~~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, gets sticky - though not this chapter
Notes: On with Swindle's POV!
Chapter 2
Chatter and cafe noises filled the air as the mechs who worked at the Bank of Iacon took their midcycle break.
Sipping his expensive cocktail, Swindle surveyed the scene. Groups of rather boring looking mechs surrounded him from whom he caught snatches of equally dull conversation. Swindle estimated they were in similar jobs to the mech with the doorwings, Smokey as the mech in the elevator had referred to him. Although – the businessmech gave a little smile – they were considerably less interesting.
Through a glass screen at the end, Swindle could see a separate section. In it, elaborate gilded tables set with shimmering cloths and fine utensils were visible. At the tables, the streamline shapely forms of Alphamechs could plainly be seen. If Swindle strained his audios, he could catch a hint of cultured voices and laughter.
Swindle's optics glinted. That was the type of place he would soon be recharging in. Far more 'befitting.' And he wasn't going through some tedious bank career to get it. Oooh no! Not this little ray of starshine.
He took another sip, savouring the rare isotope mix which the waitmech had seemed surprised to be serving him. Yes – he, Swindle was destined for a far more spectacular ascent. And it was all going to begin when this Smokey procured the dosch.
Another little smile appeared on his faceplates. Discuss the matter further, Smokey had said. There wasn't anything to discuss! Swindle needed the money, Smokey was going to get it. End of story. And he would get it - Swindle was certain of that. And not because of any 'discussion,' but because - thesmile broadened - he liked Swindle
Oh yes – Swindle had seen that look before. The blue optics roving lustfully, the 'posturing.' Those doorwings had twitched, excitedly, and Swindle had felt heat coming off him, caught the scent of warm alloys when Smokescreen showed him to the elevator. Yes - it had been easy. All he'd needed was the hint of promise of what Smokey was after for Swindle to get exactly what he wanted.
And why not? Swindle thought as he lounged back. He might as well use his 'talents.' He thought of the dull greyish coloured, solid looking mech in the elevator, representative of those around him now. "You're not one of Smokey's regulars," the mech had said. "No – I'm kinda – a new client!" Swindle had said, and flashed a smile.
The mech had smiled back – in a leering sort of a way which made clear that he thought he was 'in with a chance.' Swindle had stifled a smirk. The mech had to be joking! Still, it was always nice to be reminded he had the 'touch.' Something which was going to serve him well when it came to the striking red and blue doorwinged one with the gleaming chevron.
So much more attractive and - Swindle was certain – infinitely more amenable.
Chuckling to himself, Swindle swirled the last of his drink in his glass. Praxus, Smokey had said he was from. Yes – Swindle didn't have many contacts there. That could bring other useful opportunities.
Feeling pleased with life, Swindle winked at a group of femmes who'd been trying not to show they were checking him out. Tittering erupted from their table as he finished his drink.
….
Time ticked on. No sign of the Praxan. It did not surprise Swindle that the mech was late. He seemed like one of those 'types' who coasted through life on 'the edge.' That much was obvious from his office. Swindle had rarely seen a desk in such chaos – and the mech had been tidying when he arrived!
On the side had been an array of empty cubes, and Swindle had caught a whiff of high grade. He'd also noticed the pile of betting slips next to them, and several tickets to 'Vibrations' Nightclub.
Primus only knew how the mech had wound up in the Bank! And the disapproving look from his conehead boss when they crossed to the elevator, Smokey with a spring in his step beside him, suggested the boss thought this too.
But all this made it easier. Smokey clearly needed 'jollying up,' a respite from his tedious existence. It all stacked up as more rewards in return for further 'favours' he would do. And – Swindle thought again of the twinkling blue optics and smooth seams - much fun for him.
Instead of ordering another drink – which he figured Smokey could do - Swindle ran over the 'plan.' It was relatively straightforward. Get the money, make contact with this 'Blast Off' character – the shuttle whose services Onslaught had said he could use provided he 'delivered.' Give Blast Off the code word. Then, when the shuttle was happy Swindle was 'Onslaught's mech,' go to the spaceport, and hence to Warpjunction seventeen.
