Tension

He was doing it on purpose. He had to be. There was no other explanation. His treacherous little Second-in-Command never did anything by accident. Except screw up, arguably, though he sometimes wondered if Starscream did even that on purpose.

But this? This was deliberate.

And it was driving him insane.

He could not let Starscream know that, of course. Oh no. That would mean he had won. And there was no way he would surrender a victory to that smug little spawn of a lubricated bolt. Not a chance.

So, instead he tried to concentrate on the data pad in front of him. Never mind that he could not concentrate on it—just as long as Starscream did not suspect how much of his leader’s attention he had.

“Is there something wrong, O leader?”

Ooh, his voice just dripped with suppressed laughter… he knew just what he was doing.

Megatron kept his optics focused on the data pad in his hands. “What would give you that idea, Starscream?”

“Nothing, mighty Megatron…” he replied lightly, voice far too sweet, “except you seem to have been staring at the same data file for an unnecessarily long period of time. So, I wondered…” here he leaned forward, far enough that Megatron had to look up at him or risk alerting his Second to his unease—just in time to see the taunting smirk grace his protégé’s lips, “if perhaps you were having some manner of problem. Perhaps something I could help with?”

Megatron barely refrained from snarling. “How considerate of you. However, I have no need of your help.” And with that, he returned to his data pad.

In the next instant, it was plucked from his hand. “Nonsense,” Starscream said, tone silky-smooth. “We don’t have all day to do paperwork. If there’s something you cannot handle, there is no shame in allowing me to help out a bit.”

Megatron shot his Second a glare, slowly clenching and unclenching his fist under the desk. Oh, how he longed to punch that slag-kissing, half-processed glitch’s face in….

It was Megatron’s own fault, much as he hated to admit it. The astrosecond Starscream swaggered into his office, that familiar smirk on his face and a small stack of data pads in hand, Megatron knew he was up to something. Then the way he so-sweetly asked if Megatron would mind some help with his paperwork… he really should have known better.

But everything in the seeker’s posture screamed Challenge: daring him to refuse, to tell his Second to go “help” himself to a scrap heap. Refusing would have been tantamount to surrender, and he would never do that. He could take any challenge his Second chose to deal out. It did not matter what it was.

He just had not expected this.

He spared his Second a flicker of a glance. Starscream reclined in his chair, one pede propped up on the desk while his other leg spread leisurely to the side. All his attention appeared to be focused on the data pad in his hands, though he occasionally lifted a hand to the cube of energon paste on his knee.

Perhaps it was the energon paste that made this particular challenge so much more different than all his others.

As soon as the seeker had set his data pads down and moved the chair from the front of the desk to the side, he pulled two glittering, palm-sized cubes from subspace and offered one to the gunformer. He could immediately tell it was not energon—at least, not quite. Rather, it was energon paste: oil charged with enough energon to turn it into a thick cream. A thick, pink cream, but Primus only knew how that happened. In any case, it was a desert and considerably sweeter than regular energon.

When Megatron only narrowed his optics, Starscream laughed and said, “Oh, don’t be so suspicious, commander. It’s perfectly safe. Here, I’ll even let you choose which one you want.” He held out both.

His suspicion did not lessen, but he took one, anyway. He was no coward. Whatever his Second chose to dish out, he could handle it. “Where did you get these? Aren’t we supposed to be in the middle of an energon shortage?”

“Oh ye of little faith. Energon paste is not that difficult to make.”

Megatron leaned back in his seat, cube still in hand. “Are you trying to tell me that you went to the trouble of gathering enough oil to make the paste?”

“Of course not. I made Scavenger do it.”

Megatron snorted at that. “Well, at least that means there’s less chance of it being poisoned.”

Starscream put a hand to his cockpit in mock-hurt. “Does our mighty leader still not trust me? Here, I’ll show you….” As if to assert his pure intentions (Ha!), Starscream dipped a finger into his own cube and licked the paste off. Megatron watched; Starscream’s smirk got even wider, if that was possible. “See? It’s perfectly all right.”

Megatron waited a moment more before copying his Second’s actions. Starscream watched, optics narrowing ever so slightly as the paste disappeared into his mouth. Megatron merely raised an optic ridge, as if to say, See? I never back down from a challenge.

Out loud, he said, “Normally, this is meant to be spread onto something.”

Starscream settled into his seat, placing the cube on his knee and snatching one of the data pads off the table. “Then save it for later. I hardly care. I just thought it would be rude to be snacking on energon paste right in front of you when you had none.”

“Since when do you care about being rude?”

For once, Starscream did not rise to the bait. Instead, he simply got to work.

For a moment, Megatron thought the challenge was over. It was rather weak, yes, but… Starscream was not the cleverest being in the galaxy.

How he wished, now, that that had been the challenge.

