[G1] Apple a Day 22
Oct. 14th, 2019 06:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: The Risk is Worth the Reward
Universe: G1, Apple a Day
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ratchet
Rated: K+
Description: Post-battle, Sunstreaker asks Ratchet the hard questions, and Ratchet gives him an easy answer.
Sunstreaker onlines aching and a bit disoriented, but he can sense Sideswipe nearby. He must be the warmth curled around Sunstreaker's frame, his field leaking wisps of dulled pain.
Sunstreaker cycles his optics and wriggles to get a little more comfortable, Sideswipe whining in protest behind him, the snuggly idiot. Sunstreaker stills and takes in their surroundings.
The medbay, of course. Sunstreaker knows this smell, and that ceiling, and--
Ratchet. Sitting in a chair beside their berth. Completely asleep, mouth open to emit some quiet snores, one hand flopped in his lap, the other wrapped around Sideswipe's. Lines of exhaustion crease his face, but he's resting, so that's a relief.
Sunstreaker turns his head, scans what he can see of Sideswipe. The idiot had gotten hurt shielding some humans from falling debris, which should have pinged harmlessly off his armor, but a lucky ricochet of re-bar infested concrete had struck the back of Sideswipe’s head, knocking him unconscious.
The humans wound up fine, Sideswipe less so. He is a landscape of dents and scratches, all of which Sunstreaker will fix as soon as he’s cleared from the medbay. If he were online, he’d no doubt be complaining about pain and aches, and hopefully, Ratchet’s not so annoyed at their injuries he won’t offer a painkiller.
Though maybe, given the way he’s holding Sideswipe’s hand, Sunstreaker won’t have to work too hard to convince him Sideswipe needs the good stuff. It sends a surge of affection through Sunstreaker’s spark, a reminder of the courtship all three of them have, and the proof of Ratchet’s feelings for them, in the datapad tucked away in Sunstreaker’s subspace.
He and Sideswipe haven’t had a chance to review it, but as soon as he’s out of the medbay, Sunstreaker plans to make that priority one. He’s eager to move into the next stage. They’re so close to the end, to the final decision, and Sunstreaker already knows what his will be.
Sideswipe wavers, not because he’s unconvinced of his affection for Ratchet or Ratchet’s affection for them, but because he’s worried they aren’t good for Ratchet, or good enough. Sideswipe doesn’t trust, not yet, but that’s okay, because Sunstreaker’s got enough trust for the both of them.
Sunstreaker shifts, rolling over a little so he’s facing his twin and Ratchet, Sideswipe immediately glomping onto him like he’s part-octopus, trying to bury his face in Sunstreaker’s intake. His hand slips from Ratchet’s, and Ratchet bursts awake like someone shouted ‘fire’, his optics bright and wide and flickering through the room.
Sunstreaker raises his orbital ridges. “Bad dream?”
Ratchet scrapes a hand down his face. “Every time I drag one of you back to my medbay in pieces, it’s a bad dream,” he says with a loud ex-vent. He slumps back into a seat, this time on the edge of the berth behind Sideswipe’s back.
Sunstreaker feels the distinct prickling ion wash of a scan before Ratchet releases a long, slow vent.
“Processor function seems to be at normal, though we won’t know for sure until he onlines,” Ratchet says and gently traces Sideswipe’s head, where Sunstreaker remembers a horrifying indent had left him panicking.
Sideswipe wouldn’t wake up, and there was a dent in his helm, and fuzzy black across the bond. Sunstreaker might have shouted at the grateful humans. He might have said something he shouldn’t.
Oh, the frag well.
“Or what’s normal for him anyway,” Ratchet says with a truncated laugh that’s only a pale shade of usual humor. “We both know his head’s never been screwed on right.”
Sunstreaker tucks Sideswipe under his chin and manages a quiet chuckle. “Yeah,” he agrees, and gives Ratchet a long look, trying to interpret the small twitches and micro-expressions. “You still want us?”
Ratchet startles and furrows his brows, his free hand already sliding to reclaim Sideswipe’s hand and tangle their fingers together. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Sunstreaker works his jaw, knows he has to pick and choose his words carefully. “It’s war,” he says, and he knows it’s obvious, but sometimes, what’s obvious isn’t obvious. “Next time we go out, one of us could die.” And maybe both of them, who knew. Sunstreaker isn’t sure if their split sparks will bring the other down.
