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Dreadwing shifted nervously as Megatron’s claws wrapped around his wing.
"If anyone deserved such attentions, Lord Megatron," Dreadwing rumbled, fighting to keep his wing from twitching. "it would be my brother — not me."
Megatron hummed. The sound came out as a fierce rumble, the beginning of a battle cry or the first stirrings of pleasure. “But you are here, and Skyquake is not.”
Megatron wouldn’t usually choose such delicate words. A gladiator turned warlord had no use for euphemisms. And although only a few Earth months had passed, a soldier who had lived through eons of war should have learned long ago to make peace with the death of his comrades.
But Skyquake had been more than just a comrade.
Megatron opened his claws and slid them downward, scoring lines in the blue paint of the wing. The scratches shone silver in the light. Seeing them, Megatron’s purr deepened.
Dreadwing’s optics narrowed. “My twin —”
"Your twin led you to me," Megatron answered. "And now you devoted yourself to vengeance."
Dreadwing nodded. “To vengeance —”
Megatron chuckled, one claw moving to Dreadwing’s chest. “And not to me. Is that what you mean?”
"Lord Megatron, I don’t deserve any of this."
"It hardly matters." Megatron tapped at the Decepticon insignia branded on Dreadwing’s chestplate.
"It was Skyquake who chose to join your ranks," Dreadwing murmured, staring down at Megatron’s hand. "I simply came with him."
He lifted his head. “You made me your second-in-command. Now —”
Megatron laughed again, his claw curling over Dreadwing’s chest. “Whether revenge or loyalty motivates you, it comes to the same in the end.”
His other hand moved to cup Dreadwing’s chin. “Why shouldn’t you earn what your brother cannot?”