Chapter Text
Tailgate was intensely happy with his Big Guy. He really, really was. Who could be a better conjux than Cyclonus? He wouldn't trade him for all of Cybertron!
But...he might trade his shoulders. Cyclonus's shoulders were nice shoulders. They were purple and sturdy, and before today, he had no complaints about them. They were nice to hold onto when he gave Cyclonus a smooch (which, since he didn't have a mouthplate, consisted of pressing his faceplate up in a nuzzling action against Cyclonus's mouth, and making little kissing noises. The look on Cyclonus's face after a kiss was just adorable.)
Earlier, he had noticed Rewind perched on Chromedome's shoulders as they entered Swerve's. It was a scene he'd witnessed countless times before, but it had never really sunk in. The minibot-standard-mech size difference meant more than just a little inconvenience (or a lot of fun) in the berth. It also meant one mech in the partnership would be totally, imminently, carriable.
A lightbulb had practically went up over his head, and he turned his most desperate, imploring look up at Cyclonus, his big blue optics shining beseechingly.
"No." Cyclonus had said, as if that were that.
"Why not?" Tailgate asked.
"You would fall off."
"But you're the same size!"
"Chromedome has significantly broader shoulders."
Tailgate had looked back and forth between the two mechs, and then sighed in defeat. He had to admit, reluctantly, that Cyclonus might be right. His shoulders weren't as wide.
"What if I put one leg over each shoulder and held on to your horns?" he suggested.
"Not on your life." Cyclonus said, turning away from Tailgate and back to watching Ultra Magnus lecturing Swerve over some code violation.
"Hmph." Tailgate pouted out of obligation, but secretly, he was sure he could get Cyclonus to do it in the privacy of their quarters. Once he'd accomplished that, it would be a snap to get Cyclonus to carry him about that way, he was sure of it.