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Deadlock was no stranger to processor-altering substances. He’d done most of what was available on the market, and what he hadn’t done he’d hung out with users of. When you lived in the Dead End, it was rare to find a mech who’d say no to a way to escape their life, even if only for a little while. And yet somehow, nothing compared to the feeling of Hot Rod’s lips on his. He’d tasted the electric bliss of syk, the razor-sharp clarity of circuit speeders, and most everything in between, and somehow, some way, the pretty little mech in his lap was better than all of them combined. Or, well, better than the idea of all of them combined. Some things just didn’t mix well, and he’d woken up in a puddle of his own purged fuel more than once after getting too adventurous.
That was all in the past though. Now he only boosted in battle, and the rest of the time, whenever he started getting the itch, he sought out Hot Rod. He wasn’t sure how the mech did it, how his field made Deadlock’s tingle and glow where they meshed, how his kiss made even the drab, utilitarian rooms of Decepticon bases feel as warm and inviting as every cafe he’d never been allowed to enter. “You’re magic, y’know that?” Deadlock mumbled when they parted to give their vents room to work.
“Magic, huh?” Hot Rod grinned, leaning in again and caressing Deadlock’s finials. “What makes you say that?”
Deadlock felt his face screw up as he searched for the words, and Hot Rod pulled away slightly, worry cutting the intoxicating warmth of his field. “Deadlock, are you high?” he asked cautiously. Deadlock shook his helm, lifting his hands slowly and carefully to cup Hot Rod’s perfect face.
“Just on you.” he murmured, but when he leaned in for another kiss Hot Rod turned his helm to avoid it.
“Please, ‘Lock.” he projected his worry more strongly. “You know I hate ‘facing you when you’re using.”
“I’m not.” he swore, pushing his sincerity against Hot Rod’s building concern. “You can check my ports, if you want.”
“Then what’s wrong with you?” Hot Rod squirmed free of Deadlock’s hold and scooted in close again, his hands cupping Deadlock’s face, fingers just brushing the forward edges of his audials. “You’re acting weird.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” he insisted, lifting his hands to cover Hot Rod’s. “It’s just you.”
“I don’t understand.” Hot Rod frowned, and Deadlock’s spark wrenched in its casing, making his badge incision throb.
“It’s being with you.” he said, trying to find the words to describe what it was like. “When we’re like this, when you kiss me, it’s-” he waved a hand vaguely. “It’s better than anything.”
“Wait.” Hot Rod’s brow furrowed, his lips pursing in a thoughtful, adorable pout. “Are you saying that kissing me... gets you high?”
“Better than.” Deadlock nodded. “It’s like ferilate. Or, y’kno, how the mechs I knew in the Dead End described it.” he traced from Hot Rod’s hands up to his shoulders, then down his sides, dragging his claws carefully over very seam he encountered on the way. “Like the world is a brighter, warmer place. Like nothing matters but you and me.”
“Is that why you agreed to-” Hot Rod gestured between them, evidently struggling to describe their relationship without words, since they’d both been adamant about not naming it.
“No.” Deadlock shook his helm. “It started after that.” he curled his hands around Hot Rod’s hips, keeping his grip firm but light. “I think it’s because we’re together. Because of how I feel about you.”
Hot Rod’s helm tilted, his field rippling with something Deadlock couldn’t read. “And you said it only happens when we’re making out, not when we’re fragging?”
“Mostly, yeah.” Deadlock nodded. Fragging was too physical, kept him grounded in his own frame. But there were moments during it, when his name fell from Hot Rod’s lips laden with subglyphs bordering on reverent or Hot Rod overloaded on his command, that he got flashes of the super-saturated warmth that sated the itch under his plating like nothing else.
There was a moment of silence as Hot Rod stared at him, then his lovely little firecracker threw his helm back and laughed. “You dolt.” he beamed when the ringing laughter petered out, and Deadlock jolted at the press of Hot Rod’s lips to his. “I love you too.”
“Too?” Deadlock blinked, too dazed by the sudden rush of warmth in Hot Rod’s field to do much more than hold onto his hips and keep them both steady.
“You’re not feeling high, you dipstick. You’re in love.” Hot Rod giggled, pressing another kiss to his lips. “And I love you too.”
“Oh.” Deadlock blinked, then leaned in to nuzzle against Hot Rod’s audial with a quiet purr. “I love you, Hot Rod.” he murmured, testing out the feel of the glyphs in his mouth. Hot Rod shivered, and Deadlock hummed as he pressed a kiss to the shell of Hot Rod’s audial. “I love you.” he repeated, layering the word Love with subglyphs for how intense his feelings were. Hot Rod gasped and clutched at his chest, crushing closer, field flaring with heady affection.
“Love you, Hot Rod.” he purred, and Hot Rod let out a soft cry, frame going taut and trembling in his lap. If that was what it was like to share the way Hot Rod made him feel, then he was going to do so as often as he could manage. Say it over and over until Hot Rod was a whimpering pile of armour in his lap.
“Berth.” Hot Rod demanded, and Deadlock chuckled.
“I love when you’re bossy.” he nipped at Hot Rod’s lower lip as he stood. No time like the present to see how much of this feeling he could pass on to Hot Rod.