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“... He's just so cute!” Tailgate exclaimed and giggled, seeing the flabbergasted expression of his conjunx.
“Scourge. Cute,” Cyclonus echoed, clearly unable to reconcile those two words. He doubted anyone has ever called his old comrade “cute”, even in their thoughts.
Scourge was a good friend, decent warrior, skilled tracker and an amicable companion both during war and peacetime. But he was hardly a soft spark; his skills made him a ruthless and effective fighter, albeit slightly too prone to panic when faced with multiple enemies at once. Some would call his frequent retreats cowardice; Cyclonus would do so too but still kept choosing Scourge's company throughout the ages. The jet was nice to have around and his open, jovial personality was something Cyclonus sometimes missed terribly during the journey of the “Lost Light”.
But at least he was here now and Cyclonus was glad to have his old and decidedly not cute friend back.
“He is though!” Tailgate insisted and clambered into his conjunx’s lap. “He's fun, knows loads of good jokes and is kinda hot.”
“Hot.” the warrior repeated, stifling a laugh. He could bet all of his shanix no one has ever considered Scourge “hot” (although, admittedly, both the notions of cuteness and hotness were slightly difficult for Cyclonus to grasp). Attractive, yes - although in a completely different way than Tailgate was. Tailgate has always caused a whirlwind of soft and intense emotions in Cyclonus's old spark. Scourge's presence had always been… steady, kind, reliable.
… Until it wasn't. And a slice of Cyclonus's spark seemed to have disappeared with it.
Now though, Scourge was back. And Cyclonus wasn't really sure what to do with that.
“... He loves you, you know?” Tailgate inquired gently and nuzzled his husband's chest plate.
Cyclonus stilled.
“...Oh, come on,” the minibot huffed. “You know that, right?”
“Scourge has always been…” Cyclonus paused, searching for the right words. “A good friend.”
“... And a berthmate,” Tailgate added and looked at his conjunx with an amused glint in his visor.
“... Sometimes.” Cyclonus relented and sighed. “Are you not…?”
Tailgate chuckled.
“... Why would I?” he asked and nestled closer in Cyclonus's arms. “I already have you. And he smells nice. And you are both hot.”
“Are we.”
“Scorching.” Tailgate said. He could feel Cyclonus smiling. “Like the core of Cybertron. Hot and cute.”
“I am not cute. I am fearless.”
“So, Fearless… What are we gonna tell Whirl?”