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Summary
How long will you be gone?” Starscream asked, sat in Megatron’s berth -rumpled, bitten, kissed, and well-fragged- the sheets pooled in his lap.
“As long as is deemed necessary,” Megatron barely glanced back, latching his fusion cannon into place and calibrating his offensive systems. Starscream had left scars across his back, deep scratches scuffed with blue.
“And what I am supposed to do while you’re gone?” Starscream grumbled, folding his arms huffily.
Megatron snorted, optics still on his cannon. “Wait.”