~~Swindle and Smokescreen: Beginnings~~


Characters: G1 Swindle and G1 Smokescreen
Genre: Angst, romance, sticky mech-sex

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers

*Warnings*: adult themes, sticky smex and masturbation, although not until chapter 3

Notes: I have been writing this for Ultharkitty, who requested "how they hooked up" when I put out the Smokey and Swindle prompt. One of my favourite OTP's! It has turned into rather a long story. But I am having much fun with it - so I hope you enjoy reading :-)


Chapter 1

It was the start of another cycle at the bank of Iacon.

A cluster of mechs gathered in the morning Iacon sun outside the huge revolving doors. On the other side, the clamour of activity echoed in the marble floored concourse, the Bank's employees heading for their many stations as the great institution, the financial stalwart of Cybertron's capital, prepared to grind into action.

Smokescreen joined their throng. Surprisingly sprightly, considering how tired he was from the previous night's 'activities', the Datsun with the twitching doorwings made his way along, past the concierge desk and the security station, past the express elevators where the Bank's finest prepared for the spacious glass walled offices in the highest storeys, to the rather more humble conveyance leading up to level three - and his very humble office in the low to medium loans department.

An aroma of alloys and regular grade fuel filled the elevator, twinged with a whiff of high grade which lingered on the Datsun, courtesy of 'Vibrations' Nightclub. But the other faces were expressionless. Recognizing a couple of them, Smokescreen nodded and the mechs nodded back, still expressionless.

Then there was a clunk, a hiss of doors, and the mechs walked stolidly off across the concourse – also marble floored – past the reception desk, past the crystal sculptures and busts of previous heads of the Department, to the little bubble shaped cubicle offices and their days' trade.

...

Arriving in his cubicle, Smokescreen shut the door and sat down heavily, glad to be out of the morning bustle, so incongruent with how he really felt and pleased that the frosted glass on the lower half of the office windows obscured him. He looked at his desk, a sea of datapads, empty cubes and beverage trays. The Datsun sighed. The day yawned ahead, a lengthy chasm of tiredness and tedium – and he was hungover and behind! Still – Smokescreen brightened - there was always 'afterwards' to look forward to. Like – a second trip to Vibrations ….

And first things first! Smiling to himself, Smokescreen opened a cabinet and reached in, extracting a cube of midgrade. Cracking it, he sipped, thoughtfully. Pleasant memories drifted through his processor: the throbbing music, the crush of hot metal bodies, the scent of alloys and ozone and 'grade. Yes – he might just see if that blue grounder with the alphamech like curves was there again. The one he could so easily have ended up with if that other one with the black doors hadn't happened along ...

There was activity outside, and Smokescreen caught sight of the pointed head of Dirge, his supervisor, approaching as he did the final checks. Smokescreen hastily replaced the cube as the sombre flyer passed by. Dirge cast a suspicious look over the top of the frosted glass, his red optics narrowing. It reminded Smokescreen only too well that he had some ground to make up – both for the backlog and the two cycles he had taken off last week.

Smokescreen forced a smile at the flyer, who nodded curtly back. The Datsun felt a little better. Hell! That was a good sign, about as good as you got from Dirge. Yeah - perhaps Dirge was pleased that he was at least at work this cycle – and a not displeased Dirge was one less thing to worry about. Removing a connection from his wrist and feeling a little more cheerful, Smokescreen plugged it into the computer console.

The large screen came to life. Smokescreen glanced briefly at the notice which said "Greetings Smokescreen! Welcome to another cycle. As a valued employee, we know you will help the Bank keep its name as Cybertron's greatest financial institution ..." before switching to his 'list.'

But as the words appeared on the screen, the Datsun's spark plunged again. Applications for crystal gardens financing, a funeral, an extension to an apartment in the White Sands District, and some Beta from Tarn who wanted to send a sparkling to the Praxan College of Art. Smokescreen sighed. Try as he might, he could not - as usual – raise even a grain of enthusiasm.

Retrieving the cube, Smokescreen sipped on it. His thoughts drifted again, and a pleasant raft of tingles went through his circuits. That grounder had been veery nice. And not just in that way, but – well he had been good to talk to. Interesting. A bit 'classy.' The type Smokescreen could have something with.

