One-shot with DreadwingxMegatron, after Crossfire, because Megs being in Dreadwing's arms gets me where it counts.

Warnings: slash!, sticky!(but not too explicit), some angst at the end…

Disclaimer: Do not own The Transformers. Boo.

Compensation

It had been far too long. Dreadwing honestly didn't know where to begin. He shifted, uncomfortable. His systems were growing alarmingly warm already, and a sudden embarrassment overcame him. He didn't want to displease his lord due to years upon years of…inactivity.

Megatron had propped up against a large rock, his ventilations slow and steady. The mech's large legs were pulled up, his pointed fingers resting on his knees. His optics were closed, making it seem as if he were in some sort of meditative state. Dreadwing shifted again, still thinking of a way to start.

Thankfully he didn't have to. Megatron opened clouded optics and beckoned Dreadwing closer. The blue flier stepped forward immediately.

"My lord," he mumbled as he knelt down. Dreadwing didn't know what to do with his hands, and he knew it was obvious. A heat crept up his neck cables and into his face-plates when Megatron laughed. Dreadwing felt Megatron's larger hands grab his own and pulled them forward onto scratched, silver metal.

"I will make it abundantly clear if I want you to stop." Megatron, even while injured and in such a submissive position, exuded control. Dreadwing nodded before pressing his hands firmly against his lord's chest, enjoying the warmth it emitted. Megatron leaned back, his legs spreading to accommodate his newly appointed second in command.

Dreadwing instantly growled, appreciating the sight and feel of Megatron – a mech he had always thought beautiful to look at – lying out before him. He bent forward, cupping his master's face. Megatron murmured something, pressing into Dreadwing's hand. Dreadwing had been afraid his leader would not take too kindly to such a sentimental gesture, but apparently he had nothing to worry about. Megatron's nuzzling continued. A small thrill shot up his circuits; Dreadwing hadn't taken on a lover in some time, not since Cybertron was habitable. He had always preferred taking his time and, in a very un-Decepticon manner, engage in intimate motions with his partner.

He had, back when he was younger, fantasized about doing such things with Megatron. The Decepticon commander was such a hard mech, however, so he had quashed such thoughts nearly as soon as he began thinking them. There was also the matter of Starscream…

Dreadwing had since then thought nothing but respectable, clean thoughts about his lord.

Of course, that was until now, when said lord had all but asked for an interface. Dreadwing was stunned for a good few minutes, not sure if he had heard Megatron correctly. When Megatron had made his request clear, Dreadwing blamed it on the fact that his leader was suffering some sort of unforeseen head injury from the Insecticon he had just battled against. Megatron had sustained enough damage to hinder his ability to fly all the way back to the Nemisis. Nearly right after Megatron had deemed Dreadwing his new first lieutenant, Dreadwing had to scramble to catch Megatron mid-flight when the tyrant had fallen out of the sky.

So they had landed. Dreadwing had tried his comm., but he was greeted with nothing but static. He tried again, and even asked Megatron to try. The result was the same. And then Megatron, rather randomly in Dreadwing's opinion, had proposed interface…

But what kind of second in command would Dreadwing be to refuse his lord of anything? (Not that he would refuse his lord anything otherwise.)

Megatron sighed, arching his body into the hand Dreadwing had on his chest. "I appreciate the attention to my chassis, but if you would – mmm – move on…"

Dreadwing moved forward, his face inches from his lord's. Megatron stared with bright optics, a smirk on his heated faceplate. Dreadwing pressed his mouth into his lord's, but stopped, gauging Megatron's reaction.

Megatron had his tongue in Dreadwing's mouth before Dreadwing knew what was happening. He allowed a soft moan before responding in kind.

Dreadwing allowed his hands to wander downward, pressing knuckle-deep into the seams of his leader's armor. He could feel Megatron smirk against his mouth, the larger mech's cooling fans kicking on. Dreadwing began twisting and pushing his fingers deeper, wanting to hear how pleasured his lord was.

His lord did not disappoint. Dreadwing shuddered as Megatron moaned, his raspy voice nearly catching in his throat. Those large, clawed hands grasped Dreadwing's shoulders, pulling him closer.

Dreadwing felt sharp teeth dig into his glossa, producing a rather pleased moan as he tasted his own energon. He nearly whined when Megatron began lapping it up with his own glossa, sucking on the small wound.

He would have to move faster, he realized. He was, embarrassingly, close to overload. Dreadwing shifted, urging Megatron to lie on the ground, not breaking off their kiss. Megatron shifted himself, falling on the leaf-covered earth with a resonating thud. If it had jarred his injuries, Megatron did not show it. He wrapped his arms around Dreadwing's neck, pulling him down with him, clearly eager.

Dreadwing kept one hand playing with his master's seams, the other fumbling – yes, fumbling – to open his own codpiece.

A shaky, but somehow steady, hand gently led him to his heated codpiece. Dreadwing heard a vibration against his lips, and realized Megatron was laughing at him.

Oh, the humiliation. It had been far too long…

Dreadwing hissed as his interface array was uncovered; the air was chilly, the sun lowered to point of casting nearly everything in shadow. This didn't cool Dreadwing off by any means, of course. He was not to be deterred when his master had specifically requested an interface.

Megatron pulled away, his optics dim, panting – and looked at Dreadwing. There was a moment of what seemed like complete silence – Dreadwing was actually holding his breath. He was not small by normal standards, but Megatron's pause had him concerned…and even more embarrassed.

"I apologize for the hesitancy, but…it's been a long time," Megatron said, and Dreadwing just noticed the look of what could only be described as awe on his leader's face. Dreadwing shifted, he discomfort forming into something bearable.

Megatron hadn't been filled in some time, apparently. As the silver mech slid back his own codpiece, Dreadwing's assumptions were proven true. His lord was impressive, no doubt, but his valve had been clearly lacking any attention. It was to be expected, of course; Starscream's spike probably couldn't please any bot, let alone Megatron.

Dreadwing shoved down the animosity he felt toward the traitorous seeker; now was not the time for bitterness or anger.

He had his lord to thoroughly gratify.

While lost in his heated pleasure with Megatron, Dreadwing – or Megatron for that matter – failed to notice they were being spied upon.

Enraged, but smart enough to remain silent, Starscream turned away, wondering – with a steadily growing ache in his spark – why Megatron had never laughed with him after an overload…

(Ouch...poor Screamer.)