Part of him doesn’t care.
If it’s a lie or a rumor or the absolute truth, Sunstreaker already knows he’s not living without Sideswipe. Maybe it’d be different, with Ratchet in his life, it’s too soon to contemplate that. But right now, as things stand, if Sideswipe dies, Sunstreaker’s going with him.
It’s just the truth. Painful. Dark. Inconvenient. But no less true.
“Or you keep putting our pieces back together,” Sunstreaker adds with a little frown, one hand stroking Sideswipe’s back, tracing dents and divots in his armor, tallying them up for the next time they face the Decepticons.
Who’d knocked down the building? One of the Stunticons, he thinks. Probably Motormaster. Well, he just moved to the top of Sunstreaker’s list.
“Are we really what you want?” Sunstreaker asks, because now is the time to make it clear, now while they are still courting and haven’t made any commitments.
Ratchet’s gaze softens. He looks at Sunstreaker, while his thumb strokes Sideswipe’s hand in gentle sweeps. “I knew exactly what I was getting into when I started this process, Sunstreaker. I knew how often you two have been in my medbay. I know that we’re at war and any moment, I could lose you.”
His orbital ridges draw together. He cycles an audible ventilation, and suddenly, he looks much older and wearier, as if finally acknowledging the weight of centuries of war, and the pain he keeps in his spark. Ratchet is so often such a force of nature, it’s hard to remember that he has the same fears as everyone else.
“I decided it was better to have you now, then never at all, because even if it hurt at the end, I’d still have the good times to keep me going,” Ratchet says, slowly, carefully, like he’s actually rehearsed this, and maybe he has. They’re courting. These are the kinds of things he’s supposed to be considering.
“That’s really sweet.”
Sunstreaker cycles his optics as warm ex-vents puff over his intake, Sideswipe sleepily insinuating himself into the conversation.
“I’m trying to be practical,” Ratchet says, but try as he might toward a scowl, he can’t. The fond look on his face says too much. “And you’ll have to thank Wheeljack for that. He’s the one who told me just surviving isn’t good enough.”
“We owe Wheeljack a lot,” Sideswipe says with a long, long vent. He squirms and tucks himself more into Sunstreaker’s front, but he tightens his fingers around Ratchet’s. “So scandalous, Ratchet. Are we even allowed to be holding hands at this stage in our courtship?”
Ratchet chuckles and the last of the worry striping his field tangibly eases away. Sunstreaker himself relaxes, not realizing until that moment how tense he’s been. Sideswipe’s awake, if sleepily trying to meld into Sunstreaker’s chestplate, and Ratchet seems to have no intention of leaving them.
It’s good news as far as Sunstreaker is concerned.
“I think handholding is pretty chaste, don’t you?” Ratchet asks.
Sideswipe laughs, a raspy sound vibrating against Sunstreaker’s intake. “Your hands are sensitive. Bet I could make it un-chaste.”
Sunstreaker rolls his optics.
Ratchet’s grin turns shark-like and dangerous. He scrubs his thumb over the back of Sideswipe’s hand, slow and deliberate, and it’s Sideswipe who looses a little shiver, who rocks against Sunstreaker’s chassis.
“Anything can be an erogenous zone if you know how to apply the proper stimulae,” Ratchet says, his voice rich with promise, and Sunstreaker’s spinal strut tingles with a shiver.
The memories of the night they spent together are still hazy, clouded by far too much drink. Waiting has been painful, maybe not as much for Sunstreaker as it has been for Sideswipe, but still.
Sunstreaker is haunted by the memories he can’t seem to grasp. He’s eager to make new ones so he can absorb every detail.
Sideswipe groans and tightens his fingers around Ratchet’s. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he complains. “Especially since I’m stuck here.”
“For at least another few hours. I want to make sure there’s no lingering processor damage,” Ratchet says, at once back to business, though his field remains warm and syrupy where it strokes over theirs.
He untangles his hand from Sideswipe’s, but only so he can gently touch the back of Sideswipe’s head, his expression shifting into concern. “You took a hard knock. Gotta be faster, Sideswipe.”
“I was fast. The humans weren’t,” Sideswipe mutters as he does an awkward shimmy, somehow managing to press his face into Sunstreaker’s intake, but the back of his thighs and aft against Ratchet’s side.
