Archive of Our Own

If someone were to ask Orion Pax how he imagined being conjunxed to the love of his life, he certainly wouldn’t have described it like this.

He would’ve described it as a daily, never-ending declaration of love- shared kisses and whispered little nothings every time he caught sight of his mate. A constant stream of affection to feed the sparkbond between him and his conjunx.

Now, Optimus Prime would be lying if he said he didn’t still wish for the same- but he’s older now. A lot less... well, idealistic. A lot more grounded in reality. A lot more mature, even, he'd say...At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

He knows full well that two fully grown, war-hardened, conjunxed bots wouldn’t spend every waking cycle running around with intertwined servos, stealing kisses throughout the entirety of the Cybertronian War as though every day were their last.

The Autobot leader wanted to keep the entire thing under wraps- both the rite itself and their new status as conjunx. Being the Prime's CMO was already dangerous enough, and officially running around as his conjunx would only make the crosshairs on Ratchet's helm that much bigger.

And while Ratchet wanted to protest, he knew Optimus' reasoning was entirely logical.

It didn't mean he had to like it. Not that Ratchet had ever been particularly good at hiding his opinions…

He would've loved to wave this particular victory in everyone's faceplates. Especially a certain Decepticon leader's.That after all these vorns, Ratchet had finally won their stupid little tug-of-war over Optimus.

Yes. Ratchet is still that petty over Megatronus. Megatron? Both of them.

And yes, the medic would've paid good shanix to see that tin-head's expression when he'd inevitably dip Optimus into a derma-lock right in front of him and his entire army of Decepticons. A derma-lock so passionate, that it would leave the Autobot leader's helm spinning for cycles afterward.

In the end, they'd both agreed it would be better if they didn't advertise it too loudly. 

But at least some PDA... sometime...every solar cycle or so...would be nice.

It had been a deca cycle since he and Ratchet had completed the conjunx ritus.

And, ever since that one kiss they'd shared after their sparkbond had been completed...

Not much had followed. Especially not a ‘A constant stream of affection to feed the sparkbond between the two conjunxes’.

The rite itself, while nowhere near as grand or extravagant as the ceremonies Orion Pax had heard about back on Cybertron, had been perfect. Perfect for Optimus Prime and Ratchet.

Optimus had Ratchet ground-bridge them to a set of coordinates he'd previously researched. More specifically, the Autobot leader had spent an undisclosed amount of time with Nurse Darby researching said coordinates.

His first choice for such a consultation had, admittedly, been young Miko.

Unfortunately, while he had complete confidence in the girl's enthusiasm, he had considerably less confidence in her ability to keep the rather intimate nature of his request to herself. At least for the time being.

So he turned to Nurse Darby instead. Not only did she have considerably more firsthand experience with human courtship and ‘marriage’- having been ‘married’ herself- but Optimus also trusted her to keep the conversation strictly between the three of them.

Though, June had first been forced to explain the entire concept of human courtship and ‘marriage’ to him.

She'd also had to stop him from rehearsing what was essentially a heartfelt promise to die for Ratchet. (Apparently, proposals were supposed to focus a little less on the dying...and a little more on the living with someone.)

Only then did they begin traversing the deepest, darkest corners of the internet together, researching the ‘Top 10 Most Romantic Places to Propose to Someone.’

Eventually, they settled on a secluded stretch of coastline somewhere along the Caribbean coast of Mexico. Optimus had chosen it because the water in the pictures ‘reminded him of Ratchet's beautiful optics.’

Optimus still flusters at the memory of how Nurse Darby had cooed over what an ‘absolute sap’ the Optimus Prime had apparently turned out to be.

It was a quiet, intimate little moment by the coast. Just for the two of them, as they'd exposed each other's sparks and let them merge into one, sparkbonding at long last after so many stellar cycles. The rite had then been sealed with one final kiss. One so tender it probably would've made Unicron himself shed a tear of lubricant over it.

Millions of stellar cycles spent so close...Yet somehow always so far apart. And now, at last, they united underneath the stars of a planet they had learned to call their new home.

Optimus makes his way down the hallway leading towards the main area of Hangar E with a content expression on his faceplate.

Despite quietly mourning the lack of open companionship from his conjunx, the simple fact that he and Ratchet were now sparkbonded never fails to coax a soft, lovesick smile onto his derma.

He'd been resting in his habsuite by himself when a comm-link from his conjunx had pulled him from recharge almost instantly. The sound of the incoming message alone had him quick on his pedes as he squeezed himself through the doorway.

:: Optimus- are you awake? ::

:: Of course. Is something the matter, old friend? ::

Optimus winced the very moment he sent the message.

Ratchet disliked being referred to as his old friend over their private comm-channel now. Rightfully so, Optimus supposed. It was simply...force of habit.

Millions of stellar cycles spent calling Ratchet ‘old friend’ aren’t exactly easy to overwrite overnight. Optimus is fairly certain it will take his old processors quite some time to fully adjust to the new nature of their relationship.

Fortunately, his beloved medic had always been nothing if not patient with both Orion Pax and Optimus Prime.

Still, Optimus could practically hear the long-suffering ex-vent escape Ratchet's voice-box from across the base.

:: Well- it’s no emergency, but the scanners picked up Decepticon activity. I'd like you to take a look at it before we send someone out to investigate. ::

:: Of course, my dear. I will be with you shortly. ::

(It takes all of Ratchet’s willpower not to let his siren’s howl out over the petname, being able to fight the urge down and settling with a brilliant flush of aqua over his faceplate instead.)

The moment Optimus steps into the main area of Hangar E, Ratchet, who has been studying the signal displayed on the Data Hub in front of him, is quick to turn his helm towards the Prime.

The little antenna atop the medic's back gives an excited jitter the moment he catches sight of Optimus and a small, lovestruck smile settles on his derma as his optics follow the Prime's approach across the room.It’s subtle. Small enough that nobody else would've thought twice about it.

Optimus, however, notices.

The other Autobots, along with their young human companions, are already gathered around Ratchet by the Data Hub, idly discussing the signal- some with considerably more enthusiasm than others at the prospect of finally having a traceable Decepticon life sign again.

Considering it had been the first signal they'd managed to pin down to an actual set of coordinates in several solar cycles, the excitement is understandable.

Miko, Jack, and Rafael have settled themselves along the yellow, elevated boardwalk stretching across most of the hangar. Miko, much to Ratchet's horror, had perched herself atop the railing as though the several-feet drop below simply didn't exist, apparently having far too much confidence in the assumption that Bulkhead would somehow launch himself halfway across the hangar to catch her if she did fall. (Which he probably would, knowing Bulkhead...)

Ratchet would vehemently deny it if anyone asked, but his optics keep flicking back to her every other klik just to make sure she hadn't decided to test gravity's patience the second he looks away.

Jack merely leans against the railing beside her, perfectly content to let Miko tempt fate on her own, while Rafael sits near the edge, his legs dangling over the side as he peers down at the Data Hub's display with his insatiable curiosity.

A few feet away, Smokescreen is enthusiastically running through the battle maneuvers he'd been practicing with BumbleBee, visibly excited at the prospect of finally getting to ‘kick some 'Con aft again,’ to which BumbleBee eagerly agrees with an enthusiastic chorus of beeps, excited whirrs, and clicks from his voice-box.

That excitement lasts exactly one look from Ultra Magnus standing beside them and the two youngest Autobots immediately discover an overwhelming fascination with the floor beneath their pedes.

Optimus settles beside Ratchet and leans down slightly to properly read the glyphs displayed across the Data Hub, his optics shuttering thoughtfully as they scan over the coordinates.

Arcee uncrosses her arms and inches closer as well. Apparently, despite being considerably better at hiding her restlessness than Smokescreen and BumbleBee, she seems eager too, judging by the way her engines give the faintest rev as her pink-and-blue optics skim over the screen.

"Can't say I'm exactly happy to see the 'Cons on the move again," she half-lies, side-glancing Optimus, who seems entirely engrossed in studying the coordinates himself.

At least, that's what Arcee assumes.

In reality, Optimus is fighting the overwhelming urge to glance over at his conjunx, who now happens to be considerably closer to eye level than his processor would like to acknowledge...Closer to kissing range.

Still, he keeps his composure.

At least marginally better than Ratchet, who, judging by the way the medic stubbornly refuses to look anywhere but the Data Hub despite the occasional twitch of his antenna, appears to be losing the exact same battle with his own processor.

Bulkhead pipes up then, elbowing Wheeljack beside him with an excited laugh rumbling from his voice-box. "Leave it up to us Wreckers to scare 'em into hiding, huh? Last time we got 'em they scrambled away like a buncha sparklings!"

Wheeljack merely quirks an optical ridge before gesturing toward Miko with his thumb-digit.

"Let's give credit where it's due, Bulk. That was all her last time. We should really bring her along more often if it gets us a couple solar cycles off every time we let her loose on 'em."

Miko throws both hands into the air at the praise, very nearly taking a tumble straight off the railing in the process if it weren't for Jack catching hold of her arm just in time.

"Finally! My genius is being appreciated-"

"Absolutely not, Wheeljack. The only reason Miss Nakadai was there in the first place was because of your irresponsibility. I refuse to let her be endangered like this again under my supervision, unless strictly necessary." 

Ultra Magnus cuts in from across the hangar, his arms firmly crossed over his chassis, his finials twitching back in irritation. The reprimand does very little to Wheeljack, whose smirk only seems to grow, while poor Bulkhead appears to shrink into his own frame ever so slightly beneath the Commander's stern tone. Miko merely groans in frustration, grumbling something about ‘Ol’ Mags being worse than her old piano teacher.’

"Oh, come on, sir," Wheeljack replies a bit too smoothly, his optical ridge quirked teasingly as he leans back against one of the consoles connected to the Data Hub and crosses one pede over another. "Don't act like she didn't save your aft back then as well." 

His turquoise optics flick up and down Ultra Magnus’ frame for a mere nano-klik followed by him biting his bottom derma, a notion no one but the Commander himself seems to notice, considering the way his faceplate flushes a faint blue at being so boldly checked out.

"Would you kindly refrain from commenting on my-"

"Eyip, yip, yip- would all of you pipe down, for Primus' sake? This is serious! We-"

Ratchet's irritated tirade cuts itself short the very moment he feels Optimus' massive servo settle gently against the small of his back. The little antenna atop his medical pack straightens almost instantly at the contact, as though it were anything new to them.

In some ways...it is.

They are conjunxed now, after all. And somehow, a touch from one's conjunx feels entirely different from one shared between two ‘old friends.’

"I will go alone."

A chorus of surprised gasps and disappointed groans follows Optimus' decision.

One Ratchet is very much against, judging by the way his optics flicker with instant frustration. The comforting servo resting against his back is all but forgotten now, neatly shoved to the back of his processor in favor of loudly judging his conjunx's decision to run off into battle alone. Again.