And that, given that Blast Off could be 'difficult' - according to Onslaught's 'minders'- was probably the hardest part. At the Junction, he would simply convert Cybertronian credits to Sith Imperial ones, rendezvous with this smuggler guy who was coming through the wormhole, hand over the money and get the weapons.
And Swindle knew frag-all about the Sith Empire - only that an 'uprising' was happening there, for the suppression of which excellent weapons were being churned out; and that thanks to the likes of his contact, they made it out-of-sector despite the quarantines. Swindle didn't need to know more. Pay the guy - ask no questions. Load up the gear and leave.
Yep – all in order. Onslaught was going to be so pleased! This was the start of a great new future.
He'd told Onslaught, of course, that he already had the money. Because, of curse, he was going to get it. It was just that ….
Well where the heck was Smokey?
…..
A breem later, there was still no Smokey. Swindle studied the datamenu, a touch of anxiety now creeping in. Thoughts of Onslaught's 'crew' - the ones who payed 'visits' to 'problem' mechs, drifted into his processor. Ex military types, they were - mainly rotaries and heavy duty artillery types. There was one who 'questioned' the problem-mechs. And there was a 'basement' at Onslaught's place in Iacca Niara …..
Swindle had heard all sorts of rumours. "It's useful," Onslaught had said. "My rivals keep a distance, and timewasters know not to waste my time. I'm sure you don't like your time wasted either. Do you Swindle?"
The businessmech shuddered. Maybe he would get another drink! He studied the menu, thinking something stronger may be in order - when out of the corner of his optic there was a flash of blue and red.
Swindle looked up to see the Praxan charge through the door in a flurry of fast footsteps and doorwings. Heads turned. Smokey stopped and looked anxiously around.
Relief swept through Swindle; and, he noted - his former buoyant mood returning with a vengeance - the mech really did cut a nice looking form! And, better still, Smokey looked wonderfully anxious to please.
Swindle gave Smokey a little wave. The mech spotted him, and his face lit up; and now he was headed over. The businessmech shifted, so that the lights reflected on his chassis, showing off the yellow and purple hues. He was most happy again. With Smokey's every approaching step, the extremely good opportunities came closer.
….
Smokey was at the table, blue optics sparkling. Swindle caught again that heat blended with the faint aroma of arousal. He wondered how much more evident this would be if the 'social restraint' programming – which Praxans were known for – were not keeping him under control. Inwardly, Swindle chuckled, feeling a tingle in his own circuits. He liked that thought immensely!
"Hey!" Swindle said, noting that the nearby femmes were watching them closely.
"Hey …" Smokey hovered, looking unsure of himself. "Look - uh - Sorry I'm late!" he said. "Late clients, late break. You know how it is! Well – you probably don't. Uh …"
"Don't mention it!" Swindle said cordially. "Say - I hope I didn't set your schedule outta whack." His optics fell on the empty glass. "Hey – let's have a drink! Hopefully you'll tell me something worth celebrating. I'll have a platinum isotope cocktail, laced with tailings and stirred!"
A shadow seemed to cross Smokey's face. "Uh – yeah! Right …." he said.
Swindle's responses were automatic. Deepening the shade of his optics, he set them to maximum aperture. "Yeah! Look I know it's not the cheapest," he said, injecting just a touch of melancholy. "But I just spent my last credits and I'm allergic to low grade stuff. Besides …" he smiled charmingly. "We oughtta make this a special occasion!"
"No … no it's fine. Honest. It is. Yeah!" And now, Smokescreen had an 'awkward' demeanour. He looked at Swindle longingly, almost pleadingly as he tried to smile back.
Swindle felt his spark sink. For now he had the feeling Smokey's reactions were due to a good deal more than the cost of the drink.
Though Smokey was trying to make it look like that was all it was. "It's just – uh – midcycle," he was burbling. "I was just gonna have a straight midgrade. But hell – no problem!" The doorwings twitched, agitatedly. "No – no problem at all! D'you – want anything else?"
"As it happens – yeah – I'm peckish!" Swindle said, deciding to push this a little further. "How about some H-two release wedges to nibble on while we talk tactics?"
"Right …." The Praxan lingered, looking crestfallen, as though some major disappointment was coming.
