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Deadlock stared. Ratchet spread his hands, gave a helpless little shrug, waited as his favourite ball of prickles scoured his plating with that laser-focus predator's look of his like he'd find answers written on Ratchet's plating.
"...party ambulance, though?" Deadlock said, tentative, as if Ratchet'd yell at him for being disappointed. Ratchet huffed, gave him a smile that tried just a bit too hard to be normal.
Sounded about right.
"Yeah, well. I like sleeping together, I don't go for the actual 'facing beforehand. My cadre don't mind. Only back in the academy a few people did, apparently, since I wasn't great at turning people down tactfully back then, and you know what people are like when their pride's hurt."
"Starscream," Deadlock rasped, mouth twisting, and nodded. "...but - but it's not like. Welded shut? 'S normal?"
Ratchet bristled, before his processor caught up with his audials. Deadlock was looking at him and that sharp, pretty face was worried, was scared, and Ratchet stared right back at him in absolute slaggin' bewilderment before an answer smacked him right in the face. "...no slag," he murmured, hope tearing free of the worry that had kept him quiet through more of the war than he'd care to admit. "No slag, y'mean - you too?"
"I figured - I didn't wanna ask til the war was over, I thought if I asked you'd feel like y'had to, I figured your cadre - the whole - the whole thing - maybe you'd consider it if I was worth it, if y'didn't mind me not-"
"Kid," Ratchet managed, and then Deadlock was in his arms and clinging for all he was worth, and Ratchet buried his face against Deadlock's hard-angled shoulder wondering how the slag he got so lucky.