"Ab-so-lutely not, Optimus. That is far too dangerous. It could very well be a trap for all we know!"

"Or a misread from our scanners," Rafael pipes up from his perch above Ratchet.

The glare the young boy receives from the medic is immediate, entirely undeserved, and, judging by the complete lack of reaction, utterly ineffective.

"We've had multiple misreads lately, after all," Rafael continues matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "The scanners here aren't nearly as reliable as the ones back at Omega One."

"Precisely, Rafael," Optimus agrees, nodding his helm, his finials twitching upwards slightly. "In addition to our faulty scanners, our energon reserves have been running rather low as of late. Opening a ground-bridge for a signal well within flying range would be an unnecessary expenditure."

To emphasize his point, the Prime gives the wings mounted along his Jetpack the slightest flick.

Ratchet remains entirely unconvinced. The medic quickly steps in front of Optimus, both servos spread wide as though he somehow intends to physically prevent a 40-ft tall Prime from leaving.

"Ah-pap-pap! Still! Going alone isn't smart, Optimus! You could get hurt, and patching you back together would be a bigger waste of energon when all of it could've been avoided if you'd simply taken backup with you!"

"...Or an even bigger waste if someone else gets hurt too," Jack adds dryly. The teenager regrets opening his mouth almost immediately as Ratchet's glare finds him next.

The medic groans, pinching his nasal bridge between two digits while his free servo gestures wildly through the air, the little antenna atop his medical pack wagging in growing irritation.

"Why is everyone so quick to let you run off on your own, Optimus? Am I the only sensible bot around here?!"

Miko kicks her legs over the edge of the railing and blows a raspberry at Ratchet’s tethering.

"Oh, relax, Ratchet! As if some random 'Con could ever land even a single hit on Optimus Prime 2.0. Even if it is a trap, he'll just fly in there and slice 'em all in half with his saber!"

She enthusiastically demonstrates the motion with both arms and very nearly pitches herself off the railing again with the force of her animated flailing of limbs. The medic swiftly lifts his arm underneath the railing and pushes Miko further from the edge, an annoyed expression still present on his faceplate. 

Optimus chuckles. A beautiful sound. A very beautiful sound, in Ratchet's very unbiased opinion.

Beautiful enough that the medic finally turns to watch the way Optimus' expression softens fondly as he looks toward the children.

"While I perhaps wouldn't phrase it exactly as young Miko did..." Optimus begins, the corners of his derma lifting ever so slightly, "...you needn't worry about me, old friend."

Ratchet's antenna gives one sharp, irritated flick at the two words.

"I will call for backup if I need it and approach the signal with caution. I promise."

His optics settle back onto Ratchet as he gently rests a comforting servo against the medic's shoulder pauldron.

Ratchet's and Optimus' gazes lock firmly, the two silently staring one another down for a few long kliks. To anyone else, it probably looks as though the Autobot leader and his CMO are silently trying to convince one another to budge from their respective standpoints.

In reality they've both simply gotten lost in the shades of blue of the other's optics.

Ratchet is the first to break. With a defeated groan, he rolls his optics before shrugging Optimus' servo from his shoulder pauldron. Muttering something thoroughly unrepeatable beneath his vent, the medic turns sharply on his heel and stomps toward the open hangar doors, making straight for the landing strip outside.

Optimus can only ex-vent affectionately. His optics linger on Ratchet's retreating frame a few kliks longer than they probably should, his optical ridges lowering ever so slightly as his finials tilt back with unmistakable fondness.

Eventually, he tears his gaze away and turns back toward the rest of the Autobots.

"Remain on standby in case I require backup."

A mix of ‘Yes, Sir's,’ nods, and more than a few disappointed groans follows the order. Left with little else to do, the Autobots gradually disperse, some retreating toward their habsuites while others simply find ways to occupy themselves around the base.

Optimus, however, heads in the same direction Ratchet had disappeared to.

The late afternoon sun settles pleasantly across his frame the moment he steps outside. His finials twitch at the gentle drag of the wind over the folded wings of his jetpack.

It's still a fairly new sensation. The feeling of the air gliding over his frame whenever he takes flight.

It’s Pleasant. Exhilarating, even and Optimus is slowly beginning to understand why Seekers take such immense pride in their ability to fly.

Ratchet stands several feet farther down the landing strip, his arms tightly crossed over his chassis, just far enough from the open hangar doors that the two of them aren't immediately visible to the Autobots still milling about inside.

The medic doesn't acknowledge Optimus' approach, his gaze remains fixed stubbornly on the horizon, somewhere in the vague direction of the Decepticon signal, as though glaring hard enough might somehow convince the Decepticons to stop trying to lure Optimus away from him.

"Ratchet, I-"

"Just... go, before I change my mind."

Ratchet cuts him off swiftly, leveling his conjunx with a glare, although it lacks much of the fire from before. His aqua optics betray him, flickering softly with affection and concern despite themselves, his faceplate lightly dusted in blue.

Optimus' derma curls into another smile as he steps closer, tilting his helm ever so slightly to simply...look at his beloved medic for a klik or two.

Ratchet's optical ridges furrow beneath the attention, his blush darkening another shade. The little antenna atop his medical pack gives a nervous jitter before curling slightly at the tip.

"What?" he grumbles. "Do I have something on my faceplate? What're you looking at me like that for?"

Optimus merely hums, shaking his helm. His own optics half-shutter, his finials lowering as warmth quietly finds its way onto his own faceplate as well.

"Can a bot not simply admire his conjunx's handsome faceplate?"

The words are spoken so matter-of-factly they somehow end up sounding even more like teasing in Ratchet’s audials.

Ratchet's expression immediately twists into one of utter, horrified fluster. The antenna atop his back begins twisting into itself with abandon while the warning blinkers lining his shoulder pauldrons and thighs flicker to life for the briefest of moments.

His sirens come dangerously close to joining them but thankfully, the medic catches himself just in time, sparing himself the impossible task of explaining that to everyone still inside the hangar.

"Oh, shut it..." Ratchet groans, covering the lower half of his faceplate with one servo while dismissively waving Optimus away with the other. "I don't want to hear it, Optimus. I'm still angry at you-"

He's caught off guard all over again when his waving servo is suddenly caught by one considerably larger than his own.

Somewhere between Ratchet glaring at the ground beneath his pedes and trying very hard not to think about just how handsome his conjunx looked in the afternoon light, Optimus had somehow knelt down until their optics were on the same level.

"I will be careful, Ratchet. I promise."

Primus...Ratchet hates how unfairly soft Optimus' voice becomes whenever he speaks to him like that.

It makes his spark want to melt. Worse still...He's fairly certain Optimus can feel it. The rapid, fluttering rhythm of Ratchet's spark echoes inside Optimus' own sparkchamber, the strange little privilege that comes with being sparkbonded.

Their faceplates are only inches apart now and Ratchet suddenly finds it remarkably difficult to remember how venting works.

His optics dart helplessly between Optimus' half-shuttered gaze and the Prime's derma, only to snap away again before inevitably wandering right back.

"You..." Ratchet murmurs softly. "You and your stupidly self-sacrificial...ever-responsible... beautiful self, Prime." He ex-vents quietly. "You're going to be the death of me one of these solar cycles..." Without realizing it, Ratchet leans forward the tiniest fraction and Optimus does the same.

‘I want to kiss him.’ The urge pushes through their sparkbond at the exact same moment, making it impossible to tell who felt it first. ‘So badly.’

But they don't. Instead, they simply look at one another for what seems like stellar cycles.

Optimus' digits twitch ever so slightly around Ratchet's servo and the medic’s antenna answers by curling into the tiniest little heart.

Neither of them knows what exactly is holding them back.

Perhaps it was the embarrassment of being seen by one of the other Autobots.

Or perhaps it was the ever-present danger that Megatron might one day discover the truth and use it against them. Kidnapping Ratchet as leverage against the Prime would be a far more effective strategy since the medic wasn't merely the Autobot leader's oldest friend, or his CMO anymore, but now his conjunx as well.

Threatening to hurt Ratchet out of sheer jealousy over having somehow ‘lost’ to the medic and Optimus coming in to rescue him- Okay, that last part was admittedly wishful thinking on Ratchet's part.

The medic simply enjoys imagining Megatron stumbling upon the scene, immediately realizing Ratchet had won their millions-of-stellar-cycles-long tug-of-war over Optimus and becoming absolutely insufferably jealous over it.

"I should go."

Ratchet reluctantly nods his helm, his optics flicking away back towards the floor."...Yes…Be careful, Optimus."

A soft smile returns to the Prime's derma as the Autobot leader rises back to his full height. "Of course, old friend. I will be back soon."

Ratchet's antenna gives one last, thoroughly offended flick as he watches his conjunx take off toward the horizon, his massive frame becoming smaller and smaller the farther away he flies.

Ratchet doesn't look away until Optimus disappears from sight entirely, and even then he remains where he is, staring at the horizon and absently mulling over how the particular shade of blue reminds him far too much of his conjunx's pretty optics.

After a few breems, the medic ex-vents, somewhere between defeat, exhaustion, and being so thoroughly, hopelessly spark-sick that he'd rather not think about it too hard. Eventually, he turns back toward the hangar, making his way over to his trusted Data Hub.

Just in case Optimus ends up needing that ground-bridge after all.

The moment Ratchet rounds the corner toward his medbay and lifts his optics from the servo Optimus had so gently held only breems earlier...

...he immediately regrets coming back so soon.

The main area of the hangar is practically empty, save for two Autobots who have apparently decided that the med-berth sitting directly between Ratchet's Data Hub and the entrance to his medbay is the perfect place to occupy themselves.

Wheeljack has somehow managed to get himself pinned against the med-berth by none other than Ultra Magnus.

To be fair, the fact that it's the two of them doesn't actually surprise Ratchet all that much.

He'd been aware they'd started courting one another long before he and Optimus had ever even considered conjunxing. Pits, Ratchet himself had helped Wheeljack build the Commander's new prosthetic servo, and he is fairly certain the Wrecker hadn't spent that many solar cycles painstakingly crafting an entirely new fragging limb purely out of the goodness of his spark.

No. The surprise is where they've decided to court one another.

Right in front of Ratchet's Data Hub. Out in the open. As though there aren't two perfectly good ships parked one slagging hangar away.

"I thought I had made it sufficiently clear that I do not appreciate your incessant teasing in public, Wheeljack," Ultra Magnus says, sounding no less composed despite currently looming over the considerably smaller Wrecker, right between the latter’s thighs no less. "Unlike you, I have a reputation to uphold as Optimus' second-in-command."

