It wasn't love, because love didn't exist among their kind. Love was silly, sentimental Autobot drivel, not to be tolerated or even spoken of. To be suspected of love for another was to be a laughingstock; to be caught in love may as well have been a death sentence.
"Love" was too simple a word, anyway.
And it truly wasn't love; it went far, far beyond that. There was nothing romantic about it, or beautiful, or any of the other adjectives usually attached to love.
It was just there -- A complete and total understanding; a yearning to be close and merge into what they were supposed to be, one single being. They weren't meant to be apart. It was a simple fluke that one had become two, not the whim of their creator, not circumstances, not fate. An accident, one that made them rather unique.
…And incomplete as individuals.
They were the exception to the rule: The only Decepticons who eagerly sought one another's company outside of power plays and politics, schemes and treachery. They wanted to be together simply because it felt right to be together. They fought with one another, yes, but never for real; never to damage, for one couldn't survive long without the other.
The others didn't understand. Couldn't understand. There were snickers and rude comments when they unconsciously touched or -worse yet- held hands. Sometimes, their fingers would brush, seeking the closer contact they had no idea how to obtain. Sometimes, a bump of hips, metal sliding on metal, as they passed. Even when they scuffled, brawling on the floor over some insignificant matter, fighting for dominance and control…The touch felt nice. It wasn't enough, but it was a small comfort.
They recharged together, most nights. Sometimes propped against one another, sometimes curled in a tangle of black and red and blue limbs, identical faces pressed close. Another small comfort; even like this they couldn't get close enough.
Their behavior was rarely spoken of openly and they weren't often reprimanded for affectionate displays that were deemed improper or taboo. They were young and they would learn. And besides, as far as those important enough for their opinions to matter were concerned, they were an anomaly and therefore subject to observation, not harsh punishment -- Who really knew what to expect of them? Perhaps these patterns of behavior were normal for twins.
They shared thoughts at times, finished each other's sentences. They were exact mirrors of one another, with only their paint jobs to visually distinguish them. Though they had distinctly different personalities, they were one mind; they were each other. One mind, one voice, one spark.
Two bodies.
No one ever explained to them how to fix it; how to put the two halves of their one spark back together. It never occurred to any one to explain it, because their kind didn't love (they would have vehemently protested that it wasn't love, should any one be so foolish as to suggest it) and joining their split spark back together would only be accomplished through the ultimate act of love.
And so they fumbled through existence, trying to put the pieces together again with awkward touches and stolen moments, struggling to regain something they'd never really had to begin with.