Because - Smokescreen let out a sigh – oh how he yearned for 'something meaningful.' Somebody who wasn't just a brief partner in the darkness of the interface room. A relationship – somebody he could care for and be cared about. Someone he could 'explore' with, a 'mate' in tune with his own spark with whom he could stride into the future and forget about his tedious, unfulfilled existence in the most boring office in the whole of Cybertron ….

A loud 'TING' sounded then, signifying the turning downstairs of the great revolving entrance doors, and the start of business. The pleasant image of the blue grounder disappeared. Like it or not, the day's agenda just became a reality. Yes, Smokescreen would just have to - for now - give his attention to client number one, the Tarn aspirer hoping for the brat's place in Praxus.

Hastily clearing some of the receptacles to create at least some semblance of order, the Datsun clicked the 'door open' mechanism, ready to smile his special manufactured Bank of Iacon 'excellent service' smile, and to pretend excitement about credit, equity, timelines and payback options.

But when the elevator doors opened and the clients spilled on to his floor, making their way to the cubicles, none made their way to his. Smokescreen brightened. His client might be a 'no show.' That would be excellent! It would give him time to check out the Axis race results – another pleasant distraction from the chains of his existence in this office. But no, he thought glumly. The mech was probably just late. Which meant Smokescreen would be behind schedule for the rest of the cycle – something which could curtail his later plans.

The frown turned to a scowl. Just his luck! Oh well, he may as well do some brief 'catching up' now. Disconnecting from the computer and picking up some datapads, Smokescreen began shuffling through them.

So much for 'meeting someone!' Who could possibly be interested in his unutterable life here?

Gathering a bundle in his hand, Smokescreen rose. He might as well file a few things – at least it would make sure his pedantic supervisor stayed happy at his presence here.

But it was then, as Smokescreen poised by the filing cabinet, that something caught his optic - a flash of yellow from the direction of the elevator. The Datsun glanced over. Then stopped what he was doing, and stared – for an extraordinary looking mech had just alighted on the concourse.

...

The mech was glancing around. A warm tingling spread through Smokescreen. He was exquisite! All golden and purple hues, the mech had Alpha caste in him. That much was obvious, also, from the air of confidence - which only an Elite would exude. Yet he was smaller and stockier, and altogether much – cuter - than a purecast Alpha. His face was darker too – but far from these un-Alpha traits being unappealing, they made him incredibly attractive.

And he was here - right here in the low to medium loans department! Smokescreen gaped over the top of the frosted glass.

The mech walked a little further, and then looked around again, scanning the loan application booths with what Smokescreen could now see were large purple optics. Smokescreen squeed inside. His favourite coloured optics! And they bore a mischevious glint, which made the mech's dark face somehow even more appealing.

A surge of excitement went through Smokescreen. He glanced along the line of booths on either side of his. None of them were vacant! All his colleagues' clients had – apparently - arrived. He looked back to the elevator doors, past the yellow mech. Still no sign of anyone headed his way!

The mech was still standing there. Smokescreen could delay no longer. It did not matter that clients were supposed to have appointments. He simply could not pass up this opportunity! Shutting the filing cabinet and putting the pads down, the Datsun strode to the door.

The mech turned and spotted him. His purple optics flared, slightly. Then a crooked little smile appeared on his faceplates; and now, he was coming across, his yellow paint glinting in the concourse chandeliers, a bouncy little stride manifesting, yet not eclipsing at all the thoroughly business like veneer which exuded forth as his footsteps echoed.

Then, panic seized Smokescreen. For a start, he was sure he must look 'seedy' – even if his hangover wasn't as bad as earlier. He glanced wildly at his desk. His desk! What would this mech – this clear professional - think?

Throwing himself into the chair, Smokescreen hastily started bundling the remaining datapads together. As the mech came to the door he pulled out his data wrist connection and went to plug it back into the database console. At least he could launch straight into 'finance' talk - as Smokescreen was certain this clear businessmech would want to do.

But, tragically, in his haste, the connector jammed in the computer port, which meant that by the time the mech came to the door Smokescreen was fumbling. He gave it such a yank trying to pull it out that the entire console moved across the desk. Datapads fell to the floor with a clatter.

"Whehey! Careful there!" Smokescreen looked up. The mech grinned. "Can I help?" he said, bending to pick up the pads and putting them on the desk. His stunning optics went to the connector in Smokescreen's hand. "Tricky things, connectors!" he said. "Lucky I'm good at getting tight things out of sticky spots."