Ratchet chuckles and rests a hand on his hip, and Sideswipe’s awkward shuffling stops with a quiet sigh.
“When you gonna realize we’re a sure thing for you?” Sideswipe asks.
Ratchet cycles his optics. He looks at Sunstreaker then, probably because he can’t see Sideswipe’s face, and he offers a small smile. “Soon.”
“Only one more stage, right?” Sunstreaker asks, though he’s well-aware of the courtship ritual process by now.
They have to read and agree or disagree, and discuss their preferences from the datapads they exchanged. After that, it’s a matter of a brief time spent apart, thinking long and hard about the road they’ve taken and whether or not they want to continue.
“Yes. The most important one.” Ratchet pats Sideswipe’s hip and slips off the berth. “We’re almost there. I promise.”
He leans in, reaching for Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker tilts his chin up for the caress of Ratchet’s hand, cupping his cheek. He accepts the kiss, chaste and soft, a brush of Ratchet’s lips that’s still enough to make him shiver with want.
“No fair,” Sideswipe grumbles as Ratchet draws back.
“You get one, too,” Ratchet says, and bends down as Sideswipe twists up to meet him, the kiss a touch more fierce, but no less chaste for it.
Sunstreaker’s spark gives a little lurch of want at the sight, and he has to shove it back down, tuck it away for another day.
“Look over those datapads. I’ll do the same,” Ratchet says as he puts an appropriate distance between them, though his field hums with affection and desire. Sunstreaker wants to lean into it, soak it up, but he holds back.
Ratchet hovers in the doorway, smiling as he looks at them. “When you’re ready, Sunstreaker, you know what to do.”
“I do,” Sunstreaker says.
“Then you better explain it to me,” Sideswipe grumbles. “I’m running out of patience.”
Ratchet chuckles and vanishes out the door, letting it slide shut behind him. Nice of him to give them one of the few private medrooms they have.
Sideswipe sighs and tucks his nose against Sunstreaker’s intake, squirming as if trying to climb inside his plating. Sunstreaker wraps his arms around his twin, whose cuddliness is not so unusual post a major injury. It’s like their sparks are trying to reunite, however briefly. They’ll merge later -- Sunstreaker’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as interfacing but a medical need.
For now, however, cuddling is all they can do. Ratchet’s hopefully locked the door so no one can peek in at them being soft with each other.
“Tell me about the last stage,” Sideswipe says. “Give me something to look forward to.”
Sunstreaker snorts and digs his chin into the top of Sideswipe’s bruised head. “Only if you promise not to try and kill yourself over some stupid humans again. They can make more. I can’t make another one of you.”
“I don’t think it really works like that, Sunny.”
“You know what I mean,” Sunstreaker huffs.
Sideswipe curls a hand around Sunstreaker’s waist, fingers tiptoeing up and down Sunstreaker’s backstrut in a soothing pattern. “I do. Now tell me about the last stage.”
Sunstreaker sighs.
“It’ll end the same way it started, except it’s up to us to make the move,” Sunstreaker says as he recalls the courtship guide he’s committed to memory. Rules. Guidelines. They make everything so much easier.
“Ratchet started the process. He indicated his intent. He’s kept it going. It’s up to us to let him know we accept him and the relationship.”
Sideswipe hums. “How?”
“We have to get him a gift, like the ones he gave us. Something personal and meaningful,” Sunstreaker says. “And then we have to say it. We have to tell him how we feel.”
The latter is the harder part in Sunstreaker’s opinion. Open, honest communication. He’s never been good at communication as it is, and being honest tends to make things worse. People don’t want to hear Sunstreaker speak his mind. It just angers them.
“Got any ideas for what we should get him?” Sideswipe asks.
Sunstreaker offlines his optics and sinks a bit into their bond, still present in his frame, but partially submerged in that sense which is both of them. It’s comforting. Reassuring.
“Not sure yet. But are you sure you want to do this?” Sunstreaker asks, and before Sideswipe’s words fill the air, the bond fills with emotion from both of them.
It’s a resounding ‘yes’.
“Good. Me, too,” Sunstreaker says and nuzzles Sideswipe’s head with his own, pulsing relief and love across the bond. “Get some rest, idiot. We can talk about gifts for Ratchet when you’re better.”
Sideswipe’s murmured ‘love you too’ makes Sunstreaker’s spark dance in his chassis, as it always does.
