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There were times where Windblade was able to see both of her lovers— the tiniest window between the day and night cycles, or night and day, though the order didn’t particularly matter to her. All that did was the sight of scarred, blue plating, or rugged pink, and everything else melted away.
Chromia almost always came into their apartment first, holding her axe from her latest exhibition fight. The combat in the scenarios was for play, never intended to hurt— but sometimes Chromia bore dents, bruises, even scratches (when she fought her rival, Howlback). Windblade always fussed, always bandaged her arms and legs— Chromia would briefly protest, but always give in. However strong she was, she was weak for Windblade’s care— and the brushes of lacquered lips against her plating were a bonus, after all.
Arcee came in a bit later, always proud, her mouth always twisted askew from the worries of the day (being a Knight, particularly a commander, took a lot out of her). Her optics softened slightly at Windblade, who ran up to her, took the scabbards off of her hips, lead her to the couch, where Chromia had long been sitting. Chromia and Arcee would exchange an amused, but loving glance, and Windblade would fetch them energon.
Almost every time, when she came back, Chromia and Arcee would be tangled up with each other, their kisses rough and competitive, as was their wont. Windblade would scold Arcee for the scratches in Chromia’s paint, but she knew nothing was really meant to hurt.
Chromia would sweep Windblade into her arms, kissing her softly, gently, a hint of teasing in her embrace. Windblade couldn’t help but laugh, and Arcee would trace her ailerons lightly.
Interface was uncommon for them— Chromia was never in the mood after her fights, and Arcee preferred to give her sparkmates soft spoken attention— but Windblade didn’t mind. There was always time for that on their longer days together. For now, it was good enough to watch Cybertron’s light come to life through the windows, whether the sun was setting or rising— cuddled together in recharged, or exchanging soft words.