Intended as an xmas present for a friend, and a testament that if a ship doesn't exist then you're damn sure I'll make it exist somehow.
xx
According to Swindle, tonight's client was special. He'd paid for and expected every service avaliable, everything barring outright fragging in the middle of his VIP suite (Primus forbid Swindle have to wash any stains out of his seats). Strongarm had to listen to so many new rules made just for him, she'd forgotten to ask what the fragger's name was.
And she'd forgotten again the first time she saw him looming in the suite's doorway.
"You paying to just stand there all night?" She wouldn't have minded it normally, but a mech hefting around antlers that big must have had a world full of neck-cable problems to deal with.
"Don't rush me, sweetspark, I'm still enjoyin' the view," he drawled in a Stanix-drenched accent from the doorway, rolling a cygar between his digits and looking like he owned the entire damn building. He didn't, of course, but it took a lot to trump the pride that Swindle had for his own club.
"You'd enjoy it a lot more if you came a little closer," is what she was expected to say, but he indulged his optics for a few more nanoklicks before taking his seat in front of her. The whole room was ringed with plush seating, ideal for a mech to lie back while a femme straddled and grinded him into madness, but just the one mech took up nearly three spaces all for himself.
By this point Strongarm usually would have started wrapping herself around the pole and imagining it was someone's spike, but it seemed the mech wasn't done admiring her. She tried not to roll her optics as his optics slicked over her body with his cygar clamped in his denta. "I can see why you're Swindle's favourite femme," he half-successfully said around the thick stalk, keeping his mouth open in a smoking grin as he popped it back out between his digits. The ash tickled Strongarm's olfactories but didn't send her vents into a seizure of coughing like the cheap Tarnian cygars she was used to putting up with (you'd think anyone with enough credits to get an evening in the VIP suite with her could afford better stuff, but clients seemed to be only selectively wasteful of their wages).
So this one was rich, and he knew Swindle personally. Suddenly Strongarm found herself liking him a lot more.
"He has a lot of favourites," she said, leaning back on her pole with a servo twirled around it. Now that her chestplates were in full view, his attention doubled on her. "Not like he can be picky."
His optics didn't budge from her chest as he snorted short gunshots of laughter, sprawling servos across the backs of his seats and looking like he was melting into the foam as his helm tipped back. For a nanoklick Strongarm thought his antlers would wrench on his neck, but the cables barely strained as his helm snapped back up into the perfect place to stare at her. His glossa slid over a sharp incisor as ash still spilled from his mouth.
"He treat ya' good?" he asked, smoke rings making ghosts of his words.
"Not as good as he should," Strongarm replied, starting to circle the pole and scouting for the best way to lunge on it.
The mech chuckled again in agreement as he watched her prowl. "I'd treat ya' like you deserve, sweetspark."
Strongarm's optics rolled along with her servos as they gripped the pole, suspending her in a pose straight out of a Playmech datapad. "You're not the first mech to promise me that."
His digits twitched twice to dislodge cold sludge from his cygar. "I'm the first who'd'a meant it, though."
If he really was as wealthy as he looked, Strongarm almost could have believed that. At least she had the chance to finally get a name for him. "And who can I owe my heroic rescue to?" She spoke in a sigh, half from exertion in pulling herself further up the pole and half from mocking the idea. Not that the mech could notice when he was so absorbed in her exposed cleavage.
"The name Thunderhoof mean anythin' to ya'?" he asked.
Strongarm was a nanoklick away from losing her grip and plummeting in a very unattractive pile on the floor. Coolant soaked her hands even as she shrugged, expertly refusing to remember she'd heard that name in between Cybertron's most wanted criminals. Her tone was throw-away, like what little armour she wore. "It might."
Thunderhoof was just as unreadable, expression drowned in nothing more than lust. If he'd caught her out, he could be planning her execution and watching her writhe at the same time. "Swindle said you'd be sassy." He groaned as his codpiece started to strain, obvious from how far his legs were spaced. "I like sassy."
Strongarm forced herself to smile down at him, all the vapid stripper tonight and none of the terrified police recruit sweating under her protoform. She went through the motions as the walls thudded with music and other bodies outside- surrounding them both yet miles away at the same time. Thunderhoof smoked, sipped and stared all the while, idly grinding his hips in the air when her aft was in the violet spotlight.
It was a long time before he said anything more to her, digits gesturing towards her now that they were rid of his emptied cygar. "Come 'ere, sweetspark..."
His voice was so low now Strongarm felt it reverb through her cytoskeleton, and instantly it froze even as her limbs sagged from fatigue. Any closer, and he could easily crush her spark.
But Thunderhoof just frowned below quirked eyeridges, and even his antlers seemed to droop. She wasn't sure how a crime lord could look hurt, but he somehow pulled it off. "I just wanna see your optics closer," he said.
Strongarm compressed her relief into a hush of air from her vents, pulling herself upright with her precious pole and swinging herself to climb down into Thunderhoof's lap. "Sure that's the only thing you want to see?" Confusion was wiped from the mech's face, replaced with the now familiar veneer of desire that Strongarm was in real danger of enjoying as it hovered close to her lips. She straddled him, cautiously before she was sitting on the hard bulge of his codpiece as it grinded gently against her. His hands, still warm from smoke, wandered over the slope of her aft and she didn't try slapping them away, even when his thick digits twisted underneath the string-clasps of her valve covering. Even with her chestplates swelling around his faceplate, bouncing up as she rode his hips, he was true to his word- his optics were only locked onto hers, and she didn't mind the fact that they were red so much.
"Y'know you can touch 'em... if ya' want." Strongarm was so lost in the moment she didn't realise he was talking about his antlers at first. Curiousity flooded in at the offer and she took it up, tentatively stroking one digit, and then two, over the firm struts on his helm. Smooth metal, even smoother than protoform, shuddered slightly under her palm.
"Never thought I'd say this to a mech, but... you have a nice rack."
His laugh was deeper than his pockets and had all the richness she could want at that moment. "Not as nice as yours, baby."