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The kisses were chaste.
One on the crest, one on the nose, and one on the cheek.
It had Rodimus laughing, shoving Drift away as he pointed his training sword at his amica, their lesson now shifting from serious teaching to playful sparring and wrestling.
Ratchet sat on the side against a wall, resting on the floor with his legs sprawled out in front of him as he worked through another datapad. His optics were starting to cross as he reread the same paragraph of legal medical jargon, so he placed it down onto the pile next to him as he refocused his attention to the two speedsters.
This had become the rhythm of their lives post dimensional jump, after a few notable moments during the first few initial centuries. Ratchet and Drift had properly gotten bonded shortly after the first jump, their conjunx ceremony being a mix of traditional Spectralism and modern Earthian customs. He looked down fondly at the “wedding band” traced with intricate Spectralist glyphs that adorned his servo, a matching pair glinting off of Drift’s own servo as he maneuvered Rodimus around the mats.
Drift and Rodimus finalized their amica-ship after sorting out their relationship in private. They had so much to talk about after their return from Drift’s exile, but after a few years of working through it all, Ratchet had never seen a closer pair. They were practically attached at the hip, and it relieved a pressure in his spark, knowing that their communication had gotten better, and their respective masks had been tossed aside because of it.
Ratchet hated the facades the two wore in their original dimension, the one they used to “impress” or “fit in,” as if any of that mattered when they were both perfectly impressive already. And even if they still brought up those masks around other people, it was never as heavy handed as it once was.
But he liked moments like these the most, when both had their masks down and he could see them truly, their fields alight and optics sparkling without worry what someone might think of them in the moment. Though it didn’t start out so smoothly, trying to balance out these new found relationships.
At first, Rodimus and Ratchet had juggled Drift back and forth from one another during his off shifts, the two still avoiding each other after their rocky relationship prior to the jump. It quickly became a problem as Drift never really had time for himself, even if he did adore his conjunx and amica. Slowly, they had transitioned into sharing moments with Drift all together, starting with hangouts in public places like Swerve’s or the observation decks, before shifting to more private get togethers in his and Drift’s habsuite for movies and games.
It eventually led to a comfortable “shared space” kind of hangout, where all three of them could focus on something different while in the company of one another. Which led to moments like now, where Ratchet could tote along office work or medical journals from the current dimension, to read and work on while the two burned off energy sparring, playing, or socializing.
They frequented several places for their shared off shifts; sometimes the training room, sometimes Swerve’s, sometimes his and Drift’s habsuite, and just recently, Rodimus’ habsuite.
It was a rhythm he never thought he’d come to like, or even look forward to. But the feeling of Drift’s servo around his waist and Rodimus’ thigh pressing against his own while they chatted up company at Swerve’s, or the way they shoved the snack bowl into his arms and settled next to him on the couch for a movie, or the way he’d fall into recharge in Rodimus’ berth while the two sat at the foot of it playing video games surrounded by the almost ridiculous amount of pillows and blankets Rodimus owned, fully engulfed in Rodimus’ scent and the two speedster’s playful fields —
Well.
He pulled up his legs to his chest, hugging them as he rested his chin on his knees, watching the two grapple at each other.
Drift was light on his pedes, quick and lithe in his movements, but strong and steady all the same. Rodimus wasn’t half bad either, his moves more lending to that of a boxer, stable in his stance, and powerful in his actions.
Somehow it culminated in them toppling each other, rolling around on the training room floor, their laughs and engine growls echoing around them as Drift managed to pin the other first. There, Drift stole one last chaste kiss, this time on their captain’s lips before pulling away to stand and collect their swords. Rodimus remained lying down, optics shut off and a content grin on his face as he accepted his defeat in their little tussle.
Ratchet watched, helm tilting as he felt a twinge in his spark at the gesture.
At first, he thought ‘jealousy towards Rodimus’ was what he was feeling, his cheeks tinting just the slightest pink at the way those two were smiling and panting as they crawled off one another. But he shook that thought away as quickly as it came.
It wasn’t that at all.
Drift was his conjunx, and there had never been a day since their confessions to one another that Ratchet felt Drift’s love for him to feel disingenuous. Rodimus was also objectively a kind and sweet mech — not one thought had crossed Ratchet’s mind post their return from exile that Rodimus didn’t care deeply for his and Drift’s happiness.
Drift and Rodimus’ relationship with one another was wholly unique, one that could only be described as a true Amica Endurae bonded, just as his relationship with Drift could only be described as Conjunx Endurae bonded. He had no worries about the two speedsters fooling around with one another, knowing full well that Drift’s love for Rodimus was simply different from his love for Ratchet.
So no, the pang in his spark wasn’t jealousy.
Rodimus rolled over onto his side, helm propped up on his arm as he spoke to Drift as he cleaned up around him. Rodimus locked optics with Ratchet and his smile softened, his other servo raising to give the medic a small wave.
It had Ratchet’s faceplate shifting into a soft smile in return, his face flushing a deeper pink and field flickering with adoration as he rested his cheek against his knee – before catching himself.
It was definitely not jealousy.
He sat up straight, turning to look away and reset his vocalizer as he collected his datapads into his subspace. He was about to stand as he picked up the last datapad, only to brush his hand over a golden one as Rodimus picked it up instead, his other servo lacing around Ratchet’s waist to help him up.
And perhaps it was Rodimus still coming down from his training high, but he easily lifted Ratchet off the ground and placed him upright with only one arm before handing him the datapad. Rodimus gave Ratchet a quick pat on the shoulder before jogging off towards where Drift was patching up his paint, wanting his amica to patch him up too.
It left Ratchet steaming, his fans rattling with the force of him manually shutting them down.
He knew Rodimus was strong, but to so easily pick up a war-grade medic like that had his processor running a million miles a second.
He shook off the thought, subspacing the last datapad before joining the two. His mind mellowed as he focused on repairing their sparring damage, chastising both of them for being so rough with one another.
Though as he worked, helm down to focus on his conjunx’s arm, he was sure he needed some recharge since all he could feel was Rodimus’ gaze on him. It left his plating feeling hot, his spark spinning hard in its casing.
He’d need to talk to Drift after this.