Starscream gives Megatron a funny look, but he supposes if things really were that bad with this universe's Starscream, then maybe Megatron really doesn't get what Starscream would see in another version of him. He purses his lips slightly, tapping a finger on his arm.

"Because he's clever," he says, "and he's interesting, he's very good at what he does. He's self-assured, he isn't needy, and he actually knows how to hold an intelligent conversation, which is more than I can say for any of his enforcers."

Deadlock can barely hold a conversation, full stop, and his tolerance for Slipstream's bullshit is at an all-time low. Maybe if she'd stop teaming up with Soundwave to make those infuriating slapcam videos he might eventually get to a point where he doesn't want to shove her out a window five minutes into every conversation.

"And he acknowledges the same in me," he goes on smugly, which isn't entirely true, because Megatron has never once implied that Starscream isn't extremely high-maintenance. "He thinks I'm clever and engaging, and he tells me so. He appreciates me."

It is not actually as mutual as Starscream believes it to be, but as far as he's concerned Megatron sees him as equal as he sees anyone, which is what makes it so frustrating that he hasn't made Starscream his second-in-command. And while the ego boost that comes with praise from your cunning and terrifying warlord boyfriend is a big part of the draw for Starscream, there is, weirdly enough, a kind of affection there. Although Megatron could stand to pay more attention to him. He wouldn't mind being appreciated more.