Impactor leaned back against the stone wall as he felt his claws begin to retract, his bones pop as they shrank and realigned; and, licking the gore from his lips,
he tilted his head back and called up into the darkness, “Won’t you hunt with me, Wings?”
A scrape of claws on the stone above was all the warning he received, and then a shadow dropped to the pavement beside him, massive wings folding around a muscular form, like a cloak,
and Megatron’s gravelly voice rasped, “Is that truly the only way you can think for us to spend these rare hours of darkness together?”
“No,” Impactor whispered, grinning ferally, as he trailed fingertips that had been claws up the broad contours of a chest that would soon be stone - but right now, they were both flesh,
and that was all that mattered - “I’m sure I can do a lot better than that.”
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