"Oh, spare me the lecture, sweetspark," Wheeljack snorts, one pede tracing the side of Ultra Magnus’ leg playfully. "We both know it gets your engines going whenever I-"

Ultra Magnus' finials snap backward and his faceplate explodes into a brilliant shade of blue. And, just as Wheeljack had so confidently predicted, the unmistakable rumble of revving engines rolls through the Commander's frame.

His expression, impressively enough, remains almost perfectly stoic. Wheeljack, meanwhile, looks unbearably pleased with himself.

The Wrecker simply leans farther back against the berth, propping himself up on both servos as his helm tilts upward to meet Magnus' gaze. His own finials flicker with a cheerful turquoise while the little winglets on his back twitch excitedly.

"See?" Wheeljack grins. "Got ya aaaall worked up just like that, sir…~ "

With absolutely no regard for his Commander's rapidly deteriorating composure, Wheeljack reaches forward, hooks a servo around Magnus' wide chassis, and tugs him even closer, his pedes wrapping comfortably around the larger bot's slender waist.

"Wheeljack, I am not-"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Ratchet's voice cuts cleanly through the medbay.

Both Autobots freeze, their helms whip toward the medic in perfect synchronization.

Ultra Magnus' finials stand straight upright and Wheeljack's flash a brilliant turquoise.

"I am going to pretend this never happened," Ratchet says matter-of-factly as he squeezes past Ultra Magnus to reach his Data Hub, not even sparing either of them more than a passing glance. "I am also going to pretend that you two didn’t almost start fragging in my medbay, and that I never saw either of you here in the first place..."

He powers up the machine.

"...provided you take..." Ratchet gestures vaguely toward the pair with one servo, still refusing to look away from the monitor. "...whatever this is..."

Only then does he glance over his shoulder pauldron, leveling Wheeljack with a thoroughly unimpressed stare before his aqua optics drift toward Ultra Magnus, who has somehow already managed to stand ramrod straight beside the berth, looking every bit the disciplined second-in-command as if he hadn’t pinned Wheeljack onto Ratchet's med-berth mere kliks earlier.

"...out of my medbay and somewhere no other unfortunate soul has to witness it."

Wheeljack ex-vents, trying very hard to sound ever confident and aloof, though the slight tremble beneath it betrays just how charged the Wrecker actually is over having been caught.

And Ratchet prays to Primus and the Thirteen, pits, even Unicron at this point, that it's only embarrassment...and not because being caught awakened something in Wheeljack.

Ratchet would rather not think about that possibility.

Wheeljack pushes himself off the berth and tugs Ultra Magnus along with him. The Commander, meanwhile, seems to be struggling to decide whether an apology or an excuse would be more appropriate, his intake opening and closing as he attempts to piece together coherent speech like a newly forged sparkling.

"You couldn't have just waited another breem or two, doc...?"

"Wheeljack. Out."

Ratchet's antenna gives one sharp, irritated twitch and it is, apparently, all the warning the Wrecker needs.

The pair hurriedly make themselves scarce and Ratchet is fairly certain they're heading in the general direction of Hangar F.

Good, anywhere but here. Ratchet has work to do, after all.

The hangar falls quiet again.

Only then does the embarrassment of what he'd just walked in on finally catch up with him.

Heat creeps across Ratchet’s faceplate as, entirely against his will, his processor begins replaying the scene...

Only this time, it quietly replaces the two bots occupying it.

He imagines himself instead.

Pinned against the med-berth beneath Optimus…it is his medbay, after all…

…His conjunx looming over him, not with the stern expression he so often wears in front of the others, but with that impossibly soft, loving smile reserved for Ratchet, and Ratchet alone.

...Or perhaps the other way around.

Admittedly, pinning Optimus to the berth would prove somewhat more difficult, considering the rather significant size difference between them.

Still...The thought of having his conjunx beneath him, utterly at the mercy of Ratchet's undying affection...It makes the medic's spark ache.

He wants that.

Not the berth. Not even the stolen moments.

He simply wants to stop pretending.

He wants to show everyone- himself, Optimus, the entire fragging universe- just how much they mean to one another.

How much Ratchet loves his Prime, His conjunx, with every last fragment of his spark.

So why...Why is it so difficult? Would it truly be so terrible if at least some-bots knew?

But why does everyone else seem allowed to be openly affectionate? To court, to love, to dote on their partners without a second thought...

Arcee had done so with Cliffjumper (Admittedly in her own, very Arcee-ish way, but still…). Nurse Darby and Agent Fowler certainly aren’t shy about it. And now even Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack, of all bots, apparently have little to no reservations courting one another in public.

Yet Ratchet waits millions of stellar cycles for the bot he loves, only to spend the rest of them pretending none of it exists. 

It’s simply not fair.

Ratchet huffs, his optics shuttering with frustration as he drags a servo down his flushed faceplate. His antenna twists and curls into increasingly elaborate shapes while he firmly shoves both his wandering daydreams and his growing jealousy back into the farthest corner of his processor where they belong.

Eventually, his optics settle back on the glyphs displayed across the Data Hub and onto the coordinates where his conjunx is headed.

His expression softens, his optics half-shuttering as he watches the Autobot signal, his Optimus, closing in on the signal.

He already misses the sound of Optimus' voice, despite having heard it mere breems ago.

‘I hope you're having a better time out there than I am in here, Optimus.’ Ratchet thinks with a wistful ex-vent.

Optimus checks the interface of his energon scanner once more mid-flight, his optics refocusing as he makes sure he's still on course.

Admittedly, the journey toward the coordinates of the Decepticon signal has taken considerably longer than he'd anticipated. The sky around him has long since shifted from a brilliant, mostly cloudless blue to a beautiful mixture of orange and crimson as the setting sun slowly disappears somewhere behind him.

For one quiet klik, Optimus simply admires the colors.

They remind him of Ratchet's paint. His optics flicker affectionately before he gently redirects his attention back toward the scanner.

The flight has been rather pleasant.

Being alone, high above the ground and so far removed from everyone and everything else, has always been an excellent way to clear his processor. Ever since gaining the ability of flight, Optimus has found himself making use of these little moments of solitude disguised as routine patrols every now and then.

Even so...His spark aches. Not painfully but just enough for him to feel the gentle tug through the sparkbond connecting him to his conjunx.

Ratchet misses him.

A soft smile finds its way onto Optimus' derma.

He misses him too. His Ratchet.

It hasn't even been a full cycle since he'd left the base, and yet all Optimus truly wants is to finish this reconnaissance mission and return home. Perhaps, if he asks nicely enough, he might even convince Ratchet to spend a little while together in one of their habsuites before they settle down for the evening.

Still...Duty comes first.

According to the scanner, the signal originates from a natural park somewhere in the northeastern region of Nevada. The landscape below is littered with steep mountain ranges, winding canyons, sparsely wooded hillsides tucked between thick greenery, and crystal-clear lakes reflecting the warm glow of the evening sun.

Optimus finds himself lamenting that he so rarely has the opportunity to simply admire Earth's beauty. To truly see what they're fighting to protect every single solar cycle.

His thoughts inevitably drift back to Ratchet.

He'd like to bring him here someday. Not here specifically, perhaps...Just...somewhere. Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere the two of them could simply exist together, free from the responsibilities of command, free from the war that had followed them all the way from Cybertron to their new home.

The sharp ping of the scanner pulls Optimus from his wistful thoughts.

He begins descending toward a higher plateau nestled beside a broad waterfall cascading into a crystal-clear lake below. The lake feeds a narrow river that snakes its way across the valley before disappearing into the plains farther in the distance. The area isn't heavily forested; scattered clusters of pine trees and dense shrubbery surround the lake, while wildflowers dot the rocky landscape in vibrant patches.

Under different circumstances...It would've made for a lovely date.

Unfortunately, Optimus' attention is firmly fixed on the signal his scanner continues to display.

The good news? The scanner hadn't been mistaken. Clear traces of residual energon are emanating from somewhere behind the waterfall. And, at least from what he can tell...It isn't a trap.

The bad news? Optimus isn't alone.

Two unmistakable Decepticon signatures appear on the scanner.

With a practiced motion, he subspaces the device before carefully descending the rocky cliffside, taking great care not to draw attention to himself.

He is the only Autobot here, after all. This is a scouting mission, not a raid.

He should call for backup but not before he carefully assesses the situation and learns exactly what they're dealing with. The Decepticons are operating far too close to the Autobots' base for him to risk overlooking even the smallest detail.

The Autobot leader spots a boulder near the edge of the waterfall large enough to conceal his frame and quietly settles behind it. His finials twitch, quickly picking up the unmistakable sound of approaching pede-steps.

Two sets.

One is heavy but deliberate. The other is considerably lighter, its measured pace echoing from what appears to be an energon mine nestled behind the waterfall.

Optimus' optics narrow, his optical ridges pulling into a focused furrow as one of his servos smoothly transforms into its blaster configuration.

Not because he intends to use it. Only because, should the situation deteriorate, he'd rather be prepared than caught off guard.

"I still cannot believe we're sent all the way out here... ack ew ew ew-!" The first voice complains with audible disgust lacing every word before abruptly cutting itself off. The unmistakable sound of a servo vigorously trying to wipe something from polished metal follows soon after. 

"In this…ugh...amalgamation of mud, dirt and...Primus-knows what else there is."

"I think the word you're looking for is called 'nature,' doc-bot," the second voice interrupts playfully. Optimus can practically hear the smile. 

The Autobot leader has heard both voices before and if he isn't completely mistaken, then-

The two Decepticons finally emerge from behind the waterfall, stepping out onto the rocky lakeshore. A sleek, cherry-red sports car and a considerably larger, cobalt-blue battle-worn military truck: Knock Out and Breakdown.

Optimus' finials twitch. He instinctively leans back a little farther behind the boulder, taking care to keep every inch of his frame concealed as the pair isn’t more than 50 feet away from him.

Knock Out stops mid-pede-step and slowly rolls his helm toward his partner, one sharp optical ridge quirked in theatrical disbelief, though the little smirk tugging at his derma betrays any real annoyance. Crossing his arms over his sleek chassis, he leans against a smaller boulder nearby while Breakdown calmly retrieves a device- an energon scanner, by the looks of it- from his subspace.

Thankfully, the larger Decepticon is far more interested in aiming it toward the little energon mine they had just left, than anywhere near the boulder Optimus currently happens to be hiding behind.

"Oh-kay, Breakdown. No need to get all cheeky with me."

Knock Out's red optics leave his partner in favor of the sunset stretching across the horizon.

Breakdown merely lets out a quiet chuckle, never once taking his yellow optic off the scanner.

"Oh? And here I thought you liked it when I got cheeky."

"Of course I do, dear." Knock Out waves one servo dismissively. "I find it very attractive- when it's not directed at me."

"Noted."

Knock Out ex-vents dramatically, allowing his helm to thunk back against the boulder with a thoroughly put-upon groan, his optics sliding shut in exaggerated frustration.

