For once, the crunch-growl-snap-snarl in the conference room had nothing to do with Starscream. Though it you asked him, this didn’t please the mercurial Seeker at all. In fact, he stood removed from the action, his arms folded over his cockpit, his optics narrow slits of displeasure.
Meanwhile, in the center of the room, Megatron and Deadlock clashed as though they truly meant to kill one another. Energon spattered the ground around them. One console lay in a sparking ruin. Laserfire pockmarked the ceiling.
It was a miracle no one had been injured yet.
Deadlock bared his denta, snarling like a feral beast.
Megatron laughed, his optics bright and fierce.
They came together again, palm to palm, Deadlock much smaller, his feet screeching across the floor as Megatron forced him back.
“Yield!” the Decepticon Lord demanded, his field lashing the room with excitement and lust.
Deadlock laughed, a dark sound. “You haven’t earned it yet,” he said, and broke off the hold, ducking under and out from Megatron’s sweeping reach. His ventilations stuttered, his own field thick with play and desire. He had no weapons, these had already been crushed by one of Megatron’s massive feet. Instead, he used his smaller size to his advantage, darting always just out of reach.
This would have infuriated Megatron if he were anyone else. But Deadlock occupied a unique position at Megatron’s side. And in his berth.
There was no question who would win in the end, and who would be tossed over the table and fragged until his vocalizer glitched.
But half the fun was in the challenge. It wasn’t about winning or losing.
It was all about playing the game.