After suffering from severe writer's block for quite some time, I decided to take some writing tips form the NaNoWriMo website to rouse my muse from her coma. The advice was to think of something a chosen character would never do, and then put them into exactly that situation. What can I say - it worked! My proposition was: "Optimus Prime would never visit a brothel".
Wonder
xxx
Contrary to popular belief, a civil war didn't do much to alter a brothel's clientele - or its employees, for that matter. The only real difference, Shooting Star thought drily as he subspaced his latest income, was the amount of credits changing hands.
Somebody grabbed him by the arm, and he spun around to remind the groper of the brothel's 'you touch it, you buy it' policy, only to find himself optics to visor with the madam of the house, a slender flight frame with a deadly gaze and even deadlier claws.
"I have a customer for you," was all she said.
He followed her up the stairs to the second floor, where the rooms were of slightly higher quality. "This one has asked for absolute discretion," she told him as they stopped before one of the doors, throwing him a stern glare. "I can count on you to keep your trap shut, can't I?"
"Sure," Shooting Star said, feeling a bit offended. As if that wasn't the first thing you learnt when you walked the streets.
"Good." She pressed the door button, ushering him inside.
A mech was sitting on the berth, but rose as they entered. He was tall, at least a head taller than Shooting Star, red and blue plating polished to a mirror finish. He wore a facemask, but his intensely blue optics were clearly visible above it. Dumbfounded, Shooting Star found himself staring at faceplates he'd only ever seen on propaganda posters so far.
"Just a moment, sir," he said, dragged the madam out of the room and slammed the door shut.
"Are you fragging kidding me?" he hissed. "That's the Prime!"
"I know," she said coolly. "And I want you to satisfy him. He's a regular, and I can't afford to lose a client like him." One of her claws came dangerously close to Shooting Star's faceplates. "Good tipper, too, so you better give it your best shot, slut." And with that she vanished into the shadows.
Shooting Star stared after her, and then at the door. Alright, don't panic. He didn't believe in any of the superstitious nonsense they whispered about the Matrix bearer, and whatever had brought the Prime to this shabby little corner of the planet, chances were good that it would be 'been there, done that' for Shooting Star. He cycled his vents slowly, then he hiked up his door wings, threaded some 'come hither' algorithms into his field and opened the door.
"Hey there, tall 'n handsome," he purred. "Sorry 'bout that. So, how can I make you happy tonight?"
Normally, the reaction to that was a grin, but the Prime looked rather hesitant. "I hope my presence has not caused any difficulties," he said.
Ah. A shy one, then, or one of those who liked to be persuaded. Shooting Star upped the ante by stepping close and wrapping his arms around his client's neck. "No, no," he cooed, "it's all good. Why don't you tell me what you wanna do with me, mh?"
A nervous jitter passed through the Prime's field even as his hands came up to rest on Shooting Star's hips. "I would like," he said softly, "for you to recharge with me. And I would like for us to hold each other while we do so, if you're amiable."
O-kay. "You want me to cuddle with you?" Shooting Star asked. Maybe his audios had glitched for a moment.
"Yes," the Prime said.
Shooting Star took a step back. "Uh, you do know this is a brothel, right?" Maybe the poor guy had just walked through the wrong door by pure accident. "I mean, we're talking frag business here. Dunno what the high 'n mighty folk have told you, but as long as you leave enough creds, you can tell me to hook myself up to the cooling unit if that turns your engine. Just saying."
"That doesn't sound very comfortable." The facemask hid the Prime's smile, but it showed in his optics. "I thank you for your honesty," he said, "but I don't require any sexual services of you. All I ask is that you spend the night cycle with me, and I will pay the appropriate amount for it."
Well, the customer was king, right? And if some snuggling was really all the Prime wanted, then Shooting Star was practically getting paid for taking a night off. No objections there. He put the smile back on his faceplates and slid onto the mesh-covered berth with practiced ease. "Alright then. Slumber time."
The bunk wasn't exactly made for two mechanisms to lie next to each other, so Shooting Star didn't bother trying and instead settled on top of his reclining customer without further ado. Strong arms immediately came up to sneak around his waist, and he let the joints of his door wings relax so they came to rest over both of them like a fan. Interest spiked in the Prime's field, and Shooting Star bit back a grin. Ah, yes. Nobody could resist the wings.
"You can touch them, if you want," he offered, and immediately blunt fingers slid up his back and set about stroking and massaging the smooth appendages. It actually felt quite nice, and Shooting Star couldn't withhold a small sigh.
"Are you comfortable?" the Prime asked softly.
"Very," Shooting Star said. Pit, he didn't even have to lie about it.
"Would you…" A small pause. "Would you agree to a level alpha connection?"
Again, the non-sexuality of the request threw Shooting Star off his guard. Level alpha was the kind of connection you'd offer a fussy newspark, just enough to say 'You're not alone'.
"Yeah, sure," he said, offering the access port in his wrist. One of the Prime's cables slipped in easily, and as announced, he didn't establish more than a surface connection before he wrapped his arms around the smaller mech again. "I wish you a pleasant recharge," he said quietly.
"And to you too, sweetspark."
It didn't take long for the Prime to power down, so Shooting Star lay quietly in the semi-darkness, kept his ventilations light and listened to the sounds coming from the adjacent rooms where some of his colleagues were obviously hard at work. He should probably recharge, too, he thought, but that was easier said than done with his processor stubbornly focusing on the question if someone was playing a practical joke on him here. Or perhaps he'd been knocked offline during some weird SM stuff and had started hallucinating.
But the warm metal and the gentle hum of another engine beneath him felt real enough, and from time to time he would receive a query ping from the Prime's systems, a shortened, unconscious version of 'You still there?'
'Yes''he sent back each time, and the arms around his waist and back would tighten a bit more before his client slipped back into deep recharge.
And so Shooting Star lay with his head on the Prime's chest plates, caressed the red and blue plating with gentle fingers, and wondered.
And wondered.
And wondered.
*Fin*
So, if anyone has ideas along the lines of "XY would never...", bring it on! I can't promise anything, but perhaps my muse will go for it ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own The Transformers, and I do not make any money with this