"It's still a waste of time. Coming aaaall the way out here for one long-exhausted, grimy old energon mine. And just when we got our finishes freshened up earlier this solar cycle. Life is truly unfair."

Breakdown finally subspaces the scanner again before reaching over to take his partner's servo in his own. He gently presses his derma against the much smaller, clawed one, humming affectionately as his thumb-digit strokes over Knock Out's talon segments.

"I don't think it's all that bad," Breakdown replies. "This place's nice when you actually slow down and take the time to look at it."

He pauses before quietly stepping around Knock Out, replacing the boulder at the racing car's back with his own chassis so that the two of them now face the sunset together.

Despite the pout still lingering on his derma, Knock Out immediately leans back against the larger bot without so much as a second thought, nuzzling the back of his helm against Breakdown's chassis with a pleased little rumble of his engines.

"I, for one, prefer it over Velocitron."

Knock Out's intake flies open and he tilts his helm upward to gape at Breakdown, wide, scandalized optics staring at the upside-down view of the larger Decepticon.

"...Please tell me you're joking."

Breakdown simply laughs. It's soft and warm. A sound Optimus doesn't think he's ever heard leave the Decepticon's voice-box before.

The blue mech leans down, pressing a gentle peck against Knock Out's helm crest.

"No. I'm serious, Knocks."

He lifts his helm again, yellow optic wandering across the valley stretched out before them.

"The roads are nice. It's not nearly as crowded or loud as back home…" A small smile settles onto his derma. "I actually like some of the little critters running around..."

His optic flicks back toward Knock Out. "...They've got free paint and wax everywhere, just waiting to be taken..."

Knock Out immediately returns the teasing smile, his danger-red optics half-shuttering mischievously. Breakdown chuckles before looking back toward the horizon once more, his arms tightening around the smaller bot, molding the two of them together as if they were never meant to be apart in the first place.

The sun is nearly gone now, brilliant shades of orange and crimson melt together across the sky, reflecting off the polished finish of Knock Out's frame.

"And..." Breakdown says quietly, his smile softening just a little more."...the sunsets are prettier here too."

Knock Out's expression mellows as well, his gaze following Breakdown's single, sun-yellow optic toward the horizon, the corners of his derma curling into a small smile.

He turns his helm ever so slightly, pressing a gentle kiss against his partner's shoulder pauldron.

"Hmmm... okay, okay." He ex-vents quietly. "I'll admit... it was rather nice…before ‘his Lordship’ returned."

The words leave him just a little more bitterly than before. His expression grows distant, yearning, almost wistful even.

One careful talon begins idly tracing little nothings along Breakdown's cobalt blue arm, drawing absent-minded shapes into the freshly polished paint.

"No one to bother us," Knock Out murmurs. "Just us two ...and the endless roads."

He ex-vents heavily, his helm coming to rest against Breakdown once more.

"I miss that."

"Me too, sweetspark..." Breakdown's reply is little more than a quiet murmur, though the servo holding Knock Out's squeezes just a little tighter, lacing their digits together.

They remain like that for a while, simply enjoying each other's presence, their EM fields almost synchronized in slow, calming waves.

Optimus merely watches, his optics widened with equal parts astonished…and strangely relieved.

Of course, he has always known that Decepticons are Cybertronians too. They have lives of their own. Emotions. Hopes and dreams. Motivations. Bots they care for. 

Still...Witnessing two of them so openly affectionate, simply enjoying one another's company while quietly mourning the peace they'd once had...It makes Optimus' spark ache.

He understands them. 

He understands longing for quieter days. For stolen moments together. For a future where duty no longer comes before the bot waiting back home.

Maybe...Just maybe...There are moments where even Decepticons grow tired of fighting.

Moments where the orders, the battles, the endless hunt for Autobots all fade quietly into the background and all they want is to leave. To simply live, like they are now.

Optimus doesn't even realize that his blaster has long since transformed back into a servo until he feels it resting lightly against his own chassis, right over his spark-chamber and he lets it remain there.

The Prime is well aware that this is not a moment meant for his optics. If anything, he'd learned that lesson mere solar cycles ago, courtesy of Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus.

And yet leaving isn't exactly an option, not without revealing himself. So Optimus remains exactly where he is, hidden behind the boulder, quietly witnessing a moment that was never meant for him with a heavy spark, one he is certain Ratchet must be feeling as well.

Knock Out breaks the comfortable silence with an exaggerated groan of frustration as he reluctantly untangles one servo from Breakdown's much larger one, reaching up to press at his little audial finials.

"What's up, Red?"

"Oh, take a wild fragging guess, darling."

Breakdown mirrors the very groan Knock Out had just let out, allowing his helm to thunk back against the boulder behind them. His yellow optic shutters in exasperation before lazily reopening to look down at his partner with a raised optical ridge.

"...What does Screamer want this time?" The annoyance edging his voice is clearly directed toward Starscream rather than Knock Out.

Optimus had heard some time ago that the Seeker had once again allied himself with the Decepticons. And apparently neither Knock Out nor Breakdown had been particularly thrilled about his return.

"He just commed me." Knock Out rolls his optics dramatically before clearing his voicebox. "Quote: 'How much longer are you two lugnuts going to take? Lord Megatron is growing impatient, and if you do not hurry yourselves along, I shall have the both of you explain yourselves to him personally.'"

The medic recites the message in perhaps the most offensively exaggerated Starscream impression Optimus has ever had the pleasure of hearing, interlacing both servos beneath his chin-plate in an almost prayer-like gesture at the mention of Megatron.

Breakdown bursts into hearty laughter, the sound is infectious as Knock Out soon joins in.

The blue bot’s massive shoulder pauldrons bounce with every chuckle as he looks down at his partner with an affectionately half-lidded optic. Knock Out finally melts back into the larger mech's frame with a delighted purr of his engines, nestling himself comfortably between Breakdown's chassis and the crook of his arm. 

Looking up at him, he reaches one careful talon toward Breakdown's angular upper chassis, idly brushing away the thin layer of dust gathered there from their venture into the mine before flicking it aside with practiced offense.

"I swear..." Knock Out ex-vents dramatically, his red optics sharpening with visible offense as his talons meticulously brush another speck of dust from Breakdown's chassis, as though the mere existence of grime on his partner's finish were a personal insult.  "Ever since that glitch-head came crawling back to Megatron on all fours, he keeps sending us on these ridiculous errands just to prove his 'unwavering devotion' to Lord Megatron at our expense!" 

The cherry-red racer drops his servos after using them to air-quote, only to have them immediately return to Breakdown's frame, absentmindedly brushing away lingering traces of filth from the larger mech's armor. He grooms his partner with practiced ease, as though it were simply second nature.

"If he's so desperate to be Big M's little lapdog again, why isn't he out here digging for scrap-energon himself?"

Knock Out pauses dramatically before gesturing indignantly between the two of them. "We're medics, completely overqualified for this scrap." 

His talons continue fussing over a stubborn streak of dirt on Breakdown's shoulder pauldron despite the complaint. "We have far better things to do than lowly dirty work like this."

Breakdown reaches for Knock Out's unoccupied servo once more, lacing their digits together as though he'd never let go in the first place. For a quiet moment, he simply admires the way the setting sun catches on the different shades of silver making up their servos, the way the polished metal gleams warmly against one another.

"Well..." he begins innocently. "Technically...Neither of us are medics."

That earns him a sharp glare, one Breakdown merely returns with a cheeky little smile.

Optimus is fairly certain that, had the larger bot still possessed both optics, he would've winked.

"Oh, don't even start." Knock Out huffs with mock-offense. "I, at least, have a degree. What's your excuse, Mister 'I build race tracks for a living, yet somehow spend every waking nano-klik oogling at a certified surgeon'?"

Breakdown laughs again before gently tugging Knock Out a little closer. His smile morphs into something more playful as he lowers his helm ever so slightly.

“Guilty as charged." A klik passes. "After all..." he murmurs flirtingly against the red bot’s little audial finials and Knock Out’s frame jitters audibly at the tone, "...all I had to do was conjunx Mister 'I'm a cosmetic surgeon who forged his degree and, instead of actually attending med-school, spent all his time oogling right back at said track constructor.'"

Knock Out stares at him for a long klik before sighing dramatically, averting Breakdown's knowing smirk with a mock-offended roll of his optics. The act is entirely betrayed by the faint blue dusting creeping across the racing car's otherwise brilliant white faceplate.

"...Touché, Breakdown..." He ex-vents through a reluctant smile."...Touché."

They settle into a comfortable silence once more. After a few quiet breems, Breakdown starts pursing his derma, his lone optical ridge lowering as though a particularly profound thought has just wandered into his processor.

Knock Out glances up almost immediately, seemingly able to sense the larger mech's thoughtful expression without even having to look and arches one sharp optical ridge.

"What are you thinking about, darling?"

Breakdown's derma slowly curls into a little grin as he looks down at his partner. One servo rises to thoughtfully stroke at his chin-plate, though the gesture is so exaggerated it borders on theatrical.

"Do you think Screamer proves his 'unwavering devotion' to Big M in other ways as well?"

Knock Out shutters his optics once, twice, his expression twisting into one stuck somewhere between surprise and absolute disgust.

Breakdown continues, sounding almost genuinely curious.

"I mean-  the desperation practically oozes out of him every time he's around Megatron. Pits- I've seen pleasure drones back home on Velocitron with more dignity than him."

Knock Out's expression sours ever so slightly at the mere mention of pleasure drones and the implication that his partner has apparently encountered them before. His derma pulls back just enough to expose the sharp fangs of his denta as his free servo -his other still comfortably intertwined with Breakdown's- slides possessively around the larger bot's forearm.

"Okay... first off..." he huffs. "Never mention to me again that you've seen... ugh... pleasure drones before." Knock Out’s frame shivers in disgust ashis little finials twitch downwards.

"Knocks, you know I've never-"

"It doesn't matter." Knock Out cuts him off instantly, hissing at him through his denta. "You don't even need to know they exist when you have me."

The possessive bite creeping into the racing car's voice-box is enough to make even Optimus flinch ever so slightly behind his boulder, his own faceplate warming at the increasingly… suggestive direction the conversation has taken. His finials twitch back a fraction.

Knock Out's expression then slowly melts into a smug little smirk as he reaches up to idly trace the edge of Breakdown's faceplate with one careful talon, the taller bot’s frame shivers at the motion with a delighted rumble of his powerful engines.

"And secondly..." he sighs dramatically. "- Don't even get me started on the number of times I've had to buff the remnants of Starscream's little acts of 'unwavering devotion' off his lanky old frame."

He rolls his optics in disgust at the memory. "It's honestly embarrassing." 

Breakdown nods solemnly, as though everything Knock Out has just said makes perfect sense. He hums thoughtfully, though the teasing note never quite leaves his voice-box.