...

Already, the mech was shaping up to have all those hallmarks Smokescreen 'liked.' Similar to the blue grounder, except - forget about the blue grounder (who seemed 'attached' anyway) – this mech was gorgeous! He had a 'presence' – no doubt due to his Alpha side and which the blue grounder certainly lacked - which was difficult to ignore. And he was not only flashy and witty, but seemed so friendly and interested! He could even be – Smokescreen hardly dared to think it – the ONE …

But this was ridiculous, of course. Hell, Smokescreen had only just met him! So the Datsun struggled to stop heat and excitement from taking him over, and to at least appear like a Finance Professional, rather than something resembling a gibbering, mechalescent idiot.

The name's Swindle," the mech had said, still clearly amused, and he'd held out a small black hand. Smokescreen had taken it, heat rushing through him just at the feel of it. He was still trying to get over the embarrassment with the connection, which he had - mercifully – managed to extract without the mech's help and stowed away.

Now, Swindle smiled, charmingly. A classy glass windscreen set in his chest reflected Smokescreen's blue and red paint. Black shoulder wheels twitched as his optics ran quickly over Smokescreen's wings and his expression shifted, in a way which did nothing for the Datsun's attempts to keep his core temperature under control. The smile returned. "Nice place you have here!" he said.

Smokescreen beamed back. "Why, thank you!" he said. "It's – uh – its just my office."

Inwardly, the Datsun groaned. That was the best he could come up with? It could well be that he was out of his league – yeah, that was the sad fact. But surely he could, at the very least, 'help' the mech, professionally. Say something normal, like: "How can I be of assistance?"

Swindle's optics were scanning the walls. They settled on the only one which wasn't glass, and on the only picture in the office. He sat back, making an impressed sounding noise. "Say – inspiring!" he said. "That's the view from the Observatorium, ain't it? Been up there a few times myself."

"Uh – yeah, it is," Smokescreen agreed, glancing briefly at the picture, but then unable to stop his gaze moving from the windscreen to the purple pelvic armour, now just visible over the desk. "It's uh – windy though."

He cringed inside. Why was he suddenly such a retard? And why did he have to perve at the mech's nether regions. No – he must at least try and be professional. Looking straight at Swindle, he cleared his throat. "Uh ...uh .. are you after a loan?"

Swindle smiled another charming smile. "Kinda!" he said. "I'm what you call an entrepreneur, see? I buy and sell stuff – you know, set up deals, get commission. A little extra cash injection would be kinda – useful – right now."

"Oh!" Swindle had just ascended another notch in the Datsun's estimation. That sounded so – daring. Exciting! But – the Datsun despaired - so unlike his own boring existence. How could that possibly interest this mech? Smokescreen felt heat rush through him again, but this time his spark gave a twang of longing. "Do you – uh – operate in Iacon?" he asked.

Swindle was watching him closely. Smokescreen felt hope rise. Maybe the job wouldn't matter! "From time to time," Swindle said. "I kinda – go all over. Altihex, Praxus, Tarn, Ganthis – sometimes offworld. Right now, Iacon, yeah."

Smokescreen's spark sank. He'd never even been to half the Cybertron places, let alone offworld. Now he felt even more inadequate!

"I've kinda worked my way up, mind. Used to stick to jewellery and trinkets." Swindle went on. "It's taken a while to get to my 'current level.' But now, a project which is kinda – promising - has come my way." His optics glinted. "Little place called Iacca Niara. Dunno if you've heard of it? Not that the business is actually there. It's kind of – all over. Kaon, and like places."

And now, a real thrill ran through Smokescreen's circuits. Iacca Niara! It was an Alpha stronghold, an original seat, before the Great Transition. A strange, rather creepy place in the Iron Mountains, the Alphas who had remained there and not moved to the Towers or Altihex regions considered themselves exclusive, in a class of their own.

And they were a great deal more into illegal activities than legal ones, in places like - the Blocks of Kaon - if the stories were true. Smokescreen's cousin Prowl, a cadet at the Praxan law Enforcement Academy had had much to say on the subject at the last 'family do.' Smokescreen could not help it. He felt a shadow creep on to his faceplates.

Swindle's face changed also. He looked 'pained.' "I don't mean the Blocks, mind," he said quickly. "More like – the heights. The better Kaon suburbs – and no shonky stuff!"