****
Universe: G1, Apple a Day
Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ratchet
Rated: K+
Description: Post-battle, Sunstreaker asks Ratchet the hard questions, and Ratchet gives him an easy answer.
Sunstreaker onlines aching and a bit disoriented, but he can sense Sideswipe nearby. He must be the warmth curled around Sunstreaker's frame, his field leaking wisps of dulled pain.
Sunstreaker cycles his optics and wriggles to get a little more comfortable, Sideswipe whining in protest behind him, the snuggly idiot. Sunstreaker stills and takes in their surroundings.
The medbay, of course. Sunstreaker knows this smell, and that ceiling, and--
Ratchet. Sitting in a chair beside their berth. Completely asleep, mouth open to emit some quiet snores, one hand flopped in his lap, the other wrapped around Sideswipe's. Lines of exhaustion crease his face, but he's resting, so that's a relief.
Sunstreaker turns his head, scans what he can see of Sideswipe. The idiot had gotten hurt shielding some humans from falling debris, which should have pinged harmlessly off his armor, but a lucky ricochet of re-bar infested concrete had struck the back of Sideswipe’s head, knocking him unconscious.
The humans wound up fine, Sideswipe less so. He is a landscape of dents and scratches, all of which Sunstreaker will fix as soon as he’s cleared from the medbay. If he were online, he’d no doubt be complaining about pain and aches, and hopefully, Ratchet’s not so annoyed at their injuries he won’t offer a painkiller.
Though maybe, given the way he’s holding Sideswipe’s hand, Sunstreaker won’t have to work too hard to convince him Sideswipe needs the good stuff. It sends a surge of affection through Sunstreaker’s spark, a reminder of the courtship all three of them have, and the proof of Ratchet’s feelings for them, in the datapad tucked away in Sunstreaker’s subspace.
He and Sideswipe haven’t had a chance to review it, but as soon as he’s out of the medbay, Sunstreaker plans to make that priority one. He’s eager to move into the next stage. They’re so close to the end, to the final decision, and Sunstreaker already knows what his will be.
Sideswipe wavers, not because he’s unconvinced of his affection for Ratchet or Ratchet’s affection for them, but because he’s worried they aren’t good for Ratchet, or good enough. Sideswipe doesn’t trust, not yet, but that’s okay, because Sunstreaker’s got enough trust for the both of them.
Sunstreaker shifts, rolling over a little so he’s facing his twin and Ratchet, Sideswipe immediately glomping onto him like he’s part-octopus, trying to bury his face in Sunstreaker’s intake. His hand slips from Ratchet’s, and Ratchet bursts awake like someone shouted ‘fire’, his optics bright and wide and flickering through the room.
Sunstreaker raises his orbital ridges. “Bad dream?”
Ratchet scrapes a hand down his face. “Every time I drag one of you back to my medbay in pieces, it’s a bad dream,” he says with a loud ex-vent. He slumps back into a seat, this time on the edge of the berth behind Sideswipe’s back.
Sunstreaker feels the distinct prickling ion wash of a scan before Ratchet releases a long, slow vent.
“Processor function seems to be at normal, though we won’t know for sure until he onlines,” Ratchet says and gently traces Sideswipe’s head, where Sunstreaker remembers a horrifying indent had left him panicking.
Sideswipe wouldn’t wake up, and there was a dent in his helm, and fuzzy black across the bond. Sunstreaker might have shouted at the grateful humans. He might have said something he shouldn’t.
Oh, the frag well.
“Or what’s normal for him anyway,” Ratchet says with a truncated laugh that’s only a pale shade of usual humor. “We both know his head’s never been screwed on right.”
Sunstreaker tucks Sideswipe under his chin and manages a quiet chuckle. “Yeah,” he agrees, and gives Ratchet a long look, trying to interpret the small twitches and micro-expressions. “You still want us?”
Ratchet startles and furrows his brows, his free hand already sliding to reclaim Sideswipe’s hand and tangle their fingers together. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Sunstreaker works his jaw, knows he has to pick and choose his words carefully. “It’s war,” he says, and he knows it’s obvious, but sometimes, what’s obvious isn’t obvious. “Next time we go out, one of us could die.” And maybe both of them, who knew. Sunstreaker isn’t sure if their split sparks will bring the other down.
Part of him doesn’t care.
