Smooth, practiced gunner's hands ran down over his scope. Primus, he had never felt anything more exquisite in his life- the things this mech could do to him… He arched his back and cried out loud and long, his voice high-pitched and pleasured as Bluestreak's slim digits slipped under the plating on his back, caressing sensitive wires and pulling at cabling.

"Yes?" the Datsun breathed, resting his chin on Perceptor's shoulder, his hands finding the delicate scope again and this time swiveling down along it to hitch on the clasps on the scientist's shoulder. He pulled it off with easy grace, and Perceptor half-turned to smile over his shoulder. It was a shaky grin, made of pleasured worry and embarassment. He was never very outgoing with people, and yet this strange, talkative gunner had slipped into his lab and his life so easily.

"Mm, y-you are quite beautiful," Perceptor mumbled -the words he said every time they met-, caressing Bluestreak's cheek and leaning back into his chest, his shoulder unhindered by his scope, which lay by his right hip, discarded. All that mattered now was the close press of bodies, the passage of heat between them, the light in their optics, the twitch of their lips, their hips.

Bluestreak smiled in return, his optics lit in a genuine display of affection. He tilted his head to the right, pressing his lips along Perceptor's neck and wrapping gentle arms around the slim waist. "What do you want today, Perce…?" he purred, optics shuttered, hands stroking. He always let his younger lover choose their method of interfacing. Perceptor preferred tactile overload, though at times he agreed with a physical link-up to Bluestreak.

He had never allowed the elder mech access to his spark.

The scarlet mech leant his helm back, resting it on Bluestreak's shoulder, his gaze searching. "You and I have been together for one stellar cycle, six months, twenty-four solar cycles, and six megacycles."

Bluestreak's optics flickered. "Yes," he murmured. He knew. He thought he had remembered better than Perceptor, but apparently no one could keep time better than he.

"Would you… entrust your spark to me?" the young mech murmured. He was quite nearly twenty-two stellar cycles old to Bluestreak's twenty-five, but Bluestreak considered them on the same level when it came to intellectualism. At least, he liked to fancy that he could keep up with Perceptor, but even he would admit eventually that his younger lover could best him every time in academics.

Now he paused, and without a sparkbeat's hesitation, said, "Of course I would."

Perceptor's glance became puzzled before he nodded slowly and reached up again, twisting his body around as he cupped Bluestreak's cheek. "… T-then I… entrust mine to you. I… I would to become your bondmate, Bluestreak."

The elder mech's spark skipped a beat and left him stunned and horrified, frightened as only a young, unsure mech in the middle of a war could be, but then it regained its lively pulse and sent him into a panicked frenzy, his optics flickering as he skimmed his hands over Perceptor's shoulders, his own tense and worried, his doorwings lifted and held straight. "Perce, are you sure?" he asked urgently. "I mean, if you aren't, I don't mind, it's really not that big a-"

"Love," Perceptor interrupted softly, caressing Bluestreak's chest. The Datsun halted his stream of words; they had begun to tangle clumsily in his processor even before Perceptor had stopped him.

He resigned himself to, "Hmm?", a simple, noncommittal noise.

A small black hand slipped up to trace meaningless patterns on his neck- though knowing Perceptor, they were probably an algorithm or a formula. Azure optics lifted to Bluestreak's as Perceptor smiled, their entire relationship compacted into a single blazing moment, wrought with love and worry and fear and compassion and joy.

"Take me."

Bluestreak did, unhesitantly, and it was only moments before they were connected through datacables, memories and emotions and thoughts, pictures, wordless stories flowing between them. It was bliss, Perceptor thought, to have someone this close to him. Why had he not tried before? Why had he not let Bluestreak close before? Was he honestly that afraid of what his lover would think of him? He had nothing to hide.

"Ready?" the Datsun choked, his hips pressing insistently against Perceptor's, his hands cradling the mech's shoulders as they rocked together, pressing and colliding in gentle, coalescing waves of motion.

Perceptor let the question hover and then nodded, so shortly and sharply that he would have no chance to repeal his decision. His sparkplates split slowly, and he watched Bluestreak's smile grow as his torso was bathed in ethereal blue light.

"It's beautiful." Bluestreak let his own plating slide apart and hovered over Perceptor for a moment more, his optics smiling into his lover's, his spark reaching, asking, begging to touch, to entwine, to hold. "Ready?" he asked again, and this time he was met with a feverish nod. He lowered himself slowly, balanced on careful arms. He had not been expecting the sudden rush of crystal-clear, lucid emotion, memory, and love, but in the moment that he felt it before overload exploded over them both and the bond completed itself, looping glorious feedback that told him Perceptor was thinking the same thing, he realised that he would never feel alone, never feel as though he were missing anything again.

He had everything he needed.