"Makes sense. Makes sense." He chuckles slyly. "The slagger did look pretty beaten up the other solar cycle. I guess Megatron's tendency for violence applies to more places than just the battlefield, huh?"

He pauses, his optic narrowing in thought and his derma twists in digust. "Pits... d'ya think that-"

Knock Out swiftly intervenes, both servos reaching up to hook around Breakdown's chin-plate and gently tug his helm back down until the larger mech's full attention is firmly back where it belongs. On him.

"Breakdown…~" he coos, the corners of his derma curling upward, his danger-red optics glowing in the darkening evening-atmosphere. "My sweetspark... light of my life... my beloved conjunx endura..."

His talons lazily trace the edge of Breakdown's helm, drawing an affectionate line along the red plating until the larger Decepticon's faceplate blooms with a gentle dusting of blue, his single golden optic drifting half-shut beneath the tender touch.

"...Thinking about Starscream and Megatron's bedside manners is the absolute last thing I want occupying either of our processors..."

His smile grows impossibly more self-satisfied as his voice-box drops into an almost feline purr. "I'd much rather yours be occupied with thoughts of me...~"

Breakdown's frame rattles faintly as his engines pick up in volume, his singular optic narrowing into a teasing slit. Despite the soft blue dusting across his faceplate, a knowing smirk tugs at his derma.

Without another word, he shifts their positions once more around the boulder.

The larger mech now has Knock Out gently pinned against the rock face, looming comfortably over him, his broad frame blocking the last warm rays of the setting sun. Knock Out doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. If anything, he melts further into the space between the boulder and Breakdown's chassis, both servos lazily wandering up and down the larger bot's frame, his talons tracing familiar curves and angular edges with the absentminded ease of someone who'd committed every inch of them to memory millions of stellar cycles ago.

Breakdown leans down until only a few inches separate their faceplates, the warm gold of his optic mixing with the brilliant red of Knock Out's into their own little sunset.

"Then why don'tcha help me get my processor off of them, Red~?" Breakdown murmurs suggestively against the other’s derma. Knock Out shudders and appears to genuinely consider the offer for a klik or two before one servo rises to trace Breakdown's faceplate once more, a reluctant pout settling onto his own.

"Trust me, honey. There’s nothing I would rather do right now…" he ex-vents. "...but Herr Kommandant-"

Breakdown closes the remaining distance for the briefest of kliks, stealing a quick peck before drawing back again.

It's barely enough to count as a kiss and judging by the soft, disappointed whine that escapes Knock Out's voice-box as he instinctively chases after it- it certainly isn't enough for him either.

"- will shut his fragging intake the moment we show up with that neat little energon deposit I've had on the back burner a cycle southwest of here, -" Breakdown begins, his optical ridge wiggling teasingly. "- Right down a very lovely highway that's got your designation written aaaall over it."

Knock Out simply stares at him for a long klik.

Every trace of dramatic annoyance melts clean off his faceplate, replaced by an expression that can only be described as utterly, hopelessly spark-struck. His brilliant red optics dilate, his derma parting just the slightest bit as he looks up at Breakdown.

The racing car's engines rev loudly, the headlights on the front of his chassis flaring to life in an unmistakable display of affection.

"Primus..." Knock Out breathes, his voice-box clicking into a possessive growl. "...I love you-"

Before Breakdown even has a chance to reply, Knock Out reaches up with both servos, tangles his talons against the larger bot's faceplate and shoulder pauldron, and eagerly tugs him back down to smash their derma together.

The almost bruising kiss is unlike anything Optimus has ever seen (...not that he has seen many of those before…)- it’s intense, possessive and noisy- far noisier than anything he had ever even dreamed up in the deepest, darkest pits of his own processor. 

Optimus' faceplate warms, quite considerably so.

He really, really needs to leave. Now.

This is no longer simply stumbling upon a private moment. This is becoming an active invasion of it, as if the Prime is mere kliks away from witnessing something he is certain he does not want to see.

He slowly takes a pede-step backward. Then another.

Carefully keeping himself slightly hunched as he retreats behind the boulder, lest even the very top of his helm betray his position.

While he could simply request a ground-bridge...He could also just...Fly away.

Neither Breakdown nor Knock Out possess the ability to take to the air, and, to Optimus' knowledge, neither of them carry particularly effective long-range weaponry.

In theory, he'd almost certainly make it back to base completely unharmed. At least...his frame would.

His dignity, however- Not to mention theirs…-

Unfortunately, that was becoming an entirely different matter. At this point, Optimus is fairly certain the damage has already been done.

Just as the Prime begins to turn and quietly take his leave, his pede catches on a considerably smaller boulder he'd somehow managed to miss entirely.

The next few kliks happen rather quickly.

One moment Optimus is gracefully sneaking away.

And the next his massive frame unceremoniously pitches forward and hits the rocky ground with a resounding metallic clang that echoes clear across the entire valley.

...

Silence. Complete, utter silence is what follows.

Save for the distant chirping of crickets, the gentle rush of the waterfall...

...and the panicked, thunderous rhythm of Optimus' spark inside his chassis.

Oh, Primus.

What would Ratchet think if he knew what Optimus had managed to get himself into?

His conjunx must already be worrying himself sick. Optimus could only imagine what the medic makes of the frantic way his spark spins inside its chamber, the panic no doubt bleeding straight through their sparkbond.

Unfortunately, Optimus cannot spare another thought toward Ratchet at the moment.

He has a considerably more immediate problem at servo. The Prime’s helm slowly turns back toward the two Decepticons, his finials pinned flat against his helm as his mask snaps shut with an audible click.

Breakdown and Knock Out stare right back and their expressions mirror Optimus' own almost perfectly.

Pure and unfiltered shock.

Though, admittedly, the position they'd been caught in is ever so slightly more...compromising.

Knock Out still has both servos wrapped securely around Breakdown's massive shoulder pauldrons, one pede lazily hooked around the larger bot's waist, locking their frames tightly together. Breakdown, meanwhile, remains braced against the boulder with one servo while the other still cups the side of Knock Out's helm as though neither of them had yet remembered to move.

All three bots remain frozen.

Three pairs of optics. (...Well, one singular optic in Breakdown’s case…)

Three faceplates rapidly flushing brilliant shades of blue.

Three processors, no doubt, desperately wishing the ground would simply open up beneath them and swallow them whole.

Optimus is the first to move, slowly rising back to his full height. 

He needs to go. Immediately. The Prime is in absolutely no shape to battle right now. Not physically, and certainly not mentally.

Besides...perhaps the Autobots don't need that energon deposit quite so desperately after all. And perhaps the signal had simply been a misread. And perhaps he'd merely remained in the valley a little longer because the scenery had been rather pleasant, should anyone ask what had taken him so long.

And perhaps...Perhaps all three of them could simply pretend that this never happened.

Carefully, Optimus raises both servos in front of him, making it abundantly clear that he has absolutely no intention of attacking the two Decepticons.

"I..." he begins, his voice-box resets as he tries to remember how speaking works after what feels like cycles of absolute silence. The nervous, thoroughly flustered tone tugging at his voice almost makes him wish he'd simply stayed behind the boulder.

Knock Out interrupts him before he can continue.

The cherry-red medic carefully slips both servos from Breakdown's pauldrons before raising them between the three of them in a dramatic little 'T', a gesture Optimus vaguely recalls young Jack using before.

"Timeout...?" That is all he says.

A mutually-benefital offer, one Breakdown silently backs up with a small nod of his helm and an expression that is somewhere between apologetic and pleading.

Optimus ponders the proposal for scarcely more than a nano-klik before letting out a slow ex-vent, his finials tilting back slightly as he resets his voice-box.

"...Agreed."

Nothing more needs saying.

The Prime simply turns on his heel before taking to the sky with considerably more haste than dignity, his jetpack's thrusters sending a fine spray of river water toward the two Decepticons as he disappears over the valley with as much speed as his frame can comfortably manage.

Breakdown instinctively leans forward to shield Knock Out from the mist, both of them flinching slightly before simply… remaining where they are.

For a long while, neither of them says anything.

They merely stare at one another. A pair of widened red optics and a singular golden one. Both equally horrified by what had just transpired.

They had just been walked in on by Optimus fragging Prime.

What an absolute mood-killer. Well… Almost.

After another klik or two, Breakdown finally breaks the silence with a tired chuckle, leaning down to nuzzle the side of Knock Out's helm with a soft purr of his engines.

"So..." he murmurs. "...Where were we~?"

Knock Out doesn't hesitate for even a nano-klik. Whatever embarrassment Optimus Prime had just inflicted upon the both of them was very quickly shoved to the back of his processor where it belonged.

"I think..." he purrs, lazily walking two talons back up the front of Breakdown's chassis, "...you were just about to tell me how pretty I was, Big Blue~."

And with that, he tugs Breakdown back down into another greedy derma-lock, determined to continue exactly where they'd left off.

The flight back to base is nowhere near as pleasant as the one there.

Optimus spends the first half of the journey trying- and failing rather spectacularly- to purge every last image his processor had so unhelpfully decided to archive of the two Decepticons kissing with utterly shameless passion against that boulder, right in front of the Prime.

The effort proves entirely futile.

No matter how hard he tries, his processor insists on circling back to the scene, only to make matters infinitely worse by wondering what it might be like to find himself in a similar position with his own conjunx. 

The thought alone is enough to send heat flooding across his faceplate all over again. 

With an admittedly undignified groan, the Prime buries his optics behind one massive servo. It accomplishes precisely nothing. The memory simply replays again... and again... and again.

The second half of the flight, however, is spent thinking.

And while the subject of those thoughts remains much the same- the two Decepticons, their bond, the quiet way their EM fields had drifted together, so full of warmth and gentle affection for one another; the effortless touches, the little kisses, the complete lack of hesitation with which they'd simply...loved each other- 

Optimus ex-vents heavily and lets his optics wander across the horizon before him.

The sky around him has darkened considerably over the course of the flight, the brilliant oranges and reds of sunset having long since given way to deep shades of midnight blue and black, scattered with countless stars stretching endlessly overhead. 

It's beautiful. It’s quiet. And the air feels cool against his fame. The perfect night to think beneath a sky full of stars.

...He truly loves Ratchet.

Even when they're apart, he can still feel him- feel their sparkbond bleeding one another's affection into their chassis across the distance between them.

Optimus is so happy to have his conjunx. To be sparkbonded with him. To call Ratchet- the Autobots' Chief Medical Officer, one of his oldest friends, his truest confidant- his one and only conjunx endura.

Knowing that alone... it should be enough. Shouldn't it?

The Prime's optical ridges furrow as he ponders the question, his frame dipping ever so slightly as he begins descending from high above the clouds. The familiar outline of the military compound is already visible in the distance now.

Home. Where his beloved is waiting.

