Author's Note: Hello all and welcome to my first multichapter fic to be published on . This is planned to be a series of one-shots focusing on Megatron's fascination with Starscream.
It was always at least a breem before Megatron caught himself.
It was always the same thing, too, that had him distracted. The only thing, really---anything else he might get lost in thought over he never did get lost in---only this. Only the slow, even movements of Starscream's wings, gracefully flapping back and forth when the Seeker was engrossed in his own work.
He was straddling a chair halfway across the command deck from Megatron, the chair turned around so that he rested his chest against the backrest, one leg to either side, fingers tapping at the keys of his computer terminal, and those lovely white wings moving languidly on their hinges, folding back almost perpendicular to his back, sometimes, and then fanning forward to frame his body, settling back into their default positions for a few seconds before sweeping backwards again.
The Seeker wasn't aware of it, doubtless; it was an unconscious habit, something he did without thinking whenever he concentrated intently on something. He always did it when he worked on scientific endeavours or aerial strategy, or any other project he got deeply into. And Megatron, once aware of the sight, would simply watch, entranced, until breems had gone by, when he came to himself enough to realize he was staring, when he shook his head and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. And still saw white wings, memory superimposed upon his vision, as he'd see an optical illusion reflected in the screen of his own terminal or datapad.
And found himself thinking not of battle tactics nor leadership responsibilities nor victory over the Autobots, but what ailerons and thick strong leading edges and delicate smooth white expanses of metal would feel like against his hands, and then he would turn off the computer or set aside the datapad in favor of pretending to think about battle plans or weapon requisitions, the better to keep his optics focused on Starscream's wings as they gently beat the air away from the Seeker's arched back.
It was a good thing Starscream worked in his lab most of the time, or Megatron would never get anything done.
He wasn't getting anything done now---just staring like a besotted sparkling as Starscream's wings fanned slowly back and forth.
The war could wait.