Swindle frowned. "Say – there's not a problem, is there?" he said.
"No!" Smokey said quickly. "Well – not really. I'll – uh get the drinks and wedges!"
He hurried away to the bar. Swindle looked after him, his lips pursing. So there was a problem. Damn!
And then, Swindle chastised himself for thinking this would be so simple. Sure the mech wanted to help, was half falling over himself with desire to do that and desire for Swindle. But he was a Praxan!
And therein lay the difficulty. They had 'standards,' Praxans did. Bilaterally reproduced creations, they prided themselves on selective bondmating, monogamous relationships and the careful planning of well programmed creations - ones immersed in honesty and 'playing by the rules.'
No matter how 'different' was Smokey, or how tempted he was by Swindle's golden hues, if that conehead boss had chosen, after Swindle's departure, to ram some no security no loan policy into Smokey's processor, then Smokey would want to comply.
Swindle thought of the 'basement' again. Momentary despair flitted through him. But then, the clink of expensive cutlery floated back from the Alpha section, and Swindle's opportunism programming clicked in, asserting itself with the vehemence which had made him, too, different, and not a nobody in Tarn, and - despite the odds - destined for greater things.
As ever, Swindle felt a wave of powerful optimism. He was not going to end up in a basement. Or let this opportunity go by! If worst came to worst he'd just plain bust in and hold this place up! He was sure the 'touch' for that had not vanished either.
But no, Swindle decided firmly. All that kind of stuff was in the past. It belonged to his mechelescent 'experimental' times. He'd come far since then, and, besides, this was Iacon Central - not a precinct in the boondocks at Tarn.
Smokey just needed a little 'encouragement.' And a little more faith in his own talents – as well as Swindle's.
….
Smokey was back, and putting the drinks on the table. He smiled, nervously, as a waitmech appeared also and put down a tray of wedges. "Help yourself!" he said.
Swindle reached out and took a wedge, crunching on it as he took the opportunity to perve at Smokescreen some more. Powerful thigh servos flexed as Smokescreen sat down opposite, and Swindle could not help but notice the well crafted components sliding into place and the near invisible pelvic armour seams near his very ample codpiece.
Swindle felt certain stirrings within those parts of his own anatomy. Yeah - those Praxans sure knew their programming! There were, indeed, other rather nice reasons for all this succeeding. But no – he must first get down to business. The rest would be the reward for the money. For both of them.
Smokey still looked unhappy. Perched on his chair, the Praxan played with a wedge in his hand. Putting on his most competent, businessmechly veneer, Swindle came straight to the point. "So - you can fix the loan OK?"
A look of despair came on to Smokey's face. "Uh – about that …" he stammered.
Swindle smiled pleasantly. "Don't worry too much," he said. "I won't need it till tomorrow at six-two-o-thirty."
Smokey looked as though a dart had just been planted in his chest plating. He winced. "The trouble is…." His optics took on a pleading look. Swindle cocked an optic ridge. "The bank has very strict rules about securities!"
Oh how I hate being right all the time! Swindle thought. He put down the half eaten wedge and gave a loud sigh. "Oh dear ..." he said adjusting his optics back to maximum liquidity and disappointment appearance. "Oh dear ... very disappointing ..."
"I'm sorry!" Smokey burst out. "I'd just like you to know that …" Several heads had turned in their direction. The Praxan dropped his voice. "I'd just like you to know that if there's any other way I can help you ... any way at all …. I'm your mech!"
Picking up the wedge again and turning it over, Swindle gave a loud sigh, his brows furrowing.
Smokey was looking at him pleadingly. "There's other ways of getting money!" he cried. "I'm not bad when it comes to luck on the track. Axis - you know – the Alphamech racers. I follow the form! If you could come up with something, I'm sure I could triple it. Hell - I'd even use my own reserves!"
There was a sudden unexpected 'twang' in Swindle's spark. He reached for his drink, his optics still wide and glassy – and not all from opportunity programming. He found himself strangely touched. This mech really liked him – not just what he had to offer. For Swindle, that was rare; in fact, for all his cute looks and numerous berth-partners and opportunistic affairs, he had only ever experienced it once.
