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Many cycles have passed since the emergence of their once tiny, yellow, youngling. Bumblebee is now a nearly grown Bot, so Optimus and Ratchet have found that their Carrier and Sire coding isn't fully offline but rather a secondary instinct- if rarely used at all these days.
The situation Ratchet finds himself in contradicts this idea though, as his frame seems to react even before his processor.
His optics and audio receptors booting up simultaneously brings the sight of his yellow youngling clutched between his arms and soon after the sound of sad chirping, the poor Sparkling- Bot- seems to be desperate for some type of comfort which his Carrier attempts to give with soft rumbles from his engine; something he knows soothed the bot when he was young.
It does the trick as the chirping subsided and his creations optics reboot, bright blue peers up at him and his spark twists at the pitiful sight,
“It’s alright. I’m here-“
A shift from the other side of their comically large berth pauses the old mech as his bonded seems to pull out of recharge slowly, optics flickering a familiar blue but there’s no real evidence of him being awake as his servo clumsily pats their younglings head. The scraping causes Ratchet to wince- There’s definitely some paint transfer from that. It doesn’t seem to bother the Scout who grumbles in contentment from his Sire’s halfaft attention.
“Enough of that,” Optimus’ Servo is pushed to the side as Ratchet turns himself and their Creation to the side, away from the clutches of the half awake Prime who grunts behind him tossing a clumsy arm over the two and slipping back into recharge.
Bumblebee's helm rests against Ratchet's chassis and continues to purr quietly, content. Ratchet returns his call with a deep rumble from his chassis which causes the smaller bot’s optics to flicker off and ease into his carrier's embrace. Ratchet slips into recharge soon after Bumblebee does. They continue to rest well past Ratchet’s preferred time to begin his work. Yet the older bot can’t seem to bring himself to care, even as the nagging in the back of his processor chides himself for his lack of productivity- a smaller but far more dominating directive squashes any thought of disrupting his Creations recharge. Even if his bonded has long left their berthroom with a chaise kiss to his helm and an affectionate pat of their creations helm.
He only allows himself up once his youngling struggles against his grip which he loosens, reluctantly, allowing for the mech to roll off the berth.
“Will we talk about last night?” His question is met with a noncommittal chirp and pedes kicking around nonexistent dirt on his clean berthroom floor, “No, I’m presuming.” The Yellow bot slips from the room, though not before pulling playfully on the bond between him and his carrier, appreciation and love seeping through their connection- vague confusion prods through from the Sire which quickly morphs into happiness, enjoying being included.