked.

“Well, you hit the target this time.”

Megatron wasn’t exactly the sort to dole out compliments, so this was probably the best he would be getting.

“Because I imagined you on the target. Helped a lot.”