It should be enough simply to know. To know that Ratchet loves him. To feel it through their sparkbond every waking cycle.

They had both agreed to keep their bond between themselves for the time being, after all- for the safety of the other Autobots, but especially Ratchet's.

Yet…

His derma still pulls into a small frown.

For how much longer?

For how much longer do they have to pretend they aren't one another's sparkmates? Pretend they never stood together beneath the sunset and completed the conjunx ritus?

Pretend he never swore his eternal spark to Ratchet there by the ocean?

Pretend he doesn't long to reach for his conjunx's servo, to hold him openly, to steal a kiss whenever Ratchet wanders just a little too close, just as Knock Out and Breakdown had done so effortlessly beside that waterfall before Optimus had stumbled upon them?

Optimus is tired.

Tired of pretending he is some untouchable, holy figure somehow above wanting.

Wanting affection. Wanting to love openly. Wanting everyone to see just how much Ratchet of Iacon means to him.

How deeply, hopelessly, endlessly Optimus Prime is in love with him.

The realization settles quietly inside his spark.

He's jealous.

Jealous that the world around him seems to embrace these little whims so effortlessly. Romantic gestures. Idle touches. Soft kisses exchanged without a second thought between bots- or humans, for that matter- they care for, while Optimus continues pretending he's somehow above yearning for his own conjunx's touch.

He's jealous of Knock Out and Breakdown.

Jealous of the way they simply... exist together. The way they wear their love openly and proudly, without apology. The way they look at one another as though nobody else in the universe matters.

He wants that.

Primus... he wants that so badly.

He's the Autobot leader, the last of the Primes. But before either of those things…He's just a bot.

A bot who misses his conjunx dearly.

A bot who wants to hold Ratchet's servo without having to look over his shoulder before he does so.

A bot who wants to kiss his beloved whenever the urge strikes him.

A bot who wants to love his conjunx loudly and for all to see.

Optimus has not even folded the wings of his jetpack back against his frame when a familiar voice cuts cleanly through the quiet of the mostly empty military compound.

"Please, for the love of Primus...enlighten me. What good is a comm-link if you don't use it, Optimus?"

The Prime’s helm snaps up almost instantly, his spark giving a startled little thrum inside his chassis as their sparkbond flares with emotion. 

Anger. Annoyance. Relief. Love. Worry. None of them are entirely his own. 

Ratchet's emotions bleed freely through their bond, his EM field so charged and restless that Optimus feels a faint shiver run through his own frame in response. Primus...the medic must have been absolutely worried sick. 

Still, he has to physically will himself not to smile at the way his conjunx is so very obviously trying to disguise overwhelming relief beneath irritation.

The medic stands on the landing strip with both arms crossed firmly over his chassis, looking as though he'd been waiting there for quite some time already. One pede taps impatiently against the concrete in a steady rhythm while the little antenna atop his medical pack gives an annoyed little wag. The soft curl at the end, however, tells Optimus everything he needs to know. 

The warm light spilling from the open hangar behind Ratchet paints his already vibrant orange armor in an even softer glow, while the moonlight catches the white of his frame, making it shimmer almost silver against the darkness of the night. 

It is, Optimus can't help but think, a rather unfair combination. Ratchet already possessed the frankly unfair ability to look beautiful in just about any lighting imaginable.

His glowing aqua optics narrow into stern little slits as Optimus approaches, and Ratchet's expression sours even further as he throws both servos into the air in exasperation.

"I have been trying to comm you for the past one and a half cycles! And all I get in return is radio silence! I was about a nano-klik away from ground-bridging out there and dragging you back with my own two servos! Can you imagine how worried sick I was? I cannot believe-"

"I'm sorry, Ratchet, I..."

The words falter, and Optimus hesitates, his spark thrumming uneasily behind the Matrix of Leadership. 

Should he tell Ratchet why he'd been delayed? 

He doubts he'd manage to lie convincingly to his conjunx even if he tried. Ratchet knows him far too well for that. A flimsy excuse about losing track of time would survive perhaps three kliks before the medic dismantled it piece by piece, and that isn't even taking their sparkbond into account. The knot twisting inside the Prime's spark is already bleeding straight into Ratchet's own chassis.

Optimus lets out a slow ex-vent, his optics drifting upward toward the moon for only a moment before settling back on the medic.

"I was...deep in thought on my way back. I must have missed your messages..."

His voice is tender and genuinely apologetic as he comes to a stop before Ratchet, his towering frame bathed in cool starlight. Ratchet, much to his own annoyance, can't help but think that Optimus somehow looks even more handsome beneath the night sky. The gentle blue glow of the Prime's optics softly accentuates every elegant curve and sharp edge of his silver faceplate, and suddenly remaining angry becomes considerably more difficult than it had been a few kliks ago.

"I'm deeply sorry I worried you." Optimus’ optical ridges pull into a small frown, his finials tilting back ever so slightly.

Ratchet's entire frame seems to deflate, the irritation draining from him and leaving only something far more familiar behind: Concern. 

Something is weighing on Optimus, Ratchet knows it immediately. 

The red and blue bot had never been one to freely burden others with his thoughts. Not as Orion Pax...and certainly not Optimus Prime. Ever since accepting the Matrix, he'd made something of a habit of quietly collecting every impossible decision, every fear, every worry, letting them pile higher and higher inside his processor until they gnawed at him like particularly persistent scraplets.

He is so stubborn. So hopelessly, infuriatingly responsible and Ratchet adores him for it.

But Ratchet also occasionally dreams of throttling him for it. The two feelings are, surprisingly, not mutually exclusive.

Still... there isn't a chance in the Pits that Ratchet is simply going to pretend he can't feel the melancholy pouring through their sparkbond.

Ratchet's expression softens as he closes the remaining distance between them, gently tugging his much taller conjunx down into a hug that forces the Prime to kneel on one knee before him. He buries his faceplate against the broad chassis, both servos reaching around perhaps half of Optimus' massive torso.

Curse that Forge for somehow making Optimus even taller than he already had been...

Although...

Ratchet grunts quietly beneath his vent, hiding the soft aqua blush blooming across his features by pressing himself a little closer as he very deliberately shoves that particular train of thought toward the back of his processor.

Instead, he simply nuzzles his cheekplate more comfortably against the warm metal beneath it.

Optimus, while initially startled by the sudden embrace, melts into it almost immediately. His much larger servos settle carefully along Ratchet's back, gently pulling the medic closer until scarcely any space remains between them at all. Their sparkbond hums warmly, and Optimus could almost swear he feels the steady rhythm of their sparks gradually synchronizing once more, each beat settling the other's restless EM field.

After a few kliks, Ratchet lets out a quiet ex-vent before reluctantly untangling himself from the embrace, stepping back just enough that he can look up at Optimus without having to crane his neck joint quite so painfully. One servo, however, never truly leaves the Prime, instead settling against his forearm, his thumb-digit absently tracing familiar seams in the red plating as though reassuring himself that Optimus is truly standing here in front of him.

"It's unfair..." Ratchet murmurs, his optical ridges furrowed ever so slightly, his faceplate still dusted a soft aqua. "...you know exactly I cannot stay mad at you when you look at me like that."

He ex-vents shakily and bites his bottom derma. "I was just...so worried, Optimus."

"I know, Ratchet..."

"Primus..." Ratchet's optics flicker anxiously across Optimus' frame once more, searching every panel and seam as though expecting to find some hidden damage he'd somehow missed. "What took you so long? Did something happen? Did you run into trouble?" His voice softens almost immediately afterward. "...You're not hurt, are you?"

Optimus lets out a quiet chuckle, gently shaking his helm.

"No. I am completely unharmed."

His thumb-digit brushes lightly across the back of Ratchet's servo before curling around it just a little more securely.

"Do not worry, my Ratchet."

The medic immediately betrays himself at the petname. His antenna gives a delighted little jitter before settling into an impossibly pleased wag, his faceplate dusting itself a warmer shade of aqua almost against his own will. Ratchet narrows his optics at his own embarrassing reaction before looking back up at Optimus with a small, thoroughly unconvinced frown.

“How," he begins, pursing his derma as some of his irritation returns, "am I supposed to not worry when I can practically feel every emotion rattling around inside that processor of yours through our sparkbond?"

Ratchet pauses, planting one servo firmly on his hip-joint while the other rises to jab an accusing digit squarely into the middle of his conjunx's broad chassis.

"I may not be able to read your thoughts, Prime, but I felt every single spark-beat all the way back here. And let me tell you..." His optical ridges furrow as he gives Optimus' chassis another pointed poke. "...there were several moments where I was one klik away from assuming you'd suffered a spark-attack out there."

The medic narrows his glowing aqua optics, one optical ridge slowly quirking upward in challenge.

"So." Another poke. "Are you going to tell me what happened..." Ratchet's antenna gives a warning little twitch. "...or am I going to have to march you onto the Nemesis, hook you up to a cortical psychic patch, and find out myself?"

He holds Optimus' gaze for a long moment.

The threat is delivered with just enough dry sarcasm that anyone else might've mistaken it for a joke. Optimus, however, knows his conjunx far too well. 

Ratchet is only joking about the marching part.

With a bashful little chuckle, Optimus moves to gently take the servo resting against his chassis and presses a tender kiss right into the middle of Ratchet's palm. His large thumb-digit slowly caresses the medic's digit segments in absentminded little strokes, unconsciously mimicking the same soothing gesture he'd watched Breakdown use on his own conjunx.

The Prime doesn't even realize he's doing it.

His blue optics shutter closed as he remains like that for a few quiet kliks, his spark thrumming warmly within its chamber, fueled equally by his own affection and by the unmistakable fluster steadily pouring through their sparkbond from Ratchet. 

Optimus hums contentedly before looking back down at his medic, whose faceplate has long since turned a rather lovely shade of aqua. The sight alone is enough to coax another small smile onto the Autobot leader's derma and his finials twitch upwards.

"The signal was not a misread," he says softly. "I encountered two Decepticons at the location."

"I knew it! I knew we should have used a ground-bridge-" Ratchet immediately interjects, his processor apparently latching onto the only part of that sentence it cared about. His optics instantly begin another meticulous search across Optimus' frame for battle damage, narrowing suspiciously when they fail to find so much as a scratch. 

Optimus clears his voice-box with a quiet, amused rumble, successfully redirecting Ratchet's attention back to his faceplate.

"It was the Decepticons' Chief Medical Officer- Knock Out- and his assistant, Breakdown. They had been sent there to scout an energon deposit."

Ratchet groans loudly enough that Optimus is fairly certain it could be heard halfway across the compound.

"Oh, wonderful." The medic rolls his optics dramatically, thoroughly offended by the mere mention of the cherry-red medic.

