Tarn wasn't... entirely wrong. Sixshot still has his own will and mind, even after so many years being the tyrant's loyal hound. But Megatron would have just shut him down with that secret little off-switch before he could've done anything, much less oppose their ex-leader.

A heap of good he'd have been, then.

The press of a smooth face against his neck draws Sixshot back from the sudden, deep unhappiness and he cycles air sharply out of his vents. This time, he returns the warm gesture instead of flustering, wrapping his arms around the other mech, fingers sliding along armor seams. A soft click resounds through the small room and then warm lips press against the crack that cut through the crest of Tarn's mask.