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“I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you.” Megatron stood in his quarters, watching Starscream lounge on his back across Megatron’s berth as though it belonged to him.
The last time they’d seen each other, they’d been screaming across a battlefield at one another. Megatron had transformed and Starscream hadn’t been there to catch him—which, as Starscream had screeched in front of both sides of the army, was entirely Megatron’s fault because if he hadn’t kept sending Starscream spike pics during meetings Starscream wouldn’t have had to mute his comms line!
Things had devolved predictably from there.
And yet, here Starscream was again in Megatron’s berth.
Starscream didn’t bother sitting up, just tipping his helm slightly so he could look at Megatron from under his optic-lashes, the fiber-optic fringe a low glow at the edges of his optics. “Do you need to?”
Megatron moved closer to his berth, carefully, like one might approach an escaped nitrotiger.
“That depends,” he murmured, “on you, dear Starscream.”
The hum of recognition from Starscream didn’t allow Megatron any hope of discerning the seeker’s reaction. When no further words came from Megatron, he simply lifted one servo in front of his face, inspecting his talons as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Light, low and shadowed in the confines of Megatron’s berth, flashed across the sleek metal, accentuating its razor sharp edges.
Megatron’s cooling fans spun into action, breaking the silence between them. Starscream smirked without looking up.
He crooked his claws, extending them just a fraction further.
Megatron took a step closer.
Without acknowledging Megatron’s presence in any other way, Starscream allowed his hand to drift sideways until it was just brushing Megatron’s hip. Positioned like this, Starscream was temptingly close to the junction of Megatron’s thighs and pelvic armor.
Starscream’s claws clicked against Megatron’s armor, coming to rest just over where Megatron’s array had already begun running lubrication routines underneath closed panelling.
“Well?” Starscream’s optics were impenetrable. “Are you going to make me ask?”
Megatron didn’t say anything, but he allowed his panel to retract. Which was an admission all its own.
“That’s what I thought,” Starscream purred. With a flex of the delicate servomechanisms of his hands, he retracted his claws and ran his fingers along the side of Megatron’s half-pressurized spike till he reached the base. He flirted with the sensor-rich edge of the metal housing, pressing his fingers against plush protoform as it rose and pressurized.
“Don’t stop sending me the spike pics,” Starscream said, apropos of nothing. However, with his talons—even safely tucked away—so close to certain parts of Megatron’s anatomy, he did not feel this was the time to object to his second’s timing. “I won’t mute your comms line. Meetings can wait.”
This was, perhaps, not a solution Megatron should be approving.
But Starscream was propping himself up on an elbow and leaning in to lick the head of Megatron’s spike, and Megatron decidedly did not have the desire to argue with him anymore.