The pain of claws digging into his armor barely registers. Megatron merely makes an irritated noise. If he hand't been drugged, it wouldn't have done much to help the tank along. Of course the old Megatron had thrived on that pain. Yet the claws hooking on sensitive plating has him making a strangled noise all the same.

His optics flicker offline, static lacing his voice s more grunts and groans spill from his mouth. Tarn can hope things haven't changed, but they have. A year and a half isn't long to them and even if Megatron's frame shudders from hearing the title added to his name... It's not real. It never will be again.

Megatron's hands shift to Tarn's thighs, willing them to part further as he rocks up into the other tank.