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Megatron caught Starscream as the seeker fell out of the sky.
It wouldn’t have been romantic if you had asked an Autobot, but those afts wouldn’t know flight-frame romance if it hit them over the head with a wing.
One moment, Starscream had been a gorgeously terrifying jet, swooping over the battlefield with Megatron in gun form attached to his underbelly for maximum Autobot destruction. He’d seen an Autobot aim at them and wheeled to the side, expecting the hyper-fast laser burst typical of their weaponry.
Somewhere, though, they’d picked up something with more heft, and the next moment Starscream had found himself with an ion slug tearing a hole in his left wing.
Between losing power in that set of turbines entirely, every system shrieking alarms, and oh, yes, the Autobots still shooting at him, Starscream had completely forgotten about his leader, trapped beneath him.
Someone was shouting something loudly at his cockpit, which if they’d had any idea how flight frames worked, they’d know his cranial audio sensors were in-cockpit only, and they’d have better luck yelling at the caudal sensors.
He tried to tell them this, but didn’t think it came through over the crackling of static and several more alarms going off. The ground rushed to meet him at what wouldn’t have been an alarming pace if Starscream had had any control. He hurtled towards the rock and dirt, unable to conceptualize any possibility in which he wouldn’t slam into the unforgiving surface at high speed.
And then he didn’t.
An impact occurred, Starscream could tell that much from the jarring stop. But he didn’t hit the ground in what wouldn’t have been a fatal impact but wouldn’t have felt nice, either. No, instead he was… not gently, far from, but precisely, caught in someone’s arms, even though he was still in jet mode.
Some line of code fired off in his processor and he weakly transformed back into root mode, even though the motions jarred his damaged wing even further. Who had him? Megatron wouldn’t have bothered catching him at all, and afterwards certainly wouldn’t be holding him. Wouldn’t have his arms positioned so as not to wound Starscream further as he carried him across the still active battlefield.
“Blasted seeker,” Megatron was grumbling. His fusion cannon hummed hot against Starscream’s shoulder vents. “Ha! The next Autobot will think twice about coming straight at us.” He hefted Starscream a little more securely into his arms—still taking care to avoid jostling Starscream’s injured wing as much as possible, Starscream noted. “Leader of the Decepticon air force, getting to be carried like someone’s ceremonial conjunx—”
Starscream summoned up the force of will necessary to move his servo enough to slap Megatron in the face. Some may have called it more of a gentle caressing of Megatron’s jaw, but it would have been a slap if he could have mustered the energy, really.
“Megs,” he mumbled. “Shut up.”
And Megatron did.
All in all, it was incredibly romantic.