Smokescreen felt instantly terrible. "No I didn't mean to be ... I ... uh ..." And now, he was ashamed of himself. How could he automatically equate this obvious experienced and no doubt respected operator with stuff like that? It just showed how immovable and prejudicial his staid Praxan upbringing had really been! And to think that he, Smokescreen, professed not to be like his cousin! Worse, a certainty of having 'blown it' now invaded the Datsun's processor.

Yes - his spark sank - for a pall of melancholy appeared to engulf Swindle. "All right - I know what they say about Iacca," the yellow mech said. "But this is totally above board! And the thing is …."

His optics became large and baleful. "This is my big break!" he stammered. "I gotta get off world somehow and get some – what you might call high quality merchandise. Then the guy's gonna put me on a retainer. But …." his shoulders slumped. "I got no credits!"

Swindle shook his head, sadly. "I guess its back to peddling jewellery!"

And now, the purple optics looked utterly bereft. Swindle's optic ridges knitted, his expression as one who has had a dream come so close - only to be dashed away. And Smokescreen realized then what was the real attraction, not the mech's flashy professionalism and not only his looks: but that he was a trier, a battler, not like the staid mechs who usually came in here but an adventurer, a risk taker after Smokescreen's own spark – for whom, just like Smokescreen, life was not always plain sailing.

And Smokescreen felt a rush of 'feeling' for him. A kinship! He would help this mech! He would banish any silly notions about Iacca Niara and pull out all the stops. After all, having no credits wasn't the end of the universe! Was it not his job – he Smokescreen, loan expert of the Bank of Iacon – to find 'innovative solutions' for the Bank's 'customers?

Smokescreen smiled, knowledgeably. "You have an account here though, right?"

Swindle nodded. "But its kinda – empty!" He looked on the verge of despair.

"That's – not a problem." Smokescreen was undeterred. "All you need is some collateral!"

But Swindle only looked more despondent. "That's the problem, see? I kinda – haven't got any of that either!" He sighed. "Its a long story. I got in an argument with some shuttles over a title to space station realty. They won, I lost." He shook his head. "They could afford the legal fees, you see, whereas I ... I had no hope!"

Smokescreen had hitherto had no feelings for shuttleformers one way or the other. Now, he felt a sudden dislike for them. He made a mental note that in future any who came up with any less than the agreed number of points to obtain credit wouldn't get any. "Greedy slaggers, yeah!" he said sympathetically. "That's a real shame. Well – d'you have anyone who could put up security? Maybe this mech who's offering the retainer?'

But Swindle looked at him sharply, alarm shooting into his optics. "No!" he said quickly, "I mean – uh ..." and then he tried, such a gallant effort given his obvious disappointment, to give a little laugh. "Uh – no!" he said. "He wants me to work for him, see?" he hung his head. "I'm afraid - that wouldn't be appropriate."

And it wouldn't, of course. Another silly question and assumption! Almost as silly as the next thing Smokescreen found himself saying, which was: "Well, that makes it difficult ..."

"I get it!" Swindle raised his hands in a gesture of resignation. He smiled at Smokescreen sadly. "Oh well - it was nice of you to wanna help!" And he made as if to get up.

Smokescreen reeled inwardly. It could not end here! Not for this courageous mech who had struggled so hard. Smokescreen would not let it all come crashing down. He would 'save' Swindle. Yes – he had to. Now!

Besides, he also had to make up for his 'behaviour' today - firstly appearing such a jerk, secondly, perving on the guy, thirdly, casting 'unwarranted aspersions' on the company a customer of the Bank kept and then being utterly unimaginative in finding solutions! Well - Prowl was right. He was lucky to have this job. It was about time he stopped 'languishing' and put it to constructive purpose!

Swindle stood up. The purple optics were upon Smokescreen. Swindle held out his hand, limply, his face a picture of despondency and disappointment. "It's been nice meeting you!" he whispered.

But Smokescreen hung on to the hand, fixing him with a look of blue opticted determination. "Please, sit down," he said calmly. "If we could discuss this matter further – over a drink, perhaps - I'll see what I can do!"

Swindle's face lit up, his optics shining again. An exuberant smile appeared. "Say - that'd be swell!" he exclaimed, squeezing Smokescreen's hand.