It was subtle—anyone who did not know Starscream might have thought it truly accidental. It was just a lazy finger scooping paste, putting it into mouth and sucking for an obscenely long time. Then a hum, a stretch of limbs and repositioning, nothing out of the ordinary. A breem later, a tongue flicking over lips or a pout; another hum while poring over a data pad. Then dipping middle, index, and thumb into the energon paste and licking slowly before putting index and middle fingers into mouth—the thumb accidentally leaving a smudge of paste on cheek.

All the while, he looked diligently over data pads, adding in necessary information and reorganizing files so everything was in place… which was perhaps the most infuriating of all, because the seeker never once let his gaze wander to the silver gunformer.

Come to think of it, Starscream was getting more work done than Megatron.

Megatron did his best to ignore it. In fact, it did not bother him in the slightest, at first. It was only when he had to ask his Second a question—and damn that he had to, but the file was about the space bridge, and Megatron did not know the finer details of the bridge’s functions—that he started having problems. Once he looked at Starscream for longer than a few astroseconds—why did he have to choose the exact moment his Second was alternately sucking and licking a paste-coated thumb?—his gaze kept wandering back, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate on his paperwork.

He did not know Starscream’s objective in all of this, but so far it seemed he simply wanted to remind his leader of what he had not had since they arrived on Earth. After all, who had time to interface when they were stranded on a strange, hostile planet?

Not to say Megatron wanted Starscream. Ugh, slag no. The very thought made him cringe. And there was no doubt that Starscream knew this, knew how much Megatron loathed the thought of being anywhere near him—which was why the unspoken taunt made him want to slag the stupid seeker all the more.

“Oh, mighty Megatron….”

Megatron glared at his Second. “What is it, Starscream?”

The seeker waved a data pad. “Who was that Autobot who put Soundwave in the repair bay?”

“How should I know?”

“Because, leader, you are the one who shot him afterwards and swore you would tear him limb from limb if it was the last thing you did.”

“I don’t know. One of the ones with the chevron. They all look the same.”

“Did he talk a lot or just glare?”

“I do not recall any chatter.”

“Probably their tactician, then.” Starscream typed something into the data pad.

Megatron just grunted. Why would Starscream even bother with such a question? It did not matter who had attacked Soundwave. All anyone needed to know was that it was an Autobot with a chevron on his stupid, slagging helmet and he was going to die for it eventually anyway. Any more detail than that was irrelevant.

Which meant Starscream had asked just to annoy him.

Megatron twitched. No, no, he could not hit the seeker. He had to stay calm. Hitting the seeker meant losing the game. He had to stay calm until all the paperwork was done… and then he would be the winner.

Yes, yes, it was all very simple. Just stay calm.

The desk shifted slightly as Starscream propped his other pede on the desk. Megatron turned a glare onto his Second, but the jet seemed not to notice; he simply scooped up another dab of energon paste and stuck it into his mouth, settling back into his chair. With that smudge of paste still on his cheek.

Okay, that was it.

“Starscream….”

He popped his finger out of his mouth, but still inspected it as he responded. “Yes, Megatron?”

“Get your pedes off my desk.”

The seeker looked up, surprised. “What?”

Megatron stood up and slammed the back of his fist into his Second’s helm, sending the smaller mech to the ground. The data pad flew out of his hand and struck the wall on the other side of the room.

“I said get your pedes off my desk!”

Silence. Neither mech moved.

Megatron stood above the seeker, hands clenched into fists. His cooling fans kicked up as anger boiled in his fuel tank, and their rhythmic hum filled the silence of the room. The momentary venting felt good, but it would not last. He had just lost the game. Any second now, the gloating would come—and it wouldn’t be much, just a smirk and glinting red optics… but it would be enough.

Starscream stayed on the ground, legs half-curled and propped on one elbow, face turned away from the gunformer—but it was no sign of surrender. His wings did not tremble as they did when he was afraid, and his cooling fans were not whirling to life as they always did when he panicked. No, he was just letting Megatron soak in all that had happened, how Starscream had won the challenge. The thought made his blood boil all the more.

Slowly, the seeker planted his hands on the floor and sat up. With the same all-the-time-in-the-world attitude, he turned his torso around and lifted his face towards the tyrant.

Ah. Here it came.

The dark lips curved into a half-smirk—strange how they did that, but probably they were just concealing a laugh—distorting the smudge on his cheek. “Temper, temper, Megatron….” Then he got up, brushed himself off, and strode out the door.

Megatron growled and slammed a fist onto the desk. Then he looked down and swore. Wonderful. Now he would have to file another report for a new desk. He stomped out of the room, determined to get some shooting practice done before he destroyed something else.

The moment he stepped out of his office, however, he felt a pair of optics on him. He turned to snarl a command at whoever dared—and stopped. There stood Starscream halfway down the corridor, staring at him with the strangest expression on his face.

Then, without warning, he turned on his heel and stalked away, as if nothing at all had transpired between them… and, casting back a glance that was almost uncertain, Megatron went on his way, wondering why he would think anything ever had.