There is not a single bot more impossibly vain, insufferably irritating and catastrophically in love with his own reflection than Knock Out, Ratchet thinks to himself. Well, perhaps Starscream could come close to rivaling him for that title…

His irritation, however, melts away almost as quickly as it had come. One servo lifts to gently cradle the side of Optimus' faceplate, his thumb-digit brushing absentmindedly over the air vents lining the sides of Optimus’ cheek-plates.

"Wait..." Ratchet's optical ridges knit together. "You ran into those two... and they didn't give you any trouble?" His expression grows increasingly suspicious. "Is there a particular reason as to why-...?"

Optimus' faceplate warms immediately and his blue optics dart away from Ratchet's searching gaze, his finials twitching back as he lets out a slow, rather guilty ex-vent.

"They were..." he begins carefully. "...otherwise occupied."

Ratchet’s optics shutter once, then twice. Then, as realization slowly catches up with him, the medic's entire faceplate blooms a brilliant shade of aqua, the little antenna atop his back jolting upright before curling into itself.

"...Oh." He clears his voice-box. "I... was not aware their relationship was of that...nature."

"Believe me, Ratchet, neither was I."

The medic gives his helm a firm shake, as though trying very hard to physically dislodge the mental image his processor had so unhelpfully conjured.

"I..." Ratchet pinches the bridge of his nasal ridge. "...I could have happily gone the remainder of my existence without picturing Knock Out engaging in..." He gestures vaguely with one servo. "...anything."

Optimus cannot quite suppress the amused little smile tugging at the corners of his derma.

Ratchet notices and lifts one warning digit at his sparkmate.. "...Don't."

"I said nothing." "You were thinking it."

"...Perhaps."

Ratchet huffs an annoyed ex-vent before another thought occurs to him, his expression softening once more.

"...Still..." His servo never leaves Optimus' faceplate. "What took you so long coming back? You usually comm us the moment you're heading back to base from a scouting mission."

Optimus swallows quietly before speaking again. "As I said..." His optics drift toward the dark horizon for only a moment. "...the encounter left me rather...deep in thought."

Ratchet remains silent, his derma tightening into a straight line.

"I observed them for a little bit." "You...observed them?"

"They..." Optimus hesitates, his faceplate warming a little further beneath Ratchet's gentle touch. "...were so openly affectionate with one another. Simply... living. Being together." He pauses, his optics drifting somewhere past Ratchet's shoulder paludron. "They noticed me... and yet they felt no shame in remaining so close to one another. No embarrassment. No hesitation."

His blue optics lower thoughtfully, his voice quieter now.

"And I found myself thinking..." He exhales slowly. "...thinking how effortless it all seemed. How natural it was for them to simply... love one another without feeling the need to hide it."

Ratchet's expression warms almost painfully. His thumb-digit continues its slow, absentminded strokes against the side of Optimus' faceplate as genuine concern settles across his own features. The hard lines that so often define the medic melt away entirely, his aqua optics dimming as he feels the quiet weight pressing down upon their sparkbond.

"I thought about how nice it must be..." Optimus mutters quietly, his optics lingering somewhere between Ratchet's faceplate and the ground beneath them. "...to simply love. Without constantly being afraid that loving might somehow become a burden..."

 His voice catches for the briefest of kliks before his gaze finally find Ratchet's once more. "...or endanger the life I care for the most."

A timid little smile slowly finds its way back onto the Prime's derma, though it never quite reaches his optics.

Ratchet's own half-shutter at his conjunx's words, his derma parting ever so slightly as his processor helplessly catches on one particular sentence.

‘The life I care for the most.’

It echoes through his processor again. And again. And again.

His optical ridges soften instinctively, lowering into an expression so openly affectionate that Ratchet would normally be embarrassed to wear it so plainly. Right now, however, he finds he cannot bring himself to care. Primus... he swears his faceplate might simply melt clean off with the amount of heat gathering beneath it.

The little antenna atop his medical pack slowly droops, not in sadness, but as though weighed down by the sheer amount of affection threatening to spill from his spark. 

His chassis burns pleasantly warm, and through the sparkbond he can feel Optimus' own spark answering his in kind.

Then, quite suddenly, Ratchet's derma curls into a mischievous- though no less loving- smirk. His aqua optics gleam playfully as the medic leans in just a little closer, the servo resting on the side of Optimus' faceplate gently guides the Prime's helm upward until their gazes meet once more.

"...By the Allspark..." Ratchet hums mischievously, his smile widening by the klik. "...Don't tell me..." He tilts his helm ever so slightly, his optics tightening into little aqua slits once more."...The Optimus Prime is touch-starved…!"

Optimus' entire processor promptly blue-screens. His finials twitch backwards, his brilliant blue optics darting away almost instantly, and a vivid blue flush races across his silver faceplate with such impressive speed that Ratchet has to physically bite down the laugh threatening to escape his own voice-box.

"I..." The Prime clears his throat. "...I would not phrase it quite so...bluntly...but..."

"But what, Optimus?" he asks, stepping just that little bit closer. "That you feel this unbearable urge to simply be close to your conjunx? To hold his servo whenever he walks past? To kiss his derma every time he wanders within arm's reach?" His smile grows softer then, though no less teasing. "...To tell the entire fragging universe just how proud you are to call him your sparkmate?"

Optimus says nothing.

Because he can't. Because Ratchet already knows the answer.

"I know..." the medic murmurs, his thumb-digit lazily stroking along the edge of Optimus' jaw plating. "Because it's exactly what I want too, my Prime."

His playful smile slowly fades into something gentler.

"And so do you." Ratchet's optics search Optimus' own, warm and unwavering. "I can feel it."

Their sparkbond hums softly between them, as if it’s trying to back Ratchet up in his argument. "You admitted it yourself."

A small pause follows before Ratchet asks the question he already suspects he knows the answer to.

"So do tell me, Optimus...What's stopping you?"

The Autobot leader’s optics finally lift to meet Ratchet's once more, the shy embarrassment giving way to something quieter, almost pained.

"It's too dangerous," he admits softly. "If Megatron were ever to discover our bond-"

"Eyip, yip, yip-!" Ratchet interrupts him immediately, one digit comes to rest lightly against Optimus' derma, silencing the Prime before he can continue.

Optimus freezes. His optical ridges shoot halfway up his faceplate, his finials giving an undignified little twitch upward as another wave of blue warmth floods his silver features.

Ratchet watches the reaction with undisguised satisfaction.

By the Motherboard... his Prime is absolutely adorable whenever he short-circuits like this. Ratchet quietly files that observation away somewhere in the back of his processor and promptly decides he is going to provoke this particular reaction far more often from now on. 

"Optimus," Ratchet says, his tone settling somewhere between affectionate and scolding.

He moves his digit away from the Prime's derma- not without quietly noting just how impossibly warm and soft it had felt beneath his touch- and tilts his helm ever so slightly, one optical ridge quirking as his derma curls into a sly little smirk.

"While I would love nothing more than to rub our bond right into Megatron's faceplate and have itself burned through every single last byte of his processor..." He pauses thoughtfully and Optimus gives him a thoroughly unconvinced look- but Ratchet merely continues, entirely unfazed by the Prime's judgment.

"...I am perfectly aware that, for safety reasons, we cannot let our enemies know."

Optimus' shoulder pauldrons sag just the slightest bit. Not much but just enough. As though some tiny, irrational but undoubtedly hopeful part of him had wanted Ratchet to argue. To insist that none of it mattered.

His finials twitch subtly as he tries to hide the disappointment, his optics dimming just enough that Ratchet catches it immediately. The Prime lowers his helm in a small nod of agreement and opens his intake to respond.

Ratchet doesn't let him. The medic cups Optimus' faceplate once more and gently guides him down until their foreheads meet.

...thunk. 

Their helm crests bump together with a tiny metallic tap, followed almost immediately by a little crackle of static dancing between their forehead-plates. The charge- fed by their own affection and the steadily humming sparkbond between them- sends a pleasant little shudder through both of their frames.

Ratchet's engine rumbles contentedly at the sensation and his faceplate has long since turned a brilliant shade of blue. Aqua optics narrow into mischievous little slits once more.

"However..." Optimus' gaze instinctively flick between Ratchet's glowing optics and the medic's softly smiling derma. "There isn't much harm in allowing ourselves a little more freedom here, at home."

He glances toward the warmly lit hangar behind them before looking back at Optimus.

"Our team...Our family deserves to know."

His servo slips down from Optimus' faceplate until it finds one of the Prime's much larger servos instead. Ratchet slowly laces their digits together, giving them a gentle squeeze as his derma curls into another unmistakably cyber-feline grin.

"And that way...we could at least hold servos around the base."

His antenna gives an excited little curl, twisting itself into a little heart-shape. Ratchet lifts their intertwined servos slightly between them.

"A reasonable compromise..." He looks up through half-shuttered optics, a coquettish smirk on his derma. "...Wouldn't you agree, my beloved Optimus?"

For a few long kliks, Optimus simply stares at Ratchet. His widened blue optics focus and refocus on his conjunx's faceplate as his processor slowly works through the words his audials had just picked up on.

He had always known Ratchet was straightforward. And he had always known that the medic had shared considerably less enthusiasm than he had about keeping their bond a secret.

But this...This has the Prime's processor working overtime.

Because, undeniably Ratchet is right.

Optimus wants this.

He wants to love his Ratchet openly. He wants to stop pretending they are merely old friends. He wants no more secrets between themselves and the family they had built here on Earth. 

He wants to reach for Ratchet's servo without having to glance over his shoulder first.

He wants to steal little kisses in passing.

He wants to look at his conjunx the way he's always wanted to, without having to remind himself to be more restrained.

He wants...Primus. He wants so many things all at once.

And for perhaps the first time in a very long while...Optimus Prime allows himself to simply want.

Just this once, he lets himself be selfish. Just this once, he ignores the nagging little voice in the back of his processor that endlessly reminds him what a Prime should and should not do.

A smile- one not entirely unlike Ratchet's own- slowly creeps across the Prime's faceplate.

His optics half-shutter warmly as they drift down toward their intertwined servos for a quiet klik before lifting back to meet Ratchet's brilliant aqua gaze.

His voice-box lowers almost unconsciously into a warm, comfortable baritone, the rich hum of it sending a pleasant full-frame shiver racing through the medic. Ratchet's little antenna jolts bolt upright before curling excitedly at the tip.

"...You're right," Optimus says at last, gently tightening his hold around Ratchet's servo. "As always, my beloved Ratchet."

His smile grows just a fraction and his optics dim into something unmistakably fond.

"...Though...I must confess...There are rather a great amount of things I would like to do with you that go a little beyond merely holding servos."

His finials twitch bashfully as Optimus gives a small shrug of his shoulder pauldrons, his optics narrowing ever so slightly while his derma curls into a smile just a little too innocent for it to come across as fully genuine.

"...As wonderful as that already sounds, of course."