If it’s a lie or a rumor or the absolute truth, Sunstreaker already knows he’s not living without Sideswipe. Maybe it’d be different, with Ratchet in his life, it’s too soon to contemplate that. But right now, as things stand, if Sideswipe dies, Sunstreaker’s going with him.
It’s just the truth. Painful. Dark. Inconvenient. But no less true.
“Or you keep putting our pieces back together,” Sunstreaker adds with a little frown, one hand stroking Sideswipe’s back, tracing dents and divots in his armor, tallying them up for the next time they face the Decepticons.
Who’d knocked down the building? One of the Stunticons, he thinks. Probably Motormaster. Well, he just moved to the top of Sunstreaker’s list.
“Are we really what you want?” Sunstreaker asks, because now is the time to make it clear, now while they are still courting and haven’t made any commitments.
Ratchet’s gaze softens. He looks at Sunstreaker, while his thumb strokes Sideswipe’s hand in gentle sweeps. “I knew exactly what I was getting into when I started this process, Sunstreaker. I knew how often you two have been in my medbay. I know that we’re at war and any moment, I could lose you.”
His orbital ridges draw together. He cycles an audible ventilation, and suddenly, he looks much older and wearier, as if finally acknowledging the weight of centuries of war, and the pain he keeps in his spark. Ratchet is so often such a force of nature, it’s hard to remember that he has the same fears as everyone else.
“I decided it was better to have you now, then never at all, because even if it hurt at the end, I’d still have the good times to keep me going,” Ratchet says, slowly, carefully, like he’s actually rehearsed this, and maybe he has. They’re courting. These are the kinds of things he’s supposed to be considering.
“That’s really sweet.”
Sunstreaker cycles his optics as warm ex-vents puff over his intake, Sideswipe sleepily insinuating himself into the conversation.
“I’m trying to be practical,” Ratchet says, but try as he might toward a scowl, he can’t. The fond look on his face says too much. “And you’ll have to thank Wheeljack for that. He’s the one who told me just surviving isn’t good enough.”
“We owe Wheeljack a lot,” Sideswipe says with a long, long vent. He squirms and tucks himself more into Sunstreaker’s front, but he tightens his fingers around Ratchet’s. “So scandalous, Ratchet. Are we even allowed to be holding hands at this stage in our courtship?”
Ratchet chuckles and the last of the worry striping his field tangibly eases away. Sunstreaker himself relaxes, not realizing until that moment how tense he’s been. Sideswipe’s awake, if sleepily trying to meld into Sunstreaker’s chestplate, and Ratchet seems to have no intention of leaving them.
It’s good news as far as Sunstreaker is concerned.
“I think handholding is pretty chaste, don’t you?” Ratchet asks.
Sideswipe laughs, a raspy sound vibrating against Sunstreaker’s intake. “Your hands are sensitive. Bet I could make it un-chaste.”
Sunstreaker rolls his optics.
Ratchet’s grin turns shark-like and dangerous. He scrubs his thumb over the back of Sideswipe’s hand, slow and deliberate, and it’s Sideswipe who looses a little shiver, who rocks against Sunstreaker’s chassis.
“Anything can be an erogenous zone if you know how to apply the proper stimulae,” Ratchet says, his voice rich with promise, and Sunstreaker’s spinal strut tingles with a shiver.
The memories of the night they spent together are still hazy, clouded by far too much drink. Waiting has been painful, maybe not as much for Sunstreaker as it has been for Sideswipe, but still.
Sunstreaker is haunted by the memories he can’t seem to grasp. He’s eager to make new ones so he can absorb every detail.
Sideswipe groans and tightens his fingers around Ratchet’s. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he complains. “Especially since I’m stuck here.”
“For at least another few hours. I want to make sure there’s no lingering processor damage,” Ratchet says, at once back to business, though his field remains warm and syrupy where it strokes over theirs.
He untangles his hand from Sideswipe’s, but only so he can gently touch the back of Sideswipe’s head, his expression shifting into concern. “You took a hard knock. Gotta be faster, Sideswipe.”
“I was fast. The humans weren’t,” Sideswipe mutters as he does an awkward shimmy, somehow managing to press his face into Sunstreaker’s intake, but the back of his thighs and aft against Ratchet’s side.
Ratchet chuckles and rests a hand on his hip, and Sideswipe’s awkward shuffling stops with a quiet sigh.
