'Relaxing' isn't quite the word he'd use to describe this touching, although he could certainly attribute it to the alcohol. He's had vaguely similar feelings before, but this is different. It's more intense, especially when combined with this conversation, which is more than he's said to anyone... more than anyone has asked him to say. She seems legitimately interested in him, which is so alien to him that it somehow makes this touch that much... less relaxing.

Humanity is strange.

"Before the war started, the bureaucrats in Iacon were just stunningly ineffectual and motivated entirely by self-interest. It was absolutely pathetic how little could ever be accomplished - even something as simple as infrastructure repair, fixing bridges, for slag's sake... our so-called leaders would find a way to extort favors from the poor groundslave saps who just needed to get to their workstations. It was appalling. Cybertron as a society was directionless and spinning its wheels."

A sigh, as his thumbs gently stroke over her palms. As if the touch helps him draw the courage to keep speaking.

"Megatron offered a different way. His reputation was legend, how he rose up from gladiatorial pits to take over his own territory from the worthless malfos who would force mechs into combat to the death for their amusement. When he was expanding, his philosophy was that anyone who joined him could help the cause of taking power from these greedy glitches and distributing it among us based on merit. Earning it. Bringing purpose to a stagnant world. It sounded like the right thing to do."