Wing might call it bliss; Deadlock doesn't know what to call it. It's exciting and warm and tingling and a little out of control, like that excitement before a battle, only sweeter.

He's not used to it.

So his mouth twitches, even as his glossa tastes the last of the kiss. "Right." He doesn't believe you, Wing. He flounders for a moment, remembering how they got in that position in the first place. "Diversion." He reaches for the scrap of paper, still in the jet's hand.