There was probably something in Smokey's suggestion, too. The industry surrounding the Axis Track was fraught with skulduggery and fixings – even though the Alphas would never admit this.
But no - it was altogether too risky. And this was business - not sentimentality! Pulling himself together, Swindle returned to his earlier plan: 'enlightening' Smokey about his 'capabilities.'
Smokey's optics were immensely blue; and he still had that 'pleading' look. Swindle smiled kindly across the table. "Y'know – you've done pretty good in this place," he said. "I can tell."
The Praxan looked surprised. "You can?" He brightened a little. "Well that's cool! My cousin got me this job, see! He was always on about how I'd never stick at something, but uh – well – I'm still here!"
"You sure are!" said Swindle. "And very competent and capable you come across as too! Why, the way your boss looked at you – its obvious he thinks you're good. And when I was going down in the lift, see, that guy in the office next to yours was real surprised you'd see anyone but a 'regular'!"
Smokey sat back. He looked incredulous. "But my boss thinks I'm lazy and uncreative! I know that's a joke, coming from him. But he says it all the time! And as for Greyhide and me – we don't even get along!" He shook his head. "He doesn't like it, see, cos a lotta mechs come in an' look at the two of us, and then – well – they come see me!"
Swindle let out a little peal of laughter. "Well hey - doesn't that tell you something!" He allowed his optics to coast over the other's frame, noting how Smokey gave a little shiver. "I'm sure your boss is just uh - under pressure - when he says that kinda stuff."
Smokey's hands were clutching the glass, tight. Reaching across, Swindle trailed a finger down the back of one. The metal buzzed warmly, and Smokey shivered again. "He likes you, really. I could tell."
The Praxan's intakes gave a hitch and he shifted. Swindle could sense the desire, the pleasure, feel Smokey almost bursting with desire to 'help.' "Yeah - but I sure wish I could so something for you!" he whispered. Oh, but you can – you will! Thought Swindle.
Swindle drew back, looking at his companion studiously. "I was thinking," he said slowly, "You must have access to a lotta information."
Smokey nodded. "I do!" he said "Any account in the Bank – if needs be."
"Any part of your job must be – seeing clients' funds are well looked after?"
"Well - yeah …"
Swindle looked around, noting that a good proportion of the café's clientele had headed back to work. Which was helpful. He leaned closer. "Which is why I'm thinking ... if you were to kinda – borrow – a few credits from somebody's account ….."
But Smokey's optics widened, instantly. "But that would be stealing!" he cried. "I couldn't …"
Swindle caught his wrist, gently but firmly. "I said borrow," he said. "You get to pay them back – with interest!"
Smokey looked doubtful, but Swindle went on: "Pick the right account and no-one will even notice! But if you did get caught – well, you were helping customers invest on the side, weren't ya? Now …" he smiled, turning the grip to a soft stroking. "Full marks for creativity, Smokey!"
Smokey's optics shone. Putting down the glass, his fingers found Swindles' and he clutched them. "You know my name!" Swindle squeezed back, gently. "Yeah!" he whispered. "Greyhide said. Now - c'mon on ... do this for me!"
But then, Smokey pulled back, turning serious again. Swindle could almost see the turmoil as his processor churned, as rules and morality warred with desire. For a second, Swindle thought he had lost – and then, he remembered the betting slips in the offices, and the reference to Axis. "You're a risk taker," he said softly, clasping his hand again. "Wouldn't you say this was worth a gamble?"
And just for final encouragement, Swindle flared his energy field. Just mildly.
Swindle took in the simmering response, barely suppressed, the thrumming lust and longing. Nevertheless, doubt still flickered in Smokey's optics one last time. Then, he gave in. "I reckon I could organize something!" he whispered.
"That's the spirit!" Swindle lifted Smokey's hand. Leaning over, he planted a lingering kiss on the warm metal.
Then, sitting back, the businessmech picked up his glass. "To us!" he said, raising it. "To a win-win situation!"
"And when I get back from the deal," he added, absolutely delighted with the result, and especially by the sheer adoration he now saw in the other mech's optics, "we're both gonna celebrate. Together!"
...
Thank you for reading :-) Reviews appreciated!
