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This work could have adult content. If you continue, you have agreed that you are willing to see such content.
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Summary
In the distant past, Drift had been accented in blacks and golds and reds and had gone by the name of Deadlock. And for all that the lighting of the bar made him look black and blue, for all that he was clad in the heaviest armor Rodimus had ever seen on a racer’s frame, for all that he looked nothing like Drift, Rodimus would know his best friend anywhere. Any time, heh.
He should’ve left it alone. He should’ve turned away, should’ve drunk his fill and fucked off until one of the Lost Light’s crew inevitably showed up to drag him home.
But then Deadlock had met his gaze, eyes bright and bold and red like a sunset, breaking through the blue to highlight the steely gray of his cheeks. And maybe Rodimus would’ve had the strength to leave it be, to let it go, if not for the way Deadlock’s optics had roved over Rodimus’s frame, the way Deadlock’s derma pulled into a smirk, exposing one sharp fang.
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Through Brainstorm-related shenanigans, Rodimus gets time traveled into the distant past… With nothing else to do, he flirts with Deadlock, gets his world rocked, and then goes home and has to avoid looking Drift in the eyes.