The sharp howl of a siren suddenly cuts through the quiet, startling Optimus despite it lasting no longer than a nano-klik before it abruptly shuts itself off again.

Ratchet freezes. His widened aqua optics slowly lower toward the warning blinkers now flashing unapologetically bright across his shoulder pauldrons and thighs.

The medic's faceplate immediately blooms into an even deeper shade of aqua. Optimus, meanwhile, finally catches up to what had just happened.

A quiet chuckle escapes his voice-box. Then another. Before long, the Prime is openly laughing, warm and utterly endeared by the sight before him.

Ratchet's warning systems had betrayed their owner once again. Somehow, despite witnessing the phenomenon countless times over the millions of stellar cycles they had known one another, it never fails to catch them both completely off guard.

It also never fails to make Optimus love him just that little bit more.

"O-Oh, shut it, you-!"

Ratchet huffs indignantly, though the corners of his derma betray the tiniest hint of a smile. His faceplate now burns a brilliant aqua as he reaches up with one servo, fully intending to cover the Prime's laughing faceplate.

Optimus is quicker.

His much larger servo gently catches Ratchet's wrist before the medic can reach him, carefully guiding the limb down until Ratchet's palm instead comes to rest against one of the Prime's broad shoulder pauldrons.

Their gazes meet once more. The laughter fades into a softer, affectionate chuckle.

Optimus leans in ever so slightly, the gentle blue glow of his optics mixing with Ratchet's brilliant aqua until, for a fleeting moment, the color between them almost mirrors the waters of the coast where they'd become conjunxed.

"...My Ratchet..." His voice drops into that warm, quiet baritone that never fails to make the medic's processor stall."...May I kiss you?"

The question is spoken with such genuine tenderness that Ratchet can do little more than stare. 

Optimus' faceplate has warmed a soft shade of blue once more as he reluctantly untangles his servo from Ratchet's, only to slide that same servo over his conjunx's backstrut instead, gently guiding the medic a little closer against his own chassis.

His knee joint had long since begun protesting from remaining knelt for so many breems but Optimus scarcely notices, looking into Ratchet's beautiful optics is more than worth the discomfort.

Ratchet swallows dryly. One servo remains braced against Optimus' shoulder pauldron and the other has somehow wandered to the middle of the Prime's broad chassis, resting directly over the Matrix chamber where Optimus' spark thrums warmly underneath.

He can feel it. The excitement. The anticipation. The love.

All of it pours freely through their sparkbond until Ratchet is no longer entirely certain which emotions belong to whom. His own spark races in answer.

The medic then nods once, slowly. Then again, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. His antenna springs upright, jittering excitedly at the tip as he finally rediscovers the use of his voice-box.

"...You better...Or I will- hm!"

Optimus doesn't waste a single klik.

The moment Ratchet gives his answer, the Prime closes the remaining distance between them, crashing their dermas together in a kiss that is quick- almost greedy- but no less impossibly soft for it. Both pairs of optics flutter shut instantly, and a deep, content rumble rolls through Optimus' powerful engines, the sound vibrating pleasantly between their frames.

Ratchet answers in kind. His own engines, while nowhere near as loud or powerful as the Prime's, answer with a gentle purr that makes Optimus smile right against his conjunx's derma. The kiss is close-intake, affectionate, and full of a quiet longing.

After a few precious kliks they part, neither of them moving very far.

Ratchet's optics flutter open once more, shuttering once... twice... slowly onlining as he struggles to gather the scattered pieces of his overheated processor.

"Optimus..." he murmurs softly, his voice hushed, thoroughly flustered. "I..-!"

The words never come.

Instead, his optics shoot wide open as he suddenly feels the warm rush of a vent against the sensitive cabling of his neck, followed by another impossibly gentle press of derma beneath the edge of his jaw plating.

"O-Optimus...~!"

The Prime hums contentedly against him.

Another tender kiss. Then another, lingering just beneath Ratchet's audial finials.

"P-Primus...!" Ratchet's intake catches halfway through a vent, his voice stumbling helplessly as brilliant aqua optics flicker in complete surprise. 

The little antenna atop his medical pack completely gives up any attempt at behaving normally, jittering wildly before curling into the shape of a tiny heart... then a crooked little line... then another heart... before springing upright again only to repeat the entire cycle all over once more.

Both of Ratchet's servos instinctively find Optimus' broad chassis, more to steady himself than anything else, his faceplate burning hot enough that he's fairly certain his cooling systems have long since surrendered.

Eventually a stuttering, delighted ex-vent escapes him as his optics flutter shut once more, allowing himself to simply melt into the gentle trail of affectionate kisses before Optimus finally finds his derma again.

This time, the kiss is deeper, slower, and full of everything they'd been denying themselves for millions of stellar cycles. The Prime's finials tilt back as he instinctively dips his conjunx ever so slightly, wanting nothing more than to have Ratchet close- right here, right beside him. 

It almost makes him want to perform the conjunx ritus all over again, he thinks, just to relive the moment their sparks had first become one.

His brilliant blue optics slowly online once more, half-lidded and hazy with passion as they settle upon the medic beneath him. His free servo shifts lower, gently finding Ratchet's side before sliding around his waist. Ratchet startles with a surprised little ‘Hm!’ as the Prime effortlessly lifts him, settling the much smaller medic atop his thigh while one massive servo remains securely spread across the small of his back, holding him steadily.

They part once more, and Ratchet lets out a helpless little yelp as both servos instinctively clutch at Optimus' broad chassis, his aqua optics flickering wildly while his warning blinkers faithfully follow suit.

"O-Optimus...!" he stammers, his faceplate burning a brilliant shade of blue. "By the AllSpark- What has gotten into you? I-"

Optimus doesn't even let him finish.

The Prime smiles- that same impossibly innocent smile that Ratchet no longer believes for even a nano-klik- and gently closes the remaining distance between them once more.

Ratchet melts into the kiss instantly with a blissful ex-vent.

One of the medic’s servos remains braced against Optimus' chassis while the other finds the large one resting at his waist, lovingly tracing the Prime's massive digits with his own. He leans into the embrace without a second thought, tilting his helm ever so slightly as the derma-lock deepens.

His digits drift higher, softly caressing the blue windshields adorning Optimus' broad chassis, absentmindedly tracing little patterns across the glass. The gentle touch draws a pleased purr from the Prime's powerful engines, his smokestacks suddenly rumbling to life as little puffs of smoke escape into the cool evening air.

Ratchet's frame shivers as he feels the massive servo at his waist inch lower, settling briefly against the base of his backstrut before slowly gliding upward once more in a tender, almost sensual caress. A sound caught somewhere between a surprised ex-vent and a purr escapes the medic as he opens his intake mid-kiss, letting his glossa brush softly across his conjunx's lower derma, drawing a warm, delighted hum from Optimus' voice-box.

For a few precious kliks the universe is wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

"...No…WAY."

The shrill cry shatters the moment like a fusion cannon to one’s helm.

"NO FRAGGING WAY!"

The world freezes...Or perhaps it spins far too quickly around them while the two of them simply stop functioning altogether.

Neither of them is entirely certain.

What they are certain of, however, is that both of their sparks have just skipped at least three beats.

Blue and aqua optics fly open in perfect synchronized horror.

Ratchet jerks back just enough to hurriedly wipe the corner of his derma with the back of one servo, making absolutely certain no trace of his glossa or lubricant remained visible, while Optimus somehow manages to look simultaneously dignified and like he'd just suffered a catastrophic processor failure.

Both of them snap their helms toward the source of the voice.

Dread immediately floods both of their EM fields.

"I KNEW IT!" Miko all but screeches from atop Bumblebee's open palm. "I KNEW IT ALL ALONG!"

The scout, meanwhile, appears to have completely forgotten how to function.

His wide baby-blue optics dart frantically around the landing strip, somehow managing to look absolutely everywhere except at the Autobot leader and his CMO. 

His free servo twitches indecisively halfway toward his own faceplate... then toward Miko... then back toward himself again as he desperately tries to decide whether he ought to cover his optics...or hers.

His door winglets flutter so violently with embarrassment that Optimus briefly wonders whether the poor scout might accidentally take flight.

A chorus of apologetic chirrups, buzzing beeps and thoroughly flustered clicks spills from Bumblebee's voice-box as he visibly struggles to determine whether protocol demanded an apology... congratulations... both...Or perhaps simply driving away.

Miko, meanwhile, has no such dilemma.

Clinging triumphantly to Bumblebee's thumb-digit, she bounces up and down excitedly before punching the air in absolute victory.

"I TOLD you!" she shouts, pointing accusingly at the scout. "I told you all Ratchet's sirens sounded exactly like that the other day! And everybody thought I was crazy!"

She claps both hands together so enthusiastically that Bumblebee has to steady her before she tumbles off his servo entirely.

"Ohmigosh, this is SO CUTE!! I knew there was something going on between you two! I just couldn't prove it..."

A grin spreads across her face.

"...Untiiiiiiil now!"

Within the span of mere nano-kliks, the young Wrecker has somehow already produced her bright pink flip phone.

Click.

Click.

Click-click-click-click-click.

The rapid succession of camera shutters echoes across the landing strip before she immediately begins cooing over the pictures she'd just taken.

Now thoroughly convinced that Miko no longer requires immediate supervision, Bumblebee finally remembers how to move his pedes.

He lets out one last awkward- but unmistakably happy- little bweep before flashing Optimus and Ratchet an enthusiastic, but shaky thumbs-up.

Then, deciding he has already witnessed more than enough romance for one solar cycle, the scout promptly turns around and speed-walks straight back toward the hangar.

The only sounds following him are Miko's delighted squeals as she excitedly waves her phone around.

"JACK! RAF! GET OVER HERE! I WON THE BET!"

Silence settles over the compound once more.

Only the loud, synchronized thrum of two hopelessly flustered sparks remains.

Blue optics. Aqua optics. Both stare blankly toward the place where Bumblebee and Miko had stood only moments ago.

Neither of them has moved. Ratchet is still perched atop Optimus' thigh and the Prime is still holding his conjunx securely around the waist.

Slowly...Almost sheepishly their gazes drift back toward one another.

A single klik passes. Then another.

And then they laugh.

It begins as a quiet little shared chuckle before blossoming into warm, heartfelt laughter, equal parts embarrassed by the situation and hopelessly endeared by one another's expressions.

When the laughter finally subsides, they gently rest their forehead-plates together once more, blue and aqua optics glowing softly where they meet.

Ratchet leans forward first. He presses one quick, impossibly gentle peck against the Prime's derma before smiling to himself.

"...Well." His antenna gives one thoroughly amused little wag. "At least that saves us the trouble of telling them ourselves."

Optimus lets out another quiet laugh, his smile brighter than it had been in millions of stellar cycles.

"...Right you are..." He gently squeezes Ratchet's servo. "...My beloved Ratchet."