B is for Beg
There have been moments in their time together when Carrion has felt that he will certainly die; struggles of personality or opinion that ended with him pinned by the other, snarling and hissing at each other. It pained his spark to fight his bond-mate, and yet so often that was what they resorted to. It was much safer than acknowledging any of the softer things involved in a bond.
But ohh, it hurt now, pinned again but in a different way; claws digging at his mate's shoulders and trying to hold him up, trying to assess the damage and see a way that it might be repaired before the faint light of his spark whickered out for good.
It hurt so terribly to think that he'd refused to voice his devotion, that they had spent their last moments before battle in fierce argument. But that was how it always went with them, when they knew a fight was coming. They fought, or they interfaced. Only the easy things, never acknowledging the dread they could both feel, or the concern, or that bright, undefined thing that spread between them as they bonded.
"Don't go," he murmurs, clutching on to Starscream's armor. His vocals have adapted a higher pitch than normal, pleading. "Please don't do this, let me fix it, just stay, stay."
And yet it twists inside him, the way his mate only stares at him through faded optics, engine laboring, spark fading. There is too much damage and not enough time, and that's why he's just holding on and not trying to repair him any more. Because there is nothing he can do but beg.