“When you gonna realize we’re a sure thing for you?” Sideswipe asks.
Ratchet cycles his optics. He looks at Sunstreaker then, probably because he can’t see Sideswipe’s face, and he offers a small smile. “Soon.”
“Only one more stage, right?” Sunstreaker asks, though he’s well-aware of the courtship ritual process by now.
They have to read and agree or disagree, and discuss their preferences from the datapads they exchanged. After that, it’s a matter of a brief time spent apart, thinking long and hard about the road they’ve taken and whether or not they want to continue.
“Yes. The most important one.” Ratchet pats Sideswipe’s hip and slips off the berth. “We’re almost there. I promise.”
He leans in, reaching for Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker tilts his chin up for the caress of Ratchet’s hand, cupping his cheek. He accepts the kiss, chaste and soft, a brush of Ratchet’s lips that’s still enough to make him shiver with want.
“No fair,” Sideswipe grumbles as Ratchet draws back.
“You get one, too,” Ratchet says, and bends down as Sideswipe twists up to meet him, the kiss a touch more fierce, but no less chaste for it.
Sunstreaker’s spark gives a little lurch of want at the sight, and he has to shove it back down, tuck it away for another day.
“Look over those datapads. I’ll do the same,” Ratchet says as he puts an appropriate distance between them, though his field hums with affection and desire. Sunstreaker wants to lean into it, soak it up, but he holds back.
Ratchet hovers in the doorway, smiling as he looks at them. “When you’re ready, Sunstreaker, you know what to do.”
“I do,” Sunstreaker says.
“Then you better explain it to me,” Sideswipe grumbles. “I’m running out of patience.”
Ratchet chuckles and vanishes out the door, letting it slide shut behind him. Nice of him to give them one of the few private medrooms they have.
Sideswipe sighs and tucks his nose against Sunstreaker’s intake, squirming as if trying to climb inside his plating. Sunstreaker wraps his arms around his twin, whose cuddliness is not so unusual post a major injury. It’s like their sparks are trying to reunite, however briefly. They’ll merge later -- Sunstreaker’s pretty sure it doesn’t count as interfacing but a medical need.
For now, however, cuddling is all they can do. Ratchet’s hopefully locked the door so no one can peek in at them being soft with each other.
“Tell me about the last stage,” Sideswipe says. “Give me something to look forward to.”
Sunstreaker snorts and digs his chin into the top of Sideswipe’s bruised head. “Only if you promise not to try and kill yourself over some stupid humans again. They can make more. I can’t make another one of you.”
“I don’t think it really works like that, Sunny.”
“You know what I mean,” Sunstreaker huffs.
Sideswipe curls a hand around Sunstreaker’s waist, fingers tiptoeing up and down Sunstreaker’s backstrut in a soothing pattern. “I do. Now tell me about the last stage.”
Sunstreaker sighs.
“It’ll end the same way it started, except it’s up to us to make the move,” Sunstreaker says as he recalls the courtship guide he’s committed to memory. Rules. Guidelines. They make everything so much easier.
“Ratchet started the process. He indicated his intent. He’s kept it going. It’s up to us to let him know we accept him and the relationship.”
Sideswipe hums. “How?”
“We have to get him a gift, like the ones he gave us. Something personal and meaningful,” Sunstreaker says. “And then we have to say it. We have to tell him how we feel.”
The latter is the harder part in Sunstreaker’s opinion. Open, honest communication. He’s never been good at communication as it is, and being honest tends to make things worse. People don’t want to hear Sunstreaker speak his mind. It just angers them.
“Got any ideas for what we should get him?” Sideswipe asks.
Sunstreaker offlines his optics and sinks a bit into their bond, still present in his frame, but partially submerged in that sense which is both of them. It’s comforting. Reassuring.
“Not sure yet. But are you sure you want to do this?” Sunstreaker asks, and before Sideswipe’s words fill the air, the bond fills with emotion from both of them.
It’s a resounding ‘yes’.
“Good. Me, too,” Sunstreaker says and nuzzles Sideswipe’s head with his own, pulsing relief and love across the bond. “Get some rest, idiot. We can talk about gifts for Ratchet when you’re better.”
Sideswipe’s murmured ‘love you too’ makes Sunstreaker’s spark dance in his chassis, as it always does.
